#i have so many cool pieces but they bring me stress and discomfort

[waluijoe]

more i grow up the more i think fashion is just a curse.. catch me looking like a slob i don't care being slayful is reserved for when i have to play a Character

[borg5of9]

The Demonstration

By Borg 5 of 9 SF

Introduction

In September 2022 I was diagnosed with an extremely rare form of paralysis called transverse myelitis. In my case, antibodies attacked my spine instead of a virus I had been fighting. During a 24-hour span, I went from being able to walk to not being able to support my weight. The paralysis kept creeping up my body like rising water, fortunately stopping at the abdomen. But it took powerful steroids and intense physical therapy to regain my ability to even shuffle down the hall with the aid of a walker.

Over the month and change I spent in the hospital, I experienced a lot of stress and worry, but also a lot of interesting sensations. My cybernetics kink helped preserve my sanity in these moments, and so I have folded many of my experiences into this transformation story. Kink can be a lot of things, and a protective mechanism is one of them. I am grateful to my kinky eccentricities, which I used to be ashamed of, for helping me through this crisis. My love did too– she was there for me every day and night.

But this is a work of fiction. Although my condition provided inspiration for this piece, the specific events depicted are far from anything which happened in real life. Which brings me to:

Content warnings: This is a work of erotic cybernetic fiction. It includes: a gender-neutral first person perspective, being taken apart, being awake during cyborg conversion, playing with the idea of consciousness. It contains a female dom, male drones, and relations with both.

—-

Chapter 1: Amnesia

The first thing you remembered were the bright lights flooding your eyesight. The discomfort of the tubes in your esophagus and the plastic mask over your mouth and nose. In the periphery of your vision you can see beings in powder blue surgical masks bent over your abdomen. You feel tugging and pulling as they work on something inside your abdominal cavity. But there is no pain. There is little sensation at all.

How did I get here? What is happening? You can’t remember anything. Your head swims, no doubt an effect of all the drugs pumped into your system. But you can’t move.

“Doctor, the drone is awake”

“OK, we’re almost done here.”, another voice off to your other side replies. There is a high pitched whir as the doctor secures something to your shoulder. It clamps down. You don’t feel anything but the pressure. You try to move your head to look down at your body but it is held firmly in place. 

Then, blankness as you are put back under.

—

You are suddenly aware of your senses again. An unspecified amount of time has passed. 

You’re in an upright position, strapped to a rack. You try once more to look down at your body, but your head again cannot pivot downward.

The room looks sterile. There is a cart off to your left with laboratory equipment. You scan the room. Across from you is a monitor displaying what appears to be x-rays of a figure from both the front and profile views. Wires snake through the body, hooking to solid objects embedded within: Devices inside the ribcage, abdomen, with smaller electronics throughout. Behind the right eye is shown a circular implant. And behind that, items in the brain and replacing the ears. There are no legs below the thigh. It is then that you realize you are suspended above the ground. You try to form words, but nothing comes out. You hear voices:

“The drone is online”

“Vitals holding stable”

There is a dull ache behind your own right eye that would seem to correlate with what is on the monitor. Is this you on the screen? Before you can fully digest what you’re seeing, they speak again: 

“Alright, let’s get it prepped. Flush the jacks”

“OK, flushing”, comes the reply.

A cool rush flows through your veins at the entrance point of your jacks: arms, right side of the lower abdomen, left side of the neck, and where your nipples and external genitalia were. You taste something metallic as the chemicals are excreted through your lungs.

You catch a glimpse of your naked, scarred form on a reflective metallic surface. The image is distorted, but you can make out stapled-shut stitches and small implants scattered over the body, protruding from the skin. Your right eye has been removed, and electronics are recessed in the orbital socket. What have they done to me?

“Ocular implant?”

“Ocular implant.”

A human clad in baggy silvery protective garb blocks your view. The face is obscured by a breathing mask and a glowing blue augmented reality lens over one eye. You can almost make out the HUD from the front, the text and images reversed. It holds up a device up to your face. It goes far into your eye socket, delicately clicking into place as it connects with the cybernetics in your skull. You hear a faint high-pitched whine as it powers on. There is a brief burst of static in your eardrums as your vision shows glitches, like a corrupted video file trying to recover. Then, clarity– more than you ever had. 

Other humans come into view. One carries a bulky chest plate piece. Another human, from before, returns with another piece: one which is contoured with a bulge. And, yet another, a round half-dome. The material of these components is an alloy unlike anything familiar.

The human with the half-dome attachment comes forward and off to the left, out of your periphery. You feel cold metal and static-electric tingling as the material makes contact with your bare head. It fully grips the left side and top of your head but on the right only covers the crown, leaving the hairless flesh dotted with implants exposed.

The human with the chest plating approaches you and holds the front plate over your implant-riddled chest as the back plating dangles to the side. The being carefully aligns connection points on the underside of the plate with the jacks protruding from your body. Another brings the back plating around, again aligning it.

“1.. 2.. 3” one says. They push the plates together in unison, the connections entering the jacks, your new chassis penetrating your body. Fusing with it. It is part of you now.

A low-rise backpack made of the same material is carefully slotted into the backplate, and you feel tugging sensations as it is locked firmly into place, and a vibration as it comes to life. There is a new heaviness, that of your new chassis pushing you down with its weight. But you don’t budge. 

Finally, the engineer holding the piece with the bulge holds it in front of your crotch. The one who installed the chest plating pulls a thick hose from the bulge, and slowly feeds it into the port which has replaced your primary genitalia. Through the center of the hose’s jack is a curved metallic rod. The rod slowly, and smoothly, glides into your port. There’s a strange sensation as it penetrates, going impossibly deep inside your body. A slight pinching, the nerves being stimulated in ways they have never experienced. It makes its way inside your urethra until it finally pushes through the internal sphincter leading to the bladder, or whichever biomechanism your bladder has become. The ring around the base of the cable twists and locks itself into place. There is a cool, almost painful sensation of fluid being pulled from you. Or is it being fed into you?  The sensation is constant. It hurts a little, but it’s not a bad feeling.

Cables are picked up off a tray to your left, and your headgear is plugged into the back of the muscled chassis. More cables are attached from the backpack to the jacks on your temple, and finally, from the side of the codpiece into the backpack

An engineer hits a key and the bonding process begins. 

You feel a needle enter you. Then another. Each time, the sting of the metal pushes through your flesh into deeper tissue. Some make connections with pinhole ports, others stick into biological systems.

Something appears in your head, like an inner monologue but foreign to you. It is raspy and robotic: “Neural network online. Firmware 55.1.” Did you speak it or just imagine it? 

Time: 545011200. You have nothing to compare it to.

“Unit. State your designation,” the engineer queries the cybernetic network which now comprises your brain.

You stiffen slightly. There is a strange burbling in your mind as the programming hijacks your brain. It becomes louder until it overwhelms you. Then: “AX-5 series drone. Unit identifier 74J-96-B”, you speak in unison with it.

The programming releases you, dropping you back into free will. Why is it in my head? What is going on? And why do I crave it?

With some effort, you look down. There is a halting servo sound as your head moves jerkily– malcoordinated. You see your arm ends above the elbow. It terminates in a gleaming jack. One of the humans carries a prosthesis. Instead of a hand, a metal claw is at the end, and myriad unfamiliar tools extend from the side. Some are needle-like, some like tiny robotic fingers. You are hungry for it to be attached to your port. You need it. Just as you were thinking that, your arm automatically pivots forward to accept the new limb. It is carefully secured to the port sideways, then twisted to lock into place. A feeling of euphoria courses through you. An especially thick hose is fed from your back into your manipulator arm.

Another key is hit, activating another device. Electric pins and needles shoot up your arm, but the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. There is again the feeling of being taken over, ascending into bliss. Your arm slowly raises, claw opens and closes and the tools fan out from the side of your wrist and back, like a wave. Calibration complete. You hold it up so you can see the piece in detail, gazing upon it in wonder. Every movement you make, you hear the faint sound of tiny motors. You feel like you are about to orgasm. It is building. Then, a voice snaps you out of it:

“OK, shut it down”

A switch is flipped. Your head goes limp as you stand. The manipulator arm returns to a rest position. Vision off. Consciousness off.

Chapter 3: Retraining

You regain consciousness. Systems power on. Eyelid flickers. Your one eye opens. Two seconds later you are perfectly awake. You scan the room. You are still in your recharging station. 

Time: 545356800. 345600 seconds have passed since your previous activation [4 days].

The doors across from you open. A female figure enters. She is medium height, stocky with broad shoulders, hair pulled back, captivating eyes, and dressed in a white lab coat. Her heels click as she primly moves across the hard floor, directly to the workstation in the corner. She hits a button with a gloved finger then turns to watch.

The cables holding you into the rack detach with a hiss, and you’re released to gravity. With a heavy thud, your rubber-soled cybernetic feet hit the ground. It is the first time you are aware that you now have lower legs. But you feel nothing except for a quick static electric sensation shooting up your leg to your thigh. The shock echoes up and down your leg, resonating inside your body until it decays back to nothing, like a struck door-stop spring. It is not entirely unpleasant although it should be: There is something inside of you which it satisfies.

The woman gazes at your body before looking you in the eye. “Drone, state your designation”. As she says these words, you stay fixated on her eyes. It’s difficult to look away. And, as you realize this, her pupil flashes red for a quarter second. With each instantaneous flash, a rapid pulse materializes inside your head, foreshadowing what will immediately follow. Programming seizes control of your mind once again. 

“AX-5 series drone. Unit identifier 74J-96-B” you again say, your voice not yours.

“Your controller is keyed to my mind, drone. You are now locked to me, and only I can control you.”

Once again, you are dropped back into free will. And it is here you first realize you cannot move your limbs. Your feet are planted in place. Attempting to move your arms produces little effect. Whatever atrophied remnants of your biological muscle remain cannot overpower the mechanical limbs they are encased in.  Your entire body feels stiff and heavy.

“Walk towards me.”

You hear her commands in your head as she speaks the same thing a split second later, eerily doubling the voice.

Your limbs are now unlocked. Cautiously, you attempt to take a step. At first, the leg sticks to the ground. With some concentration, it lifts, but you cannot place the foot precisely where you want. The foot again lands harshly, a slight distance from where you intended it to. More static shocks echo throughout your lower extremities, leaving behind an intriguing tingling sensation. They reach a higher point than they previously did, now firmly up to your inner thighs. The misstep knocks you off balance, but your stabilizers quickly kick in and you are automatically righted.

“The neurons need to form new connections with your new limbs. All the programming you contain only goes so far; the old pathways and muscle memory in your brain needs to all be rewired. Your neural network needs to be trained.”

Without warning, she gives you a firm shove. You begin to helplessly tumble backwards, but the stabilizers once again activate, forcing your leg to step back, avoiding a fall.

“But, even though you cannot willfully move your limbs with coordination, your programming has certain routines that will take control in an emergency. Think of them as additional brainstem reflexes.”

She turns her back to you, walks across the room, then turns to face you again. You look away, but even without seeing her eyes, the voice appears in your mind:

“Try again. Walk to me.”

Your posture stiffens and you once again are looking your controller in the eyes. Your leg comes up easier this time. But, placing it back on the ground correctly proves to be a chore. With some concentration, you manage to get the leg closer to its target, foot hovering near its destination. Your foot thuds into the ground awkwardly. Balance is lost, but you are able to right yourself without a cybernetic assist. More electricity arcs through your legs. It reaches the crotch, leaving behind the pleasant tingling.

“The shocks are probably hitting some pleasurable areas for you right now.”

This remark takes you aback. How would she know about the experience of drones?

“This is what the other ones have reported, at least. Oh, you thought you were the first?”, she says with a smirk. “We are putting together drones for a big demonstration. No, you’re maybe the fifth, or sixth one. I lose count. The others are in hibernation, hooked to the charger until the big day. And that’s where you’ll go when we’re done with you here. I hear they orgasm sometimes. Well, sometimes that’s not so subtle.”

“I am done with you for now, 96-B. I must go tend to one of the other units. You’re pretty charged up; I can just power you off where you stand.”

“Wait, no!”, you think. You don’t want to be turned off here! Her eyes flash. Your systems begin powering down, one after the other. Within a second, you stand in the middle of the floor, your head drooping forwards. The tiny status lights on your implants dim. Your mind is the last system to click off.

—

Time: 545616000. A delta of 259200 seconds [3 days]. You are pulled by your controller down the hallway. She holds onto a thin metal strip which has been clamped to the mount point on your chassis, near your sternum. You are able to walk, although your limbs feel distant and abstract. Since your body doesn’t have the same sensory input as a human body, any relevant senses and proprioception information is fed back to your brain as data you must cognizantly pick apart. This makes coordination and navigation largely a cerebral activity at first. 

But, eventually, your neural network is programmed, and it becomes automatic. Perhaps a little too automatic. As you settle into a rhythm, you glide down the hallway, feeling as if your limbs are someone else’s. The heaviness and stiffness never did dissipate, a consequence of your powerful mechanical appendages. But your walking is still halting and awkward.

The controller takes off her lab coat. As she slowly removes the fabric, a gleaming cyborg body is revealed. Her body is coated with a perfectly form-fitting covering. It isn’t black or silver, but a mixture of both. Tubes snake down one arm, connecting to flat devices attached to her abdomen. Her wide hips and pleasingly domed stomach catch your eye, as well as the tiny mechanical arms mounted at the sides of her torso, 2 per side.

“You need adjustment, drone.”. The robotic appendages unfold. Small tools at the ends whir to life as she moves towards you. 

“This performance level won’t do. I have been authorized to upgrade you to something better. There’s too much flesh; too much conflict inside of you. It needs to be suppressed.”

A phallic device uncoils from her crotch as she circles behind you. She begins breathing heavily in anticipation.

“The human nervous system is too slow to retrain, and ill-equipped to manage your redesigned limbs and cybernetic organs. It will be replaced with something that suits you a bit better. Something which brings you closer to perfection.”

With those words, she plugs into your rear port. It is like any other machine plugging into your body, like being in the recharging station. That thought comforts you. As she places her rubber-coated hand over your mouth, the phallus is pushed into you as far as it can go. A flat metal ring around your rim rotates, locking the phallus into place. She moans, and the nanobot transfer begins. A cool liquid rushes as microscopic robots, submerged in a silvery stabilizing fluid, begin flowing inside of you. Her robotic arms come around to your front. One, with a small flat tool on it, wriggles underneath your left pectoral plate. Others make their way inside as well, finding their ways past the small spaces between other plate segments. Two into the right side of your abdomen, through the small cracks in your chassis– the pathways which lead to sensitive systems and flesh.

There is a fast, pulsing sensation from your rear implant: rapid but small electric zaps traversing from the port into your abdomen. You feel it up your spine. Some of them reach to the brainstem. Many would find this sensation disturbing, but you are so turned on that it only registers as a curious discomfort. 

Her other gloved hand reaches around, cupping the domed implant where your right ear was. The dome opens, allowing the thick tube snaking out of her palm into your headgear. The innermost panel in your braincase opens, letting it worm into your mind. A jarring, disorienting electric shock goes through your head. You are being programmed. New devices are being built inside your body, turning you into something closer to an automaton. This idea is not unpleasurable.

She grips you tightly. As the tools wriggle, making modifications inside your body, her heavy breathing intensifies. Her tools occasionally brush against human flesh, creating a thin, focused, tingling sensation along the path they trace. You feel the cool rush as the nanobots continue to stream into you. Her gloved hand around your mouth involuntarily squeezes your jaw as she lets out a moan. Your entire body feels pins and needles now, dissolving into pleasure. It is unbearable. Several times, you have wanted to let out a yell, but you are unable to move your mouth with her hand over it like that– not that any unauthorized sound could be produced from your voicebox anyway.

As your mind is rewritten, your eye turns to a blank stare. A small amount of silver, oily nanobot fluid spurts from your front port. 

You are ready.

Chapter 4: The Demonstration

CW: Rapid dismantling, robot deactivations. Don’t worry: They will be fixed, and reassembled, and they love it.

A hundred or so spectators file into the theater. On stage, the controller looks over the crowd, all silhouetted against the bright lights. The onlookers are an anonymous cluster of shadows. But you stand, well-lit. You are one in a lineup of androgynous cybernetic forms, all in different configurations, and in differing levels of conversion. Flanking the group are guards whose helmets conceal what lies beneath. A crosshair is projected onto their visors which displays where they are looking. Are they robots or cyborgs? Flesh with implants like you? Or, A crude mess of metal, wires, and sensors. Perhaps they are a combination of both, the biological components disfigured to accept the enhancements without regard for aesthetics or beauty. You aren’t even sure what you are classified as, given the recent and severe alterations to your mind and body.

You gradually become aware of your controller speaking to the crowd. “...it doesn’t need to sleep. It doesn’t need to stop to eat or excrete– it is entirely self contained. All it needs is to be plugged into a recharge station occasionally. “

“And, each one of these cyborgs are field-reprogrammable. We will now give a demonstration.”

A cyborg which appears to have been a male steps forward, its vacant eyes staring dead ahead, every bit under hive control as you are. You hear a periodic hissing sound as it is fed oxygen through tubes to its mouthpiece. There is a faint high-pitched electronic whine as its servos engage. It moves across the floor towards you. As it comes face to face with you, you can smell its PVC, rubber and plastics.

This maintenance drone examines you for a few seconds, then circles behind, just as the controller had done before. Its manipulator arm reaches around, coming across your torso, pulling your back against its chest. The drone raises its humanoid palm to the side of your head. Your conscious mind is alarmed. “What does it intend to reprogram me for?”, you think to yourself, thoughts racing. But your ear-dome obediently opens, betraying your fleeting feelings of resistance. The cybernetic tongue easily snakes inside you, pushing into the braincase, forming connections with what makes you you. Does the other drone desire this, or is it simply following its programming? It is a moot point– there is little difference between obedience and desire. 

The controller looks on, pleased, as your mind is further rearranged. 

And then it suddenly stops.

The drone retracts the cable into its palm, still gripping your torso with its other hand. Latches on your body open in sequence, each one audibly clicking as it disengages. Your left leg clatters to the floor. Without a signal from your spine, it aimlessly pivots at the knee a few seconds before running out of power and ceasing all motion. The right leg does the same. Your manipulator falls from the mount point in your upper arm, the tools randomly operating. Pale flesh is clearly visible around the jack on the end of the detached limb: human and machine grown together as one.

The maintenance drone pulls out. As it does, your abdomen falls in sections to the floor, one segment after the other. It is left holding just your upper chest, neck, and head, like a cybernetic bust. 

“You see, these drones are completely modular”, the controller states with pride, addressing the crowd. “Every part of them is encased in a cybernetic unit which can easily be swapped between different drones.”

The maintenance drone carries you over to a stand which has a hook and cables, and slots the hook into a mount point on your back. You hang suspended as the drone connects the cables to your jacks. The familiar cold rush flows through your body. The chemical taste in your mouth. Yet another drone begins picking your old parts up from the floor and placing them in a carrying case.

“If one component fails, you can simply pull the corresponding module from another drone, or from a supply of spare parts.”

Another drone stands to the side of your station, staring blankly. The maintenance unit you were interfacing with goes over to the drone to your side. A click is heard as the drone’s arm is disengaged from its shoulder, exposing a metallic interface. From the forearm down, the arm appears mostly human, but with two wires snaking down it like a technological caduceus. They terminate at a web-like glove covering the backs of the fingers, the wrist, and wrapping around to the palm. It has two flat, rectangular implants– one on the back of the hand, and one on the back of the forearm. The drone approaches you with the appendage and secures it to your shoulder. Nerves come to life conveying sharp, prickly sensations to your brain where the skin is exposed. It continues, removing parts from one drone and securing them to your body. Part after part snaps in until you are rebuilt. And, until the drone next to you is a hanging torso. It is still conscious, and does not seem particularly bothered by being stripped. The maintenance drone wheels it off of the stage.

She turns back to the crowd and continues, “One of the best things about these drones is that they always obey. They have no choice, nor do they desire to have a choice. No matter the demand, they will do it”. She looks over at one of the guard drones in polished black plating. Her eyes flash. The guard drone pivots towards another drone, raises its arm cannon, and aims straight ahead. They pause. The other drone stands, motionless, expressionless, dutifully accepting its fate. Suddenly, lightning crackles from the guard’s cannon and strikes the drone in the chest. With a quick whir of servos, the drone jolts, quickly taking two steps backwards, its stabilizers preventing it from losing balance. A bright web of electricity dances across its muscled plating, outwards from the impact point. Its body judders and the left leg falters. Dozens of glowing electric fingers make their way down the limbs before dissipating. Sparks fly as connections are severed and circuits fuse. Smoke begins emanating from its body. Other components are now unable to function, and the drone is aware that thousands of its systems are in a cascading failure. But its face does not register any emotion. The stabilization finally fails. The drone falls to its knees, slumps sideways, and ultimately comes to rest. It lies awkwardly crumpled. The manipulator continues to whir away for another several seconds before finally ceasing. A faint odor of ozone wafts across the stage. In your mind you hear: “Unit 97-X disconnected from hive”, the sole acknowledgement that the drone has been deactivated.

The controller pauses to let the shock of the situation sink in. She then continues with her pitch.

“Not to worry. There is rarely damage that can be done to these drones which is truly unfixable. It will be up and running again within a few hours of repairs. In the worst case scenario, the braincase is impenetrable to nearly anything, and can almost always be salvaged.“

Four drones descend on the broken cyborg. One carries a leg off. Another drone arrives, taking its place. A steady stream of drones, going to and from, carrying various parts off to be repaired or recycled. Plating. The manipulator. Cables. 

“These braincases have a backup which can keep both the electronic and biological components alive for two hours after separation from the body.”

Other smaller components that cannot be identified. An ocular implant. The top section of the headgear. Is one.. the face? 

The pitch continues, “And remember, these fully interchangeable braincases are not only useful inserted into cyborgs or humanoid robots. They can also be used as the central processing unit for large machinery, and they are also quite powerful as a processing node for distributed AI systems. Well, AI is getting a lot less “artificial” with these advances, isn’t it? Marrying the analytical and cognitive abilities of a biological brain with the cold, raw processing speed of a computer– It is one of the largest technological leaps this decade”

As the drones begin to disperse, the fate of the damaged drone comes into view. Nothing is left but a small metal spheroid. The last salvage drone picks it up and hands it to the controller. She rotates it in her hand before holding it up to the public.

“As you can see, the green LED is on, indicating the brain is still active and healthy. Of course, it is in complete sensory deprivation at the moment. Of course, some of them enjoy that. You can keep a braincase in that state or sleep their consciousness. Your choice.”

She flicks a switch on the side of the braincase and the light turns from green to blue and begins to softly pulse. Without looking away from the audience she hands the oblong object back to the drone, which carries it offstage.

You feel something. Envy? You wish to experience this level of disembodiment. Perhaps someday you will be chosen. The thought excites you.

“The next step is to hook it up to diagnostics, where you will get a detailed rundown of which regions are damaged, if any, and require a cybernetic replacement.”

“These drones are the next generation of manufacturing, surgical, rescue, repair, and military cyborgs. Their endurance and versatility is unmatched. And, as of right now, we are accepting orders for these units. You can supply a biological body for a drone order, or for a higher price we will supply one of our own bodies which have been conditioned pre-conversion specifically for popular dronehood tasks. Costs vary depending on how your chosen drone is equipped and how extensive the cybernetic modifications are. Please ask to see a pricing chart. Thank you.“

The lights dim on stage. And you are inspired to fulfill your final purpose.

[mrskurono]

title: ｆｅｒｔｉｌｉｔｙ　；| Rintarou Suna x Fem!Reader a/n: here I go again, comfort writing with Suna. And bc my notes have taken a dip and no one likes to reblog stuff anymore I’ll probably never open requests again and just write for myself  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ word count: 1.4k tags: timeskip (duh). real life situations, established relationship (your married), language, fertility issues (either Suna has low sperm count or reader has PCOS reader’s choice I didn’t specificy), medical terminology/situations, angsty, fluffy, IUI, vent writing ish, nothing bad happens just trying to get pregnant unconventionally, unedited character(s): Rintarou Suna (hq)

“As soon as you quit trying it’ll happen!”

“We didn’t even have to think about it and wow three kids later!”

“Your young don’t stress about it!”

“But you don’t look like it’s hard.”

You stare up at a mostly white wall. Textured fine and certainly not as renovated as the lobby. It still feels oddly like home even with the disposable blanket draped over your naked lower half. Perhaps what made it really feel like home was Rintarou’s hand on your thigh.

Staring long gone as your eyes drop onto the dark haired man who’s stare was directed at the closed door. He’s quiet. As always but you’re unsure to attribute it to the fact it was before nine A.M, or because the nurse practitioner said they were going to get the specimen. 

“Third times the charm you know,” Rintarou’s voice surprises you. Even though you were staring right at him. When he spoke facing away you couldn’t help but jump. His hand squeezing your thigh tight.

You’re quiet for a second. Third time was supposedly the charm. For a second you wonder how many friends, family and acquittances might have had the same thought.

A sigh leaves you and like the other attempts before you finally relax back into the exam chair, “We were in this room the first time right?”

Rintarou looks at the tapestry on the wall directly behind the two of you. Dark brows pinching a little he thinks for a second, “...I thought the first room had the quilt thing with kids hand paints on it?”

“There’s the flower one I think.” You mention the other piece of art you can vividly recall.

“Was it these or was it that flower one that looks like a vagina that was the first room.”

“Rintarou those were labias.”

“Yeah, and the other one looked like balls.”

“Oh but you remember the pussy looking one?”

“You mean labias.”

You squint your eyes at him and wordlessly mouth a mockery towards him. Forgetting for a second how nervous you were. He doesn’t forget how nervous you are though. Rintarou takes the mocking tease in stride when he bends down and presses a kiss to your scrunched forehead. Timing impeccable as always for the middle blocker as the nurse comes back in just as he stands back up.

Just like the three times before, the nurse stands with awfully ugly blue gloves on, the thickest looking catheter you ever swore you saw and papers clasped in their other hand. And just like the other times there was always a spiel to go with it all.

“Are we ready?” They looked at both you and your husband. Rintarou remained quiet but with a deep breath you nodded, “Good. Well- As always-” They hand the sealed and capped syringe to Rintarou, “You know the drill, body temp so if you don’t mind holding onto this.”

He nods. An otherworldly feeling to be holding onto what was basically the essence of his semen. But the tight grip the EJP middle blocker held it with was far more tight than any volleyball he’d ever held. 

“Here’s the papers as always,” The nurse wheeled over to your side of the exam chair in the small room, “Mobility looked great today. A 3.7 for them. Um- Unthawed at 6:34 this morning after the call, everyone looked lively in there and all there’s left to do is send them on their way! Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath. Looking at your nurse. Then looking to Rintarou. The hand on your thigh no longer there. Instead he’d taken your hand in his the second he was handed the sperm. You nod and squeeze his hand before looking at the nurse, “Third times the charm.”

There’s a faint smile on your husband’s face. Something you hadn’t seen once at these appointments. The way it tugs on the corner of his lips and Rintarou looks down at you even as someone gets between your legs, you can’t help but laugh to yourself. You’d be fucking him right now for that smile if there wasn’t KY jelly being smeared on your vaginal opening in preparation for a speculum to being inserted.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” Utter casualness as someone only a little more than an acquaintance pulls your labias back right in front of your husband.

“Breakfast probably.” You look up at Rintarou who nods, “And then absolutely nothing.”

“Oh no practice today then?” Your overly friendly nurse glances up to Rintarou as the metal dipped down into you. 

It’s uncomfortable. Certainly not something you’d ever want to add to your bedroom antics. Each touch of their glove around your bits and pieces is something your not sure you can get use to but as they crank it to latch and your left knowing your cervix is exposed as Rintarou hands them the syringe, there’s something so strange. Your not sure you have an emotion for it actually.

“I just take them off normally,” Rintarou answers the person who’s now readying a thin catheter full of your husband’s separated and washed sperm to be inserted into your uterus on a Thursday morning. And Rintarou is talking to him like he does Motoya at the end of practice like its nothing.

“A couple this morning said they were going to try the new bakery down town,” Their hand goes to your thigh to let them know they’re going to touch you, “Alright deep breath, just a little discomfort and cramp.”

This is always the time you fall silent. Eyes fixated up on the ceiling even as you death grip Rintarou’s hand. It’s not a poke. Not like a needle. It’s cramp worthy but at the same time it’s so foreign that by the time it’s all said and done. They’re tossing the empty contain into the hazard bin and taking off their gloves.

“We have a shop we really like,” Rintarou replies calmly even though you’re sure your crushing his hand, “But I think I heard of the place.”

“Well-” The nurse smiled with their fingers crossed, “Here’s to hoping I can tell you about the bakery in two weeks.” 

They of course remind you of the drill. No checking before two weeks. False positives are rampant then. You get handed the papers. Which Rintarou always takes for you as you lay there on the exam table. Told to take your time for the ten minute wait period and then feel free to get dressed and head out. And like always you thank the person who just shot your husband’s sperm directly into your cervix.

Ten minutes. Then you could leave. 

Ten minutes you might as well sit in silence.

“...third times the charm you know,” Rintarou reminds you, as well as himself, after the nurse left. Big hand still clasped over yours as you lay there on the exam table.

“...I can feel lube stuck all over me,” You grimace at the coolness. It certainly is the same lube you use at home. An attempt to make this all more light hearted at best but it quickly falls flat.

You think for a second. All that advice you’ve gotten as you both try for your first. Don’t use lube. Use lube. Don’t do it on a Tuesday. Do it on a Tuesday. Don’t eat spicy. Ok maybe eat spicy. It all filters into your mind as you lay holding your husband’s hand in the stillness of the clinic room.

Rintarou snaps you out of it when he leans over. All 6′3 of him bent in half as he rests his ear against your chest and looks up at you.  Giant ass head in the middle of your chest and looking up at you. God he looks uncomfortable like that. But doesn’t budge an inch. Instead bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently.

“Boy or girl?” You ask him the same question as the two times before.

He shakes his head. Lifting himself up to lean down and kiss your lips softly, “Doesn’t matter to me as long as it’s a baby.”

His assurance makes you sigh. Undoubtedly he was nervous too. At least here he kept it together. Though you were sure the staff probably thought your husband was a mute for the most part. You knew different. 

Reaching up you cup his face and bring him down for one more kiss, “...Here’s to the third time.”

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem! reader (pt.3)

SUMMARY: this takes place around the end of book 1 - but uhhhh I deadass don’t know how to give a summary for this without giving anything away soooo enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNINGS: mentions of death and suicide. Scars. Swearing. Non- sexual nudity. Nightmares. Panic attack ish.  mention of torture.

KEY: italics = internal thoughts & *** = flashback

OTHER PARTS:  pt1   /   pt2 /  pt4   /   pt5   /   pt6

MASTERLIST: Here!

You’d been walking in the back streets of the capital with your face turned to the sun for the past two hours. The black mask shielding the bottom half of your face hid the sigh that left your lips as you finally approached the palace.

Fucking finally.

Even though you were a Fire bender, it didn’t make it any less annoying as the sun blistered down of the completely black outfit you were wearing. It covered every piece of your skin from your neck, down to your feet. Even your scarred fingertips were hidden from the world.

As you neared the gates, they immediately began to open, inviting you in with open arms. This made you one of the few people, apart from the royal family, that didn’t need to prove their identity to get in. All the guards knew who you were and what you did for the Fire Lord, promoting you from being a prisoner to one of the most well looked after people in the entire Nation. Technically, they were never instructed to provide you with immediate access. Yet, as rumours spread throughout the palaces’ echoing halls, their fear of you doing what you did to all those people when out on missions, seemed to override those basic routines.

Normally you’d scoff at how silly it all was, the fact that they feared a 16-year-old girl almost made you feel sorry for them. As guards of the Nation they should stand with pride and confidence. You suppose that’s what happens when even though they don’t see it, they have nothing to be prideful about considering who their current ruler is. Regardless, today you appreciated their diligence, storming through the gates, and making your way straight to the throne room. You didn’t even give anyone an initial glance. You were pissed. This had been the fourth mission in a row where you were sent to take out some random high position person from some other nation. All this travelling back and forth began to get on your nerves.

Maybe it was from the heightened stress of the most recent task. This one, in particular, set you off because of the minimal information you had to take them out. All you were provided with was that they were from the Water Tribe, and had been at sea in a fleet for multiple years, taking down Fire Nation units.

Gee thanks! Give me a few weeks, and I’ll track down this mysterious person you don’t even know the name of and be on my way! Hmmm, now my first plan of action will be to flip a gold piece to decide if I should swim to the Northern or the Southern tribe to gather intel! Just you wait Ozai. I’ll take that stupid, pathetic, floppy thing you call a beard and drag you into the fire in front of your throne you piece of-

Abruptly cutting off your internal rant, you walked past the guards who immediately opened the doors to the throne room as they saw you approaching; noticing the long braid down your back alit in your raged fire. Reaching the middle of the throne room you didn’t even bother to bow, throwing a Water Tribe necklace splattered in blood to the ground. “It’s done.”

The guard closest to you hastily picked it up and climbed the stairs to hand it to Ozai for an inspection. Eyeing the tribal necklace in the guards’ hand, he made no move to take it away from him physically. Ironic how he has slaughtered so many yet refuses to get real blood on his hands.

“Prove yourself.”

You instantly provided him with the report you memorised on how you conducted the mission with details on an weekly basis. This ensured you actually went through with the assassination- you suggested that you could bring back their head two years ago, but apparently that was too gruesome to be in the presence of the great Fire Lord. There were no pauses or stutters as you rehearsed it on your journey back to the capital.

“Present the details of the savage.”

You held back a sigh, this was always your least favourite part. “The person you sent out for went by the name of Hakoda. He was of the Southern Water Tribe and Chief to one of its smaller villages. During my time undercover in the tribe, I acquired knowledge that his wife was disposed of under the assumption that she was the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe and had two children. It is also to my knowledge that his children are currently travelling with the Avatar. Through making connections with the villagers, I set out to sea in search for him and managed to gain access and trust upon the main ship when they were docked in an isolated part of the Earth Kingdom for supplies. I went under an alias of a homeless non-bending orphan from the Northern Water Tribe wanting revenge on the Fire Nation for slaughtering my parents. When it came time to dispose of him, I did so in the middle of the night after faking a nightmare, seeking him out as a father figure for comfort. I used his own weapon against him as he held me, speaking words of comfort, expressing that I was safe and how I was like a daughter to him. A daughter who would have been a great older sister to his children. During this moment of emotional weakness for him, I assassinated him before he could have even registered that I would have been an awful sister. Leaving before dawn, I made the scene look like a suicide with a letter expressing in detail how being away from his children was too much to bear.”

Ozai looked up from the necklace, satisfied with the briefing. “Hmmm, well-done y/n. Tell me, what do you know of his children?”

“Nothing of great importance other than knowledge of them travelling with the Avatar.”

“Very well, you may have a day’s rest and will be informed of your next task tomorrow evening. Your payment for your services is already in your quarters.”

You bowed knowing you were lucky he let it slide when you walked in. “Thank you, my Fire Lord.”

Exiting the throne room, you made your way to your living quarters, looking forward to the sensation of washed hair, clean clothes, and your bed.

When you finally made it back to your room, you let out a sigh of relief immediately ripping off your mask. As the years went by, nothing seemed to get easier, and nothing seemed to stop. You cherished the moments of silence, the brief period of time where the universe aligned in such a way that you were able to pretend this wasn’t your life. One mission after another, constantly lying to do what needed to be done, amid all the alias’ you made up, you wondered which one really demonstrated who you were as a person. The idea of having to settle with the Fire Lord’s personal assassin didn’t necessarily make you giddy with pride.

You made your way to the bathtub that awaited you in the adjoining room, peeling off the once breathable fabric, off your body as you went. The tub was already full as the servants went to prepare it when they heard the word of your return. You finally unravelled the braid holding your hair together, yet another symbol of the job you committed yourself to. On the first day of training, you were told that if you were caught, your affiliation with the Fire Nation should be buried with you.  

Your skin shuddered as you entered the chilled water, easing your mind that warm water would never satisfy in this Nation’s climate. You leant back with a small wince as your scarred back made contact with the tub. Growing up, it wasn’t uncommon for other assassins to have some form of physical scarring whether that be from training, a mission gone wrong, or punishment from their supervisor. In some unusual way, you were never insecure about it, only annoyed that you had to sleep in odd positions because of the sensitivity.

You began to drift, succumbing to the cool, soothing water around you. Between the stress of returning to the capital, and the stress that awaited you on your next task, you allowed yourself to let go. Free yourself of any thoughts. In your current state, you weren’t scarred. You weren’t trapped in what seemed like a never-ending cycle of duty. You weren’t anyone to anything.

As the moon began to shine through the windows into the bathroom, you woke up with a start, water splashing onto the tiles around you, your heart racing and sweat soaking the unsubmerged parts of your body. Running your hand through your hair, you fought the urge to let out an overwhelmed sob. Nightmares were a common occurrence for you, but this one settled under your skin like a scratch you would never be able to itch.

Air seemed to close in on your lungs, no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down, all you could focus on was the fact you couldn’t breathe. Hastily fumbling, and tripping as you got out of the tub, you forced yourself to reach for the first clean robe you could get your hands on. As your thoughts mixed into on jumbled heap, you desperately tried to get it together.

He believed you.

They all did, you knew it in the way that the guards struggled to hide back their expressions of discomfort as you described how you oh so easily manipulated a grown man, warrior, and chief, only to kill him.

It was a lie. All of it. Yet why did I dream of them finding out now?

You’ve never assassinated anyone since that general three years ago, and you most certainly never killed Hakoda. From the very moment you accepted the offer, you knew you’d never go through with the commissions. During the brief period when you trained and got back onto a healthy diet was when you mentally formulated how you would conduct each “killing”. It was simple, you’d carry out the mission as you normally would, but in the time you were supposed to spend working out how to dispose of them, you helped them create a new life for themselves. You didn’t bother trying to shield the truth from them, knew the Fire Lord wanted them dead. While it sent them into a panic, in the long run, it made everything a whole lot easier. They could never go by who they once were, and needed to move far, far, away from wherever they lived. The lives they once knew erased, cutting off all ties.

Idiot. Why did I have to make an exception now?

Instantly dismissing the question that wriggled its way into your head, you began to journey to the kitchens in desperate need for a distraction. You knew why you made the exception.

***

Three weeks ago, when you were on the ship with Hakoda, you did actually have a nightmare, prompting you to go out onto the deck to clear your mind. The air was crisp, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. Quickly letting out a breath of fire, you began to regulate your body temperature as you noticed Hakoda already looking out to the never-ending expanse of the ocean. As an experienced warrior, he heard you approach.

“Y/n? The moon has been out for a long time now, you should be asleep.”

Sighing, you stood next to him, joining him in looking out to the sea. “Nightmares.”

He nodded in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There was no fear in your voice as you recounted the altered memories of your torture, he already knew who you were, where you were from… what you did. All things considered; he took everything pretty well, barely holding it against you. To him, you were just a kid who was sucked into this life, making the best with what you had.

Finishing your poor recount of the nightmare, you turned to face him. “I have to go back soon. I’ve been pushing it by staying for an extra month. We need to make a plan for you to leave. You need to start a new life.”

He knew this conversation was coming ever since he managed to persuade you to help them out for a while. After all, he seemed to look straight past the wall you put up to know that you wanted Ozai’s reign to end. Despite respecting your boundaries, when you took off your mask in front everyone on board, the scar on your neck that travelled beneath your long sleeve shirt as it encompassed your hand, was enough to know that you suffered just like everyone else.

“Y/n, you know I can’t do that. My children, Sokka and Katara, they’re travelling with the Avatar right now, and I haven’t seen them since they were young. I can’t just leave and have you fake my death like that, Bato told me how much hope that knowing I’m alive brings to them! If I go and word gets out that you ‘assassinated’ me… it will crush them. Their close relationship with the worlds only hope is too much of a risk. I need them to be strong. The world needs them to be strong. I’m sorry y/n, but I can’t.”

You stared at him processing his words. Ultimately you knew he was right, but you couldn’t go back after such a long time just to say you failed. The Fire Lord would destroy you. “I understand where you are coming from. I do, but you can’t seriously expect me to go back with nothing! What do you expect me to do?! Oh, sorry Fire Brain I couldn’t kill him because something suddenly possessed me to feel bad about how his children might feel! Don’t worry, though, I didn’t care every other time I knew about other targets’ children! Unless you have some genius plan, I’m sorry, but Sokka and Katara are just going to have to suck it up. Let’s be realistic, yes, this MAY damage them and their duty to support the Avatar, but at least you can go back to them when this war is over!”

He ran his hand over his face, clearly trying to stay calm and collected. “I know, y/n. That’s why I’ve been up all night making a plan, but you’re not going to like it.”

You crossed your arms, scoffing at him. “The fact you’re suggesting something other than what I have ALREADY planned makes me not like it… but let’s hear it.”

He attempted to start with the parts of the plan he knew you’d agree on, which didn’t last long. “Well, we can incorporate some of your plans into it, that being we fake my death taking by tribal necklace back to the Fire Nation splattered in the animal’s blood. Yet everything else? We’re scrapping it.”

Biting on your tongue, you fought the urge to scream at how stupid this was sounding.

Relieved you didn’t bite back, he continued. “I’ll stay with the crew and then-“

That was enough for you to lose control. “Okay, I’m sorry did you just say you want to stay with the crew?! I am supposed to be taking out the LEADER OF THIS FLEET! If you stay with them and continue to attack vulnerable units, they will know, and they’ll have my head!”

“I know y/n! Which is why, when you’re gone, Batu will temporarily take over as captain until further notice. I, on the other hand, will only help plan the attacks stay in the background until it’s safe. Now, as for my kids, we’ll send them a letter letting them know I’m safe and hopefully a location so I can reunite with them.”

“But what if-“

“The letter gets intercepted? It’s just going to have to be a small risk.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried to bring the conversation to a less hostile level. “More often than not, there is no perfect plan. You should know that, by faking all of your assassinations since working for the Fire Lord. Which might I add, is the biggest risk you could possibly take. It will all work out in the end; trust me. But, this is your playing field, if you truly think me disappearing is the only way, then we can go ahead with the original plan.”

Sucking in a breath, you stared at Hakoda as if he grew two heads.

Did he just give me an option?

“W-what do you mean what I think?! You literally just said that you CAN’T leave your children! You gave me an alternative plan, and now you’re saying that if I disagree you’ll do as I say? That doesn’t make any sense.”

He let out a laugh, amused by your concerns. “Y/n, you have been trained in this area and executing the fake assassinations all on your own for over two years. No one knows the ins and outs of how the Fire Nation plans things like you do. If you think my plan is severely flawed and both of us are bound to get caught, I will trust your judgement in which is the best to conduct. Yes, I said that we should be thinking of my kids and the Avatar, his destiny is bigger than any of this, but everyone should be allowed to choose what they want to do, I am just allowing you to expand your options.”

With a final breath, he truly looked at you with sincerity, “I trust you y/n.”

It all seemed too much. All your life it felt like there was only one obvious pathway; do what it takes to survive. Everything he said was right, and it dawned on you that for once the decision you were about to make had two genuinely good choices. Hakoda gifted you with that privilege. Either way, you would save his life and yours. Yet you knew that the new pathway presented to you would lead you something bigger, just like he said. You couldn’t take one of the few good things away from his kids.

Overcome with emotion, you hugged him. “Thank you. We’ll do it. You need to stay.”

He hugged you back as you began to cry.

***

After spending the remainder of the night stuffing your face in the kitchens, you didn’t go back to sleep and started to train with whoever was willing until it was time to hear of your next target. By no means were you looking forward to it, but you were ready to distance yourself from the last mission as it regularly filled your mind.

I wonder if he actually put Bato in charge and stood down? Stop thinking about it y/n. It doesn’t matter anymore; you’ll never have to see him again.

As the sun started to disappear into the Fire Nations skyline, you headed for the throne room knowing you shouldn’t keep Ozai waiting.

I can’t wait to see the show he has prepared for me. I wonder how dark he tried to make the lighting this time. Ooo! Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get 20-foot flames! Then I won’t have to see his ugly beard.

Entering the room and bowing before him, you fought back a snicker as it truly felt like the room seemed darker than usual.

“Y/n, you have come a long way from being a traitor and prisoner to the Nation to one of the most valuable assets. Your next task will be the ultimate test of your loyalty to me. I have trusted and sent my daughter Azula on a mission to bring back my traitor of a brother, and my failure of a son.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Azula was no stranger to riling you up whenever you crossed paths over her brother, and you were well aware of the encounters he had with the Avatar. But not once were you brought into the dysfunctions of their family. Now all of a sudden you were formally addressed by Ozai who was mentioning these events to you? It made you hyper-aware of the scars that stretched along your left side. The only personal connection you had with Zuko.

“While she undoubtedly has my complete trust, and I do not doubt her abilities, she lacks experience. Azula does not have the knowledge of the world, and fighting styles from the other nations like you do. For that, I am entrusting you to take care of the collateral damage. If things are to go wrong, if she is faced with a circumstance hindering her ability to do her task, it is your job to finish it. Even if that means harm must come to her, the mission is the utmost priority. Should you fail, do not underestimate the consequences you’ll face if you ever step back into the Nation.”

In your best attempt to keep your composure, you replied in a cool but firm tone. “Of course, my Fire Lord.”

“Good. You leave at dawn and do not return until my daughter succeeds.”

Bowing in acknowledgement, you began to leave. But you quickly halt your movements as you hear his voice again.

“One last thing y/n. Azula is not to know that you are tracking her at any stage during her mission. You are to distance yourself, only intervening when there is no other option.”

You bow for the last time. “You have my word.”

Making your way to prepare supplies for your journey, you fight the urge to curse out the entire royal family throughout the halls.

Babysitting duty. I was tortured for eight fucking months. Trained to boredom by Zemin’s brother, Piandao, for one month, and some knock-off fire bending master for a week because he didn’t know how to control me, and went gallivanting across the nations to fake assassinations. Not only that but also assist them in making new lives for themselves, FOR BABYSITTING DUTY! ALL BECAUSE HIS SPOILED, SOCIOPATHIC DAUGHTER WITH AN SUPERIORITY COMPLEX ISN’T EXPERIENCED ENOUGH?!

In your silent rage, you make it back to your room trying to reason with yourself that you shouldn’t kill Azula the second you both cross the Fire Nation boarders.

A/N: so…. Did I have y’all in the first half? LMAO AHAHHA.

Also I really thought I was going to have the gaang in this one #fool (oopsies) I really didn’t think the hakoda portion would consume so much of the chapter :/ BUT!! They’re definitely in the next one

Thanks for reading though! On the bright side I’m (finally) on my mid-semester break!!! Woohoo! I’m so excited to wrap up this semester wowies (uni has been kicking my butt),, but this does mean I’ll have more time to write so you guys might get a chapter earlier than normal 😊 Anyway, as normal feel free to message me or leave a comment!

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@kaylove12​​ @simplyfandomish​​ @khaleesi-of-assassins​ @callums-keith​

@ilovespideyyy​ @calciumcow​ @blackhood5sos​

[anxx-arrt]

What about a gender neutral MC who is afraid of basically everything with horns? Like in the past, they got hurt by a sheep or a cow or something similar, and when the brothers turn into their demon form, they're kind of really scared or uncomfortable? Hope this makes sense! Thank you for your writing, I love it! 💓

Awwwhhh!!! This is too cute! Don’t worry it makes total sense!! 💓💓💓

MC Afraid of Horns

Lucifer

When he first saw MC cower in fear of his demon form, he simply believed that it had been because his anger or attempts of killing them.

MC and him were spending time together in Devildom when another low life demon had threatened them. Lucifer was quick to shift into his demon form to make the low life pay when he heard a yelp coming from MC. Thinking that they were hurt, he looked to them to see them covering their eyes.

He asked what’s wrong and they motioned to the top of their own head then pointed to him. He was confused at first but was able to put the pieces together easily. They were afraid of the horns. He went back to his more humane form to comfort MC.

For a while he refused to be in his demon form around MC because he didn’t want to scare them, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped with situations.

Lucifer worked with MC to try and help them get over their fear of horns by kneeling before MC and letting them slowly move their hands along his horns. He was patient and would take his time with MC making sure not to push them out of their comfort zone and if they began to get overwhelmed he would change forms and pull them into an embrace.

Mammon

At first, he didn’t pick up on this fear of MC’s. He didn’t notice the discomfort on their face when he would change and his horns would be out. So, their fear went unnoticed for quite a while before they actually said something about it.

When MC finally came to him about their fear of his horns he was very confused, how could someone fear horns. They were quick to explain the story about the cow and how their fear started.

“Ahhh... You humans are so afraid of everything!” But we all know that he cares so much. So much, that he would refuse to change into his demon form and would even fight his brothers on it for MC’s sake. He didn’t want them to get uncomfortable on his watch.

He’d be the first one to yell at one of his brothers for turning into their demon form in front of MC! Even if they were trying to use one of the brothers as a way to get over their fear of horns! Mammon obviously wanted to do that. He was their first!!!

Mammon would be a little iffy about trying to help MC get over their fear of horns and such, but he eventually would oblige if MC promised him that if they were uncomfy they would let him know. He’s happy to help.

Levithan

He would pick up on MC’s uneasy look at events, like Diavolo’s castle. He usually thought it was along his lines of being more introverted like him and decided to pull them away from all of it.

He’s quick to notice the uneasy look doesn’t go away when MC and him are in a more secluded place. His eyes fill with fear as he thinks that he’s the problem. “MC are you okay? Should I leave? Am I the problem?” Prone to thinking bad about himself, he immediately thinks he’s the problem.

MC is quick to reassure him and tell him the actual reason for their discomfort. He sighs a little sigh of relief and goes back to his more humane form before MC hugs him. His cheeks flush red from the hug, but returns it.

He understands having fears. He has many fears compared to his brothers, one of them being losing MC. He would stop transforming into his demon form because of that. He didn’t want MC to fear him and walk away.

When MC wanted his help to conquer their fear, he was a bit hesitant. But... he loves them, so he would do anything for them :)

Satan

He wasn’t someone to fear anyone or anything so he wasn’t expecting MC to have a a fear of anything either. That was until he got into a fight with some demon in Devildom.

Being the sin of wrath, he was quick to explode on the low life, bringing out his demon form. MC was quick to yelp and hide themselves from him. When his fight was over, he was confused of where MC went.

When he found them, they refused to look at him and he was put off by it. He tries to comfort the scared MC, but to no avail. He eventually asks what’s wrong and he is told about their scary uncounter with a ram.

He switches back quickly and apologizes for his mistake. With that he promises MC that he wouldn’t change into his demon form around his love.

He is happy to oblige in the efforts for MC to get over their fear of horns by kneeling before them like Lucifer and letting them do as they please with his demon form as long as they are comfortable.

Asmodeus

He invited MC to bathe with him again, and they were very used to bathing with him most of the time. Except this time, when they walked into the bathroom he was in his demon form rather then his humane form.

Not wanting to decline a bath with their favorite brother, MC awkwardly slips into the water with him and divert their eyes. Asmo notices almost immediately and starts asking questions.

MC denies until it cannot be avoided anymore. They tell him the story that sprouted their fear and Asmo transforms back into his humane form and is quick to comfort you and apologize.

“Fear and stress causes wrinkles, MC darling!” He pulls them out of the bath and treats them to a gentle skincare and self care night, making MC feel better from before.

He is the first to fully refuse in helping MC because he doesn’t want to hurt them and cause early aging in skin :( but he eventually agrees after MC lectures him on how they both can spend the rest of the night doing self care routines.

Beelzebub

It was rare to see Beel in his demon form, aside from that one time MC and Mammon messed with his custard. Other then that it was a no, but nothing keeps Beel from the food MC makes for him.

MC had made Beel cookies and went on a little walk with him to let them cool. When the two returned, the other brothers had eaten his cookies and that made him flip the switch into his demon form.

MC sees that and quickly hides behind the counter in the center of the kitchen. Beel notices this and tries to help them up, but eventually just picks them up. MC reacts by bursting into tears. Horns too close.

Beel almost has a heart attack, poor boy. MC tells him their fear and he’s quick to comfort them after switching back to his alternate form. He pulls MC into a bear hug and spends the rest of the day being very gentle and sweet. He won’t let MC see his horns again.

When MC wants to conquer their fear, Beel immediately shakes his head not wanting to scare them or make them cry again. MC eventually convinces him and he’s probably more scared then them. Baby. Baby boy.

Belphegor

Belphie is never in his demon form anymore, but sometimes switches to his demon form depending on what dream he’s having and once while MC and him are cuddling, it happens and it freaks MC out!

They are quick to scream and push Belphie off of them and fall to the floor. All of this commotion waking Belphie up a bit. He groans, “Why’d you gotta wake me like that?” MC points to the top of his head and he feels his horns.

Belphie’s eyes fill with fear and questions about if he hurt MC or not. They had an interesting past with him when he hated humans and Belphie wanted to make things right and never hurt them again. He changes back and is quick to apologize and hide under a blanket, embarrassed.

MC climbs back on to the bed and pulls the blanket away while explaining their fear and the run in with a bull a few years ago. Belphie is relived to know that he’s not the problem and pulls MC into his arms to cuddle again.

Belphie, when cuddling with MC, tries to stay semi-conscious so he doesn’t flip the demon switch. Otherwise he is never really in that form. When MC wants to get over their fear with his help, he makes sure he’s fully conscious just in case MC gets too overwhelmed.

~~~

Ahhh thank you again!! My asks are open right now if anyone is interested in getting all brother headcannons or writing for individual brothers!! Ciao!

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// the king of roses. oikawa tooru //

Request: is it to late to ask for a part 2 of The King oikawa fic 👉👈

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: yes i’m bringing back throne room thursday for one day, what about it also who was going to tell me that my irls were toxic as shit or was i just supposed to find that out on my own?

PART I. II.

“Are you sure about this?  It’s not going to be a ball or anything grand, you know.  There won’t be any gourmet food or world-class champagne or-”

Oikawa laughs, smoothing out the silken fabric of his shirt as he turns to look at you.  “I know that, Y/N.  It’s a town festival, trust me, I don’t have the highest expectations when it comes to this outing.  I just want to experience at least one of them.  You made it sound so fun and going would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

You stood to the side of the grand foyer, awkwardly adjusting your gaze as you shifted in your spot.  You hadn’t been to a festival in many years, since you were a young girl, actually.  You had grown to miss the atmosphere of the cobblestones glowing under the light of candles and the cool touch of the moon, the way that the band could barely be heard over the laughter and conversations of people packed tightly onto the square, the smells of food wafting into your nose that could make your mouth water at the mere thought of a single bite.  You can only bring yourself to nod.  Yes.  It would.

After months of living by his side, trapped in a loveless marriage with the enemy of your now-fallen kingdom, you can’t remember the last time that you had felt that wave of sun that came with being happy.  Everything that had made you happy had been ripped from your clutches and you weren’t even able to say goodbye to the life that you had known.  You had been brought here and forced to marry a man that you didn’t love, that you could never even see yourself loving, things that he knew and had known for a while.  You didn’t love him.  You didn’t want a single thing to do with him, yet he persisted.  Oikawa Tooru had chef’s cook you dishes that were known to your region, he had gardeners import the roses that your home was known for and they now grew happily alongside the beautiful carnations of the Riveria Kingdom.  

It was like he was asking for the impossible, really.  He could’ve lived with you never being in love with him, hating him until your last dying breath, yes, he had faced much worse in his short time as a king.  He just wanted one smile, a real one, one that didn’t just ghost your lips at a memory, one that stretched all the way to your eyes and lit up your face better than any light ever could.

Oikawa offered his arm to you, an invitation to hold onto him to at least maintain the front of a happy royal family while you both made the walk to the town center.  But, it was only ignored, leaving both to trail along in silence and a sense of discomfort that hung in the air heavier than the humidity of a summer’s day.  Each question he asked was only answered with short words, brief and curt.  Your hatred for him still burned in your chest, but even he noticed that your sharp tongue had dulled.  Maybe it had just become exhausting or maybe you just didn’t even care to let him know that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore, instead choosing to lock yourself away during the day, only appearing before him for meals when you would offer the same short responses as you did now.  

It was only when the lights were flickering clearly in front of you and the sounds of music could be heard did you take up his arm.  The whole of the kingdom had a hard enough time finding something to like about their young king, they didn’t need to know about his failure of a marriage behind the castle doors as well, something that both of you agreed on.  It was just better for the public image to put on fake smiles when the two of you needed to appear in public together, but yours was wiped from your perfectly painted lips faster than he could comprehend the minute you were secure in the privacy of the palace walls once more. 

Quiet whispers echoed through the crowd at the first sighting of the two young royals emerging from the evening, arm and arm.  Tooru raised in hand in greeting, his polite smile on his lips as his subjects fell to their knees in his presence.  “Now, that’s not necessary.  We’re here to have a good time, just like the rest of you.  There’s no need to be formal with us,” Tooru says, his clear voice carrying easily over the crowd, but his smile falters as he sniffs the air.  “Do you smell that?  Pork buns?”

“Yes, your highness.  My wife makes them fresh just for these festivals.”

“Well, I’m quite hungry, aren’t you?”  He turns to you and you’re nearly taken aback.  Handsome.  It was a word that you have long used to describe Oikawa Tooru.  Even if he carried the painful weight of his predecessor’s crimes and the stress of dealing with a massive kingdom’s daily upkeep, he had always been handsome with a strong physique and perfectly sculpted features.  But, cast in the warm glow of candlelight bouncing off of cobblestone, his kind eyes only appeared to be swimming in pools of caramel and honey as he stared at you, waiting patiently for your answer.  

“Yes.  I would love to try them.  They smell fantastic,” you stumble out only to leave him laughing at the way you shrank against him in embarrassment at your delayed response.  

“I can get those for you, your highness!  You enjoy the festival with the queen and I can find you when they’re ready!”

Tooru nodded towards the townsperson.  “Thank you.  That’s very kind of you.  Come, darling, we have plenty to see before the night is over.”

He tugged you along the outskirts of the festival, taking his time to fully examine what each of the vendors had set up.  There was a man selling mead by the pint.  Tooru offered him two gold pieces, asking if that would cover everyone’s drinks for the rest of the evening.  The woman selling the most wonderful smelling tarts couldn’t stop laughing at how absolutely amazed Oikawa was that she could make lemon taste so good, asking for her recipe so he could pass it along to his own chef at the palace, because he “wanted to eat this every night” for the rest of his life.  An elderly couple had hand-woven shawls, explaining that they used scraps of the fabrics that were used to craft the clothes they sold in their shop.  Tooru couldn’t keep his hands away from the beautiful red one that had touches of silver thread woven in.  It was just so soft and he was more than sure that it would be perfect for the chilly nights when he liked to sit out on his balcony.  He let you pick one out for yourself, laying two more gold pieces in the man’s hand before wishing him a pleasant night. 

But it was the kind man selling flowers that caught your attention.  Like you were in a dream, you drifted away from Tooru who had found himself pre-occupied by a group of young gentlemen, laughing as they told him stories of their travels and their lives.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they, your highness?”

“They’re stunning.  I didn’t know that you could grow Aster daisies here.” He smiled at you, offering one of the blue flowers out to you.  “It’s not easy, but with enough tender care, anything can grow.  Those roses that your husband grows around the castle?  Difficult beauties.  They’re more suited for the mountainous regions.  I’ve tried countless times to get those pesky roses to grow here, but they just don’t like the moisture we have here, but our king has paid special attention to get those to thrive.  It’s brilliant, really, how much care he put into getting those flowers to bloom.  My wife and I used to be able to see him out in the mornings, down by those rose bushes, constantly checking and preening away.  I don’t think he trusted a damn soul anywhere near those things- can’t remember a time that I saw anyone else but him near them.  I’d like to cross them with our carnations.  They could make something beautiful, I’m sure.”

But you didn’t hear him, your gaze had been swept up towards the gates of the palace where in the daylight you would’ve been able to see the bright blossoms of the roses that were everywhere in your youth, the flowers that reminded you of home and how every room in the castle would smell like fresh roses and how someone would ask at the end of each week, what color roses you would like for your room.  You always chose the white ones that someone smelled sweeter than the others, the same white roses that now grew in front of your new home.  You were lost in the thought of all the times where you would sit across from your husband at breakfast and there would be just the trace present of dirt underneath his fingernails and yet, you never bothered to ask what from, simply choosing to ignore his questions and push any attempts of conversation away.  Oikawa Tooru had done what seemed impossible all for you to have the barest sense of home that he could provide.  Arrangements of white roses and pink carnations adorned the table every day and yet, you could never look past the anger in your heart to see the way that his eyes only looked at you with every ounce of adoration he could muster, wanting nothing more than for you to be happy here, to be happy with him.  

“They’re lovely flowers, really.  Thank you.  I will be sure that my husband knows of your excellent work.  I’m sure he would love to talk to you about his roses,” you say, giving a shallow curtsey before weaving through the crowd to find that mop of brown curls that were always tossed back in a hearty laugh.  As much as you wanted to take your grudge against his father out on him and as much as he just stood there and took each cold word, he had put so much work into trying to make everything as comfortable as possible for you.  He put himself on the back burner all for you and if he put so much care into making you sure that you could bloom in full beauty just like those roses that twined together with carnations, then maybe-

“Tooru.”  The sound of his name had his laughter halting as he turned to face you, concern scrunching his brows in a silent question, but they quickly raised in shock when you took his face between your hands, pulling his head down to place your forehead against his as he let his own hands sit on your waist.  “I want to be happy. I want to be happy with you. And- and I know that I’ve made it hard, but with enough care, anything can grow and I want to grow with you.”

[ardentmuse]

Rogue Choices - Prologue (Kingsman x Reader)

Kingsman - Harry Hart x reader, Eggsy Unwin x Reader, Merlin (Hamish) x Reader  (you decide!)

Summary: As a new agent, Arthur gives you your last big assignment before you are approved to run missions on your own, only this time you get to pick your partner. And who says you can’t mix business and pleasure.

Wordcount: 5.8k (and this is just the intro!)

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, talk of violence

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(Note: I started this a long time ago but had to pause because Twine was doing weird things. It’s meant as a fully interactive piece, but I think we can make it work here on tumblr and AO3 with different chapter links. So I’m putting it out into the world to see if you all like it!)

PROLOGUE

Two strong raps on the door grant you a gentle, “Come in.”

As you turn the handle and enter, the smell of old books and polished wood fills your nostrils. Arthur’s office is a proper executive space. Shelves are lined with old tombs that must have been passed down for generations. The rich, plush Persian rug is worm upon the edges from years of use, but still draws the eye with its vibrant reds and subtle blues. Two large and striking leather wingbacks rest before a sturdy walnut desk, at which sits a patient Arthur, who doesn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the files before him as he hears you enter.

“Agent Kay, please take a seat.”

You do as you are bid, leaning back into the worn leather to take in the countenance of you boss. He seems tired, the grey hair of his eyebrows coming together as he squints at the documents before him. But even with the slight bags under his eyes, he is still the image of a proper gentleman. His collar is expertly pressed and his turtle shell glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, just as you imagine Churchill’s might have.

After a few moments, he shuffles the papers aside and levels his eyes with yours.

“It seems you received the memo that I needed to see you?”

You laugh, “Your assistant nearly tackled me as I left lunch.”

“Eager kid, that one. He’ll make a good agent someday, too,” he muses, and then with a wry smile adds, “Much like you.”

“I’m already an agent, Arthur.”

“But mayhaps a good one given time,” he says, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly in challenge.

You haven’t been a secret agent long, having earned the title only a few months prior. The selection process to join the Kingsman was grueling to say the least, but you had been Arthur’s hand picked candidate. Only upon your recruitment did you understand just how much Arthur, a second father to you in so many ways, had primed you from your youth for this very role you doesn’t even know existed.

But nothing, not even Arthur, could have prepared you for the stress of being a Kingsman agent out in the field. Taking down the world’s most harrowing criminals, dismantling sex trafficking rings and stopping terrorist attacks takes a toll on the mind and body. Death is constantly right beside you, a single word or a single misstep enough to reveal your identity and get you killed. The work of Kingsman is highly classified, incredibly dangerous, and outside the bounds of traditional justice. You are a ghost, a guardian angel just outside the realm of men, leaving only vague notions of what could have been: a newspaper headline, a five o’clock story on Radio 4, a traffic jam or a flight delay. Ignorance is bliss as they say, but you now know the dark underbelly, the secret of which is the source of bliss for so many.

You sigh and hold your hand against your thigh to stop yourself from fidgeting. The shoulders on your suit, the well-fitted tweed of our Kingsman uniform, seem to tighten as Arthur continues to stare at you, waiting for your protest.

“What are you getting at?”

Arthur laughs as he pivots in his chair and presses on the spine of a book behind his desk. Instantly, the two shelves pull forward and slide to the sides, revealing an entire wall of flat screens and holograms projecting outward. You can’t make out all the details but the lower corner contains a building schematic and the top right shows the animated, scowling face of whom you can only assume is your organization’s latest target.

“Andrej Jankovic. Former Russian operative now based in Cyprus, leading what we’ve learned is the largest money laundering ring in the world. We’ve been tracking him for months, but,” he stops talking to focus on the movement of his fingers, swiping away spreadsheets to pull up live surveillance footage of the target, “As you can see, he covers his tracks very well.”

You watch on the screen as the man sips coffee in a small café. Four different cell phones lay out before him, concealed under the newspaper through which he flips lazily as he takes in the sea just outside the window. He is younger than you expect for such high crimes, with not a wrinkle in sight upon his face. His dark hair is long and flung haphazardly to one side but his facial hair in contrast is shaven with precision, just outlining his harsh jawline. He is striking in that brooding sort of way, long Roman nose and chiseled muscles. You might consider him handsome in a different life where your mind isn’t trained to notice the harshness of his brow or how quickly his eyes narrow with disdain each time someone new enters his vision.

“He is certainly… something,”

“Killed three people just yesterday for using checks,” Arthur throws your way as if that is something to marvel.

You swallow, still not comfortable with just how common death is in your new line of work.

“He’s ruthless and calculating, incredibly thorough and uncommonly intelligent. We’re never going to catch him with paper trails alone. There won’t be any. And simply taking him out leaves the whole rest of the corrupt network up and running. We need names.” Arthur swivels in his chair so he is facing you once again, resting his elbows upon the wood of his desk with a thud. “And I think you can get them.”

“Wait, really? You’re trusting me with this?”

You feel your jaw go slack. Biggest money launderer in the world, and Arthur thinks you can handle it? These past few months have felt like a probationary period, working alongside other agents, cleaning up their messes and assisting in communications and research. Your field time has been limited to sitting in corners of crowded rooms, observing more senior agents doing the hard work.

Arthur raps his fingers against the stack of papers before him.

“I think he’ll take kindly to you. If our intelligence is correct, he’ll be most susceptible to your…”

“Charm?” you insert.

“At least more than that of any other agent,” Arthur confirms. “Now don’t misunderstand me. It is not my intention to send you out alone. You will need a partner. Consider this your last test before I set you loose, Kay.”

Arthur picks up papers before him, writes quickly on a post-it that he places on the top of the stack, and then thrusts his arms forward to you.

“You have until tomorrow night to select a partner and review this research material. The jet leaves Friday.”

He doesn’t have to dismiss you with words. The way he pivots his body back to the screens behind him is signal enough that your questions will only be addressed after you thoroughly review the case.

And so you stand and make your way back into the labyrinth of the Kingsman manor to begin to wrap your mind around your new mission.

Just as the door closes behind you, a voice calls almost directly into your ear.

“Our mighty leading givin’ you a hard time, there, newbie?”

With a shocked puff of breath, you pivot on your heels to see the broad chest and shoulders of Eggsy just inches from your face. He is reclining casually against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest matching the cross of his ankles, all casual and cool. The cheeky grin upon his face, showing you those pristinely white teeth, lets you know your startled response is exactly what he was hoping to see.

“You’re never as alone as you think you are, my love,” he purrs with a rub of his palm into your shoulder, stilling the jump of your body at his appearance. “Rule number one of this spy gig.”

His deft hands make calculated movement against your collarbone, each brush bringing just the tip of his fingers against your pulse point, as though trying to discreetly test how much his proximity is impacting you. Your body goes stiff at the sensation, not in fear or discomfort, but in confusion. Eggsy smiles that disarming smile of his. He leans forward, his mouth finding a place beside your ear.

“You know, I think I still have quite a bit to teach you.”

The feel of his breath combined with the gentle graze of his nails against your throat make your breath hitch, goosebumps running down your chest. You hate how clear your responses are to these sorts of flirtations and so you divert your gaze to the place where the tips of his oxfords are pressed against your shoes.

At your lack of response, Eggsy drums his fingers across your shoulder, tickling you. You laugh and pull back slightly, enough to actually take in his features: his jaw, sharp and square and his skin kissed with just a tint of sun, his blue eyes glowing with humor behind his glasses. And with that last realization, you sigh. He is right. You are never as alone as you think, especially at Kingsman, with those silly glasses recording almost every interaction for Merlin or whomever to review at their convenience.

“You know, it seems everyone thinks I still have much to learn.”

Eggsy gives you a quick slap on the back, pulling his body fully from yours.

“That’s what big boss man is on you about?” he says as he begins walking down the hall, leading you out of the offices spaces and back towards the communal agent quarters. “Ill-timed joke, then. My bad, love.”

As you turn the corner into the grand stairway, you notice the chasm between your bodies. Eggsy is two steps in front and his feet light, tossing a look back towards you as he continues his talking, as if he wasn’t just holding his body only inches for your own, running his calloused fingers across the sensitive flesh of your neck and raising your blood pressure, not just giving you dazzling smiles and teasing your earlobes with his hushed breaths. That is Eggsy, flirtation and friendship, on and off, hot and cold, and always just enough honesty in his eyes in those moments to make you question which is the act.

After a long walk through parlors and the kitchens, laughing about your dogs and the antics that came out of the latest team meeting, you find yourself standing in front of the control room with the majority of your tension about your mission lost somewhere in the depths of your brain.

“Now this is where I leave you,” Eggsy says.

You turn with a huff to your friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me Merlin sent you to find me?”

The corner of Eggsy’s mouth turned upward in that too-seductive half-smile he had perfected somewhere between you first meeting him and right now,

“You’re much more fun when you aren’t stressing about work.” His eyes scanned from your body, slow and intentional, until his gaze came to rest on your lips, now just slightly parted from his clearly heated evaluation. He smiled at your response. “Much more fun.”

You shake your head at him, always the tease.

“You really believe I would have had you laughing after Arthur had you down if your mind had also been churning on what Mr. Stoic McSeriousface wanted with you?”

You pout. Eggsy knows of your friendship with Merlin, the tech head for your organization. You know he is just trying to get a stir out of you.

But before you can answer, Eggsy moves forward. You step back and find the door pressing against your back.

“You’re going to be the death of me with that pout, you know.”

After a silent beat between you, the air growing thicker as you stare each other down, Eggsy leans forward, raising his hand the way he sometimes does to brush stray hairs from your face. But instead, his hand moves beyond your shoulder, making contact with the wood of the door. He knocks hard and heavy.

“Enjoy being bored to death, peaches,” he whispers to you before slinking down the hall.

Eggsy turns the corner just as Merlin opens the door to his workspace. You take note of his expression as he looks down the hall. It really is stoic, but when his face sets upon you, it immediately changes into something soft and inviting, encouraging even.

“Kay, glad you’re here.” He opens the door a little wider and then continues, “Come in.”  

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” you say as you move into the tech space, Merlin following closely behind.

You throw yourself down on the vintage Eames lounge chair that sits in the corner of the room, placing your stack of papers on the floor as you allow yourself the joy of reclining deeply into the headrest.

Merlin pats the footrest as he passes by, inviting you to relax. He moves towards his desk, computer, and all the hundreds of gadgets that are organized upon the shelves beside.

“So, what do you have for me?” you ask as you follow through on Merlin’s request to fully recline yourself. “Details on Jankovic?”

“Yes, and no,” he says, not meeting your eyes. He takes a seat and begins typing away.

The rhythmic ping of keys give you a moment to truly observe the man before you. Merlin is a striking, almost imposing, figure in appearance. He is tall and lithe, in complete control of each moment, in a way that conveyed a refined elegance to some and a rigid intent to others. His face is a masculine stone, like a sculpture of a Roman general, piercing in its seriousness. But he brings life to the features that you love: soft hazel eyes, busy dexterous hands, and a smooth Scottish accent that makes even the sweetest words from his mouth sound husky.

After a moment, he continues on, “Jankovic has a well-trained team and multi-layered cyber systems. His security, virtual and physical, is nearly impenetrable. I do believe I have found a few exploitable flaws, almost all of which require work on the ground to hijack. If we don’t go that route, I have managed to mirror the controls for the security system at the hotel he owns in Limassol, so I will be able to be of assistance once you land.”

You stand and move beside his desk. He has months of logs, meticulously organized and color-coded and tabulated, certain sections highlighted in red, denoting times of lower security or routine system upgrades. His work, just like him, is precise and detailed.

You lean down over his shoulder to take in the schematic of the hotel, several floors of suites and an entire rooftop entertaining space. Your mind conjures images of the ocean and soft sand beaches that are visible just below, the salt air and the setting sun filling your slowly numbing senses as you sip on your second cocktail and a stunningly handsome man runs his hands down your spine to the soft of your back.

But the strong scent of cedarwood and bergamot that you know to be Merlin bring you back to the present. Or maybe it aids in the fantasy.  When he reaches over to rest his hand on your back, pushing you forward slightly to watch the tiny dots he is pointing at with his other hand, you know where your mind got those ideas in the first place.

“I’ve discovered some patterns here that I think we can exploit, unless of course you decide making your presence known to the target is a better option.”

His fingers never leave your back as he speaks.

“Stealth or charisma,” you muse, “Just like a video game.”

“If so, your video games are quite limited,” he laughs. His fingers slide across your back as he rolls his chair to the other side of the room. You feel the absence most acutely.

“I’d hope there’d at least be some intelligence or combat in these skill trees of yours.”

His fingers run over the lock in the shelving. You hear a click and then the draw opens to reveal a pristine case containing three weapons you have yet to see, each encased in foam and glass like priceless works of art.

“Perhaps some lock-picking?” he turns and offered you a smile.

“I’ve definitely maxed out my luck, at least,” you say with a tilt to the draw of weapons, each more beautiful than the next.

“And enchantment, if I may be so bold,” his words are to the drawer of weapons and not your face, but your mind fills in his devastating lip bite and the thought has you melting and feeling the shyness creep over you.

The silence hangs between you two as Merlin flicks the lock on each case.

Finally with a deep breath, he says, “My latest prototypes. You’ll need all the protection you can get on this one, Kay, so take your pick.”

“Can’t I take all of them?”

Merlin turns and shots you a look so deadly, you feel the air leave your lungs.

“And risk you losing all my hard work? Never.”

His eyes are piercing yours, wearing you down, but you try your best to hold your ground.

“I’m quite trustworthy, Hamish,” you say with a gentle bit of your lip.

“First names, now? You jest, my dear,” he says with a narrowing of his eyes that let you know he likes the words more than he wants to admit. “Now pick.”

You feel the weight of the weapon in your hand, bouncing it a little to get comfortable.

“This one. I like this one,” you say finally.

Merlin shuts the drawers and turns to you. “And it likes you, too, Kay. Very fitting.”

You can’t help but smile at his praise. Eggsy is wrong, you know. Merlin isn’t so much serious as he is careful about his work.  You enjoy the lightness he shares with you, even if it is intercut with professional talk.

“Thank you, Merlin,” you say as you holster the weapon and grab your papers.

“You’re welcome.” Merlin’s head already back in his computer and typing away.

As you reach for the door, he calls you once more.

“And Kay?”

You turn to offer him your full attention and are struck by how serious he looks, the hard lines of his face all completely turned to you and his chin dipped in a soft reverence that you hope is reserved for you alone. His voice takes on that husky quality as he breathes out the next words.

“I know you’re a little overwhelmed right now, but you are among us for a reason. You’re a capable agent, Kay. Please don’t forget that.”

For a man who often shrugs off sentimentality, he manages to find just the right words to build you up and make you smile. You feel a tiny wave of pleasure course through you, easing a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. With a curt nod, the sweetness of the moment lost, he returns his eyes to the screens beside him.

You sit in the study, the fire roaring beside you, as you pour through each meticulous document that Arthur gave you. Just skimming these papers alone is going to take you all the way to your flight and then some, and that doesn’t include the time you need to devise a plan, select a partner, and prep for execution. But none of those other things can happen until you wrap your mind fully around your mission. And if that means sitting here well into the morning, transcribing and memorizing and organizing, then that is what you are going to do.

You hear the clink of porcelain upon the table beside you. A mug of tea is now perched among your discarded notes, the steam cloud in the lamplight.

“Thought a pick-me-up might be in order,” Harry, your mentor and fellow agent, says above you as he moves to the other side of the room, carrying his own mug and his own papers, though his take the form of the news, several morning editions stacked together, a few in languages in which you weren’t aware Harry had proficiency.

With the flick of his wrists, Harry opens the top paper, but unlike his usual routine of reading through the headlines and major political scandals, Harry turns towards the back, folds the paper in half, and pulls out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You take a long sip of the tea he provided you, and are pleased to discover it isn’t his usual nighttime blend but a proper English brew, one that will provide you enough caffeine to get your through this work. If Harry is anything, it certainly is thoughtful.

You work in silence for fifteen minutes or so, Harry’s long legs elegantly crossed as he relaxes himself against the couch. He drums the end of the pen upon the tuffs of the Chesterfield. You can’t help but think about how, in the past six months, you had already fallen into a pleasant routine with these men you called your colleagues. Lunch with Eggsy, briefings and shooting practice with Merlin, and long nights, just like tonight, sitting beside Harry and working in companionable silence. With Harry, words are rarely needed. He is a man whose company creates an aura of calm that penetrates even the most intense of moments. The few missions on which you have accompanied him were smooth, efficient endeavors; they left you feeling confident and poised even by comparison to arguably the most poised man you have ever met.

“Attractive, eight letters, third letter is most likely a ‘g’,” Harry asks into the air.

You lift your head from a giant list of innocuously named shell corporations to consider his question.

Engaging? Magnetic?

“Hmmm,” he muses, scribbling upon the paper, “Thank you, darling.”

You only get a few more minutes of silence before he is piping up again.

“Unstable, six letters, last letter ‘y’.”

Wobbly? Flimsy? Shifty?

“Perfect,” Harry whispers over his swift pen strokes. The roar of the fire by now was dying down, the pleasant crackle of embers scenting the room in hickory and smoke. You find yourself fighting the exhaustion that is coming over your body at the sheer comfort of your company and the ambiance the room provides.

Not thirty seconds pass by before Harry is calling your way once more.

“To proceed, four let-“

“Harry, are you trying to distract me from my work or is this crossword collaborative?”

Harry folds the paper shut and places it firm upon his lap. His eyes shift upward slowly, from your feet to your eyes, pausing upon the stack of papers spread out around you on all sides before he finds his way to your face. Harry’s lips curl into a soft smile, one that is made all the more precious by the way the fire’s reflection upon his face. He rubs at the bridge of his nose as he debates his words.

“I wouldn’t call it distracting as much as helping,” he finally decides, picking up the paper as he takes soft steps towards you.

Soft, that is the best word to describe Harry. Gentleness and patience and softness are what you associated with him most. Sure, you have seen his skills, watched him turn into a ruthless hit-man as the situation called for it, powerful and strong and confident. But the instant the bodies laid still before you, Harry’s steps grew light again. As he reached out his hand in serenity, kindly lifting you to your feet, brushing debris from your hair and asking in a whisper if you are safe.

“I’m not so sure how not doing my work is going to help me do my work,” you say as Harry pulls the footstool out beside you to sit. His back is perfectly straight despite the lack of support and you wonder if you body would ever be trained with the same precision as the seasoned agents you so admire.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. He sits the newspaper down on top of your papers, covering up all your notes and drawing your focus to the absence of notes on his actual page. Nothing exists in the boxes, only in the margins and you notice how peculiar it appears.

“See, darling, this is you right now, taking each individual note and trying to assess it alone. If I went bullet by bullet through this crossword puzzle trying to figure out what it meant by every single word clue or question mark, I would have half the puzzle wrong.”

Harry is leaning over the newspaper now, his head awfully close to your own. The fluff of his brown curls are brushing lightly against your forehead. Despite the tickling, you don’t pull away.

Harry’s voice is low, requiring you to lean in. He wants this proximity. For what purpose, you don’t let you mind assume.

“Some clues like this one,” he says, pointing to 20-across ‘Author Silverstein,’ “Are easy to solve without context.” His hand moves to write the first bit within the puzzle: ‘shel.’

“But others,” he moves his pen to point at 4-down, ‘To proceed,’ and the three words he has written beside it: sail, toil, and till. Somehow his brain did the puzzling work of realizing long ago that the ‘l’ in ‘shel’ was the necessary fourth letter. “ Others require much more context.”

“And even still, some may seem to require context,” he says, pointing to the clue, ‘display of glee,’ which had nothing scribbled beside, “But actually require none at all, just experience and foresight.” And with that note, he moves quickly to the tiny space to which the clue corresponds and without checking anything else, writes ‘jig’ in large, bold, capital letters.

“Now how do you—“ you went to protest, but Harry interrupted you.

“Because it’s always jig. I know it could be ‘hah’ or ‘lol’ but it isn’t. It is always jig. There aren’t many other ways to get ‘j’s into the puzzle. Do a few crosswords and you don’t even have to finish reading the clue. That and emu. And Nave. V’s are tricky buggers, too.”

You sigh, “But I don’t have the experience to see the ‘j’ and the ‘v’ in our spy work yet. I just see the Silversteins and the capitals of France and the 2017 Best Picture winner.”

Harry’s hand reaches out to rub against your knuckles, comforting and supportive, “But, darling, you do. Every puzzle has a theme. Every target has his preferences. Find what is distinctive, what is rare. Trust your gut to see what doesn’t fit, what needs to be there because it can’t exist any other way. “

Harry lifts up the newspaper, revealing your workspace once again. He links his fingers with yours as he allows his free hand to run along the stack of papers before you.

“Scan,” he says, slow and emphatically. He lifts the stack like a book and flicks, one page each second with a satisfying click and swipe.

The first few pages go by with a blur. By the tenth, you are pulling out only a handful of words, though those words seem to make a story anyway: Ancoria, Konstantinos, $9,999, Ltd.

“Stop!” you say upon the sixtieth page or so. Harry’s hand grips yours a little tighter, sending a warm jolt down your spine. You see him smile out of the corner of your eyes at your apparent discovery.

“What do you see?” he asks, his shoulder brushing yours as he leans in. The rough wool of his jacket brushing against your bare arm is a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of his palm that still pressed firmly into your own.

You use your free hand to point to the third transaction line.

“All the previous shell companies had Greece mythology names. Scylla, Nyx, Calliope. But this one is Roman: Decima. At least I think it is,” you bit your lip a little realizing this may be a stupid thing to call out, “But even if it isn’t, it doesn’t seem right. This also seems to be the only shell company for which we have names of the board of directors.”

Harry takes his pen and circles Decima with three big spins. He underlines each of the names listed on the board below and pulls the paper out of the stack and up to the top.

He draws his hands away from yours to close the pen and collect your stack together once more. He plops the newly assembled stack before you and makes to leave you. But as he stands with one knee against the footrest upon which he had been sitting, he hovers his body over you, his proximity doing little to help with the already intense heat of your skin from the fire. He leans forward and grazes his lips gently upon your forehead. As he pulls away, his hand finds your chin and he meets your gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile before turning and walking swiftly out of the room, his newspaper abandoned to your pile.

With a renewed vigor, you dive deep into the papers, determined to see the odd inconsistencies that might provide context for the more common practices. As you continue to sip on your tea, you notice the cup had refilled and rewarmed itself. You never heard Harry enter the room at all.

The following morning, you wake with the sun. Little sleep had happened in the past day but you feel refreshed regardless. The long hours you had put in the night before resulted in quite a bit of relevant information and three distinct methods for tackling Jankovic, each with its merits and its challenges. But you are feeling confident for your meeting with Arthur, at least you were last night. This morning, you need to eat your breakfast and review your notes before providing your supervisor with your planned course of action.

You lift yourself from the plush comfort of your bed, the biggest benefit of spending the night at the manor, and walk towards your desk, which now is a much more organized collection of research: three distinct piles with three hand-written mission plans upon each.

You pull the blanket along with you, cocooning yourself as you sit at the desk and review your plans.

The first is a traditional approach: the honey-pot. In Andrej’s personal history, he has displayed a clear preference for your physical features. And even more, he has had no steady partners, just a series of lovers, all of whom were affiliated with other men simultaneously. In your time at Kingsman, it had already become clear that the type of people you took down got enjoyment out of breaking more than just the law.

Eggsy is the perfect partner for this plan. His flirtatious personality and social skills mean he can easily convince a group of people that you are a couple. With the gala at the hotel on Saturday, all it would take is a little skin and some well-placed winks on your end for Andrej to want to tempt you away from your handsome partner. And while you entertain Andrej’s attentions, Eggsy would be open to sneak into the depths of Andrej’s personal estate and gather what information was needed to take him down. Sure, this plan puts you right in the belly of the beast and therefore in the most direct line of danger, but it also gives you the best chance to adapt to new information and go with the flow.

The second plan is significantly less risky but requires more planning. A covert invasion of his security detail and hijacking of his automated banking systems would provide you all the information you needed to tear down the entire network. With Merlin’s mirror, you could cut down power to the hotel, sneak into the basement offices undetected, and bug and download what you needed. With Merlin, this plan could be flawless, with you using your combat background to take down the guards and his tech skills ensuring a full system overhaul without a trace. You would still need to get into the hotel, and the gala would work as a good cover, but unlike the honeypot, your goal would be to blend in as much as possible. It may not be the most glamourous plan, but it would certainly be the most efficient, and not to mention the most intimate, sneaking through darkened corridors and keeping as close as possible to avoid detection.

And finally the third plan would require approaching Jankovic directly, posing as British investors seeking to hide funds overseas, hoping to utilize Jankovic’s existing network to hide quite a bit of money quickly. And you’d be willing to pay for the services. You need credentials, as Andrej is a skeptical man, but he is also not the type of man who can pass up a quick cash opportunity. You could approach him at the gala, enquire about his services, and find out much from the horse’s mouth, supplementing what he tells you with the information would be able to mirror from his phones once you had him in the room with you. And in this, Harry could truly sign. A master of the art of blending in among the oddest of crowds, Harry could easily pose as the financial head of your organization, partners in crime in the truest sense. You wouldn’t have to steal anything in this plan. Andrej would give it freely, though it would require near perfect coordination between you and Harry.

As you add notes to the margins of your stacks, you look over at the post-it Arthur left on your files yesterday: Regroup noon, tomorrow. If you don’t leave now, you will be late. You throw on yesterday’s suit, scoop up what papers you need and rush to Arthur’s office.

The door is open when you arrive and Arthur is seated upon one of his couches, cutting into a perfectly roasted chicken breast as he beckons you forward.

“Discover anything useful?” he says after a swallow. He lifts his cloth napkin to his lips and waves out the door behind you. Pushing past you, his assistant cruises inside and grabs his plate with a nod before leaving.

Arthur waves a hand to the seat in front of him. You take your sit and go to speak, but before you can say a word, Arthur lifts a finger.

“Before you run me through the details, whom should I request be joining us for this briefing?”

“Um…”

And that’s a wrap for the prologue! Please let me know in the comments which route you’d like to me to work on first. :) 

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa​, @thisisbullshytt​,  @cancerousjojian​, @whovianayesha​, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy​, @luna-xxxxx​, @sleepylunarwolf​, @starryrevelations​, @potter-thinking​, @all-by-myself98​, @bananafosters-and-books​, @cutie-bug​, @igotmadskills​, @hazelandcoconuts​, @yallgotkik​, @amberkay284​, @the-new-galahad, @13ofjuly​, @daft-not-punk​

Kingsman tags: @allonsymexgirl​, @eiensteiner, @thecaptainsgingersnap​, @madamcadaver. @doct0rstrange​, @ratwrites​, @kaeleabres, @nellietara, @ediblemurderer​, @allofthekingsmen

Harry Hart tags: @un-education​, @lexicon04​, @bananzaa​, @consultingdoctorwholock​, @sparrowharkness​, @newconnorwhodis

Merlin tags: @consultingdoctorwholock​, @sparrowharkness​

[galaxyshine24-7]

The Mountain Man

Slasher OC Brenden Locklear Story

Warnings: Blood, Animal Abuse, and Violence

There are many stories about Everest Natural Park. It's the largest in the state and is home to many protected wildlife. It's been around for hundreds of years; the Natives of the land would tell stories to travelers making sure to advise them to be respectful of the land and the animals, or they would awaken evil spirits that would bring them harm. Green eyes dart over the phone screen as she looks at the most recent story. A woman was found hacked to pieces after she dumped all her trash into one of the park’s lakes. The police wrote that she was barely recognizable, her remains getting eaten by the Vultures in the area looking for a quick meal. 

Jenny’s stomach churns just reading it as she turns off her phone curling herself in the car seat as her head leans against the window of the back seat. The window feels cool against her skin as fog surrounds the old van wagon. She holds back food from coming back up her through as she tries to focus on the landscape instead. With her body feeling like it was cold and then hot she needed something to distract her from the changing discomfort. Her long auburn hair rests under a soft beanie as she scans the tall pines that pass as the van takes a quick turn through the mountains. 

“Damnit Joseph I’m trying to sleep back here!” A woman raises from the back of the van taking off her boot and throwing it to the front window. The car sways as Joseph tries to get control of the car again. With a deep breath he turns around glaring at the women. 

“Carrie are you fucking crazy?! Are you trying to make us drive off the cliff?!” Carrie huffs at him laying back down. Jenny pulls herself closer as Joseph softens at her. 

“Hey, I’ll get you some medicine when we reach the cabin okay?” He reaches back and pats her leg as she nods looking out into the forest. The park is massively bigger than anyone she’s been to. They had several campsites with cabins and lodges along with cave tours and rock climbing. There was so much to do, she closed her eyes as her stomach twists again. 

“Dude we should seriously do shots when we get there.” Joseph’s friend slurs in his sleep sitting up a bit. 

“Go back to sleep Aiden.” Joseph pushes him back in the seat as Aiden falls back to sleep snoring.

“Urgh typical.” The girl next to Jenny said reading a book as she adjusts her glasses shaking her head at Aiden. 

“What’s wrong Elizabeth, still got a stick up your ass.” Carrie sits up again poking her face as Elizabeth slaps her hand away. 

“Yes, I’m still upset, you slept with my boyfriend!” She yells as Joseph lets out a sigh. 

“He wasn’t that good.” Carrie shrugs her blonde curls falling around her shoulders. 

“And my girlfriend.” Carrie laughs at her. 

“She wasn’t that good either.” Elizabeth turns around tackling Carrie to the ground.

“Guys can you please put all our issues aside for the next few days you know why we're doing this right?!” Joseph shouts at them all. Aiden comes out of his slumber as the car comes to an uncomfortable silence. Elizabeth gets back in her seat as Carrie hands her back the book she was reading resting her body on the back of the seat. 

“Yeah we remember dude.” Aiden rubs the back of his head. 

“Good.” Joseph saids speeding down the road as Jenny holds herself closer.

The entrance to the park was seen after by a bubbly woman with soft red hair and a bright smile. Joseph pays her for the admission as she gives them the cabins keys and directions. 

“Oh, and we just installed a curfew for the time being. All residents should be inside their sites at 10:00pm.” 

“Why is that?” Aiden asks.

“Well we've been having some incidents with poachers and vandalism and until it dies down, we want the park goers to be safe.” She smiles, Joseph nods thanking her as they drive through the park. They pass by many sites and activities as they make it to their two-story cabin. 

“Woah not bad Joseph.” Aiden whistles as he gets out once the van is parked. 

“Thanks parents paid for it.” Jenny looks over at Joseph as she gets out of the car stumbling a bit. Joseph takes notice helping her stand as he gets her things out the car. 

“Can you guys start unpacking please I’m going to take Jenny up.” He looks back at the other three. 

“Sure, we got it.” Elizabeth looks at Jenny with concern as she starts to open the back of the van. Joseph takes Jenny to the cabin up the stairs to a nice room cleaned recently. He starts to unpack her sleeping bag and pillow along with a stuffed turtle.

“You took Gregory with you?” He lets out a laugh looking back at Jenny. 

“I never leave home without him.” Jenny’s cheeks flare up. She thought she hid him well enough. Joseph places the turtle on the bed as he gets her to lay down. She starts to feel a bit better sleep drawing closer. Joseph sits on the edge of the bed fiddling with his fingers. 

“Joseph?” Jenny bites her lip, but opens to speak again. “I want to tell Mom and Dad where we are.” 

“We can’t do that.” He states coldly. 

“Why?” She asks sitting up. “Whatever is happening we can work it out.” 

“No after this we're going to Grandma’s and we’re finding you a new college to go too.” He looks at the wall. 

“You said this was just a fun trip to the park.” Jenny sits up straighter her voice raising with the upcoming headache.

“Well I lied; you're going to thank me one day Jenny.” He gets up going to the door. 

“But I want to stay with our parents.” 

“It's not safe anymore.” He states clutching his fist. “They’re not safe.” 

“Joseph what are you-?” Jenny gets up holding onto the railing of the bed.

“I’ll explain it when we get to Grandma’s house.” He closes the door leaving Jenny in the room by herself. She lets out a sigh changing into her pajamas, crawling into the bed holding Greagory close as she closes her eyes. 

The sound of the door opening alerts her as Elizabeth walks in her deep brown hair tied in a high ponytail as her turtleneck complements the rest of her black attire. She holds a glass of water and a pill placing it on the bedside table beside her. Jenny reaches over to take it then drinks the water afterwards.

“Thanks Elizabeth,” Jenny smiles up at her. 

“Your brother wanted me to give it to you. Are you going to be able to go on a hike with us tomorrow?” She feels her forehead.

“I do feel a little better.” Jenny saids.

“Don’t overwork yourself okay. This is probably from all those all nighters you pulled. The stress over exams gets intense.” Jenny nods at her as she pats her arm heading out the room to let her sleep again. 

The next day Jenny got dressed and went downstairs. As Carrie made breakfast.

“Hey kiddo feeling better?” She ruffles Jenny’s hair. 

“I’m feeling better, but still a bit hot.” She takes a seat next to Aiden. He lazily feels her forehead, his green hair messy and shaggy as usual. 

“Take it easy today Jenny.” He saids as Carrie starts putting the food on the table. 

“Where is Joseph and Elizabeth.” Jenny looks around not seeing the two. 

“They’re outside getting ready for the hike.” Carrie saids.

Jenny nods making her plate of food as she hums at how good it is. Joseph and Elizabeth come in soon after taking a seat at the table with the rest of them. After they head out making their way up the trail. Jenny stays in the back feeling the fresh air helps her a bit. 

“Hey look.” Joseph points through the trees at a small owl huddled in a nest. 

“Aw,” Jenny coos.

“Those are protected right?” Aiden places his arms behind his head. 

“Yeah all the animals in the park are protected.” Elizabeth informs as they go along their way. They cross a creek and walk under the shady pines  has the cloud's rest in the sky. They get to a path with branches sticking out of the ground. There are signs warning park goers to be careful as on the side of them is a steep hill. Jenny tries her best, but she takes a wrong step and a branch breaks from under her making her tumble down the hill.

“Jenny!” Joseph yells after her. Jenny doesn’t know how long she fell but she lays on something soft. The smell reaches her nose as she jolts back seeing blood on her hands as she lets out a scream throwing up soon afterwards. There are bodies of moose around her with the antlers cut off as their insides spill on the ground. Jenny moves away shaking, feeling a pain shoot in her leg and arm. The sound of a motor reaches her ears as a green four wheeler drives across the creek to reach her. On the wheeler rests a man wearing brown aviators. He spots her and the moose getting off the vehicle. He towers over Jenny, long blonde hair tied in a braid rests behind his back. His park ranger uniform is just a loose green coat with the badge on it as he wears a red flannel and ripped jeans and heavy boots. His gaze makes Jenny freeze as tears roll down her eyes.  He reaches down stretching out  his hand, she sees the tattoos that litter all up his arm as she flinches back. 

“Jenny!” He retracts it at the sound of her brother as he rushes down the hill running over to her. He gets to her side glaring up at the man. 

“You work here.” He spats as the others come up behind him.

“Are you okay?” Aiden helps Jenny up as she limps a bit. 

“I’ll probably just have a bruise.” Jenny stands by herself. The man looks at her brother as Joseph glares back. 

“You kids camping here?” His voice is deep and slow like he had just woken up from a nap. 

“Yeah in the cabin down the road.” Joseph answers. Jenny looks down at the moose corpses. 

“Urgh gross!” Carrie holds her nose.

“What happened?” Jenny asks looking at the man. 

He looks at the moose, his expression not really seen under the aviators. 

“Poachers,” He growls, taking off his ranger hat to wipe his brow. “You all best get back to your cabin. Poachers aren't too kind to others.” He states crunching down to close the moose's eyes.

“Yeah thanks we will.” Joseph tells them to come on as they leave to head back to the cabin. Jenny looks back at the men as he takes off his glasses feeling along the cut antlers. 

“Jenny, come on.” Elizabeth grabs her shoulders. “Something about that guy gives me the creeps.” She glares back at him as Jenny nods her head. 

Back at the cabin Jenny rests on the hammock outside as Joseph starts to set up a campfire for dinner. She stares up at the sky, her mind full of questions. Joseph comes to rest on the hammock with her as they stare up at the sky. 

“Hey I’m sorry about yesterday and dragging you here, and I can’t explain everything now, but I will someday.” He saids holding her hand. 

“Are mom and dad bad people Joseph, is that why you're not telling me anything?” Jenny doesn’t look at him taking a deep breath. 

“They are involved in some bad things, and some bad people. I wanted you to get away from it before it came out or anything happened.” Jenny holds his hand letting out a deep breath.

“I had to take some of their money and we need a bit more to make it to Grandma’s, but don’t worry we’ll get it.” He rests his head on hers.

“Do you trust me?”He asks in a shaky voice. 

“Yes I do Joseph.” Jenny nods trying not to cry. Her parents were bad people? Sure they had their flaws, but they loved them, comforted them when they were sad, and always supported them. Joseph rubs her shoulder as they rock in silence, as the sun starts to go down over the mountain range.  

“Wanna help me get dinner set up?” He turns to her.

“Yeah,” Jenny gets up her limbs only a little sore now as she helps him start the fire and get dinner ready. The others bring out chairs and beer as Joseph cooks over the fire. Jenny relaxes as Elizabeth pours her some coco into a mug handing it to her.

“Look, I brought smores.” Aiden pulls out a bag of marshmallows. Carrie grabs the bag starting to stick the marshmallows on pokers. They eat and talk and around the fire. Aiden would bring up the times Joseph, Elizabeth, and Carrie would go on trips around the states during their summers in college. Jenny listens laughing along with them. She lets out a yawn, putting her mug off to the side as she leans back in the chair. The sounds of them talking helps her drift off to sleep not realizing how tired she was in the first place. 

She wakes up on the couch in the cabin with a blanket over her. She rubs her eyes looking around. The only light she has is the one in the kitchen. 

“Joseph?” She calls getting up off the couch looking around. The cabin is silent as she walks around. She calls out for the others but they don’t answer. A howling wind rings from outside as she stares out the window to see that the fire was out and the chairs were put away. She looks to the front door thinking for a moment. She didn’t want to be alone at least not right now. She let out a deep breath going over to the door to step out into the night air. She pulls her jacket close as the wind kicks up. She cries out to them again but still no answer. Her heart starts to race. Her thoughts go to poachers or the people involved with her parents as she hikes up the trail they went on earlier, bad scenarios playing through her mind. 

“Joseph!” She yells but still no answer. A howl startles her as she makes her way deeper in the trail. They couldn’t have gone far she hopes as she hears a twig snap in the trees. 

“Hello?” She calls out. “Guys is that you?” She hears a deep growl as she starts to dash back the other way through the trees. She feels something gaining on her as she stops in a bit of a clearing turning around to see nothing. The forest comes alive with noise as she continues forward wanting to get as far away as possible from whatever that was. She calls out again but stops at the sound of a laugh. 

“Aiden,” She walks forward through the brushes pulling them away. She covers her mouth at the sight of four individuals wearing Halloween masks standing around the corpses of a few owls. Three babies all chirp at them as a person steps up taking one by the neck and snapping it in two. Jenny steps back flinching at the sound. She steps on a branch causing the others to turn in her direction. One grabs a large machete from their bag walking forward.

“Dude leave it alone it's probably another animal or something.” One of them takes off the mask to reveal Carrie.

“This shit is hot, are we done?” She throws the mask on the ground. The others take them off as well. 

“This is enough right?” Aiden asks. Jenny’s eyes went over to the one that snapped the owl’s neck, it  was Elizabeth wearing a constant frown. Aiden kicks a dead owl over watching its head tilt in a untarual angle. 

“Kill the rest of the babies, that will be enough.” Joseph holds the machete looking out into the woods. 

“These buyers sure spend a lot of money on these birds. Kind of weird if you ask me.” Carrie says, picking up an axe placing it behind her head.

“Everyone wants things they can’t have in human nature.” Elizabeth picks up another baby bird that squeaks under her gripe. 

“Hey what the-!”Aiden exclaims, Jenny rushes over to Elizabeth prying the owl out of her hand picking up the other one. As she backs away from the group.

“Oh hey Jenny.” Aiden tries to soothe her.

“Back the fuck up! What do you all think you're doing!” She screams, shaking where she stands. 

“Hey, Jenny, calm down okay let me explain.” Joseph drops his machete holding up his hands to plead with her. 

“I-I don’t understand.” She steps back, her head throbbing.

“It's going to be okay you just-” He starts

“No it's not okay! My parents suddenly became bad people! You all are killing endangered animals, you can go to jail for that Joseph, all of you can!” She looks at the rest as they look down. 

“Jenny please.” Elizabeth outstretches her hand, Jenny steps back.

“No stay away all you.” She glares holding the owls close. 

“We need those to keep going Jenny. They are a lot on the black market, their feathers and everything. All we have to do is kill a few and we can get out of here all the way to Grandma’s and start over.” Joseph smiles. Jenny’s eyes scan down at the owl bodies her stomach churns. 

“We all get some money to split Jenny, you can use it for a college fund.” Carrie saids in a calm voice. Tears start to fall down Jenny’s eyes. 

“Please not like this guys this isn’t like you.” She chokes. 

“I’m doing this for you. You’ll thank me later.” He grabs her arm tightly trying to pry the owls out as Jenny lets out a scream. They drop to the ground whimpering.

“No Stop please!” She pleads to get down to protect the birds with her body. 

“Jenny God dammit! Why do you have to get in the way!” He yells Elizabeth grabs his shoulder. 

“Calm down we still have the antlers lets just sell those and the leftover bird bodies.” She saids. Jenny  softly sobs lifting up her head placing the birds close against her chest. 

“Fine round up everything we leave in the morning.” He sighs. The others start to gather the corpses. Aiden picks up a big one with wings hanging down as he wiggles it around. 

“Weird ass looking things-” Something wisps in the air as the sounds around them fall into an eerie silence.

 Jenny looks up more and screams. Aiden drops the owl falling to his knees as an arrow sticks out of his neck blood oozes from his mouth as he lets out one gurgled groan falling to the ground to take his last breath. 

“Shit!: Carrie starts toward him but an arrow shoots into her arm as she screams, dropping the axe to take it out. 

Jenny feels her heart stop as she looks toward the direction the arrow came  as she sees a looming figure in the trees. It starts to growl coming closer. The figure is covered in furs with a giant bear head for a face. They put their bow behind their back taking out a large silver axe advancing toward Carrie. Jenny gets up as Joseph and Elizabeth watch in horror as in a flash the figure is on her. She goes to swing her axe at him but she misses as they bring it down to fall square in her forehead. Blood spills everywhere and Jenny gets pulled away as the figure kicks Carrie’s body down getting her off their blade. Joseph rushes Jenny through the woods as Elizabeth takes out a gun from her side as she shoots at the figure. Jenny turns around to see the figure rush toward them, the bullets hitting but not slowing them down. They run faster into the road after taking many twists and turns. They stop to catch their breath not seeing the figure anymore. 

“Who the hell was that?” Joseph huffs leaning on a tree and Jenny steps back still holding the owls. They nip and bite at her but she’s too shaken to care.

“I think that was a guy.” Elizabeth breathes looking back at them. 

“Let's get out of here.” Joseph looks toward Jenny as she steps back a bit more. 

“Jenny, come one. There are just some owls, there are plenty more in the forest.” Elizabeth finishes as an arrow goes through her head and her glasses. The arrow goes straight through landing in the tree Joseph is resting on, with Elizabeth’s brown eye in clear view on the tip. Jenny screams as the figure appears again. Joseph roars at the figure going at him with the machete cutting his arm. The figure lets out a deep groan as his axe collides with Joseph’s Machete. In a split moment the man's head butts Joseph catching him off guard enough to swing the axe across his neck watching as he falls to the ground. Jenny cries out to him as the man drops his axe to rip his head clean off with grunts and groans. With a horrortic tear Joseph’s head swings in his hand as the man throws it behind him. Jenny walks back stumbling a bit. 

The man turns his gaze toward her walking forward to her form.

“Please,” She whimpers, tears falling down her face as he takes the owls gently placing them in a pouch on his side cooing at them. Jenny looks at him surprised, but in a quick motion he grabs her neck lifting her off the ground. She claws at him looking into the dark holes of the bear mask as she feels her vision darken and her airway close until she blacks out hearing a howl in the distance. 

Jenny wakes up in a hospital room feeling sore and broken. A nurse walks in seeing her state as he rushes over to her. Jenny tries to speak but it doesn’t come out. 

“Your windpipe has been damaged, it's going to be awhile until you speak again.” The nurse saids. He gets out a pen and paper from the side and hands it to her. The memories rush back as she starts to cry trying her best to write straight as tears begin to fall. 

“What happened?” The doctor looks at the paper reading the words as she nods.

“I’m sorry but your friends are gone.” He saids. She writes again wanting to know what happened to them. A news story picks up in the room. She looks around grabbing the remote to hear the tv. 

“Last night four young adults involved in a poaching ring were found dead and mutilated in Everest National Park. The bodies were dismembered and decorated along the forest with their heads on spikes. Only one survived and is recovering in a hospital.”  Jenny covers her mouth watching the news station as she looks out the window to see the fog covering the pines. 

[waytooinlovewithlokilaufeyson]

Learning to Love Again

Loki x Reader

Summary: Will Loki learn to love you again, even after everything that has happened?

Occurs after the events of Endgame.

WARNING: MAJOR ENDGAME/INFINITY WAR SPOILERS

You roll the black pearl between your thumb and forefinger anxiously as you watch the stars fly by. The galaxy ahead of you looks stunning, but you can’t seem to feel anything but the small pearl in your hand.

How many days has it been since your world fell apart? Seven years? No, you remind yourself, it’s already been eight. Eight years since your only one true love perished at the hands of a monster.

You remember the day like it was yesterday, though. You, along with Loki and Thor, had defeated Hela and began to escape to Earth. You still remember his lingering coolness on your hands before you were ripped apart suddenly.

You look down at the pearl, which shimmers in the starlight outside. You had convinced Loki to take you to an isolated beach somewhere near Hawaii, which he begrudgingly did. But, as the days passed, Loki warmed up like you haven’t seen before. The constant stress and pressure put upon him since he was a child seemed to melt away, leaving behind the Loki only you knew.

The pearl had washed up one day on the sand. Loki picked it up and placed it in your hands.

“For you, my darling.”

Tears begin to drip down your face. The only thing you had left of him was a small pearl, but it meant everything to you. It drove you to where you are now.

You stuff the pearl in your pocket before heading over to see Thor piloting the small ship you were on.

“Any progress?” you ask, trying to hide your tear stained cheeks from Loki’s brother. 

He sighs, “No, I’m afraid not”. 

Ever since the Avengers defeated Thanos, you and Thor had learned that Loki had escaped with the Tesseract in an alternate timeline. Knowing this was the only chance you would get to see Loki again, you and Thor teamed up to search for him.

You force a smile. “We’ll find him, Thor. No matter how long it takes.”

~-~

“Y/N?” Thor shakes you awake frantically.

You barely have time to open your eyes before Thor shows you a map. “I’ve found him; he’s right here.”

You choke out a sob when you see the little arrow on the digital map. You’ve been looking so long, so hard, and you had finally found him. You see the planet is only a few days trip from where you are.

You pull Thor, who has also began shedding tears, into a tight hug. “We found him, Thor, we did it.”

The next days pass too slowly. You mostly plan with Thor on where to land, but on your off time, your thoughts flood with him. Your heart aches to just see him again, to just hold him again. You busy your hands with the pearl as you fall into restless sleep.

When you wake up, you know its the day. You get dressed, something you have failed to do for a long time, and help Thor ready the ship for landing. When you do land, you see that the planet is beautiful and covered in beaches. Your heart pangs, and you squeeze the pearl in your palm tightly.

“I think we should split up”, Thor says, pointing to the jungle behind the beaches. “I’ll search here; you stay close to the ship in case anything goes wrong.”

You nod, pulling Thor into a hug again. “Bring him back, Thor.”

He smiles before heading in the opposite direction. The ocean waves draw you in, and before you know it, you’re waist deep in the salty water. The breeze cools your hot skin, and the sound of the waves bring a sense of peace. You stay there for a fair amount of time before walking along the coastline. 

You spot a small cove, much like the one you and Loki spent most of your time in that one time, and something draws you near. 

When you approach, you see a silhouette of a man.

“Hello?” you ask cautiously, “I’m not here to hurt you-”. Before you can finish, a sharp dagger is placed at your throat. 

“Who are you?” a familiar voice hisses, and you almost collapse. 

“Loki?” you choke out, your voice broken and confused.

You can imagine his face scrunching up in discomfort. “How do you know my name?”

Before you can speak, you hear thunder, and you know what it means. Thor snuck up behind his brother, forcing him to release you, and manages to cuff him. 

“Brother”, Loki hisses out, of course recognizing Thor. “Who is this wrench?”

The name pains you, but you remember its not him. You met Loki a year after his attack on New York. This isn’t your Loki.

You slowly head over to him before Thor can protest.

“I’m Y/N, Loki”, you say, giving him a bittersweet smile. 

“I don’t know a Y/N”, Loki says, confusion in his voice. “Who are you?” he asks again.

You hold out the pearl, rolling it in your hand. “I know you had a fondness of beaches, and you’d never admit it”, you say, looking off into the distant waves. “I know you would spend hours on your hair; I know you love your family dearly, even though you won’t admit it.”

Soft tears fall down your face. “I know you loved me once.”

Loki looks confused and a little angry about how much you knew about him, but his eyes are soft, just as they always are when he talks to you.

You grab his cuffed hand the way he’d hold yours. Your teary eyes look into his. “I know I love you, no matter what”. 

His hand twitches at the contact, as if he subconsciously remembered it. You smile and let go, turning to Thor. “Let’s take him home”.

~-~

The waves lap at your feet as the summer breeze flows through your hair. It’s been two years since you found Loki already. He never really trusted you, instead confiding in his brother to learn the details of his death and Thanos. He slowly put the pieces together, but you haven’t seen much of him lately. 

You’re surprised when someone sits next to you. His black hair shines in the bright light of the sun, and his eyes seem to glow a gentle green. He doesn’t say something for a while, instead looking out at the horizon.

“You’re right; I do have a fondness for beaches”, he says, finally looking at you. “I do spend hours doing my hair, and I do love my family despite everything.”

He holds your hand like you did when you found him, making your heart jump and tears well in your eyes. “I want to love you again, Y/N”, he says, his eyes piercing into yours as a bittersweet smile forms on his lips.

“Me too”, you choke out, putting your head on his chest, hearing his heart beating. You stay there until the sun sets and it becomes dark, but you know your future has many days like this in store, and one day, everything will fall into place, just like it did all those years ago.

A/N: Here’s my first Marvel fanfic! I wanted to write this after I was emotionally scarred by Endgame, and I hope you all enjoy!

Please leave feedback and follow my blog if you’d like to see more! Thank you! 

[wri0thesley]

Being the Adult (Narancia)

You’re happy with Narancia. Really, you are - you just wish he’d take things a little more seriously. 

almost angst turning into definite fluff! sfw, fem pronouns (but i think its just one instance of the word ‘girlfriend’)! this was a commissioned work!

Sometimes you do feel like you have to play the role of the adult. You don’t really mind; honestly, knowing what you do about Narancia’s past and everything that’s lead up to this moment, you’re glad that he feels like there’s still some good and light left in the world. In so many other people, the way he’s been treated would lead to apathy. In Narancia, it’s lead to seeing everything around him through a sunny glow, a grin on his face, making the most of every moment he has. You suppose the business with Diavolo (insofar as you know about it) had also taught him to grab life with both hands, and you’re glad about that--

But sometimes, it just gets to you a little bit having to be the responsible one.

Sometimes you find yourself talking down to him, and you hate it. He’s probably seen more of the world than you; hell, you didn’t help defeat the mob boss of the most powerful mafia in Italy - and yet, you just can’t stop yourself. He pauses whilst you’re walking to point at someone’s dog across the street, already taking off to give it pats and call it a good boy. He grins and bounces around whilst he talks, hands moving as quickly as his brain, his train of thought jerking to a stop and resuming again until you’re not entirely sure what your conversation was about to begin with. And you find yourself, every so often, holding your hands up and telling him to slow down and let you think.

Or you find yourself calling across a busy street to tell him to be careful. Or grabbing ahold of him before he walks into a lamppost, telling him to calm down, rolling your eyes if he suggests doing something like catching a superhero movie at the cinema or playing video games.

And every time, you see his face fall just a little, and you feel like your heart is cracking into two pieces. You don’t mean to be so boring! You don’t mean to try and stifle him! You want to have fun too!

But you try and reassure yourself that one of you two has to be an adult, one of you two has to think things through, consider the consequences. If it has to be you, you guess you’ll have to accept your new role.

It doesn’t seem to work at all when it comes to making Narancia calm down. If anything, you trying to be the one taking control and acting like an adult makes it worse. It’s almost as if Narancia’s trying to prove something to both himself and you; trying to joke around, get people to laugh with him, get people to look at him in wonder about how cool he is and how much they’d like to be like him.

When you go to dinner with all of Passione’s inner sanctum, it’s always Narancia who tries to make the waiter laugh (no matter how improbably fancy the venue, and with Giorno at the helm, the restaurants are often improbably fancy). It’s always Narancia who makes a joke that just falls a little flat; a little too blue, or a little too rude, or just so off the mark that Abbacchio rolls his eyes and breathes a sharp sigh and calls the waiter over to bring him an extra glass of wine. It’s always Narancia who runs his mouth; who blurts out something that is clearly not intended for a public place. It’s always Narancia who’s toeing the line.

Even when you’re alone--

Even when you’re alone, you’ve noticed that Narancia can get a little bit over-excited. That his touches on your waist and his kiss are fumbled a little, that he presses a little bit too much without understanding what he’s doing, that he’s overcompensating with big talk and attempts to make bigger physical overtures to you; once he’d bit down so hard on your lower lip you’d started bleeding. Once he’d given you a nosebleed because as he’d launched himself at you to kiss you, his forehead had collided with your nose. More than a few times, there’s been an awkward scuffle as you two try and get in a comfortable position for cuddling and you’ve been bruised by elbows and knees that never seem to stay where Narancia puts them to begin with.

It’s the elbows and knees that do it for you, in the end. Narancia’s knee connecting with your midsection as you crawl across the bed to try and rest your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder and he rolls in an attempt to get into the position he thinks is optimal for snuggles; in his wriggling, he hits you hard on the stomach and you roll away with a soft ‘oof’, pain blossoming from where the two of you had collided.

It had already been a stressful day. Narancia and you had gone out for lunch with Mista, who is not a calming influence at the best of times - your food had been a little cold, and you’d mentioned it to Narancia, and he’d made a huge deal out of it when the server had returned for the bill. It’s not something you’d cared about that much, and you’re sure that Narancia had felt like he was doing you a favour, trying to be the big man or whatever - but it had just made you feel embarrassed and awkward. Narancia probably wanted to be a knight in shining armour. But that’s not what you want from him! You just want him to be himself.

“For God’s sake,” you find yourself snapping, the words coming out before your brain has time to think about how your boyfriend might react to them. “Can’t you just think about what you’re doing for once in your life?”

Narancia stares at you for a moment as the words sink in, before his face twists into distress and he replies to you, sounding a little breathless;

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“It’s not that and you know it!” The words are spilling out of you after being held back all day. You know this is not a smart move. You know, for all he tries to bluster, Narancia is actually kind of sensitive; but you’ve spent the past months of your relationship trying not to let your frustrations show because you can’t believe how lucky you are that Narancia even wants you back. Months worth of vitriol comes out of you now. “It’s everything! You’re always trying to prove something, a-and I don’t know who you’re trying to prove it to! but it’s damn well not working on me!”

Narancia’s eyebrows draw in, full mouth twisting into a pout.

“Maybe if you took me seriously I wouldn’t have to try and prove anything to you!” He replies, his own voice rising in pitch and volume too. You’re used to his particular rises in volume being to do with excitement rather than anger, and you’re actually kind of scared to find out how hard Narancia sounds when he’s not being good-natured. You know Narancia is dangerous; you know Aerosmith isn’t a purely defensive stand. But Narancia has always been nothing but kind to you. Hearing this side of him is a little bit harrowing, honestly. Your fingers twist and untwist on the covers of the bed, the place where his knee had collided with you seeming to pulse in time with the beat of your heart.

“I do take you seriously,” you say, a little softer than before. Is that really what he thinks? “But you act like a kid all of the time--”

“You don’t,” he replies, forcefully, and when you look up to meet his eyes. Ordinarily, they’re a bright shade of violet; almost laughing, happy, eyes that make you feel lifted just to see them. Today, though, their colour has been muddied somewhat, and you know why; because they’re practically swimming in tears. Narancia’s always seemed so tough. He’s been through so much, and you don’t know how much of it he cried for, but plenty of it seems tear-worthy; that he’s crying now, because of you . . . It makes your stomach twist in discomfort and makes you feel like the worst girlfriend in the whole world. “You don’t take me seriously. Nobody takes me seriously, and I’m kinda used to that, but when it’s you doing it--”

“All of us take you seriously,” you say, trying to placate him and rid him of the tears that are threatening to roll down his cheeks. Oh, you don’t know what you’ll do if he cries-- “I take you seriously, and you know Buccellati does, and Giorno takes everything everyone says seriously--”

This time, Narancia’s voice is a little bitter.

“Of course you’d mention them,” he says, and you don’t miss the scorn lacing his words. You know he’d never be scornful of Buccellati, or Giorno - so does that mean, then, that the scorn is directed at you?

“I--I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, face creasing into concern, and Narancia lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. In a different time and place, the huff and the way his mouth turns into a pout would be cute, but it’s hard to find anything cute right now.

“You know,” he says, “I mean. I know. It’s obvious you’d rather be with one of them than me. And I get it, I guess. I just--”

“Narancia,” you say, and you lean over. Your hand comes to rest on his, and you look into his eyes with a look on your face that you hope he sees as earnestness. You need him to believe you. “There is literally nobody I would rather be with than you.” He looks at you, lip trembling, and you get the impression that he doesn’t really believe you. That’s fine, though. You’ll convince him if you have to.

You take his hand into your lap, and try and think about what you’re saying.

“I guess I get a little bit worried about you,” you admit. “I don’t like feeling like I’m ruining your fun, y’know? Sometimes I feel like I have to be the adult. But I promise I’m not looking at Bruno or Giorno or any of your friends like that! That’d be a shitty move by me, right?”

“I’d get it,” he mumbles, a little shamefacedly. “They’re all suave and handsome and good and shit, and I’m just Narancia. Y’know. Lovable comic relief. Not to be taken seriously. Cute and not handsome.”

“Whilst I do think you’re very cute,” you say, a smile beginning to tug at your lips now that Narancia has stopped looking like he’s in immediate danger of sobbing. “I think you’re exceedingly handsome too. I mean, Bruno and Giorno are good-looking, I suppose - but they’re not you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out as a grumble that’s so soft you barely hear it.

“I jus’ want you to think I’m cool too.”

You squeeze his hand again, and he meets your eyes looking a little bit more hopeful than before. The hope in his eyes makes your heart and your stomach do a little somersault; this is the Narancia you fell so hopefully in love with from across the crowded halls in meetings with the Don of Passione. This is the Narancia that you watched from afar and wished would notice you. The Narancia that you’d felt so special when he’d smiled at you and known your name and asked you if you wanted to maybe get gelato together (he’d forgotten his wallet and you’d paid, laughing)--

“I think you’re cool already,” you tell him earnestly. “I think you’re just about the coolest guy I know without having to try. But when you do try . . .” Your face screws up, nose wrinkling. “I think when people try and be cool it’s probably the least cool thing they can do.”

Narancia looks a little shamefaced. Someone who cares as much about their coolness as he does knows what you just said to be an irrefutable truth, you think - you give him an encouraging smile anyway.

“I just want you to think I’m the coolest,” he repeats. “I’m tryin’ my best here!” He’s getting a little agitated, knee bouncing up and down; mindful of what happened last time Narancia’s knees got out of control, you shift a little closer to him so you’re almost touching. You try and imbue every ounce of feeling you have for him into your next words; try to channel how much you love him, how glad he’s made you in the past few months, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with him by your side;

“You don’t need to try.”

“But if you leave me because I fuck up--”

“I’m not leaving. I promise.” You’re struck suddenly by the thought of the boy who took advantage of Narancia’s nature; the one who convinced him to dye his hair and sent him to juvenile detention in his place, and your heart aches. You and all of the rest of Passione are not going to leave Narancia, of course - but Fugo had come so close, and Narancia didn’t grow up with too many figures whom he could trust, and of course he’s afraid that you’re going to up and abandon him. “I know that things are hard. For you. For everyone. But I’m here for good.”

“I’m just tryin’--”

“Narancia,” you say, and the stern tone in your voice finally makes him seem to take notice. His shoulders square, his mouth twisting, as he looks you full-on. “I promise, you don’t need to try. You can let go of the walls around me a bit. You can just be you.”

“What if . . . What if the you that you think I am isn’t the you that I am?” He replies back with, a challenge in his tone. “What if it’s the wall or whatever that you like and not the me?”

“You just like being contrary,” you tell him, with narrowed eyes, and you win a bark of laughter. Narancia’s lips when he laugh look so inviting. You want to lean into him, to kiss him until neither of you remember your own names-- no, concentrate. Narancia’s fragile, for all of his thunder. You need to pick up his pieces again first. “I fell in love with you. Not the wall. And I know it’s you and not the wall because I can tell when you’re putting it up.”

Narancia sighs.

“Is at least a real good-looking wall?” He asks, and it’s your turn to laugh. His face turns serious even as you stifle the giggles. “Are you really in love with me?”

Fuck, was that the first time you’ve said it out loud?

You’d hoped that your admission of love to Narancia would be somewhere a little nicer. Somewhere a little more romantic. Your six month anniversary is coming up, and Giorno’s got enough connections to get you tickets for a concert Narancia would like and a reservation at a restaurant you’ll like and entrance into an exclusive club where you know Narancia will have an amazing time dancing. You’d planned to do something special for it! You wanted Narancia to remember it!

But it looks like you’ve already put your foot in it, so you may as well accept it. You breathe out, slow and steady, and make sure that you’re looking Narancia square on into his - handsome, beautiful, real fucking cute - face.

“Yes.” You say. “I love you, Narancia Ghirga. Probably more than I should. You’re kind of annoying, sometimes? But mainly you just make me happy and feel like I could do anything I wanted to do. And . . . And I want to spend as much time with you as I can, and I don’t want you to be mad at me, and I really really don’t want you to cry. Ever.”

Narancia blinks at you for a few moments, clearly taking some time to process this new announcement. It’s clearly not something he minds, though - as he stops, his face splits into a grin, and you could cry with relief. You don’t know what you’d have done if he’d stumbled over his words and said you were really great and all, but that’s just not where he imagined you two going and it was just fun and was never meant to be serious or anything--

“Aww, amore!” He says, and he opens his arm wide. “Come here! Let’s cuddle! I love you too!”

This time, he waits for you to crawl over the bed, and you thankfully manage to avoid any of the Narancia’s knees related pitfalls that had befallen you earlier. You’re still a little slow as you rest your head on his chest (just to make sure, of course), but when you do, his arm goes easily around you. His movements are slower, and less frenetic, and although it’s not the Narancia you’re used to, it’s a good Narancia that makes you feel soft and warm and wanted.

“I’m glad,” you say, and then you wrinkle your nose as you settle closer to his heart. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically in your ear, the noise soothing and making you feel closer to him than ever. “I wanted to tell you somewhere special. I wanted to make it feel like it was important.”

Narancia’s hand comes down, resting lightly on the top of your head before he begins to pull strands of your hair out as he strokes them. You’ve always loved having people play with your hair, and you relax into the touch - you’d always suspected, from the small but perfectly formed inner workings of Aerosmith, that Narancia had a side that was a little more concerned with details. Your suspicions are proved correct by the gentle way he handles you as you lay there in his embrace.

“Amore,” he murmurs, beginning to sound a little bit sleepy, “anywhere I’m with you is the most important place in the world.” He stifles a yawn at the end of the sentence, and you can’t resist the chance to tease him a little bit. This will be the true test of whether you’ve upset him beyond compare; Narancia is always up for a good laugh.

“That was real cheesy,” you tell him, “put the wall back up.”

The words hang in the balance for a brief period of time, and you think you’ve fucked up - and then, the sound of Narancia’s laugh fills the air, and you relax once more.

“Get used to it!” He tells you. “This is the real me! Cheesier than Mista at his worst! I’m gonna - uh - I’m gonna fuckin’ serenade you! Gonna buy you a hundred red roses and fill the entire fuckin’ house with them-- gonna . . . gonna . . .” He yawns, again, and the arm around you tightens. “Gonna fall asleep cuddlin’ you. Real romantic, huh?”

“Real romantic,” you affirm, settling into him. Narancia is warm, despite the bare arms, and his bed is really very comfortable. He’s a little bashful when he speaks next, though.

“Jus’ . . . jus’ don’t go spreadin’ around how romantic I am to everyone, huh? It can be our little secret.”

“Okay,” you reply to him. You’ll happily keep his secret, if it means you’re the only one who gets to share this soft, warm, cuddle tousled Narancia with the messy hair and the dusting of a blush on his cheeks.

Sometimes, being the adult means getting to be a little selfish.

[comfycozystudies-blog]

how I made it to senior year

This is the main advice I have for anyone going into high school or starting sophomore or junior year! These are all the ways I have stayed happy and maintained As and Bs. It's a long one, so buckle in!

• Take Notes. Learn how to take good notes in a way that works for your learning. Finding out what works for you doesn't always come naturally, especially if you didn't take/like them in previous grades. Helpful, efficient, thorough note-taking often takes time, attention, and effort to figure out and is different for each individual.

•Drink Water. Your brain needs water to function well and your body needs plenty to feel good. No trendy detox can beat the effects regularly drinking water can have on you. Always bring a waterbottle to school with you, and keep it full! If you aren't used to drinking so much, keep a routine. Take a couple gulps before each class starts and after each class ends, and try not to hold it for too long if you have to go to the bathroom, but I know that can be difficult with school/teacher rules. And if it's a hot day, warm water isn't very appetizing, so leave a full bottle in the fridge overnight and take a glass with you to bed.

•Eat Lunch. Seriously! You will make it through the day so much easier if you just eat lunch. I know it sometimes seems inconvenient or not cool, but I'm telling you, no one cares that you're eating. You can spread it throughout the day if you need to! Some bites in between classed or during ones where it's allowed. It's a very unhelpful habit to go through the whole school day without refueling, so no matter how silly it seems, eat lunch!

•Plan. Keep a planner, whether you buy one, print one out, or make one. It's important to write down each assignment  and due date so that you don't have to rely on your busy mind to keep up with everything. A planner can also help you visually see your schedule with extracurriculars and events so that you can plan homework accordingly.  Designing and creating your own planner/journal can also serve as a creative outlet that you must sit down and engage in routinely. I enjoy it, but it's up to you!

•Express Yourself. School can be stressful, especially with personal life and the world getting in the way. Sometimes there are too many issues bouncing around and school just adds extra information and stress! If you find ways to express your emotions before suppressing them, you'll be able to focus better when you need to. Personally, writing helps me cope with the sadness, anger, and fear that I sometimes feel, but you may gravitate towards singing, yelling, drawing, painting, playing with your pets, going for walks or runs, or something else. And your expression doesn't have to be just one thing, but try to find something that isn't putting more info in, like reading or watching TV. These activities can be relaxing, but it's also important to get emotions, information, etc. out of your system by actively using your mind and/or body.

•Know Your Vocab. It's extremely helpful to feel confident in your vocabulary in high school. Whether big or small, it should be tailored to how you want it. If you want a larger, stronger vocab, download dictionary/word apps and start reading more and at higher levels. If you know more than you want to, start being more specific and focused when you pick the words you feel are right for a piece of writing or conversation, or just relax and let your intuition guide you. Vocabulary confidence is often overlooked. When you feel good about the words you can use, you feel a little better about how you conduct yourself, and this contributes to higher self-esteem and self-knowledge overall.

•Respect Everyone. It is extremely helpful to feel respect for yourself, your peers, and your teachers. You should be aware of how you respect people instead of just following society's rules. I'm going to make a separate post about the ways you can respect your teachers and yourself more.

•Be Grateful for Yourself. No one can force you to feel love for yourself, enjoy your company, or like what you create. However, there are a few things you can practice to get close to these things. One basic practice is never belittling yourself. You may feel bad about something you said, thought, or did, you may feel stupid, and this is completely normal for even the most confident people. It's about how you handle your feelings toward yourself. You may have a habit of calling yourself stupid or dumb or predicting you'll fail at everything. Whether or not you feel bad about yourself or have a negative outlook, you can build the habit of not thinking or speaking anything negative about yourself. The less you allow the words to form, the less true you'll feel they are. On the other hand, the more you repeat negative sentences, the more true they'll seem. Another practice is thanking yourself. It feels really good to be grateful for something you thought, felt, did, or said, even if you have to fake it for a while. The less you think "I'm so stupid" and the more you think "I'm really glad I did that assignment" the better you'll feel and the easier authentic confidence and positivity will become!

•Tidy Up. Clean your room/workspace and backpack and keep them tidy! It takes a little extra time and effort but saves you lots of discomfort and searching for that one pen. We all love our cute items, but try to keep your desk or table a blank space with essential work items close, and for the love of god try not to make a habit of doing schoolwork in bed! Your brain will mix your routine up and get sleepy or want to watch TV instead. Have individual areas dedicated to different activities to keep your mind and body on the same page.

•Stretch. You don't have to do a yoga routine every day, but there's a reason cats stretch every time they get up. When you wake up in the morning, give yourself a minute or two to stretch out however feels good and get into your body for the day. Try to take a moment to stretch, however big or small, between classes too. Your body isn't meant to sit all day, so take a few moments to care about that!

•And finally, relax! High school is not as big of a deal as it seems, so try not to worry so much about what happens in classes, how many friends you have, and if you're an officer of any clubs. It's all about balance and you don't actually need As and Bs, lots of friends, or tons of extracurriculars to end having a high quality life full of joy, love, and achievement. Regardless of how high school goes for you, a good life will still include sadness, anger, fear, and loss. These all create the balance of real living. What has helped me feel successful in high school has been focusing on my emotional wellbeing, healthily coping with negative feelings, learning about the world, and trying to appreciate those around me, whether we hang out or not!

[oh-so-scenarios]

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʀʀᴏɢᴀɴᴄᴇ [1]

Word Count: 3.3K

Genre/Warning: Angst, fluff, Jungkook x Black Female Reader, Prince AU, Royalty AU

A/N: Please excuse the errors.

⇾ Y/n Djan, Princess of Ghango, didn’t think much fun could come out of this trip to Korea. But oh how wrong she was.

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People look at rain in two different ways. At least that's what I've noticed. This separates people into different categories. Some people see rain as a hindrance. Rain kills people's plans and brings a grey cast on the day. While there are others who find the rain relaxing and peaceful, those same people often listen to rain sounds to sleep or sit by the window with a book in a cliche manner.

Then there's those like me. I believe I am at my best when there is rain falling from the sky. My mind is clear, my heart is lighter and my thoughts flow better. The rain speaks to my soul, whether it's a faint drizzle or violent thunderstorm, the rain speaks to me.

My mother often says it was raining the day I was born, though I can't say I believe her, seeing as everyone's recollection of that day differs. However, moments like this are what I appreciate the most. Sitting out on my balcony watching the rain falling from the sky in a strong and direct force. A cold wind like mist sprays my way, where I sit just out of reach of the raindrops. My red cedar swing bed swaying with my every movement. I only break out my daze when the music in my ears changes. The music switches from Sam Smith's soothing voice to the booming 808 of an afrobeat hit by Davido. The music in my ears was just background noise. Or at least it became background noise when my brain focused on the book in front of me.

Now the blaring afrobeat love song with repetitive lyrics was a distraction, conflicting with the tame and quiet atmosphere the rain was creating. At that moment, my urge to read disappeared. I closed the book, taking note of the page I ended on. Though, I highly doubt I'll remember it. I'll probably wind up reading the same chapter again.

I stare at the cover of the book, not really sure what made me pick this title from my father's big but old book collection. 1984 by George Orwell was the title and frankly while gazing at the torn cover, with pieces of the image chipping away, I made a mental note to find a different book to read. The premise and concept of the story leave me uneasy and uncomfortable.

There isn't too much disturbing about the plot of the book, but rather the self-placement I constantly do when reading a novel. The thought of being set in such a world as the one created by George Orwell in this novel leaves me irritated.

There's a saying that there can't be much growth without discomfort and that saying is true. But I know from experience, that forced growth brings even more discomfort which causes one to shrink away. Which is why I've stuck to reading sappy love stories that involve some generic and basic catch. Cause that's where I'm comfortable.

I chuckle at myself. Where exactly am I comfortable? In my own mind probably, in which I make everything seem less annoying and less burdensome. I set the book on the swing beside me, and proceed to stare out at the layers of rain pouring forward. Once again, the music becomes background noise as a ping echoes from my iPhone. I look down in time to see the notification for a text message.

(7:23 PM) Glaids: Y/n.

I can't help but feel irritated by the single text, but it's just so Gladis. I can't be mad since I know Gladis. Gladis' personality cannot be translated over text message. Being as she is my older sister, I've spent enough time with Gladis to get used to her ways, but it's often that I get tired of her simpleness and strictness.

Who needs parents? I had Gladis. Everything my parents were lenient about, Gladis made up for it. I always saw her as more of a nanny than a sister, and can't say our relationship is any more than that. I can't say I know much about her as a person. Sounds cold, doesn't it?

I don't know her favorite color, favorite food or even what she likes to do in her spare time. My parents began shipping me off to different countries for school, and she wasn't one to call or check up on me. The few times we did speak over the phone, it was a stiff conversation.

"How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Well, that's good. Are your classes okay?"

"Yeah."

That was about it. It was awkward, but straying outside those things brought discomfort, so I never bothered to reach out to her.

I type back, Yes?

I stare at the text conversation for a few moments, expecting a quick response and I was right, The bubble with three dots appear quickly and a text bubble appears with the words, We're needed in the dining room.

My face scrunches up in confusion. The dining room? My parents usually don't call for dinner till 8pm. Have things changed in the time I left? That's what being sent to study abroad for years will do to you. The norms of your home are suddenly foreign and small changes seem to trigger a feeling of missing out or loneliness.

I pull the earphones out of the phone, standing up to smooth out my black running shorts. I take my phone in my hand and slid the glass door open to enter my room. My bare feet are greeted by the soft and expensive feeling carpet. I close the glass door behind me and slip on my house slippers.

My long sleeve mustard gold crop top rode up as I walked to the double doors that led out to the long hallway. I step out, unable to suppress the shiver that passes through my body. Unlike my room, the hallway had the AC blaring. The cool air harshly smacks my bare legs and gains the reaction of goosebumps instantly. I stroll down the wide hallways of the palace, the same red and gold carpets spread all about. The tacky dark green walls haven't changed, though I wish they would. I make a turn down the hallway and see a group of servants and maids huddled up, giggles ripping through them.

My steps slow and my ears tune into their conversation.

"Did you see her?" One of them chuckle, "she hasn't changed a bit. Stiff, quiet and angry looking." She crosses her arms over her chest as she speaks.

"You don't know that!" one protested, "Maybe London did her some good."

"Be real Jewel," Another maid exclaimed, "nothing could get that girl to open up. Everyone in the kingdom knows the only reason his highness sends her abroad is to get her to lighten up. There is no one in all of Africa willing to wed that guarded prick Oli-"

"Princess Y/n!" Another maid chimes in panic. She looked up and locked eyes with me, shouting out a greeting to conceal any other careless words that were spilling from her peer's lips. I could almost physically see the sheet of terror floating onto the servants and maids. They froze and their shoulders become stiff.

They slowly turn around and show me faces of embarrassment and fear.

"Ms. Y/n," The one called Jewel says, curtsying slightly, "I-I...w-we-"

I yawn casually and cut off her words, "have you seen Gladis around?"

They throw glances at each other and shake their heads, "No. we haven't." Jewel answers. It seems that she is the leader of this clique.

She is a beautiful girl. Jet black box braids twisted in a fancy updo that compliments the shape of her face. Dark flawless skin without a pore in sight and though her eyes were tired, it didn't take away from her beauty. She can't be any older than 19, what is she doing being a servant?

"Any idea why I'm being called to the dining room?" I ask another question. They all shake their heads no and I sigh.

"Thanks anyway," I say beginning my stroll past them. I am contemplating whether I should say a sly remark, but before I know it I'm too far away. I continue down the hallway, glancing at the same painting and pictures that haven't moved so much of an inch since my absence.

Paintings of relatives and those who came before us. Though all the portraits are of family, I can't say I recognize a single face. My face sure isn't on there and I don't expect it to be. What impact have I left on this country?

My thoughts are cut off when my body crashes into something warm and unmoving. My phone falls out my hand and tumbles onto the ground. My gaze drops to my phone before looking up to see what cause they clash.

"Princess Y/n," A kind voice says while familiar eyes gaze at me. My lips turn up in a genuine smile and I take a small step back from the tall man towering over my 5'4 stature. I bend down and scoop up my phone, shoving it into my pocket.

"Uncle Kwame!" I exclaim. I move to hug him but notice the books and papers that filled his arms.

"Princess Y/n! I heard you've been back for a few days now! My, how you have grown." He smiles that same smile of his and I snicker.

Kwame has been assisting my father since they were children. Though my father has the power and assertiveness, he never really had the brains. Kwame was the brain behind my father. Every decision and choice my father makes is run by Kwame first. He has wisdom beyond his years, being 5 years younger than my father, he looked older.

The stress of his job turned his black hair grey and his smooth skin to many wrinkles with bags under the eyes that won't disappear no matter how much he sleeps. His hairline has receded some and he now suffers from weak knees, made clear by his urge to sit down while groaning. He often unconsciously rubs his knees while he face scrunches up in discomfort.

"Yes, I've been around." I reply simply, "But I haven't seen you. Where have you been hiding?"

He chuckles as if remembering a funny joke, "I've been on vacation because my wife gave birth."

My mouth opens wide in shock, "Wow that's wonderful! I didn't know she was pregnant, congratulations."

"Thank you, Princess, we are thankful for our healthy baby boy. We certainly were not planning for another child."

I laugh, "I'm sure you weren't. But that's good to hear that he is healthy."

"Oh excuse my rudeness, how was London?" Kwame askes. I let out a tight sigh.

How was London? Ugh I want to say awful, but I don't want to worry Kwame. It's always like this, it's always been like this. The question stays the same and the places change. How was America? How was Germany? How was Sweden? Now it's how was London?

I can say I've been studying abroad more than I've been at home in Ghango. Started with a few years in New York where I stayed with some distant family for a few years of elementary school. I was back home for a summer before being sent to Germany from elementary to my second year of middle school. I started and finished high school in Sweden and just graduated from a university in London. Despite all the time I've spent abroad, my accent when speaking is still slightly noticeable.

Now here I am, back home or a place that is supposed to be home. My father's excuse was always that he wanted me to have a more global outlook, but what is the youngest daughter of a King going to do with a global outlook? Am I not just going to be married off to the prince of another African country?

"London was good. I've returned with my bachelors in English and World Languages and it's so good to be home."

"I'm sure it is. Now if you'll excuse me, Princess, I have travel plans to make." Kwame takes one step forward, but I quickly step in his way.

"Travel plans? My father is traveling?" My brows furrow.

"It seems so."

I roll my eyes, "Another pointless meeting?"

Kwame shrugs, "Who knows? I must be on my way, Princess." Kwame swiftly leaves making me groan in annoyance. Not at Kwame, but at my father.

"What a fool," I whisper to myself.

For a man that wants his daughter to be global, he sure wishes the opposite of his nation. Ghango is a country sitting on the west coast of Africa.

A country of many resources. Gold, diamonds, coal, cocoa and much more. We have been blessed to have land that is fruitful in its results yet my father, like his father before, refuses to share this with any nations. The country of Ghango does practically no exporting or trading.

My father does not trust countries within or outside of Africa, so we fend for ourselves and provide for ourselves. My father speaks of how he will not export to any country because they do not and will not offer him what he wants. I can't be sure I know what he wants.

However, my father, King Anthony Djan decides to entertain meetings with various country leaders although his mind is already made up. Wasting people's time and money is what I say. His narrow thinking will get this country nowhere.

Yet, he wants me to be global? For what?

I hope my eldest brother Kofi will be that one to change such a stiff policy.

I walk ahead to the double doors that lead into the dining room. I push them open and find Gladis and Kofi already seated at the table, that was lacking for by the way.

"Hey, Kofi. Gladis." I greet as I entered the room, walking further in and taking a seat across from Kofi at the large rectangular table. He sat beside Gladis who showed me a small smile.

Kofi has changed so much in the last four years, though I saw him when I initially arrived days ago, I still cannot bring myself to believe that this tall man in front of me is my older brother. He's gone from looking like a young man to a full grown King.

"You know," He begins, "For someone who has been gone for years, it doesn't seem like you've missed the family at all."

I roll my eyes at his childish tone. "Oh yes! That's right! I called every week because I can't stand you poor people of Africa with thick accents and dirty hands! I think I am above!" I let my sarcasm ring through the dining hall earning a snicker of amusement from Gladis.

Kofi leans back in his seat with a small grin. That grin hasn't changed much. Kofi was always the perfect balance. He was kind and fun when needed and serious and focused when needed. With him being the oldest child and the only boy, he was always loved more. No matter how my father denied it, there was no doubt about it.

From birthdays to treatment around the palace. It was clear he was favored not only among my parents but among the people of Ghango.

The doors swing open and my mother and father proceed inside. This is about the 2nd time I am seeing my father since being back. I don't have much to say so I simply watch him with void eyes.

I caught my mother's eyes and grin widely at her. My mother has been the one to call me every chance she got, send me letters and gifts on my birthday. She has been in my face since I've arrived back and was kind enough to give me this day to myself.

We spoke no words because nothing needed to be said.

They take their seats and we sit in silence for a moment. My father, thin grey beard and all, turns to glance at me. I almost expect him to say something. A hello or "we've missed you, Y/n." Although I know better than to expect such treasure from him.

He looks forward, his eyes trained on nobody in particular as he speaks.

"As the royal family of Ghango, we all have a duty. We have a duty to the people who respect us and even those who hate us. It is our job to do what is best for Ghango and to continue to see the growth of this wonderful nation." He spoke in our native language.

"It is our duty to do our parts, whatever they may be, to raise this country to up to its greatest potential."

Where is he going with this?

"I want nothing more than the best for all you. You are my children after all. I want all of you to take part in molding Ghango for the generations ahead of us, I don't want any of you to be spectators, simply watching as change happens. You all will be active participants in any way seen necessary." He pauses, glancing at my mother who nods encouragingly.

"I am considering trading with South Korea." He says.

His words echo in our minds for some silent moments. The first giggle escapes from my brother before Gladis and I follow suit. Our laughs ring through the room as our father watches in serious silence. Our laughter dies down and my father grimaces before sighing.

"I am being sincere this time. King Hyungsik Jeon has been able to sway me." He announces.

"Wait," Kofi says, "seriously?"

"Very seriously," He confirms.

"So you'll be traveling?" I ask before I could think about it. Of course, I already know he's traveling, Kwame told me so.

My father sets his eyes on me, "No. You will Y/n."

My heart dropped at his words and my shoulders sunk, "What?" My voice comes out shaky with anger.

"You can't be serious, I just got back home!" I protest.

"I will not trade with just any country, Y/n. I need to know the people of the nation, the royal family of the nation and just how society is in that place. South Korea's King has made a good offer. So you and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to-"

"Six months?" I shout, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"And why do I have to go too?" Gladis' voice was steady and calm but anger was burning in her eyes.

My father stays quiet for a second after our outbursts, "You and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to fully understand how the people of the country are, how the royal family functions, and just what the country stands for. After those six months, you will report to me. You and Gladis will ultimately be the ones to decide the fate of this deal. You'll leave in a few days."

I scoffed, "So this is why you made that fake deep speech about all of us shaping this country for future? So you could ship me off again?"

"Y/n!" My mother hisses. I shake my head, laughing humorlessly.

"This is an important deal for your father, so he wants to make sure he is taking the right steps." My mother explains.

"Then he should send Gladis or Kofi! I just got home, why do you all hate having me home so much?" My voice grew thin and strain while tears started to burn my eyes and blur my vision.

"Kofi has his place here." My father says sternly.

I stand up from my seat, "And I don't?"

"Y/n, it's not like that." My mother pleads.

"Your mother is right," My father says, "you're taking this wrong."

I shake my head in disbelief and walk towards the door.

"Just say I'm your least favorite child and get it over with." I spit before opening the door and storming down the hallway.

A/N: I am also posting this same Fanfic on Wattpad, except on Wattpad, there is a OC in place of Y/n. 

[fluffyllamas-23]

Shut up and let me love you

I finally have a fic written with my new girls! You know, I didn’t expect to like them this much lmao

Note: Owen owns the restaurant Ada and Allie work at, and he’s another one of my characters

The downside to Allie stretching herself too thin and doing a million things is that she’s in a near-constant state of stress.  This would be fine on its own, but unfortunately, the constant stress really does a number on her immune system, and she feels like she’s always coming down with something.

Finally, though, she manages to go about four months without so much as a headache. It was a nice run, but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and she wakes up Friday morning, feeling as though she’s been gargling nails. She’s so stuffed up she can’t breathe through her nose, and she all but cries from frustration as she hides her face in the pillow, because she’s so tired of this.

Her head is throbbing: mostly behind her eyes, but also in her temples, forehead and at the base of her neck.  Her head feels so unbelievably heavy, and all she wants to do is stay in bed and sleep, but she has too much to do.  She has a nine-hour shift, and then she has to work on her thesis, but she’s already so overwhelmed by just the thought of those two things, that tears prick at her eyes.  

She knows she should probably call out of work, because if she feels this awful already, she has no doubt that this is going to be one of those illnesses that hits hard and fast. Ultimately, though, she decides just to try and suck it up and go to work anyways.

As soon as it’s time for her to get up and get ready for work, she lets herself lay in bed for a few more minutes before dragging herself out from under the covers and to the closet. She coughs into her fist as she pulls out a pair of black slacks and her flowy black, long sleeved shirt and very slowly and clumsily changes into her work outfit.

She manages to make it to work with five minutes to spare, and immediately makes a beeline for the employee lounge (where she collapses onto the couch).  She’s careful to try and avoid both Ada and Owen, because she doesn’t want to have to deal with them right now, but she only has about a minute and a half to herself before Owen walks into the room.

He takes one look at her before shaking his head vehemently, “uh-uh.  No. No, no, no, no.”

“Owen-“ Allie croaks, rubbing at her tired eyes and then slumping back into the couch cushion.

“-No. Absolutely not. You shouldn’t be here. Go home and get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go home, Allie,” he says, brow creasing in concern, “you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“But-“

“I was telling you as a friend,” he says, raising his brows, “but now I’m telling you as your boss. I won’t have you infecting my customers, and I don’t want you working until you’re feeling better.”

“It’s not that bad,” she protests weakly.

“Well, you look miserable. Go home, take advantage of a few days off, you don’t get those too often, anyway.”

She sniffles once before twisting to the side to let out a breathy, itchy sneeze. She sniffles and coughs for a good minute, and when she rubs her watering eyes, Owen touches her back briefly.

“Ugh, sorry...I’m fine, really, I can work.”

“Is it the money?”

She nods slowly, biting her lip as her eyes slide to the ground.

“Maybe.”

“You have so many sick days, Allie. Seriously, it’s best for everyone if you just go home and sleep. You can’t honestly tell me you really want to be on your feet for nine hours, dealing with shitty customers.”

Her shoulders slump forward in defeat, “okay. Don’t tell Ada.”

“I won’t. Go home.”

*

“Owen told me he sent you home,” Ada says over the phone an hour and a half later.

“Dammit, Owen,” Allie groans, rubbing her left eye as she sniffles miserably.

“In his defense, he was being a little bitch about it and refused to tell me why you weren’t working until I tackled him.”

“You tackled him?”

“Only a little. He has weak knees. It didn’t take much.”

“Ada,” she groans, “oh my god, you could have just texted me.”  

“Yeah, but that’s not as fun.”

Allie muffles a cough into the sleeve of her oversized sweater, a shiver running down her spine, “whatever.”

“So what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. He’s just being dramatic.”

“Look, I’ll say a lot of things about Owen, but he’s definitely not dramatic and he has really good judgment about this stuff. Come on, Sweetheart. How bad are you feeling?”

“Not bad,” she lies.

“Bullshit.”

“...bad but not terrible?”

“Bull. Shit. Just tell me what the fuck is wrong, for fucks sake, Allie.”

“Ugh...I feel awful...I think it’s the flu...but I’m fine.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Now? What? No, you have work.”

“Screw work.”

“Excuse me, miss ‘my favorite aunt died and I went to work immediately after the service’. You aren’t a ‘screw work’ kind of person.”

“Do you have a fever?”

“...I think? M’kinda woozy.”

“Okay, well that just makes me want to come over even more. I’m leaving now.”

“Don’t. I’m fine, seriously. Stay at work, I’m just going to sleep or something.”

Ada is silent for a moment, and then, “are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you call me if you feel worse?”

“Sure.”

“Fine, I’ll come over after work.”

“No,” she groans, “you’ll get sick, and this isn’t all that fun. I’ll be fine in a few days, I’ll see you then.”

“Are you shitting me, Allie?” Ada asks, exasperation edging into her tone, “I love you, you moron, I don’t care if I get sick, I’m coming over and bringing you soup and grilled cheese and mashed potatoes and everything else that will help you feel better, understand?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, “but you can’t complain if you get sick, because I warned you.”

“I won’t. Okay, I have to go. You’d better call me if you feel worse, I mean it.”

“I will...promise...key is under the mat.”

“Good. Okay, get some sleep, baby. Feel better.”

*

Allie wakes to a cool hand on her forehead. The hand slides down to her cheek, and then there’s a pair of lips pressed to her temple.

“Ada?” She croaks, forcing an eye open. She blinks a few times to clear the fogginess clouding her vision.

“Hi, honey,” she says gently, cupping her cheek, “sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, but it’s late and you should get up and eat something.”

She groans and scrunches up her face as she rubs at it.

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch...feeling pretty awful, huh?”

“Ugh…I don’t know...jus’woke up.”

“You told me you never sleep on the couch unless you feel like shit.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, a cough rattling in her chest.

Ada winces, “that doesn’t sound good.”

“S’fine. You really don’t have to be here, Ada,” she groans, “I feel awful, but I’ll feel worse if you catch it.”

“Shut up and let me love you.”

Allie gives her a sleepy smile, half hiding her face in the pillow, “okay.”

“I made you food. Are you hungry?”

“No...but I’m guessing you’re not asking because you care.”

“No, not really. I made soup, and grilled cheese, and pasta and some mashed potatoes. Which do you want?”

“Uh...maybe the soup?” She says, draping an arm over her eyes, screwing up her face in discomfort, “my stomach doesn’t feel great.”

“Nauseous?”

“A little,” she mumbles, “s’not bad...just feels...bleh.”

“The potatoes might be the best idea then,” she says, running a hand through Allie’s hair, “they’re real bland. I wasn’t sure how bad you were feeling.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

“I can’t believe you tried to fucking work,” she says, scowling down at Allie, “you would have fucking passed out.”

“Probably...I’m really dizzy.”

Ada frowns, “dizzy? Are you alright?”

“S’justa fever...I always get dizzy with fevers.  M’fine.”

“You’re definitely running one.”

Allie leans into Ada’s touch when she cups her cheek, shivering as she tries to burrow further into the blankets.

Ada manages to coax her into eating a couple bites, letting her take her temperature, drinking about half a bottle of water, and taking some NyQuil before moving her to her bed. It’s almost eleven, and she’s been fast asleep for the last three and a half hours, with no indication that she’s going to be getting up anytime soon.

*

Allie coughs herself awake a few hours later.  She groans in discomfort when she’s flung into another coughing fit almost immediately afterward. Her chest burns as her lungs attempt to eject themselves out of her body, and she feels a hand on her back, rubbing slow, comforting circles.  

“Oh...how are you doing, sweetheart?” Ada asks gently as Allie curls into herself.

“Nnnngh,” She groans, blinking heavily, “what time is it?”

“Only about two.”

“Why are you awake?” She mumbles.

“I’m up until five most nights.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“What? You want me to leave?”

“Thought you were going to after I fell asleep,” Allie mumbles, clutching her pillow.

“You had a one hundred and two degree fever when you fell asleep, did you think I was just going to ditch you?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters, sniffling as she nuzzles her face into the blanket.  “This is the first time I’ve been sick since we got together...somehow.”

“Well I’m not a piece of shit,” Ada bristles, “I love you, I’m not going to leave you on your own when you feel this bad.”

“I know you aren’t,” she coughs, “sorry...I just...thank you.”

“Think you can go back to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, “will you cuddle with me?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll cuddle with you,” Ada says, tugging on Allie’s arm.  She rolls over, and as soon as she’s lying with her head on Ada’s chest, she feels herself drifting back to sleep, with Ada running her fingers up and down her back.    

“Night,” she mumbles tiredly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Ada murmurs into her ear.

[susan-gampre]

New Generation, part 1/2

This is the first part of two, this story was a collab effort between @tomen-dawes , @ophelia-gampre , @johanna-gampre and myself!

The cubs birth will be in part 2!

“Gaining the Courage to Face a Mother Tiger”

The evening started with a very concerned Madam expressing and stressing that she hadn't seen Anthrel that entire morning, and afternoon. Now, with evening casually chasing away all sunlight, the majority of the brothel confessed their own concerns for the great big cat.

“She’s been gone all morning and afternoon... I just can’t imagine where the hell she could’ve gone off to for so long!”

One woman confirmed that around an hour beforehand she watched as the pacing tigress ducked into an old shack, one often used for keeping the local's hay feed safe and dry from the unpredictable Pandaren weathers.

A cool, shielded, concealed area to protect her from the weathers, also a dark space to rest easily...

There were rumors of whimpers and groans coming from the shed, in general, was chasing off the locals from using the shed, the murmured whispers of a great beast of orange and black making its home within there was keeping the villagers at bay...

Susan’s eyes widened.

It was then, with this information rolling around in her head, Susan would reach for Tomen, drawing the man’s attention to her in an instant. Her gaze begging whilst sweeping between the three bodies currently holed up in her room before she even manages to state, absolutely breathless, "It's time, it has to be... She wouldn't just up and disappear like this!"

Johanna looked up at Susan's words, her features blanch and stricken with grief given she admittedly usually avoided the tiger more out of apprehension than dislike.   "I-... I've never-..." She trailed off, clearly very unsure of what was being asked of her, "I guess we can check on her, but-..."

 "Anthrel was lookin' ready to pop,” Tomen remarks, ultimately cutting off Johanna’s incoherent babble, his eyes lingering on both Johanna and Ophelia. The latter furrows her brow and shakes her head.

"Tigresses birth cubs all the time in the wild by themselves, Anthrel his healthy, she'll be able to handle it - but it wouldn't hurt for us to be there, you know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong -- and to witness it happen," Ophelia glanced between the three, arms crossing under her bust.

"You gotta understand Anthrel's... Only partially wild. She was raised in captivity, with me, since she was a cub herself... She might have the instincts, but that makes it an even more dangerous situation, yah know? She could attack anyone who gets too close-- Which is better for us three," she motions from herself to Ophie and then Tomen, "She's comfortable around family..," though as she glances to Johanna she shrugs, "And hopefully... Tagalongs."

Johanna snorted audibly at the comment. "'S all I am?" She teased lightly, crossing her arms over her chest briefly.

With a heave of a sigh Susan'd then inhale a breath of courage and pry the blanket from atop her form, coaxing it aside, pointing behind Johanna, "Hand me the nightgown from off that chair, aye? Can't waste any time.”

Quickly Johanna would drape the nightgown over Susan's shoulders. She smiled briefly at her cousin, though she still remained looking quite unsure - every movement is tentative and a tad anxious.

The older sister glances toward the Madam, “Susan should be there too, even if she's just sitting. Her presence will calm Anthrel... Plus, you don't wanna miss her first litter, do you?"

"Of course not," the bedridden woman hisses in response, eyeing Ophelia with slight contempt at the very suggestion that maybe Susan wouldn’t want to be there, "I'm practically fully healed, I can even walk down the--," though as she sat upright in one swift motion would a grunt of pain announce itself, and a flash of discomfort consume her features. The Madam sat upright now, rigid and tense, nails digging into the bartender's shirt and, ultimately, biting into the skin beneath.

"Oi, uh... want me to check it out? Or get the wheelchair so ye can check it out?"  The latter question coming with a pointed stare, and bright grin for Susan.

The man at her bedside took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, a gesture he had become all the more accustomed to in the recent days since the surgery.

"Awh... O-Okay.. Maybe just the wheel chair, not.. W-Walk..,” Susan eventually concedes.

All he heard was 'wheel chair' and Tomen was out the door in a flash.

Ophelia smirked as Tomen dashed out the door, "He's doting..." She said, sipping a breath, letting her chest rise before inquiring, "So where is this shack, again? How far? Should we bring her anything? Water?"

The wheel chair banging against the door as Tomen not so gently rolled it inside would startle all three women to attention-- and as he spun around, moving to push it up alongside Susan's bed would he notice Susan's death stare would be cast upon him.

The bearded barkeep couldn't have been beaming any bigger, eyes squinted from cheeks risen so high.  "I got it!  Check this out, Suze!"

Oh... How she was condemning the fellow within her mind for the contraption he brought into the room, completely unconvinced that he had his best interests in mind when she noticed the shoddy paint job. Though with a shake of the head she considered this to be the only obstacle between her and seeing the new era of tigers, and promptly pulled herself around with great struggle to sit on the edge of her bed.

Beckoning from Tomen to the chair Susan was practically gesturing for him to help her, muttering something about not being able to do it herself. Quietly Tomen kept himself busy by shuffling beside Susan to carefully hoist her into his arms once she was ready, carrying her like a bride before shifting and turning to ease her very slowly down into the padded seat.

In the next moment she answered Ophelia’s queries, settling down from the stinging pain in her sides, "Water... Blankets, freshly cut meat of any variety... Things to sustain her through this night, because if her cubs are anything like her.. We're in for a long one. The shed's just right outside off the back balcony of the brothel, closer toward the corral."

Ophelia nodded soft, "Right, okay." She followed them in roll wherever they would, "I'll get the supplies and meet you all there,  then. Hopefully with Johanna still in one piece."

Johanna nodded, giving a tiny smile over at Ophelia briefly, before turning her attention back to Susan. "Right." She murmured softly.

Taking a small step back, Tomen watched her with concern, wanting to make sure she wasn't in pain from sitting mostly upright.  "Ow's that, Suze?"

"Perfect," the maiden nods to the tender, a small smile flashed up at him before she'd swiftly reach toward the bed to begin plucking up as many blankets as she could carry in her lap, along with a couple of pillows before using her hands to weigh these items down on her knees, "Lets roll!"

Johanna didn't join in the joking - instead, she simply snickered quietly. "Nicely done, Susan," She padded along beside them, arms crossing over her chest a tad anxiously. She glanced to Tomen, giving a vaugely encouraging grin in spite of herself.

An involuntarily groan befalls the Madam, her head lolling backward, completely aware this little pun wouldn't go unnoticed by Tomen, "Shit... Lets... Lets just go..."

Shuffling back around the wheelchair, Tomen ripped the leather wrapped handles and beamed like a kid in a candy store as he started to slowly push the creaky thing along and out of the door.  

"Ye know, Suze.  If somethin' goes wrong on the way, I'm wheely sorry."

"... You're really working my nerves Tomen, I just cant stand you sometimes," Susan huffs in response, a playful scowl twisting up her features, meanwhile bringing a hand from atop the pillows and blankets, coaxing and combing her hair backward and down along her scalp, "Just out the back door, the shed isn't too far from the back porch..." With a little skip in his step, the faithful bartender he pushed Susan along at a brisk pace, knowing everyone was eager to check on the tigress. 

Swerving around chairs and tables, they made it to the back door - which he reached for only to barely open it, then simply used the front of the wheelchair (and much to her protest, Susan’s feet) to shove it open, and guide the small group out onto the back porch.

Turning left and right, the wheelchair veered with as the trio searched for the shed Susan had mentioned.

But one would wonder however could they miss it, of course, with a grand majority of villagers lingering and pointing in the direction of one such shed, whispering to each other, muttering about the foul wickedness that awaited anyone within its four walls...

[artyblogs]

Launch Date ch 3 Wrecked

Star Wars the Clone Wars, Ahsoka/Riyo

Launch Date summary: In which Ahsoka mistakes Riyo for an office secretary, Riyo is sometimes too gay to function, and R7-A7 is determined to be a trollish kark.

First Chapter : Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Chapter Summary:  Ahsoka: You can't catch me, Gay Thoughts! Riyo *is caught by the Gay Thoughts*

The last time Riyo was in a hospital voluntarily, her mother was alive. She hasn’t thought of hospitals the same since, and avoids them so much that Magnus must drag her into one when something is wrong with her health. So when she steps through the front doors of the First Republic Hospital, it’s with sinking trepidation. The hospital smells like stale Bacta and anesthetic, and it’s incredibly busy. Medical personnel and droids help transfer patients between floors and rooms. Others distribute medicine. Because the hospital is so packed, the patients recovering from the Blue Shadow Virus are split up between rooms. Half of Ahsoka’s room is curtained off, obscuring her roommate, but every now and then, an electronic sentence plays from behind it: “I am in pain.”

Whenever that happens, a medical droid comes into the room carrying a syringe of morphine and an IV bag of Bacta. It disappears behind the curtain, and comes out a couple minutes later with an empty syringe and an empty Bacta pouch. Titon, who keeps watch from just inside the doorway, can’t stop staring at the curtain. Riyo drops her bag on the floor and sinks into the visitor’s chair beside Ahsoka’s bed.

Ahsoka’s still asleep. Her usual orange skin is streaked with sickly, bluish-black veins and there’s an IV needle stuck in her arm. The IV line leads up to a Bacta bag that hangs from a rack off to the side.

Riyo’s heart drops into her stomach at the sight. Ahsoka’s hand is feverishly warm, and Riyo traces the thin bones in her fingers with her thumb and finds that her palm is roughened with calluses. Riyo leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. She concentrates on the steady beeps of the vitals sensor and tries not to think about worst case scenarios.

Ahsoka squeezes back. It’s a weak squeeze, but it’s there. Riyo opens her eyes and sees that Ahsoka’s awake.

“Riyo,” Ahsoka whispers. She gives her a small smile and Riyo can’t help but smile back.

“They said you were well enough to get visitors,” Riyo says. “So I got you something.”

Riyo pulls a tupperware out from her bag while Ahsoka clumsily fiddles with the controls of the bed so that she can sit up. Riyo pauses.

“Can you eat solid food?” she asks. Ahsoka shrugs. She still looks exhausted.

“They’ve been feeding me some kind of protein mush in a tube. That’s kind of solid, right?”

“Good enough. I cooked you some Bantha and gravy.”

“Oh Force! Thank you.” Ahsoka reaches out and takes a fork that Riyo holds out for her, only to fumble and drop it onto the bed. She tries to pick it up again, but drops it into her lap. The two girls stare at it.

“Protein mush from a tube,” Riyo repeats.

“Yeah.”

“A tube that doesn’t require much grip strength.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says. “Or finger articulation. Or movement in general. I still can’t lift my hands above my head.”

Riyo gives Ahsoka an apologetic look, then takes up the fork. “Say ‘ah.’”

“No way!” The stripes on Ahsoka’s montrals and lekku darken into a deep blue and she covers her face in her hands. “Riyo, don’t make me do that!”

Riyo giggles. “Do you want to eat real food or not?”

“I do! But…” Ahsoka peeks at Riyo through a gap in her fingers. Then she glances past Riyo at Titon.

“Oh,” Riyo says. “Titon?”

“Huh?” Titon’s transfixed by the curtain.

CLICK. “I am in pain,” comes from behind the curtain again.

“Titon,” Riyo says, more firmly this time.

“Oh! Yes, Senator?”

“Can you keep watch from out in the hallway?”

“Of course,” Titon mutters. Just like that, he’s gone, as if he can’t leave the room fast enough.

Riyo turns back to Ahsoka. “Are you going to open up, or will I have to make speeder noises?”

Ahsoka groans.

“Ahsoka! I’m only teasing.” Riyo’s voice softens. “Let me take care of you.”

“…Okay.” Ahsoka lowers her hands. “But only because I don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Ah.” Riyo stabs a piece of meat and holds it out for Ahsoka.

“Ah,” Ahsoka says. The meat is gone with a flash of pointy teeth. Riyo slowly lowers the fork.

“May I ask you something? At the risk of sounding incredibly ignorant?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Are Togruta teeth really venomous?”

Ahsoka quirks an eyebrow marking up and stares. To her credit, however, Riyo powers through her discomfort to stare back.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Riyo finally says, but Ahsoka shakes her head.

“I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.” Ahsoka wipes her mouth on a napkin. “No, we’re not venomous. Don’t tell anyone though. It comes in handy when people think that we are. My turn. Ah.”

“Your turn?” Riyo gives Ahsoka another piece of meat. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm. You asked me something, now I get to ask you something.”

“That’s fair.”

“What do your tattoos mean? The ones on your arm and hands?”

Riyo’s mouth drops in surprise. “That is a good question.”

“I saw them a couple months ago, but I never asked about them. Ah.”

“It’s a full sleeve. A lot of Pantorans have tattoos, but we cover them up when we want to appear professional. Facial tattoos are like clan markers, but the ones on our arms, they’re family history.” Riyo sets the tupperware aside, then unclasps the sleeves of her jacket. She shrugs it off.

Ahsoka realizes that she’s staring, and turns away for a moment. When she looks back, Riyo’s undoing her shirt sleeves, and for a thrilling moment, Ahsoka thinks that she’s going to take off her shirt too and wonders what the hell is wrong with herself. But Riyo, unaware of Ahsoka’s predicament, doesn’t take off her shirt; she only rolls her sleeves up and points to a design on the outside of her left forearm.

“These two, for example, represent mountains and grain. My ancestors on my mother’s side were farmers, they helped create the ancient steppe farms in the mountains. It goes all the way up,” here Riyo traces the design up over her sleeve to her shoulder, “to the moon, because the Moon Goddess created everything.”

“What about your father?” Ahsoka asks. “Is he in there too?”

Riyo brings her forearms together. Compared to her left arm, the right is a smooth, even blue. “Pantorans usually have two sleeves: left for their mother, right for their father. But there’s no way I’m putting any mark from that man on my body.”

“What about the ones on your hands?” Ahsoka asks. Riyo places her hands on the bed between them so that they can both see. Both hands have the same design.

“These are personalized. They represent my career, who I am as a person. A Pantoran tattooist can tell you exactly who that person is from one glance of their tattoos, because they tell their story.”

“Ah.” Ahsoka imagines what the rest of Riyo’s tattoos look like and wonders where they could be on her body. Just as quickly as the images pop into her mind, Ahsoka banishes them.

CLICK. “I am in pain,” comes from behind the curtain.

There is a wide courtyard on the roof of the Jedi Temple and in the courtyard is an ancient tree planted in one end, which seems to preside over the entire space as if a benevolent god. The majority of the courtyard is divided up into smaller areas by long planters and benches, making it a perfect place for Jedi of all ages to spar with each other. Ahsoka and Plo Koon bring up two cushions and a Holochess board and play a couple games in the fading sunlight. A few younglings gather around.

“There, Padawan Tano.” A six year-old wriggles her way onto Ahsoka’s lap and points at a particular space. “Move there.”

“I like your mask, Master Koon.”

“Is your headband made of teeth?”

They’re cute. Honest. But Plo gives Ahsoka a helpless look that makes her giggle. Give Plo one afternoon with one youngling, and he’ll be fine, but it’s been years since he’s taken charge of a creche, or even taught a youngling class.

“Younglings,” Ahsoka says once she’s gotten herself under control, “have you heard the story of the Ancient Tree?”

“The Tree?” The younglings grow still to listen to her talk.

“It’s a wise thing that has seen many things across the eons: the creation of systems, ancient battles between Jedi and Sith, and more. They say that if you meditate under it, it will tell you what it’s seen.”

“What?”

“Cool!”

The younglings run off towards the other end of the courtyard. Ahsoka giggles again then turns back to Plo, who hums with appreciation.

“You’re welcome, Master Koon.”

The ground shakes under them, throwing them from their seats. The Holochess board tips over and crashes onto its side. Ahsoka and Plo share a look of concern.

“What was that?” Ahsoka picks herself off the ground and runs to the side of the courtyard, where other Jedi gather.

“It’s coming from the Senate District!” an older youngling points to the horizon, where thick plumes of black smoke rise into the air.

“It must be that Zillo Beast they brought in today,” a knight says. “Remember? It was all over HNN.”

Ahsoka gasps. Anakin is in the Senate District, keeping Padmé company while she works late hours. Ahsoka tries calling his comlink, but doesn’t get an answer. She tries again. Nothing.

Ahsoka huffs, but doesn’t give up. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and drops into a kneeling position. In her mind, she grabs one end of the Force Bond she shares with Anakin and traces it across the city until she receives feelings that aren’t hers. There are traces of stress, but also an overwhelming sense of calm. Amusement, strong and intentional, shoots back into her through the bond.

Don’t worry Snips, Anakin seems to think at her. I got this.

He also flashes images of Padmé and the Chancellor, confirming their safety.

Ahsoka sighs and drops the bond, content. This peace lasts only for a moment before she’s gripped with panic again.

“Riyo!” Ahsoka fumbles with her comlink again to call her. It doesn’t even go through and she ends the call, disgusted. Everyone must be trying to com everyone else at the same time, jamming the comlink towers.

“‘Soka?” Plo touches Ahsoka’s shoulder. “We must have faith. Mace and Anakin will handle the situation.”

“Of course, but it’s not them that I’m worried about,” Ahsoka says. Senators who are a part of the same camp tend to keep to the same schedule, so if Padmé is working late tonight, then so is Riyo. And yeah, Magnus and Titon are capable guards, but Ahsoka guesses that they probably didn’t think that they’d have to protect Riyo from a Zillo Beast. Ahsoka sinks herself into meditation once again.

There are billions of people on Coruscant and billions of non-sentient creatures. All of them sing out through the Force. Ahsoka concentrates on the lilt of Riyo’s voice, the way her eyebrows crinkle with complex thought, and rifles through the Force as quickly as she can, looking, looking, looking for Riyo.

Ahsoka finds her alive in one of the Senate bunkers. Before she can slump in relief, however, she brushes up against her, which—really—is something only an unpracticed youngling would do. Ahsoka’s world explodes in phantom sensations.

The floor trembles underneath her with every step the Zillo Beast takes. Plaster dust rains down on her head from the ceiling. The Zillo Beast’s roars vibrate right through her chest.

Ahsoka realizes that Riyo would like very much to be…not there, thank you very much. But then Ahsoka feels a warm, solid presence sitting beside her.

Captain Sterno, she realizes, and he’s a bastion of calm compared to RIyo. If he’s not worried about the Zillo Beast, then that’s enough. Satisfied, Ahsoka pulls away. She doesn’t ask herself why she found Riyo so quickly.

Riyo drags her hands down her face and takes a deep breath. Calm. Peace. Senators aren’t supposed to lose their tempers. She’s been trying to beef up her security, but the Pantoran Assembly won’t increase the budget for another guard, so she must sign up for Senatorial guards. The problem is that because of the Zillo Beast, every other senator has also requested extra guards. Security has no more guards to assign, so they put her name down on a waiting list.

A waiting list is not going to keep her safe. She’s messaged Security multiple times, but every reply has been the same: we’re working on it. So while they work on that, Riyo’s been working from her home office on Pantora, where it’s safer. Even though she must bus her own coffee mugs, she considers it a good enough trade off, because whenever she needs to attend a hologram meeting, she puts on one of her suit jackets, and when the meeting is over, she gets to take it off and lounge in pajama bottoms and a tank top.

The hologram comlink on her desk chimes, and Riyo answers it. It’s Magnus, in a frayed henley shirt. Traces of his full chest tattoo peek out over the collar of his shirt.

“Senator Chuchi,” he says.

“Yes, Captain?”

“We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”

Riyo grimaces. Magnus’s brows knit together.

“Your safety is my job, not yours. Please let me handle it.”

“Captain…”

“No, Senator. You cannot continue to play hooky from the Senate. People depend on you. Trust me to keep you safe. I will be enough.”

Riyo nods, and Magnus gives her something that might be called a smile before he ends the call. She wonders if she can request a Jedi detail like how Padmé has been doing lately. She always seems to get Anakin Skywalker as her assigned guard, and what are the odds of that? She chuckles.

BEEP BEEP. The hologram comlink chimes again and Riyo answers it. It’s Ahsoka.

“Hey you,” Ahsoka says.

“Hello yourself,” Riyo says. “Congratulations on your victory in Geonosis.”

“Hah! Yeah, that was actually kinda fun. Whoops!” Ahsoka’s image wavers for a second. Someone else giggles offscreen.

“Ahsoka, get down from there, you’ll hurt yourself!”

“Aww, come on! Jedi aren’t clumsy.”

“Sober Jedi aren’t clumsy,” Riyo says. “Go home, Ahsoka, you’re drunk. Who’s with you?”

“Come here. Come here!” Ahsoka beckons to the mystery girl, then reaches out and pulls her close so that the hologram comlink will pick them both up.

“This is Senator Riyo Chuchi. Introduce yourself” Ahsoka says. The mystery girl, a Mirialan around Riyo’s age, giggles as she stumbles against Ahsoka and gives Riyo a shy curtsy.

“Hello, Senator,” the girl says. “I’m…uhm…padawan learner Barriss Offee at your service.”

“Force, you’re too polite,” Ahsoka says.

“Hello, Master Jedi.” Riyo gives her a warm smile. “And please, call me Riyo. A friend of Ahsoka’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, Riyo,” Barriss says. “Please feel free to call me ‘Barriss' as well.”

“How many shots are you giving her, Ahsoka?”

“We just had a thank-Force-we’re-alive drink,” Ahsoka says. “Just one.”

“Lies.”

“Okay, fine uh…more than one.” Ahsoka rolls her eyes, then her smirk softens into a bittersweet smile. “When are you coming back? I miss you.”

Something jumps in Riyo’s chest. Why did she leave Coruscant in the first place?

“Soon,” she says. She wonders how quickly she can cross half the galaxy.

Ahsoka has her lightsaber at Sib Canay’s throat when the corridor, already littered with dismembered droids, quickly fills up with Neimoidian guards who are ready to fight. There’s too many of them, and the corridor is too contained for Ahsoka’s fighting style. She deactivates her lightsaber with a disappointed click of her tongue.

Riyo comes out of the prison cell into the corridor behind her, followed by Chairman Papanoida’s daughter, Chi Eekway. Another Trade Federation official sweeps into the corridor behind the guards.

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” Riyo whispers as she pushes past her to meet the official head on. “Leave the rest to me.”

She proceeds to give the official the most vicious dressing down that Ahsoka’s ever heard.

Later, aboard the Jedi Shuttle, Chi Eekway excuses herself to comlink her father, leaving Ahsoka and Riyo to themselves in the cockpit.

“Can I see your shoe?” Ahsoka asks.

“What?” Riyo asks.

“Let me see your shoe.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never seen anyone put their foot that far up a guy’s butt.”

“Ahsoka!” Riyo bursts into laughter and Ahsoka’s heart does acrobatics in her chest. “I did, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Well, you were quite impressive yourself.”

“Really?” Ahsoka grins. They’re cut off when Chi Eekway emerges from the cockpit of the ship.

“My father wants to invite you both to dinner,” she says.

Chairman Papanoida, before he was Chairman, was an entertainment baron, and he got his start writing several plays that were received with great praise and acclaim. His earliest works are easily adapted by smaller troupes, and thus are widely studied by Pantoran academies. When the Papanoida family, Riyo, and Ahsoka sit down for dinner that evening, the topic inevitably turns to these plays.

“Do they show them here on Coruscant too, Master Jedi?” Papanoida asks halfway into the meal.

“They do, Chairman,” Ahsoka says, surprised at how much she’s enjoying herself. She’s eating some kind of sour reindeer soup and she gets to sit next to Riyo during a meal for once, instead of across from her.

“My favorite one—I forget the title—but it’s about two pairs of twins who get mixed up with each other,” Ahsoka says.

“I’m quite fond of that one,” Papanoida says. “I rarely get time to finish anything these days; I’m in the market for a collaborator. What do you say, Senator? Are you open to trying your hand at fiction?”

Riyo’s ears turn indigo. “Chairman, please. I’m more suited to treatises.”

“You do yourself a great disservice! Your essays are full of passion.”

Ion, Papanoida’s son, nods in agreement. “How else could you move the people to action so often? And your letters to your cousin were exquisite.”

Riyo gives a forced smile. “Thank you.”

Ahsoka tries to distract them. “What’s your favorite play, Chairman? Out of all the plays you’ve written? There must be one.”

“That’s a difficult question, Master Jedi!” Papanoida gives a gruff chuckle, but launches into a spiel about his work nonetheless. While he talks, Riyo gives Ahsoka a grateful smile.

One day, Riyo gets a message on her black data pad from Senator Bail Organa. It’s about a meeting between all the opponents of the Enhanced Privacy Invasion Bill that’s to take place in one of the atriums of the Senate Office Building late that morning. Riyo releases her aides and her guards for an early lunch before walking into the atrium, but then Cad Bane swaggers into the room and fires his blaster into the air, and his posse surrounds them. He shoots Senator Philo in the back and a pit of fear opens in Riyo’s gut. After an emotional rollercoaster during which Anakin reveals his presence in the building, is captured, but then frees all the hostages by cutting the floor out from under them, Riyo dusts herself off and limps out of the atrium.

The entire building is still on lockdown, so no one else can come in, and Riyo doesn’t meet anyone else on her way to her office. When she gets to her office, she sinks into her chair and rifles through her desk drawers for the back-up comlink that Magnus set up for her just in case.

It’s full of missed calls and messages. Riyo calls Magnus, and he picks up right away.

“Senator Chuchi!” Magnus bellows. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Captain,” Riyo says. She tells him about Anakin’s daring rescue as she collects her belongings and leaves the office. There’s no way she wants to stay here for the rest of the day.

“I should have been there.”

“This was not your fault. Perhaps if I had a blaster, I might have been able to do something.”  

“I’ll have the derringer ready for you tomorrow.”

The call ends. Riyo slips the comlink into her pocket and opens a door. She almost runs into someone on the other side.

“Riyo!” Ahsoka gives her a hug. “You’re okay!”

“Ahsoka!” Riyo drops her bag on the floor to hug her back. “How did you get in here?”

“The building’s no longer on lock down,” Ahsoka picks up Riyo’s bag and hands it back to her. “So here I am! Where you off to now?”

“Honestly, I’m ready to get drunk,” Riyo says. Ahsoka whoops and takes her arm. “Gods, Senator Philo is dead, and I just had lunch with him last week.”

Ahsoka gives her an apologetic look. “We’ll pour one out for him.” She looks down. “You’re limping.”

“Yes, I landed funny when your master dropped us fifteen feet without warning.” Riyo pauses, then says, “don’t tell Magnus.”

“Okay, but he’s gonna notice anyway.”

“Don’t say that! Senator Amidala and your master are very close.”

Ahsoka snorts at the clumsy change of subject. “They are.”

Riyo hesitates, unsure of how to say the next bit. “I think I heard something that I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

“What?”

“Padmé had your master’s lightsaber. She said afterwards that she found it, but no. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

Ahsoka squints at her. “But a Jedi’s lightsaber is their life! Why would Padmé have it? Why would Anakin give it to her?”

“Why indeed.” Riyo and Ahsoka board a shuttle and hold onto the dangling handles as it takes off. “It’s none of my business. Forget I said anything.”

“Too late,” Ahsoka murmurs, lost in thought. “It’s not just you, I’ve noticed things about them too.”

“Whatever you find out, you don’t have to tell me,” Riyo says. “That way I can have deniability.”

Riyo gazes out of the shuttle window and loses herself in the vivid colors of the sky. Ten minutes ago, she had the business end of a blaster stuck in her face. Now, she watches sunlight glint off of the glass and metal of Coruscant’s skyscrapers. The streams of speeders cross in an intricate net over the city. Even the steady throb of pain and blood in her sprained ankle reminds her: she’s alive.

She’s alive.

On the holoscreen, the music swells to a forte as one of the characters, a female Togruta, presents her lover with a knife.

“Will you marry me?”

But her lover backs away.

“I can’t! I’m sorry!” The music swells again in minor key as the lover runs off, leaving the Togruta by herself, heartbroken. Ahsoka shrieks with schadenfreude delight and pulls a blanket over her face to hide her smile. “Toothless! She’s gonna go Akul hunting now, watch.”

“‘Toothless?’” Riyo asks. “What does that mean?”

She and Ahsoka are sitting on the couch in Riyo’s apartment, watching a hologram show about an ancient warrior princess and a poet who travel around an ancient planet. Ahsoka’s wrapped in a blanket like she’s a burrito and Riyo’s lounging in sleep shorts and t-shirt.

“Ah hmm,” Ahsoka hesitates as she tries to find the right words to explain. “To Togruta, two things matter: your physical prowess and the head. The elders believe that energies from the universe flow into us through the montrals, and down into the head and into the lekku.”

“Is that why it’s taboo to touch a Togruta’s montrals and lekku?” Riyo asks.

“Yeah! It’s pretty intimate stuff. Anyways, that’s also the reason why we have Akul tooth headdresses instead of Akul tooth belts, or Akul tooth bracelets; powerful items should be worn on the most powerful parts of the body. Since we go to hell and back for our headdresses, the only time we’d ever permanently take them off is to make a knife.”

Riyo gasps. “You make the knives out of the Akul teeth? From your own headdresses?”

“Yup.”

Riyo’s silent for a couple moments. “So when the knife was rejected….”

“You can’t unmake a knife, so now she’s ’toothless,’ poor thing.”

The two of them return their attention to the holoscreen, which shows the hapless Togruta crying silent tears as she makes a spear. When it cuts to commercial, Ahsoka undoes Riyo’s world with only four words: “I met a boy.”

Riyo says nothing, believing herself to have misheard.

“Last week,” Ahsoka continues, “when I went with Padmé to visit the Separatists.”

“Is that so?” Riyo gets a bad feeling in her gut, but ignores it for now. “Who is he?”

Ahsoka giggles, actually giggles, and Riyo pastes a smile on her face and tries to ignore how her heart plummets into her stomach.

“Lux Bonteri. His mom’s a senator for the Separatists and yeah, I know we’re supposed to be fighting them, but Lux is pretty cool.”

“Does that mean he’s handsome?”

“You could describe him that way.”

“Fantastic.” That’s all Riyo manages to say. Isn’t she supposed to be happy for her friend? Ahsoka, unaware of Riyo’s turmoil, presses on.

“I mean, I know Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments, so there’s no way it’s ever gonna fly, but I can still admire him from afar, right?” Ahsoka glances at Riyo and does a double take. “Are you okay?”

Riyo shakes her head. “I think I ate something bad earlier.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s something else.” Ahsoka squints and scoots closer to get a better look at her. The edge of the blanket slips from her montrals and pools around her shoulders.

“You are not using the Force on me.” Riyo’s pulse spikes in warning in her ears. “Ahsoka, please. Not now.”

“Yeah fine, but it’s not like I can just turn it off. I already know it’s something big. Let me help!”

Riyo might not know what’s going on with herself, but she knows that whatever it is will make her implode, and that can’t happen in front of Ahsoka.

“I don’t think it’s something you can swing a lightsaber at,” Riyo says.

“Not with that attitude, it isn’t.”

“I suppose not.” Riyo gives Ahsoka an apologetic smile. “It’s still not one of those problems.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Perhaps not now. It’ll keep, Ahsoka.”

“I guess,” Ahsoka says, still not convinced. The both of them watch the rest of the hologram show, but are no longer interested in it. Ahsoka leaves soon after that, after one last lingering hug and also only after Riyo has promised to call her if there’s anything she can do to help. After sending Ahsoka off, Riyo stands in one spot for a long moment, trying to keep herself together. She calls Magnus on the hologram comlink.

When it rings, Riyo panics and checks the time, thinking that she’s called him late at night, but it’s still early in the evening. Magnus picks up.

“Senator Chuchi?” he asks. “Did you need something?”

Unable to keep her composure any longer, Riyo lets her shoulders slump and grits her teeth. “Captain. Help.”

After confirming that no, Riyo isn’t in immediate physical danger, and that yes, she does need help, Magnus swings by to pick her up in a speeder. She pulls on a hooded jacket and a pair of soft boots before heading out the door to meet him.

“Senator,” Magnus says when Riyo slides into the passenger seat.

“Captain,” Riyo tries to say. Her voice catches in her throat. Magnus’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Riyo sinks down in her seat and hugs herself. “Please don’t laugh. It sounds stupid.”

“I don’t believe you’re capable of stupid, Senator.”

There’s a moment of silence that’s filled with the whoosh of the wind against their ears and the hum of the other speeders around them. Riyo sighs and tells him what’s happened. While she talks, Magnus keeps flying. Riyo doesn’t ask where they’re headed, and Magnus doesn’t tell her. When she’s done, the silence comes back around them.

“I forget how old you are sometimes, Senator,” he says.

“Magnus,” Riyo gives him a pleading look. “I don’t need help from a bodyguard right now.”

“Riyo then,” he says, as if testing the name. It comes out with a sort of tenderness that she’s never heard from him before. “Are you worried that Padawan Tano will stop being your friend over this boy?”

“No.” The answer tumbles out of Riyo’s mouth before she can stop it, but the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that it’s true. “She’s a Jedi, and therefore married to her work. A boy’s not going to change that, she said so herself.”

“I see,” Magnus says. “And you have yet to succumb to Titon’s charm.”

The bridge of Riyo’s nose wrinkles in disgust and Magnus gives her a rare smile.

“I don’t see what Titon has to do with any of this,” Riyo says.

“Indeed. Do you want to hear my diagnosis?”

“Please.”

“It sounds like you’re jealous.”

“How can I be jealous of Ahsoka?”

It must be one of those nights, because Magnus chuckles and says, “not jealous of Padawan Tano, but of the boy she’s in love with.”

“But that would mean….” The gears in Riyo’s head grind to a halt. In the past, when she’s reached this point, her mind would quickly shift into reverse, keeping her away from that line of thought. This time, however, her mind powers through it, and every barrier that she has subconsciously put up between herself and Ahsoka comes crashing down. Suddenly, Ahsoka isn’t just Ahsoka-the-really-good-friend-who’s-kickass-with-a-lightsaber, but Ahsoka, whose eyes light up when she hears a good joke, whose sharp teeth fit in her warm smile, and who stands close, but not close enough.

Riyo’s mind shifts into overdrive. All these little details that she’s noticed about Ahsoka before, but have dismissed, come back with a vengeance. The way her muscles shift in her back, the curve of her lekku as they drape over her shoulders, all of it endearing and beautiful and just beyond her reach. Riyo sinks deeper in her seat and buries her face in her hands. She groans.

“Riyo?” Magnus asks. Riyo drops her hands and sighs.

“I can’t believe I…I have feelings for Ahsoka. And she…. “ Riyo’s wonder sours into mortification. “I’ve become that one woman in Papanoida’s play. The one who falls in love with her best friend. A walking cliché.”

“The Trickster God does seem to be funning with you,” Magnus says. “What will you do?”

“I could tell Ahsoka, but she can’t return my feelings because she’s a Jedi, so that’s a guaranteed rejection.”

“She could return your affections.”

“That doesn’t mean she would act on them. She would still say ‘no’ either way. If I tell her anyway, I risk the destruction of our friendship.”

“You should give your friendship more credit than that, Riyo.”

“What am I going to say? ‘Hi, I like you, so please disregard Jedi teachings so that we can go see a holomovie together?’ Relationships like the one I might want with Ahsoka are forbidden to Jedi. How can I ask her to give up the only lifestyle that she’s ever known just for me?” Riyo’s chest tightens painfully and she turns away.

“No, we’re friends, so we’ll stay friends. I’ll just have to carry on as if nothing’s changed between us. Ahsoka doesn’t owe me anything, and I won’t ask something from her that she can’t give.”

Riyo stews in her misery for a few long moments before Magnus glances at her with pity and some sympathy.

“Shall we get ice cream?”

“Yes, please.”

In the Jedi temple, while she meditates, Ahsoka feels a shift. It’s subtle, but it’s wondrous and terrible at the same time. She’s doesn’t know what it is, and after letting it wash over her for a moment, she resolves to let it be. Whatever it is, it isn’t hurting anyone.

Ahsoka forgets about it the next day.

Note Bene: Christ, Riyo. If you’re so determined to be a martyr, then you can just sulk on that cross. Let the pining begin. Are you having fun? I’m having so much fun. We’ve reached high levels of gay in this chapter. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think about it.

If you wanna read this story on AO3 or Fanfiction.net, you can also do that too, my guys. 

[ouraidengray4]

17 Reasons to Row, Row, Row Your Way to Killer Fitness

In a gym packed with ellipticals, treadmills and bikes, the rowing machine was once the piece of equipment you could count on to be unoccupied. Well, not anymore.

Suddenly, fitness experts are raving about the benefits of rowing machines — aka, ergometers or ergs.

So get ready to kiss spinning goodbye, ‘cuz it’s all about rowing now, baby. 

All the rowing perks…

full-body burn

approachable workouts

low-impact wins

meditative moves

cardio-licious

buh-bye, treadmill boredom

affordability

#LegDay

personal records

to burn calories

it’s trendy

for fun!

fast fitness

cardio + strength training

brain gains

convenience

to shake things up

Whether you buy your own machine or hop on one at the gym, rowing offers big benefits. Keep scrolling for the deets.

Getty Images

17 reasons to reach for the rowing machine

1. You’ll get a full-body workout

Maybe you think rowing = ripped arms. But according to the American Fitness Professionals Association, rowing is 65 to 75 percent legs and 25 to 35 percent upper bod.

It’ll shred your upper back, pecs, arms, abs, and obliques. It’ll also strengthen those quads, calves, and glutes.

2. It’s approachable

Rowing is great for fitness newbies because the machines can be customized to your fitness level.

Rowing is also a safe, active sport for folks who are blind or visually impaired. In a 2015 study of people with limited vision, participants who rowed 5 days a week for 6 weeks decreased their total body fat percentage and gained flexibility and strength.

3. Get low… low-impact, that is

Forget the joint stress of running on hard pavement. With rowing, you get to choose your movement and pace, which is *super* helpful when you’re recovering from an injury or marathon.

Rowing can even be a great choice for folks with early osteoarthritis. In a 2014 study, peeps who rowed for 8 weeks experienced 30 percent better joint rotations in their elbows, shoulders, and knees.

4. Ommm… it’s actually pretty meditative

Whether you row on the open water or in your living room, it’ll quickly become your daily dose of Zen. The smooth, repetitive steps of the row stroke — catch, drive, finish, and recovery — become trance-like after a while.

Like other exercise, rowing releases endorphins to boost your mood kick stress to the curb.

5. Hello, cardio!

Rowing isn’t just for strength training. Ergs are *amazing* for your heart and lungs.

Cardio workouts get your blood pumping to every part of your body, which could potentially prevent heart probs down the road. 

6. Goodbye, treadmill boredom!

YOLO: So many people are swapping their treadmills, ellipticals, and exercise bikes for rowing machines.

Why? Personal trainer Shane Farmer of Dark Horse Rowing says, “Because it’s complete. If you look at an elliptical, treadmill, etc., all of those work one very specific muscle group.” Meanwhile, “the big benefit of the rowing machine is that you get everything hit at once.”

7. It’s easy on the wallet 🤑

You can snag a quality machine for $100 — that’s basically less than a month of hot yoga.

Some erg prices climb above $1k, but there are plenty of simple, streamlined options in the double digits. Plus, if you’re swapping your gym membership for a machine, you’ll be saving money in no time.

8. Toned legs for days

Never skip leg day, amirite?

The rowing machine works your legs and arms in one swift move, so you can kiss your unnecessarily complicated gym schedule goodbye.

Bonus: You’ll torch your butt, too.

9. Personal records

Some people just can’t resist a challenge. If you’re the type to arm wrestle someone twice your size or strain to break your PR in a 5K, try an erg.

Though you’ll move through the same motions, you can raise the resistance and push your speed as you become a more seasoned rower. Level-up action FTW.

10. You’ll crush calories

Health experts report that a 30-minute rowing session burns up to 377 calories.

We don’t have to tell you that the number on the scale isn’t everything. But if you’re trying to lose weight for health reasons, you need to burn more cals than you consume.

11. It’s totally cool now

So, #rowing is the fitness buzzword of the moment. But it wasn’t always that way.

“I’ve been putting out videos since 2015,” Farmer says of his rowing channel. “And I started with the idea of, I’m gonna make rowing cool. Well, here we are.”

Even if you don’t care about what’s trending, at least you’re likely to have a friend or two who can compare rowing #goalz.

12. Fun fitness FTW

Since rowing works most of your muscle groups, you really have to stay engaged while doing it. Basically, it takes just enough effort to keep things challenging and fun.

You can still binge-watch “Gossip Girl” while you row — but you might be feelin’ yourself too much to notice Chuck’s antics.

13. It’s like a 20-minute gig

You don’t need to spend half your life at the gym to reap results with an erg. It’s the MVP of jam-packed schedules everywhere.

The CDC recommends at least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic exercise or 75 minutes of vigorous movement per week. Rowing sits somewhere between moderate and vigorous, so just 20 minutes a day more than covers your minimum.

14. Cardio + strength = a winning combo

In case you haven’t already heard, rowing machines knock out two birds with one stone (or two essential types of exercise with one sweet machine).

Ergs consistently strengthen your guns and pins while getting your heart pumping.

15. Brain gains

There are so many reasons to exercise — and most of them have nothing to do with a bangin’ bod. Hopping on your rowing machine could reduce stress, boost happy chemicals, and even combat cognitive decline.

16. Quarantine convenience, bby

You’re probably home a lot RN, and that could include gym time.

Unlike other exercise equipment, rowing machines fold up to easily slide under the bed or get tucked into a closet. Who needs a fancy home gym, anyway?

17. Change is good

Rowing is unfamiliar to many folks, so it takes patience and vulnerability to learn the ropes. Farmer says the slight learning curve of an erg could actually change your outlook on life.

“If you’re willing to say, ‘I need to learn this’ … you’re probably going to be willing to open up the rest of your life to say, ‘I need to learn other things. I don’t know it all,’” he says.

Let’s break down the rowing flow

Say it with me: Legs, core, arms. Arms, core, legs.

Here’s your step-by-step primer to using a rowing machine:

Lock in. Strap your feet into the pads. Make sure they don’t slide around.

Grab hold. Next, bring your knees up and reach for the front handlebar, aka the “catch.” Your torso should tilt slightly forward, but your spine should be straight.

Activate the leg sequence. Use your leg muscles to push off the footplate. Really power-up those hamstrings.

Engage your core. Squeeze your abs and lean backward. Just as you’re about to hit a 45-degree angle, pull the handlebar toward your bod and lightly touch your chest with it.

Work your shoulders. You’ve reached what’s called the “finish.” For the big finale, pull your shoulder blades together.

Flip it and reverse it. Now reverse the movement back to the catch. Extend your arms, pull your torso forward, bend your knees, and bring your legs up top. One stroke down! 👏

Achieving next-level form

Avoid injury and discomfort by focusing on perfect pacing and posture at the beginning of your #RowLyfe adventure.

Push, don’t pull

“Imagine the movement as a push, rather than trying to pull the handle,” says Farmer.

He explains that your rowing stroke should break down to about 60 percent leg work, 40 percent upper body. “If you’re thinking about pushing, odds are you’re going to use that larger muscle driving group, which is going to create a more effective stroke,” he adds.

Slow down

First form, then speed. Farmer encourages thinking about the rowing movements parts and concentrating on good form throughout.

“Slowing it down gives your brain time to process that and think through each,” he says. “Sequencing is really important to getting the entirety of the stroke right.”

The 20-min rowing workout

Farmer’s put together the perfect rowing machine workout to help you sweat it out and perfect your form.

Warm up

“You never want to jump into a workout cold,” says Farmer.

Try some light moves that wake your muscles without making your heart race:

hip openers

squats

a lil jog in place

Set up

Now, get your erg ready.

Click “Select workout.”

Choose “Single time.”

Finally, change “Split length: to 1-minute intervals.

Let’s do this thing

Think of this workout as a ladder. You’ll work your way up to 25 strokes per minute, stay there for 2 minutes, then climb back down.

By varying your stroke speed, you get a smooth, moderately intense workout. Here’s the play-by-play.

Minute Strokes 1 16 2 17 3 18 4 19 5 20 6 21 7 22 8 23 9 24 10 25 11 25 12 24 13 23 14 22 15 21 16 20 17 19 18 18 19 17 20 16

The cool down

You did it! Now cool down for at least 5 minutes. Try lightly rowing, stretching, or walking.

Now pat yourself on the back for a job well done! 💪

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