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everybodysaynoooooo · 13 days ago

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Save Me - Kim Taehyung ff [Chap II]

Synopsis: Two crowns are crumbling. One heir who won’t yield. And a bodyguard who stays just a little too close. In a world where masks fall faster than heads, he’ll have to decide who’s worth trusting —before everything falls apart. He wanted peace. He found war —and a bodyguard with more secrets than commands.

k.taehyung x f.oc

Words count : 9,3k

Genre : Kingdom AU, enemies to lovers, bodyguard x royalty, fluff, angst, smut

Chap content : Strong language, mild tension, Taehyung is kind of a dick, explicit violence (battle scene + side character's death at the end), no sexual content in this chapter but it might come later so minors dni !

Author Note : Chapter two's finally there ! Hope you'll like it (don't hesitate to tell me if so it makes my day :) Also I just wanted to say since I'm kinda slow writer, I'll try to update every two weeks at least, but I'll post sooner if I can !

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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When you live in the Kingdom of Irinian, even without being from there, you inevitably end up hearing about the royal family. Even I, a foreigner, had barely set foot on Irinian soil before people were already talking my ears off.

About how beautiful the Queen is. How angelic and adorable her children are. Every one of them a model for the people —each, without exception, a little perfect being.

How the two eldest princes make the maidens swoon all across the land.

How Princess Taeyeon is so radiant that no one can look away.

Then I got promoted, and the whispers changed.

People started telling me how some of the royal children treated their servants. I heard about Princess Taeyeon's frequent tantrums. About the arrogance of the two eldest princes. All the things the people would never dare to speak aloud.

When I was assigned this task, they kindly warned me about the Crown Prince’s temper. I gathered, vaguely, that he wasn’t too thrilled about being sent off to this northern estate.

What I didn’t gather, however, was that the moment we arrived —in the dead of night— he’d make me fight his strongest man in a duel to the death.

Charming fellow, to be sure.

Okay, maybe I went a little overboard. Maybe I shouldn't have been quite so insolent. Maybe.

But say what you want —His Highness is grumbling about being stuck in a magnificent castle just because he can’t be in the capital, blah blah blah— I've just spent five days on horseback without stopping, and I’d also very much like to go to bed. I can already feel the muscle aches I’ll wake up with tomorrow, so the only thing that truly matters to me right now is a soft bed and a blanket.

But no. On top of everything, I have to fight a duel because His Majesty is in a foul mood.

I knew I should never have agreed to guard the Irinian royal family. I only said yes because they promised I’d be looking after Princess Taeyeon —and I’m good with children. But a contemptuous twenty-five-year-old man who already acts like a king? No thanks. I’ll let Yoongi handle that one.

If only he didn’t already have his hands full with his own exuberant prince.

“So, Miss Min? What do you say?”

Prince Taehyung is watching me with that damned crooked smile I’d love to slap off his face —truly infuriating

I hold back from rolling my eyes, because that might well cost me my head. He looks so pleased with himself, it’s almost cute.

Instead, I nod.

“I don’t believe I’ve been ordered not to fight one of your men, Your Highness,” I reply in that polite tone he seems to loathe.

Bingo. That little smile disappears at once, replaced by a grimace and a dark glare. This close protection job is going to be a riot, I can tell.

Beside me, Yoongi stares at me wide-eyed. I don’t even have to look at him to know what he’s thinking: “Are you completely insane?!”

And maybe I am.

Accepting a duel when I’ve just dismounted after five days of travel, exhausted to the bone, might not be my brightest idea.

But the way the Prince implied I didn’t stand a chance —that irked me. I can’t stand not being taken seriously. And if I’m going to be insulted, I might as well treat it as a challenge.

Before I know it, the Prince is barking orders. We’re moved to the rear courtyard, hastily transformed into an arena by a few servants.

Improvised barricades form a large square, in the center of which the Prince’s knight and I now stand. A few torches are lit, casting a dim glow into the night —not enough to see every detail, but enough to fight, I guess.

Looking far too pleased with himself, the Prince leans casually against the barricade, a wolfish smile on his lips. He taps his golden rings against the wood as if to say, “You’re going to die, and I can’t wait.”

I answer with a glare. He chuckles.

If only it were him in the arena —I’d wipe that smile right off.

Yoongi hops over the barrier in one smooth motion and approaches me with my weapons in hand. I refocus instantly, already running through my options.

A sword, and the three daggers I usually hide in my boots and belt.

I grimace. I left my pistols packed with the rest of my things. With one of those, I could end this charade in two seconds —one bullet, between the eyes, done. But clearly, I’ll have to improvise.

“I didn’t find your pistols,” Yoongi mutters, like he’s read my mind.

We’re both trained fighters, but he knows as well as I do that marksmanship is where I truly shine. Too bad.

“This will do,” I say, offering a faint smile as I test the weight of the daggers. “Not sure His Highness would’ve allowed it anyway. Looks like he wants a show.”

Yoongi turns to observe the Prince, still watching with that infuriating smile.

“You’re completely crazy,” he mumbles, now sizing up the knight -Saer, If I remember well.

“What, you don’t trust me to win?” I tease.

“Of course I do,” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose. “I’m just saying you really didn’t need to piss him off like that.”

“He started it,” I retort with a raised brow, daring him to argue.

He doesn’t. Just shoots another glance at the Prince. I smile —he agrees with me, obviously.

I hesitate, hand hovering over the sword.

Yes, I can fence. And I’m not bad at it. But let’s be honest —when it comes to swords, reach is everything.

And this man is twice my height and like three times my weight. I’ll never get close without taking a hit first.

I’ll have to play this differently.

Gently, I push the sword away and instead grab one of the daggers, blade pointing down. The other two stay hidden —one in my boot, one at my belt.

Yoongi doesn’t ask questions. He just takes the sword back with his usual calm expression.

“I’m not wishing you luck,” he says as he walks away.

“That would be insulting,” I shoot back with a smile, which he mirrors with the look in his eyes. The scar over his right eye gleams brighter than ever.

Yoongi’s barely out of the “arena” when the Prince claps his hands.

“Well, now that everyone’s ready…”

I instinctively fall into position: back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, dagger gripped firm but flexible.

The knight does the same —straightens to his full, towering height (easily over two meters), and tightens his hold on his sword.

Right now, in the torchlight, he’s genuinely terrifying. His hand must be the size of my entire torso.

But I’ve faced worse.

“Duel to the death,” the Prince announces. “Anything goes, as long as it’s entertaining. I decide when it ends. No backing out. Questions?”

The knight glances at me as if asking whether I have any. I raise a hand.

“You said ‘anything goes’?” I ask when the Prince nods toward me.

He chuckles.

“Getting cold feet already, Min?”

“I just want to make sure His Highness won’t mind if I damage his man.” I reply, tight-lipped.

He flinches. Behind him, Yoongi lets out the faintest smile —subtle enough that I’m the only one who notices.

“No risk of that,” the Prince scoffs, returning to his usual smug expression. Then he snaps his fingers. “Saer, whenever you like. Get rid of that eyesore so we can go to bed.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed -did he really just call me “that eyesore”?— but I don’t even have time to reply.

The knight charges.

I barely dodge in time —his blade stops where my neck was a quarter of a second ago.

I see. Someone’s eager for sleep.

I take a few quick steps back, raising my dagger before me, tip aimed at him.

He sizes me up, eyes shadowed beneath thick brows in the dim light.

“Let’s see what the special guard is made of,” the Prince hums behind us.

Saer and I size each other up.

One second.

Two seconds.

Then he strikes.

With a flick of my arm, I deflect his blow —the sound of his sword clashing against my dagger rings out loud across the arena, and even louder in my ears.

And just like that, I’m no longer in the mood for banter. One simple strike —frontal, no less— and stopping it already took more strength than usual. Worse: my arm is trembling.

With a sharp motion, I push his blade away and force my breathing to stay slow, steady.

This man is strong. Much stronger than me. I bet a single well-aimed hit to the head would be enough to knock me out. Not that I’m planning to let that happen.

I won’t last long if all I do is block. Sooner or later —sooner, most likely— he’ll figure out he’s got the upper hand when it comes to brute strength, and he’ll start swinging with real intent. And I won’t stand a chance.

So I need another approach.

And when strength fails, agility will have to do.

I let him attack once. Twice. Each time I parry with my dagger, just barely.

At the third strike, I fake an opening to the right —and when he shifts, fast, to aim there, I duck, push off with my legs, and dart forward— so fast he barely has time to react before the pommel of my dagger slams into his ribs.

He grunts, breath catching in surprise, and it gives me just enough time to step back —though not quite far enough.

As I retreat, he grabs the wrist holding my dagger. His grip is so tight I’m forced to let go, and with his other hand, he returns the favor: a punch to the jaw, delivered with the pommel of his sword.

I hit the ground hard, dazed by the sheer force of the blow. One more like that and he’ll shatter my skull.

I cannot afford to take another.

I get back up —not letting myself wince, not letting myself hesitate. I can’t look weak.

But instead of charging while I’m stunned, the knight waits. Sword still in hand, but unmoving. Watching me. Almost like he pities me.

And that’s when I hear it: the Prince, humming a little tune. Mocking.

Oh. I get it now.

Saer is putting on a show for his Prince.

Well. Let’s give them one, then.

In one smooth motion, I shift my legs into position, ready to spring back up —and just as Saer takes a step forward, I spin, grip tightening around my second dagger, and fling it hard.

His thick eyebrows shoot up as the blade sinks deep into his side.

Staggering, stunned, he clutches the wound by reflex —and that’s all I need.

I charge. A punch to the jaw. One to the stomach. A strike to the thigh, followed by a sweep to the ankle.

He crashes backward with a growl of pain —but not without dragging me with him. Reflexively, he grabs my sleeve, and before I can brace for impact, his arm is around my neck. He’s choking me.

I shut my eyes, hold in as much air as I can while hitting his arm with the flat of my hand, but it’s useless —his arm is the size of my thigh.

Just as I start to fade, I manage, somehow, to elbow him hard in the ribs —his grip loosens, and I don’t waste a second. A kick to the shin makes him howl.

I scramble away, breath ragged —but he’s faster this time, already charging with his sword. I can’t dodge.

Blood spurts from my wrist as his blade slices a clean, thin line through it. The skin blooms red instantly.

Another mocking tune from the Prince.

Instinctively, I cradle my wrist against my chest, but I stay upright. Fists clenched. Ready to hit him if he comes any closer —though I’m well aware my tiny fists are no match for his sword.

I have to face it: accepting a duel with a giant like him, right after a long journey and without so much as a warm-up, was probably the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.

Now my wrist is bleeding, and I’m about to embarrass myself in front of the Prince —and worse, in front of Yoongi. Who, of course, won’t let me live it down.

Saer advances, sure of his victory now that I’m disarmed. Instinctively, I back away, until I’m only a few steps from the arena’s edge.

And then —just as I’m starting to think I really put myself in deep troubles— I catch a glimpse of Yoongi on the other side of the ring.

Both of his black eyes fixed on me. His left eyebrow quirks in a silent question.

Something clicks in my mind.

Time to wake up, Harin.

Saer draws closer. I let him. One step. Two.

Then, just as he moves in range, I spin and leap toward the barrier.

Not to escape. To use it.

I push off it, vaulting high —right over Saer’s head.

He stares up, stunned, as I pull my second dagger from beneath my belt mid-flight and send it spinning into his other side.

His eyes widen, this time with pain, as I grab his head while soaring above him —and pull him down with me.

His skull and body slam into the ground with a deafening crash. Or maybe it just feels that loud because my ears are still ringing.

I land smoothly, knees bent, rolling to soften the fall —but as I rise, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down onto my stomach.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this guy unkillable?!

He tries to pin my arms. I roll onto my back to stop him. He tries to strike me; I knee him. Hard. Right where it hurts.

That finally stops him —but only for a second. Then he comes back, even angrier —and proving it with a punch to the stomach that knocks the breath out of me. It’s okay, though, I deserve it for being so stupid tonight.

I can barely react before he grabs a handful of loose hair from my undone bun and holds me still by it. I wince —a small gasp of pain slips out, shamefully— and in one last desperate move, I reach for the dagger hidden in my boot and slash his calf.

This time he screams. Loud.

But he still doesn’t let go.

Desperation takes over. I grip the dagger tight and stab his thigh. Again. And again. Until finally, he releases my hair.

I’m up in an instant.

He tries to follow —and I kick him square in the face.

He groans, struggles to move… But I can already hear him getting back up as I bolt across the arena, legs burning, eyes locked on the only weapon still in reach: his sword, abandoned on the ground.

He starts running too —but too late.

By the time he reaches me, I’ve already got the sword in hand.

I spin, using the momentum to drive a kick straight into his chest. Right on the sternum.

He gasps, the wind knocked from his lungs, and collapses once more.

And then —I turn slightly, feet apart, arm extended, blade ready…

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

The shout cuts through the arena like a blade.

Stillness falls.

Saer stares at me. I stare right back.

His Adam’s apple presses against the sword’s tip as he swallows, hands raised slightly, in surrender.

I glance at the blood already beading from the fine cut the blade has left on the side of his throat.

The look in his eyes isn’t the unreadable calm from earlier. Now he’s clearly startled. Frightened, even.

And —maybe I’m imagining it— but there’s a glint of admiration, too.

Then comes the sound of clapping.

I turn my head towards the sound —only to find Yoongi, lips curled in a subtle smile, applauding with measured approval.

The Prince, however, looks like he’s considering strangling me in my sleep.

“Your verdict, Your Highness?”

The Prince raises an eyebrow, jaw clenched tighter than ever. For a second, he seems almost more shocked that Yoongi would dare provoke him —when he’d always been the more respectful of the two of us.

The Prince presses his tongue against his cheek, pouring all his fury into the glare he sends me.

Then finally, he speaks.

“It seems the young lady is more capable than expected.”

He snaps his fingers.

Turns his back on us.

“Clean up this mess. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

They say night brings wisdom.

All night ever brought me was time to stew in my own anger —and when that got too boring, sleep.

By morning, I was in a slightly better mood.

Yes, the decor in this castle is appallingly cheerful, but I’ll admit the welcome was decent —and the mattress was... passable. Though not nearly as comfortable as the one I have in the Capital.

But the key word here is slightly.

Maybe if the very moment I stepped out of my room, a servant hadn't rushed up to inform me my lieutenants were waiting in the war room to discuss the border situation, I’d have stayed in a decent mood.

Maybe if a second servant hadn’t chosen that exact moment to tell me I had an appointment the next day with Lord Ebonwick, I wouldn’t have started grinding my teeth before even having breakfast.

But most of all —maybe, just maybe, I could’ve kept a shred of peace of mind if I hadn’t learned immediately afterward that Miss Min’s quarters had been set up right next to mine, “in accordance with her new duties,” or some other absolute nonsense.

New duties, my ass.

Saer has always been my bodyguard, and that is not about to change. I don’t care if some random woman fresh out of nowhere managed to beat him in a duel by sheer dumb luck —it doesn’t change the fact that Saer is and will remain my bodyguard.

“What if we increased the guard detail, Your Highness? Perhaps it’s a question of numbers— ”

“The problem is not the number, Lieutenant. The problem is your men are dumber than headless hens.”

What did I say earlier? That I was in a better mood?

Yeah, let’s forget that.

“Your Highness...” Saer begins gently —but shuts his mouth quickly enough when I shoot him a look that could curdle milk.

I already know what he’s going to say. And, as usual, listening to him would probably be the wise thing to do —and that’s exactly what’s pissing me off.

Last night, after the duel, he joined me during dinner. First, to apologize for losing —which earned him a few sharp remarks on my part— and then to share his opinion about the woman. Min Harin.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Saer speak about someone else’s combat skills with that kind of admiration —especially not an enemy who had just knocked him flat.

It’s rare enough to see women fight —they’re not allowed in the Royal Armies, though you do find them among mercenaries or in more specialized units, like the Special Guard.

But it’s even rarer to see one defeat a man like Saer.

Actually —it’s rare for anyone to defeat a man like Saer.

And yet when he described the fight, there was a flicker in his eyes. A flicker he tried to hide, but I saw it. Admiration.

And I get it —even if I’d rather die than admit it out loud.

I’ve been hearing stories about the Special Guard since I was old enough to understand words —hell, I wanted to join them once.

I used to spend days pestering every soldier I met, asking them to tell me everything they knew: what the Guard looked like, how they fought, what they wore…

None of it comes close to the reality.

What I saw last night —I’d never seen anything like it.

Saer described it better than I could: she didn’t move, she slid.

That’s how he put it. One moment she was in front of him, the next she was beside him, already striking, and he hadn’t even seen her move.

Every step was calculated. Every strike amplified by perfect footwork.

At first, she acted timid. I naïvely thought she was afraid, that she’d go down faster than expected—

And then she turned it up a notch, and I thought I was dreaming.

Her companion —Mr. Cat-Eyes— didn’t seem particularly shocked.

Every time I glanced over at him, he was watching the duel with this satisfied, sharp-eyed look.

The only moment his expression slipped was when she jumped.

As if she’d made a mistake —something so typical that it actually annoyed him.

And that’s what annoyed me.

Because from my perspective, she didn’t jump. She flew.

My ego would very much like to believe I could still beat her in a duel.

Throwing knives, vaulting over people —fine. But I was trained to be the best fighter in the Kingdom.

No woman, no matter how well-trained, is going to beat me.

But the annoying, rational part of my brain —because apparently, I do have one— keeps reminding me:

If she beat Saer, then all you’ve got, Taehyung, are hopes and delusions.

And I hate that. I hate that.

So yes. Maybe she belongs here. Maybe.

But as my personal bodyguard?

Over my dead body.

“Your Highness...” starts another voice —and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to growl.

When I open them again, I’m met with Saer’s gaze.

He’s silent, but there’s a pleading look behind it, just enough to push my irritation over the edge.

Last night, that idiot of an old man actually suggested I take her as my bodyguard.

He, who’s practically my bodyguard himself, told me I should replace him.

With the person who defeated him. In a duel.

I’m going to punch someone.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst was when he hinted that, since he’d be handling things at the border, he’d feel better knowing I was in Miss Min’s capable hands.

That I should maybe trust her.

Stupid Saer.

And stupid Father —he’ll pay for this circus, I swear it.

With a long sigh, I let my eyes drop to the border map spread across the ebony table.

And damn it, they’re right —the issue is the number of men.

If I send Saer’s regiment, we’ll have the numbers, and my best men will be there if things go wrong.

Which means I’m stuck here with the Special Guard...

“Figure it out,” I mutter. “Find a solution and inform me of the final decision.”

They all nod. Even Saer, who’s studying me like he wants to say something.

I can tell just by the way his eyebrows are slightly raised —he has something on his mind.

Not that I care. I’ve got bigger problems.

Like the one currently waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall. Hazel eyes locking on me the second I step out.

Peace? Never heard of it. Not in this castle.

“Your Highness,” Min says, clasping her hands behind her back and giving me a slight nod.

My eyes skim over her outfit —black again, simpler than yesterday. Just pants and a shirt, though I’d bet anything there’s a knife hidden somewhere.

Her hair’s simpler too —a bun still, but with loose strands framing her face.

I want to throw up.She’s already settling in.

“I told you to get lost,” I grumble, walking past her without another glance.

She waits a beat, then falls into step behind me. Five paces, just like etiquette dictates.

“I heard you, Your Highness.”

That falsely polite tone again. Almost makes me laugh —almost.

A bitter laugh, though. This woman really knows how to test my patience.

Instead, I stop, turn to face her, and plaster on a wolfish smile.

“Min?” I say, tongue pressing into my cheek to keep from snapping.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Just a bit of advice, if you care about that pretty face of yours. Stay far away from anywhere you’re not wanted. Which includes me.”

“You’re taking good care of my idiot, hmm?” I hum as I affectionately scratch behind the ears of Holly, Yoongi’s curly-haired mare.

“You do realize I’m right here, don’t you?” he grumbles, tightening the straps of a saddlebag.

“Oops.”

He grimaces at my smug little smile and rolls his eyes.

Yeah, he’s gonna miss me. No doubt about it.

“You gonna be alright?” I ask, a bit more seriously.

A few hours ago, they finally settled on the surveillance plan for the border, and picked the troops that’ll be deployed. Since Yoongi and his men were planning to head back to Hestidia to continue their search anyway, they decided to kill two birds with one stone and accompany the prince’s men to the frontier before splitting off.

Personally, I still think Prince Jimin would’ve been better off hiding here in Irinian —security’s tighter, and it’s a friendly kingdom— but Yoongi remains skeptical. Or rather, as he puts it, he ‘prefers to keep all options open and check out the more forgotten corners of Hestidia.’

Still, if I were Jimin, I’d have come straight here.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he counters, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Your Prince seems to adore you…”

“Oh, please.” I sigh. “Haven’t seen him since he found out his men were headed to the border, but I’d bet anything he’s currently trying to figure out how to get rid of me.”

Honestly, I’m still surprised the Prince allowed it. Just this morning, he looked dead set on keeping me as far from him as possible —and now he’s sending his captain off somewhere?

Saer came to tell me himself —supposedly so I could pass the message to Yoongi, but I’d put money on it being a not-so-subtle way of handing me the Prince. Like, here, take the problem off my hands.

“I’m almost disappointed I have to leave,” Yoongi snorts. “I would’ve loved to see where this petty drama of yours was going. My bet? He accuses you of spying for his daddy.”

“No worries. If that happens, I’ll send you a pigeon carrying my severed head.” I grumble, and Holly nudges me gently with her nose, like she’s offering moral support. Yoongi bursts out laughing.

He’s about to say something when one of his men comes jogging over.

“The Prince’s men are ready to depart, Lieutenant. We can head out.”

“Tell them to go ahead, we’ll catch up,” Yoongi replies, squinting at the sky, which is getting darker by the minute. “They need to leave before nightfall.”

The man nods and hurries off. Yoongi turns to me, lips tight in that way I know well —his face when he’s sad but trying not to let it show. Holly shakes herself out like she’s read the mood too.

“So I guess this is where we part ways?” I say, keeping my voice light, forced or not. It’s enough to make him smile, at least.

Before I can move, he pulls me into a hug and holds me tight.

“Don’t die on me, ‘Rin,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Not planning to,” I hug back, closing my eyes and soaking in his scent —the scent of home.

Shit. I’m gonna miss him.

“And you better not have a new scar the next time I see you, got it?” I mutter, pulling back just enough to glare at him.

He just smiles, of course. Why am I not surprised he’s proud of that stupid, ugly scar?

“Yes, ma’am.” He taps two fingers to his temple in a mock salute.

“Now go, soldier Min.”

He chuckles, watching as I give Holly one last scratch behind the ears. Then he swings into the saddle, and I follow them with my eyes as he and his men ride out of the castle courtyard, slipping into the forest the way Special Guard always does —like shadows dissolving into the trees.

I watch them until they’re completely out of sight.

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. Like something’s off.

I trust Yoong —more than anyone— and I know how good he is at tracking.

So why do I have this unshakable feeling that they won’t find Prince Jimin in Hestidia?

Yoongi’s been gone for almost two hours now. Night’s fallen —much earlier here than it does in the capital, or even down south at Princess Taeyeon’s estate— and the palace staff is bustling from room to room, laser-focused, as they always are at this hour, getting dinner ready for the Prince.

Even the violinists sound off their game tonight. They’re playing with less energy, unsettled.

Apparently the Prince is especially cranky in the evenings —yeah, I’ve noticed, thanks— and now everyone’s walking on eggshells, terrified of provoking his wrath.

And the famous Prince himself, where is he while all this is happening?

Well… to be honest, I’ve been wondering the same thing.

When Yoongi and his men left, I figured maybe I should check in on him. Not necessarily to talk —those always end so well— but just to make it clear that Saer really is gone and I’m taking over from here.

Okay. Maybe to annoy him a little.

But when I tried to find him, he was just nowhere.

I checked every room in the palace. His study, his quarters, all four grand salons, and the three game rooms. I even went out to the back courtyard. Nothing.

So, with that special kind of desperation-fueled courage, I made my way to the stables. I’d overheard a servant saying he was particularly fond of his mare the other day —maybe he went to see her?

Imagine my surprise when I found the stall empty.

I just stand there, arms hanging at my sides, not even sure how to react. I haven’t even managed a single coherent thought before someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around instantly.

My eyes land on a young man, can’t be older than me, with the most ridiculously red hair I’ve ever seen.

“Uh-I… Sorry to bother you, I just…” he stammers, hands lifted slightly like he’s showing he’s unarmed, save for the reins slung over his shoulder. “If you’re looking for the Prince’s mare, he already rode out with her a while ago…”

I gape at him, mouth half open.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“I’m sorry—what?” I snap, sharper than I intended, and he visibly pales.

“I-I swear!” he blurts, hands shooting higher. “He even asked me personally to saddle her up. I mean, I usually do anyway, but still…—”

He keeps babbling, and I rub at my eyes, biting down on my tongue to keep from cursing out loud.

I swear, I’m going to kill that idiot of a Prince.

A sigh escapes me —long, exasperated.

“...Is there a problem, ma’am?” the boy asks cautiously.

“Not at all,” I reply with a cheery tone so fake it should win awards. I even slap on a pleasant smile that seems to put him at ease. “Would you mind saddling my horse, please?”

"Another one," I mutter, slamming the glass down on the wooden counter a little too sharply, drawing the barkeep’s attention.

He eyes me, taking his sweet time polishing the glass already in his hand.

"That’d be your fourth, sir. I’d say it might be wiser to—"

"If it’s your coin you’re worried about, innkeeper, don’t be," I cut in, a smile stretched tight across my face. "I can more than afford your piss-poor excuse for wine. Another."

His features harden at that, and his cloth scrapes a little more roughly across the glass. But he glances at my clothes —clearly worth more than his entire tavern— and eventually grabs the bottle to pour me another, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

I barely take in the wine’s deep crimson before throwing back a generous gulp, letting it burn across my tongue. The taste is awful. Bitter, cheap. If I wanted quality, I’d have stayed at the palace. But it does the job —by the time I’ve swallowed, it hits me like a slap to the face. Like getting doused in ice water while you sleep.

It stings, but it wakes you up. Which is exactly what I need right now.

Everything’s moved so fast that —for the first time in my life, I think— I’ve felt out of my depth.

My father shipping me off to rot in Ebonwick, stripping me of nearly my entire personal guard, and to top it all off, assigning a spy to keep tabs on me, dressed up as a bodyguard under the pretense of protection…

I may have been careless these past few months. I knew Father was reactive —I just didn’t realize how much.

Clearly, we both saw the collapse of Hestidia as an opportunity.

I’m just a little insulted that he acted on it first.

Slowly —deliberately— I take another sip.

The bitterness scorches down my throat.

Everything was ready. The plan, the forces, the weapons. Every scenario was accounted for, every outcome considered. It was flawless.

Then the Council had to go and wake up —those idiots who only lift a finger twice a year, usually just in time to collect taxes— and the whole thing unraveled.

Jimin’s going to be furious.

But not as much as me.

I’m cornered. So much so that I don’t think Father even realizes just how well he’s played his hand.

If I’d had Saer and my trusted men at my side, I could’ve adapted. Closed the gap this sudden change created. But no. He had to assign me the royal guard —and a bodyguard who clings like a leech.

Now my inner circle is halfway across the kingdom, and I’m left with nothing but the leech keeping tabs on my every move.

Well —not every move. Main Exhibit: this absolutely vile wine.

We’ll have to start from scratch. Maybe even wait for another window of opportunity —but what better chance could we possibly get? The people are in crisis, the royal family’s paralyzed with fear… Even in the Irinian royal palace, which hasn’t seen a single threat or attack, the high ranks are jittery.

It was the perfect moment. And Father ruined it.

"You hear the news, barkeep? They say they’re sending soldiers to reinforce the border."

The gruff, gravelly voice to my left makes me wince. Some pudgy old man just dropped onto the stool beside me, spreading his elbows across the counter and invading a little too far into my personal space. Worse still, I can tell exactly where his spit landed —big, visible droplets splattered right there on the wood.

I bury my nose in my glass, clearly uninterested —but I seem to be the only one.

Because the moment the man speaks, the whole tavern leans in.

“Mmh, so they say,” the barkeep mutters, sounding none too pleased about the topic shift.

“I’d be curious to see them,” some toothless woman calls out, beaming. “Never seen one of the King’s soldiers up close. Wonder what they look like.”

The Prince’s soldiers —they’re the Prince’s soldiers, not the King’s.

I swirl the wine in my glass, now slightly less indifferent.

"You think it’s got to do with all that mess on the other side? Old Paul —the farmer— said he saw some men on horseback, dressed all in black, riding across his field..."

Mentally, I arch a brow. Cat-eyes must’ve taken a shortcut.

"I haven’t even kept up with that whole mess..."

"Well I heard from the guy who buys my cabbages —you know the one, across the border?" Everyone nods enthusiastically. "Well he said the next village over launched a full-blown revolt. Kicked out their Lord."

Gasps all around. Even the barkeep looks rattled.

And me? My eyes stay glued to the bottom of my glass —but my ears are sharper than ever.

One of Hestidia’s minor Lords has been overthrown? That’s… far quicker than expected.

None of us —neither Jimin, nor myself, nor anyone on the Council— had anticipated a revolt of that scale for at least several more months.

This information —handed to me by a bunch of lowborn drunkards, no less, to the shame of our own informants— changes everything. It speeds things up in a deeply concerning way. If we don’t act soon, these uprisings will spread like wildfire —before we’ve had a chance to prepare.

Because if one village had the courage to do this, it means others already have. Quietly. Successfully.

And it only makes me question how little we truly know about what’s happening in Hestidia.

Did Father hide it from me?

Or was he just as clueless?

"I’ll tell you what I think," the pudgy man from before chimes in again, loud and self-important. "I think those soldiers are nothing but damn hypocrites."

I freeze.

“They come out of nowhere, just when things start getting interesting across the border, and then suddenly they’re locking down the roads so tight Lars can’t even go sell his cabbages! If you ask me, they’re hiding something from us.”

“But… the King’s soldiers are there to protect us…”

“Protect us, my ass. They just don’t want us to see what’s happening over there —‘cause they’re scared we might get ideas.”

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass.

“He’s right! Last winter, when that sickness wiped out half the region, it took them months to send help!”

“And when the vineyards went to hell and we had nothing left to sell, we had to go beg in the Capital —just to be treated like dogs!”

“They ignore us when we suffer, but when it’s time to take our sons for their worthless army, they’re right there! And it’s not like we’ve ever seen that army, have we?”

My jaw clenches —I don’t even notice it until my teeth start to grind.

“They don’t give a damn about us! We could die like rats, and as long as we pay our taxes, they couldn’t care less!”

That’s it. They’ve said enough.

The dull thud of my glass slamming onto the wooden counter cuts through the air like a blade, turning every head in the tavern toward me. I make no attempt to look composed, no effort to feign the gracious smile expected of a prince.

If they'd recognized me, none of them would’ve dared speak in the first place.

No —I let them see exactly what their gossip has stirred in me.

I’ll admit I don’t hold much esteem for my father.

I’ll admit I sometimes find him weak, too lenient, too passive.

And I don’t doubt for a second that closing the border is, at least in part, a way to prevent Hestidian rebellion from spilling into Irinian minds.

But I’ll be damned before I let anyone say my father doesn’t care for his people.

Especially when that’s nearly the only thing he does care about —and the only thing he’s always done right.

I won’t sit back and watch as everything he’s built —everything he’s given them— gets pissed on like slop thrown at pigs fattened for the slaughter.

“If you want to cross the border and die in Hestidia, be my guest. No one’s stopping you.”

The whole room stares. It doesn’t stop my voice from ringing out sharper, clearer, and far more dignified than any of theirs. Colder, too.

Silence falls. Thick. Heavy.

Broken only by the ticking of some old clock hung above the barkeep’s head. Then, slowly, the fat man turns toward me.

“And just who do you think you are, boy?” he growls, his voice like phlegm curdled in tar. There’s a hint too much menace in it for my liking.

I don’t answer. Don’t even look at him —I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than rest them on that mess of grime and lard he calls a face.

“Go on, be ungrateful,” I say, voice like ice over glass. “Keep whining about misfortunes no king on earth could control. Wallow in self-pity, if that’s all you know how to do. But know this —while you curse a neglect that exists only in your thick skulls, it’s the King’s eldest son who’s been sent in person to help you. And this” I gesture around the room “this is how you repay him. By dragging his name through the dirt.”

The man lets out a wet, wheezing laugh.

“The eldest son? The Prince?” he spits. “Don’t make me laugh. That spoiled brat can probably barely lift his silver spoon to feed himself. He came here? That’s a good one. Never seen him leave his golden palace.”

He scans the room and receives the eager nods of his fellow pigs —emboldened by the scent of shit they’ve all been wallowing in.

Fueled by their cheers, he leans over and shoves my shoulder, trying to force my eyes toward his.

“The Prince is nothing but a coward. Hides behind his title while we break our backs in the fields! Let him come here —we’ll show him what real life looks like. He’ll run back to his daddy’s skirts in tears.”

This time, I don’t look away.

I meet his gaze, steady, as he spews his filth. Insulting a man he doesn’t even realize is in front of him.

Insulting the Crown, directly.

Once upon a time —under other kings— people lost their heads for far less.

I don’t know if I’m furious, or just stunned.

No one has ever dared speak to me like this.

And I can’t quite tell if I find it thrilling… or insufferably irritating.

“Kneel, peasant,” I say through clenched teeth. The command sounds like a threat, even to me.

He chuckles. Tightens his grip on my shoulder in a mock-friendly pat.

“Well then,” he sneers, “you tell your coward of a prince this from me: Go fuck yourself.”

And that’s when I smile —slow and sharp.

Because his gall almost makes me laugh, even as it makes my skin crawl.

But it’s not the insult to my title that stings.

No, it’s that word.

I’ve been called many things in my life. Arrogant. Cruel. Condescending.

I’ve been accused of scheming, of injustice, of manipulation —often fairly.

I’ve accepted all of it —because a lot of it is true.

But I’ll never let anyone call me a coward.

Slowly, I lift a hand and place it against the side of his face —mirroring his false friendliness, still smiling like a wolf.

“Tell him yourself,” I say.

And the next moment, my other hand grabs the glass and smashes it into his face.

He crashes backward, blood pouring, screaming.

Not dead —unfortunately— but definitely regretting his life choices.

Chaos erupts. People are yelling, running —some to help him, some for the exit, some straight at me.

With a disdainful sniff, I rise from my stool and brush off my shoulder where his greasy paw had dared to rest. I’ll need to wash this shirt when I get back.

The barkeep stands frozen, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost. Without glancing at the man on the floor, I untie the small pouch at my belt and toss a gold coin onto the counter. It lands with a bright clink.

The barkeep’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull. That coin alone could probably buy the whole tavern.

A crowd forms around the man on the ground, now mercifully silent —thank the gods, my ears were about to start bleeding. One woman stands up, tears brimming in her eyes, and points a trembling finger at me.

“He killed my Joseph!” she cries.

Immediately, the place erupts again —louder this time. I can pick out the insults, the outraged shrieks.

I snort. Oh, please. Killed him? Sure, I knocked some teeth loose —maybe more than a few— but dead? Hardly.

I may be many things, but even I have limits.

I don’t kill my subjects.

I punish. I beat. I sentence.

But I’ve never killed one of my people, and I never will.

I guess I have some of my father in me after all.

Not that anyone here knows that.

Because the next thing I hear is some genius yelling, “Do the same to him!” and suddenly, the whole tavern is lunging for me —and what was indignation turns into a full-blown riot.

But honestly? I choose to always see what life brings me as an opportunity.

It’s been days since I’ve wanted to hit something.

Looks like today’s the day.

The first ones reach me faster than I would’ve expected, given they’re half-drunk, bone-weary peasants. But apparently the sudden commotion sobered them up —just not enough to be even remotely threatening.

Three of them jump me —three against one, how charming, the sense of fair play— and try to grab my arms while one aims a punch at my face.

Have I mentioned I’m pretty decent in a fight? Not that it matters here. Even drunk —which, I’d like to point out, I am not— I could’ve handled a bunch of sickly barflies trying to subdue me. I barely have to shake them off before two let go —one even topples backward without me touching him. When the third lunges with his fist raised, all I have to do is step aside and let his own momentum trip him up.

I look down at the trio trying to scramble back up, one brow arched. Funny, I’d been told I’d be in for a rough time. So far, this is just... disappointing.

More drunkards from the tavern follow, taking their shot, and I quickly resign myself to putting off my ‘unwinding session’ —there’s no way I’m hitting any of them.

I’m well aware the peasants in my kingdom don’t exactly live the healthiest lives —quite the opposite, really— but I hadn’t realized alcohol turned them into barely-functioning vegetables. Most of the time, I just need to wait for them to charge and sidestep. They go down on their own.

I don’t regret hitting that man earlier —he damn well deserved it— but I’ve got no desire to lay a hand on the others still trying to reach me. First, because that would mean actual contact with their skin —no thank you— but mostly because I’m afraid I’d seriously hurt them. Which would annoy me, sure, but would definitely land me in trouble.

So I do the one thing I’ve always mocked my father for: I stay passive.

I don’t strike, don’t even try. I just dodge and let them crash into beams, walls, or each other.

…At least, until one of them manages to reach me and slaps me. Just a light tap, really, barely audible. But it’s enough to snap me back to life, just like the wine earlier.

The slap I return across his face is probably ten times harder —but fair’s fair, I say.

They, in turn, snap out of it at the crack of that hit and all charge at me —and when I say all, I mean everyone. Even the old lady without a single tooth.

They grab at my arms, my legs, one gets an arm around my neck while someone else tugs on my hair —my hair, for fuck’s sake!— and one particularly brave idiot latches onto my waist like a leech.

It feels like I’ve gone back in time, like I’m wrestling my little brothers again —back when their idea of “fighting” was to hang off me until I stopped moving and then punch me wherever they could reach.

With a groan of exasperation, I twist, using the momentum to swing the three clinging to my arm directly into the massive wooden beam next to us. They take the hit square in the ribs, hard enough that I don’t feel a thing.

Now free, I grab the first head I can reach —somewhere near my stomach, gods— and hurl it away from me. The peasant screams, lets go, and rolls until he slams into a wall.

At this point, the ones clinging to my legs aren’t even trying to hurt me anymore —they’re just wrapping their arms around my calves like their lives depend on it. I’m forced to smash my right leg against my left in a thoroughly unchivalrous move to shake them loose. They crash into each other with satisfying grunts.

When I finally manage to shake them all off, a sigh escapes me —long and weary.

I dare anyone to say I’m not close to my people now.

Except I barely get a breath in —just long enough to start processing how borderline humiliating that was (thank the gods no one from the Capital saw it, I’d be the kingdom’s laughingstock)- when the tavern door slams open with a thunderous crash. A dozen peasants barge in, this time armed with pitchforks.

“There! That’s him!” yells a short man —one I recognise as one who escaped earlier— as he points directly at me. He’s addressing a taller man, a little older than me, the only one here actually wearing armor —leather, but still.

“In the name of the King, I’m placing you under arrest!” the man declares. His face hardens —and before I can even think oh no or notice the crossbow in his hands, he raises it, aims, and fires.

Straight at me.

There aren’t many things that scare me —and certainly not drunk peasants— but having a bolt fly toward your face at top speed would unnerve anyone.

Especially when it’s moving so fast you barely have time to flinch.

I think about dodging, about doing something, but even I know it’s too late. Fired like that, point-blank, with nothing between it and me, there’s no way he’ll miss.

And as my eyes lock onto the bolt and I nearly close them, breathing in sharply—

…—The bolt stops. Just inches from my face.

“I believe that was my line,” says a calm, restrained, unmistakably female voice that I know well enough to snap my eyes back open.

And I am stunned.

There, standing directly in front of me, is Min —looking more furious than I’ve ever seen her— her long, elegant fingers curled tight around the bolt that nearly split my skull in two.

And as the projectile trembles slightly in her grip, the heavy silence in the room gives us all time to process what just happened.

She caught the bolt. With her bare hand.

“What the…” mutters the crossbowman, stunned. He lowers his weapon slightly —just enough for Min to seize her opening.

He doesn’t even get the chance to say anything else before she pulls a pistol from her belt and shoots him. Clean, between the eyes.

Right where the bolt would’ve hit me.

The tavern is so quiet we can hear the exact moment his body hits the floor.

We also hear the soft crunch as Min slowly turns toward me, her eyes —usually hazel— now pitch-black with fury, and breaks the bolt between her fingers, never looking away.

The sound makes me flinch. It’s humiliating.

With a gesture that seems calm —but that, to me, radiates rage— she tosses both halves of the bolt to the ground and gives me a mock-respectful nod.

I’m not sure whether it’s the shame or the rage that burns the hottest in my veins right now.

What I do know is that I’ve never wanted to hit something so badly. If I could punch her porcelain-perfect face, I would. Happily. But I don’t hit women. So anything else will have to do.

And somehow, my beloved subjects seem to pick up on that right away.

“KILL THEM!”

What follows is too fast for me to remember clearly.

Min and I are swarmed. The newcomers —armed with pitchforks and makeshift spears— are more coordinated than the drunks from before. They know how to wield their weapons, how to throw punches, and dodging them all is a challenge. And I hate that just as I start thinking I’m doing pretty well, I catch sight of Min behind me.

She reaches out and grabs the hair of a man sneaking up behind me, then yanks him forward so hard his head crashes into another attacker coming for her.

If someone had told me I’d live to see a woman take down two men at once and cover my back in the process, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Seeing it in real time makes it so much worse.

I’ve always liked to think I’m a decent fighter. Ducking blows, landing punches, using the space and stray chairs to my advantage without taking more than one or two hits —it’s child’s play. Especially against peasants, weapons or not.

But watching Min for just one second makes it crystal clear she’s in a different league.

She moves like air —every strike, every dodge, is so fluid it looks like she's dancing.

Me? I grumble, simmer in my anger, and lash out at whatever’s closest. She? She watches. Analyzes. And then she dances.

When she spins and kicks a man straight in the gut —she dances.

When she drops backward to avoid a pitchfork and pulls it forward to disarm her attacker —she dances.

When she uses the bar counter to leap onto a man’s shoulders and slam him into three of his buddies —she dances.

And when she spots the biggest brute of them all heading straight for me —clearly deciding I need something to vent my rage on? She dances, eyes gleaming like she’s having the time of her life.

The giant takes my first punch to the jaw. Chokes on the second, a hard blow to the gut. Whimpers as I hit him again, square in the face. And finally collapses when I land a furious kick that sends him crashing backward.

The floor shakes under his weight.

Silence falls again, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.

But I’m not out of breath because I’m tired —no, this is the kind of panting rage leaves behind.

Gods, that felt good. I might feel guilty tomorrow for causing a scene —well, probably not— but either way, I can’t deny it: that was satisfying.

Right now, I almost feel… relaxed.

I need a bath. I need to scrub off the filth these peasants rubbed on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the innkeeper peeking out from behind the bar. When Min sees him, she pulls a pouch from somewhere and tosses him another gold coin. He doesn’t need to be told twice : he grabs it and vanishes without a second of hesitation.

Min turns to me, silent, her eyes still burning with that same fury —though a bit dimmer now.

Is she expecting me to thank her for saving my life? I sincerely hope not. The move may have been impressive —I didn’t even know that was physically possible— but I’d rather die than thank her.

I could be thankful she came just in time —because heck, I hate to admit it, but I don’t have a single clue what would’ve happened to me if it wasn’t for her suddenly spawning— but I don’t really feel like it.

So instead, I glare at her.

“You just killed one of my subjects,” I say flatly, accusatory.

She bows her head slightly to slip the pistol back into her belt —and I swear I see her roll her eyes.

“I killed a man who attempted to murder the future King.”

My eyebrow lifts, surprised. Why, of all people, am I surprised she’s the one calling me that?

Her gaze locks back onto mine, voice perfectly steady as she speaks her next words:

“And I’d do it again if I had to. But next time, Your Highness? Just do me a favor —if you want a drink, ask me.”

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randomfoggytiger · 1 month ago

Note

Mourning the Lost anon here again (bet you thought you’d seen the last of me) to humbly request any fics that are canon divergences of all the different near death experiences that Mulder and Scully have experienced. For example, fics like

“What if Mulder had actually shot Scully in Pusher”

“What if Mulder hadn’t realized the trick Linda Bowman pulled and shot Scully in Kitsunegari”

“What if Mulder died in the bank explosion in Monday”

“What if Scully had died in Tithonus”

“What if Mulder and Scully had died in Field Trip”

There’s probably so many other near death experiences that I’m missing but you get the gist. Sorry if this is too big of an ask, I’m just a sucker for angst and grief

Welcome back! I was wondering if you'd drop back in.

It's been... a long time since you sent this ask; but I hope these are sufficient (or at least worth it.)

Also, I included links to previous fic lists at the very bottom-- that way, you can jump from these stories to ones like them, if you want.

Loose chronological order below~

“What if Mulder had actually shot Scully in Pusher”

dksfwm’s Episode: Pusher

“Agent Mulder.” It’s the SWAT lieutenant, he deciphers. His ears start ringing and he doesn’t know what sounds are real. The lieutenant’s lips are moving, and he thinks he can make out “attempt” and “stabilize” and “if you want her to survive”. He feels paralyzed. His chest is heaving so hard that he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

AU-- Mulder shoots Scully.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls's Scully Russian Roulette’s with Modell instead of Mulder /in another world - Chapter 8

Mulder’s eyes widen, genuinely speechless. He is wearing a vest, but the muzzle is angled to where it will hit just above, in his neck or his head, and Scully shakes her head again. She feels so stiff, everything in her straining, and she manages a small word, a strained, “No.”

“C'mon, Scully, this should be easy for you,” Modell says casually. “You’ve shot him before, I read it in your files.”

It's Mulder, this time, at the other end of Pusher's gun.

“What if Mulder hadn’t realized the trick Linda Bowman pulled and shot Scully in Kitsunegari”

Chibiness87's Seeing is Believing

He glances down, and the movement is enough to make a shot ring out, and he glances around in shock.

Scully’s body is no longer lying in a pool of blood behind him. She has gone.

No. No. Nononono. Not again.

He can’t have lost her again.

Post Kitsunegari Scully guides Mulder through a panic attack.

@mulderist/Mulderist1013's Fictober Tumblr Prompts 2020 - Chapter 16 (Tumblr)

“Back up! Back away from him!” Scully said and slowly advanced. In the dim light she saw that there was a dark stain on Mulder’s shirt. Linda was unscathed as well, a fresh bloodstain under her nose. Just then Mulder pulled his gun down, aiming it at Scully.

“She’s making me do this.”

AU-- Kitsunegari Linda Bowman controls Mulder.

@starwalker42's (Ao3)

febuwhump day 13: forced to hurt a loved one

All he knows - all he can allow himself to think - is that he will kill Linda Bowman, to make up for the fact she hurt Scully, and then he'll save her. He'll save Scully, somehow, because that's what they do, they're partners and they save each other.

Bowman talks, she won't stop talking, but he doesn't hear it, not really. He tells her to shut up, but she doesn’t listen. Why won’t she shut up? He aims his weapon at her chest, not thinking about the consequences, only thinking about Scully, dead at his feet… he aims his weapon, and he fires, hoping his aim is off because then she'll die slowly....

AU-- Kitsunegari Mulder doesn't listen to "Linda"; and kills her.

@mctaminy/McTaminy's The Ebbing of This Life-Tide Breath

Skinner reaches down and picks up the gun Mulder was holding, checks the clip, chamber, locks the safety and pockets it. He squats next to his agent, hand on his shoulder. Mulder glances at him, Skinners eyes are compassionate, but his teeth are bared. He’s worried.

“I played her game,” Mulder whispers, numbly, “I played her game and, and I lost.”

“V-tach!” One of the EMT’s say. A machine whines. “AED charged!” Scully stares lifelessly, lids half closed, chest still. Mulder can do nothing but stare, the corners of his mouth moving downward, his heart stopped, his hands and feet numb, stabs of dull pain from his knee. One medic calls, “Clear?” The other responds, “Clear!” and the half lids spasm close, her jaw clenches, then dull blue eyes open halfway again, one lid slower than the other, blood trickles from her mouth, she’s quickly lifted from the cement to a collapsed gurney, one medic straddles her and immediately begins CPR, the bleeding from her shoulder oozing with each chest compression.

AU-- Kitsunegari Skinner keeps Mulder together after the latter almost kills Scully.

Jennifer Maurer's Slow Promises

"It was *you*, Scully. You pointed your gun at me, and then you..."

"I know." I reached out, and Mulder grabbed my hand. "I saw the same thing once, only it was real."

"Tell me you would never do that."

"Come up off the floor, Mulder," I said, as I tugged on his hand and moved over to make room for him. He climbed onto the bed and sat next to me. When I put my arm around him I could feel him shaking, and I rubbed his back to try and soothe him a little.

Post Kitsunegari Mulder and Scully have a heavy conversation.

Rachel Howard's Without Reason

I stick my finger in my mouth and suck hard. The metallic taste in my mouth and nose takes me right back to that warehouse. For maybe the hundredth time today, I see Scully's blank face, a pool of blood fanning out behind her shattered skull.

I slam the file drawer shut, and the whole filing cabinet shudders. I don't need this.

"Need what?"

I didn't even know I'd said it out loud.

Post Kitsunegari Scully is fed up with Mulder "mea culpa"ing.

Ten's (xffics) Disconnection

He was together enough for the doctor at the hospital and Scully to agree about him being released, but Mulder was walking around as if someone had drastically turned his personality down or hit the 'mute' button. When he spoke, it was rarely on his own initiative - it was usually in reply to a comment or question. He had not fidgeted or shifted in his seat once during the meeting to give their report. When Skinner had first ushered them into his office, he handed Mulder back his gun. It had been the first opportunity their AD had to do so. Mulder had looked at it as if their boss was giving him a tissue or a pen, then nodded and put it away.

AU-- Post Kitsunegari Mulder resigns.

@pipistellus/pipistrelle's The Aftermark

He heard the click of Scully's heels on the warehouse floor, but didn't turn until she stopped at his side and rested a hand on his elbow. "The Falls Church PD have everything under control. Come on, let's get out of here."

He motioned with his head back into the interior of the building, where Skinner and the police chief stood over the smear of Linda Bowman's blood on the floor. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Scully said simply. "Linda Bowman brought me here in an attempt to get to you. During the standoff, I had a clear shot on her, and I took it."

Post Kitsunegari Mulder thinks his hate almost killed Scully.

@baronessblixen/BaronessBlixen’s "I can't breathe"

It's sheer luck that she finds him in the stairway, huddled in a corner, holding on to an open case file, loose papers circling him.

"Mulder," she says, more to herself than to him, and then she's by his side, on her knees, touching his ice-cold hands. "What happened?"

"Can't- I- can't-ca-," he stutters, horror flashing in his eyes.

Post Kitsunegari Mulder has a panic attack after looking over Linda Bowman's file.

“What if Mulder died in the bank explosion in Monday”

ghostbustermelanieking's mondays on an endless loop (Tumblr)

It all happens too fast to stop it.

The sudden movement must spook Bernard, because he immediately turns back to Scully and pulls the trigger. No hesitation. Scully goes down mid-crouch, hitting the floor with a wet smack, a stunned look on her face.

Mulder cries out without thought, without coherent words.

The many Mondays Mulder and Scully lived (and died) through.

Vickie Moseley’s (Ao3, Gossamer) Monday, Monday

Have I gotten her back only to lose her forever?

"Why, Mr. Skinner?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.

Skinner's and Maggie's perspectives of one bad day.

Donna/donnah’s (Gossamer, mulderscreek) Tuesday

Mulder jerked awake, then sank back down into his pillow. A dream, she was fine, it was only a dream. He found the phone in his hand anyway, dialing the first number on his speed dial.

"Mulder?" Her voice was trembling.

"Scully, are you okay?"

"How did you know?" She might even be crying, that scared him as much as the dream.

Post Monday Mulder and Scully figure out what their dreams mean.

@sigritandtheelves/DarlaBlack’s Here and Now

Mulder was in full projector-mode, rattling on about something called the “black pit” and a haunted train tunnel. He had slides, interviews with locals, even an audio recording of what he swore was EVP of a hundred-years-dead mine-worker. He was in the middle of flashing to a new slide–1950s newspaper clippings–when the thought (no, the memory) came to her—a false remembrance (a truth), a surety that could not ever have been (but it was).

The bank, his soft head in her lap, blood covering her hands as she tried to hold his life force in, tried to will his heart to keep beating. His sweat-prickled brow and unfocused eyes, lost in the shadow of death that was surely consuming him. The wet sound of his labored breathing. If she hadn’t been sitting, she’d have fallen down.

Mulder looked at her across the projector and stopped talking. “What’s that look for? Did I do something wrong?”

AU-- Post Monday Scully remembers Mulder's death in the bank.

“What if Scully had died in Tithonus”

I haven't read any fics with this conclusion (huh, interesting); so, I included a Tithonus-adjactent fic list instead:

Post Tithonus Mother Hen Mulder

“What if Mulder and Scully had died in Field Trip”

(**Note**: As the previous section, so this one.)

@badforthefish/Scarlet's The Festival

He still liked to think of her as his partner even if these days their partnership had a definite parenting slant to it. They hadn't worked together for many years – though he couldn't remember exactly how long. Somewhere along the line, they'd gotten married. They'd moved to the suburbs. He'd taken a desk job as a behavioural analyst. She'd gone to work at the local hospital. He tried to remember something about her job and failed. That was odd. He and Steve from accounting had been discussing their respective spouses' professions not two days ago, he remembered that much. So why couldn't he –

It didn't matter. Everything was fine.

AU-- Field Trip Mulder and Scully have a family... or do they?

BONUS

Time Travel, Time Loops, and Just Wrong Timing

Many Mondays and “The Creeps”

Fic Moments That “Hit Different”

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junosmindpalace · 1 year ago

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i find discourse around the rdr women so...fascinating and infuriating at the same time. because a lot of the time it doesn't seem like rdr fans want to apply the same level of complex analysis to the women like they do for the men, but when they do, it still doesnt seem all that well-intentioned or that it does right by their characters.

this is a very long analysis/spam/defense so be warned :,)

even though the majority of sadie's character revolves around the fact she not only lost her home and her husband and was thrust into a new life of crime, but was actively struggling with robberies BEFORE the events of the game, people instead choose to focus on whether or not she had feelings for arthur or whether he actions in the game were actually impactful. she helped saved abigail and john when no else would, she fought alongside the men against the army, she helped john set up a stable life, she helped rob the payroll train, helped ensure colm’s death, she fought alongside arthur TIME AGAIN and took over in a leadership role when half the gang was absent in the guarma chapter. to say that she did nothing more except “be badass” undermines all of these contributions to the story that she was either at the forefront of or helped bring to fruition.

in my opinion, abigail is the EASIEST character to defend out of any of the women, and yet somehow she receives the most backlash from dudebros. I lose ten braincells every time i have to read a theory post over whether or not she slept with other camp members besides john, whether or not she was a rat, and about how much shes a nag. the woman has not known a moment's rest in her entire life. by the age of eight she was working in a cathouse. she was a child prior to then scrapping whatever money she could earn at her young age in saloons and dive bars as a woman and child just to survive as a orphan. jack's birth was clearly not planned, and she has voiced multiple times her grievances at the circumstances of his upbringing. everything she does is for a better life for her son: a life she never had. her constant nagging to get john to man up and be a father is for her son's benefit, not her own. she even says so herself when she tells him that she doesn't mind if a relationship between them doesn't work out, but to at least try being there for jack. she can't work a job because she is a mother living a life of crime and danger; she can't afford to leave the camp and her son unsupervised. she still does her share around camp. why would anyone blame her for not wanting to return to a life that has made her miserable, especially now that she has a child who she wants to model a good life for? many people seem to somehow also forget that she herself was a child when she gave birth to jack; only 17-18. she is 22 in the game in a bad situation with the father of her child and financially. she is doing her best to raise her son when she is not fully equipped to do so. how can anyone even blame her for being skeptical of john when hes affectionate in the epilogue when for so long hes been distant? she does not even ask much of john--just to be there for him sometimes, and to live honestly. she is also incredibly kindhearted. comforting other women in the camp, offering a listening ear, taking care of john when hes injured. she puts in her share of effort when it comes to finding a job in the epilogue and maintaining beechers hope.

molly is a young woman who is presumably incredibly far from her home where her family is, and trying to navigate a way of life completely unfamiliar to her. her stuck up nature comes not only from the way she was raised, but also dutch's uplifting affection and presumed lovebombing in the early stages of their relationship. shes even been suggested to be somewhat sociable until dutch and her became somewhat of an official item, in which she grew somewhat of a bigger ego with a mentality that she was his right hand. she deeply depended on dutch for her stability in every way, and its evident in her eventual spiral. she hated being seen as weak and pitiful as somewhat of an outsider among outsiders. she seemed to be close to no one besides dutch, who repeatedly cut her off when she attempted to talk to him about her growing feelings of anxiety, paranoia and sadness. the loss of the one thing that had built her up, coupled with immense tragedy she just wasnt used to, and desperate for a semblance of respect and dignity that she had presumably been all too accustomed to, of course she was going to come off brash and confront dutch about his distant, high and mighty attitude. it's why by the end, she doesnt care if she is killed: there is nothing left for her. karen's comment about her pretending to rat them out for the sake of attention is also interesting in terms of their relationship and parallels, which i dont see ANYONE talk about.

karen very clearly struggles with...a lot. she has even said so herself when talking with molly. she struggles to accept help, evident in pieces of dialogue where she brushes off concerned gang members about her drinking (mary-beth, arthur, javier), and when she seems somewhat ashamed and embarrassed having to have been rescued by arthur in the valentine mission (SAYING EXPLICITLY "i dont much like being saved"). she struggles with believing people have good intentions/feelings toward her, illustrated in the way she's constantly rejecting sean, yet seemingly disappeared further down the bottle after his death, and her conversation with mary beth and tilly about the world having no equal and fair place for women. her negative experiences in the world as a woman could also influence her view of the world, perhaps being why she finds herself somewhat hostile toward feminist mindsets and why she, for a while, enjoyed the outlaw lifestyle: it was her little slice of freedom. her hatred for the rich can also be because she has experiences as a poor woman, perhaps some direct experiences in which rich people have negatively impacted her life. though molly and karen don't get along through most of the game, karen actually tries to step in and help her near the end, and its this action + defending her after her death that shows she was sympathetic toward her situation and on some level able to relate to it, both craving some kind of love beyond superficial things.

@/cryptidcr3ature said it very well in a post i reblogged recently: mary is essentially "her brother's keeper and her father's caretaker". she herself lives somewhere middle class with traditional notions of the time impacting her views on arthur's lifestyle and anything below those middle class standards being deemed as socially unacceptable (which is evident from the very first letter mary sends to arthur, in which she seems confused on what a polite term would be to refer to prostitutes, who were obviously thought very lowly of in the time). i also don't think its fair to criticise her condemnation of arthur's lifestyle when pretty much all audiences, contemporary and not, including members of the gang, acknowledge that it isnt anything pretty. killing is not fun. running from the law is not fun. mary was not only influenced by her father's views of arthur (a person that, despite being horrible, she still deeply loves), but looking after her own family, herself, and arthur's wellbeing when she ended their relationship + suggested they run away. she had given him an opportunity at compromise. perhaps the first time, scared and unfamiliar with his lifestyle, she had offered arthur an ultimatum: her or his outlaw life, but later was willing to also leave behind her brother and father, two figures that tie her down and make her life more miserable than need be despite loving them very much, in order to settle somewhere with arthur and start over. her asking for arthur's help comes from a place of desperation and excuse to allow herself some semblance of stability when she hadn't had it; at least not since her mother and husband passed. if arthur refuses to help her, she is incredibly understanding and sympathetic. she does not lash out. if arthur does help, she is immensely grateful, and even tries to bond with him despite their years apart.

this post isnt to excuse some of their more negative behaviours and aspects of their characters'-- but im saying that they deserve to be fairly treated and analyzed just like any of the rdr men. many of them are young. many of them have unique challenges as women. that isn’t to say the men have it easier, but their struggles and less prettier aspects of their characters are always met with more sympathy than the women. why do arthur and john get passes as reformed absent fathers and criminals? why does sean receive sympathy when karen rejects his pushy advances? why does hosea get a pass at being better than dutch when he still groomed younger members of the gang for a life of crime alongside dutch? why does dutch get a pass by having his downfall be justified by tough circumstances? lets just be fair

#Also these are purely my own interpretations of the characters. i would LOVE to see other rdr women analyis posts #i’m VERY OPEN to hearing interpretations of the women and i understand some of these are purely for funsies and hcs and that’s all fine!#or comments in general #but they should not be treated as canon especially if they invalidate crucial parts of their characters #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #abigail marston #karen jones #mary linton #molly oshea

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lgcdongha · 4 months ago

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hello everyone, surprise! this is @lgcminki's mun (velvet!) back with a second muse (woah!!).

let me introduce you to ahn dongha, my silly and witty boy who wants nothing but to make the people around him smile, no matter the cost! he's kind of a prankster, likes to spin words around to mess with people just for fun, but trust that he'd never put anyone in danger for the sake of a funny haha. he's also very good with kids!

here's his profile and under the cut i'll summarize his background and some info below! please like this post and i'll come to you for plotting!

what's up with this guy?

his mum and dad were double act comedians! their passion to make people laugh fell onto dongha and the rest of their kids

however, dongha's parents were not exactly ready when they found out they were expecting dongha, but they put their child first and decided to put their career on some sort of halt as they wait for dongha to be born

once dongha was born and can at least walk and talk, his dad kickstarts his career again as a solo act while his mum stays home to care for their child

dongha grew up an artistic child with a love for creating, whether skits or crafting. eventually though, their family grew when two (significantly) younger sisters (twins) were brought in!

his mum began missing her career, so dongha assured her that she should start pursuing it again, start becoming active alongside his dad once more while he takes care of his younger sisters

loved making them laugh, does a lot of silly things just to get his precious sisters to laugh and enjoy themselves! he does start feeling the burden of the oldest child though, but he keeps that to himself

starts getting into digital art, he starts his own webcomic under a pseudonym (won't infodump too much about this but the genre is fantasy, supernatural romance)! he discontinued it when he got signed to lgc in 2023 for obvious reasons

doesn't really know what to do while he's here, thinks he doesn't have enough visual charm to be an idol, actor or model and thinks he should just be a variety guy. has no idea what lgc sees in him

plot ideas!

someone who might've read his comic that was discontinued, i think he was conceptualizing his last arc before he decided to drop it altogether! never revealed his true identity

someone for him to crochet, draw and take photos with! he loves making scrapbooks too

someone who might've known his parents? he admittedly doesn't know too much about the stand-up comedy world so someone to tell him about his parents' achievements would be nice!

the unfortunate victims of his rambles about his cute little sisters, he likes to talk about them and wail about how much he misses them! he'll show you pictures

the silent listener to his yapperism. someone whose ear he can talk off!

someone who yaps along with him! match his energy

someone gloomy/prickly, so that he can make it his mission to make you laugh and smile to varying levels of success

an unrequited love... give him something to write about, someone that he really wants to make laugh, and make him go through the realization that he wants to be the only one to make you laugh for a long time—break his HEARTTTTTT

or maybe it's mutual. idk. it is not up to me it is up to HIM

anything and everything. feed me

#* ooc #/ hello hello hehe #pls plot w him!!#this is queued bc im probably asleep LOL

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notdiabolika · 8 months ago

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A Social Butterfly.

Meeting at the cat cafe.

| Featuring: Kou Mukami & Yui Komori.

[Português]

The doors that lead to our bedrooms have locks. And although not always clean, the hallways are safe.

The garden is unlike the one, filled with roses, I was used to watering. It instead houses a humble plantation that smells of a vivid mix of the most varied vegetables (and fruits). The kitchen too. It alone could house a family of five.

Or maybe, just four. This place is exactly as the name implies: Mukamis’ Mansion.

— You should thank me for asking you out. — The arrogant words come out with a soft hum, meant as a joke. At least I hope so. — That skin of yours could use some sunlight… — While opening the door for me, Kou gives one of his characteristic smiles. The one everybody knows.

One of the most popular idols in Japan, from magazines to the streets of the quiet Kanashimashi town. The flushed skin, the slender face adorning blue eyes like the skies, blond hair blowing in the wind, voluminous locks covering the right side of his face.

Since he likes pink, today he wears a coat with the color arranged in a modern design: fitted and with only two large buttons to close the top part.

— Where are we going? — I ask.

When I compare, the pink of my blouse and the strands of my hair seem to fade next to him…

— Oh, what a silly question! — With an expression of someone who is holding back laughter, he quickens his pace to slide the noisy old gate and, finally, step onto the sidewalk. — Don't be impatient. You're acting like my older brother, always hurrying us up. You'll know when we get there.

The fact is that the atmosphere at home is strange, and that makes me a little scared to walk down the street, like that, without worry.

Ruki burnt the food about three times this week alone. Yuma looks like he slipped his hand and dumped a whole bag of fertilizer on his tomatoes. And Azusa? He insists on cleaning the house alone, he hurts himself way more often than he cleans...

Out of all the boys, Kou was the one I saw the least daily. Suddenly, he started to dedicate himself twice as much to modeling.

— I just decided to take you for a walk, masochistic kitten, nothing more... — I cringe with embarrassment at the nickname, some pedestrians staring at us. — Let’s go to a very appropriate place for someone like you… ♥

— Eh— I cover my ear, feeling itchy when his face gets closer to mine. — Don't whisper so close. And… you're making me nervous, saying such things!

— Are you really bothered by so little? — he jokes, putting his arm around my shoulder as we walk. — Isn't that body of yours too tense?

The last thing I want is for any of his fans (or paparazzi) to see us together and jump to weird conclusions! Walking like that, close to him, makes me feel awkward. Maybe it's because of my missteps, or because from afar, we actually look like a couple.

The walk continues slowly, bringing us closer to a small cafe, far from our part of the neighborhood. Green bricks adorn the windows and the billboard of a smiling pudding-shaped kitten, the windows giving views of the few customers.

— That's... — before I can finish my sentence, he moves his arm away and steps in front. The small bell hanging on the door rings when pushed—

Yes, a traditional atmosphere, complete with the smell of fresh coffee and chocolate cake on the platters carried by the waitresses. However, there was still room for some quirky furniture… Scratching posts, shelves, ladders, toys, and some lined cardboard boxes scattered around the corners, all customized to match the pastel color palette.

— So, did you like it? — he even traces his nails on an empty, more isolated scratching post as we enter. — A shame that the kitten is too big to fit in the toys...

His comment barely reaches my ears — I'm too busy crouching down to pet the gray cat that's come to greet us.

— Wow… — I am enchanted by his way of “greeting”, rubbing himself against our legs before returning to the room. I get distracted enough to say out loud: — It looks like Ruki.

The comment gets a loud laugh from Kou.

— Wow, that needy and clingy lil’ guy? Just like him. — he looks up, narrowing his eyelids until shopping at the top of the highest shelf, where a large orange cat stretches out. — Look, that one looks like Yuma!

Seeing that Kou took it as a joke makes me relieved. I laugh when I notice the similarity.

— Garfield too. — I look at the drawings on the counter, colored, made with chalk. — Oh, there's a kitten in a beret! Just li—

Thum.

We should have realized.

We were blocking the entrance and as a result, our backs were hit by the door.

— I'm sorry. — Pulling Kou by the hand, I make room for a scared-looking little girl to pass by. — We better get moving…

— Where do you think you're grabbing?

I let go immediately, thinking he would be angry due to his sharp tone. I was wrong. When I turn around, I find the most superb little grin in his smug face.

— How audacious of you, holding the hand of an idol... I'm going to start to think you're wanting something. — His sarcastic laugh infects the air, and he soon drags a chair over for me to sit on. I had my mouth open, trying to find the words to refute him— Come on, ladies first.

The fact is that Kou always seems to have a good answer on the tip of his tongue, it catches me off guard every time. Right when I have an idea of what to reply, another voice emerges.

— Good morning, dear ones. — A nice old lady comes to give us the menu, a sweet smile on her face. — Do you already know what you’re going to ask?

The menu is cute. Full of stickers and—

— Oh yes. — Kou's hand rests on the top of my head, patting me all of a sudden. — My little sister is having her birthday today. I was wondering if you guys could get a free slice of cake.

… What?

— Wait a sec…

— How wonderful, Mr. Kou! — While I look confused, the waitress looks at us with pure affection, like a grandmother, writing something down in her notebook. — Of course, our promotion is always open. Will you want anything else?

I'm pretty sure today isn't my birthday. And I'm not his sister either.

— Let me see… a croissant for both of us and coffee. I can pay for that part. — I stare at the astronaut cat on the menu. He had a face as confused as mine. — Oh, and the piece of strawberry cake for each, for the free birthday bonus, please.

When she leaves, I stare at Kou.

— … What was that?

— Free dessert, girl. The rest is on me.

That doesn't really explain why he called me sister... and judging by his face, I doubt he'll explain anything. So I leave it aside, wanting to avoid a nuisance.

I observe the free movement of the felines, taking the opportunity to fix my curls tangled by the street wind with my fingers. I'm terrible at starting a conversation. Kou, however, resembles a butterfly with it's wings covered in night shadows. I say this because, from the way his leg was shaking under the table, he seemed anxious — different from the charismatic man who had just invented those lies.

— Ah... You've been working a lot lately.

His expression softens when he hears my voice.

— …So you noticed? Hmm. Good to know I'm missed. — Kou also fixed his hair, turning his head to both sides discreetly, before leaning forward on the table: — It's been quite a struggle. If it weren't for my job, I would be without my products right now.

I confess that I am surprised by this statement. I look closely at his skin, unable to find any detail that suggests the use of makeup. I've never been very good at noticing changes in people's faces.

— Wait, do you wear makeup outside of performances?

— Of course I do. Just today, I was thinking about buying a little makeup kit to test on you... — one of his fingers starts to twirl a wavy strand of mine, close to my cheek. — Although, to make your cheeks red, all it takes is to make you a little nervous and… voilà. Blush is pretty unnecessary.

I notice that, in the middle of his comment, a group of waitresses approaches our table, with two slices of pink cake on a platter: one with a candle and the other without. I realize what's coming before I start.

— Happy birthday! ♪ Happy birthday to you…

Are they singing… happy birthday? It's very quiet so as not to scare the cats, but most people around are staring. And Kou keeps his face intact, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

I feel coerced. I don't know whether to sing along, whether to clap, whether to wait for it to end—

My ears are burning with embarrassment.

— T-thank you... — They put the cake in my face, a sparkling candle blinding my vision. — Thank you, really…

Do they only do this to people who say it's their birthday and it's not? I try to blow out the candle, which doesn't even shake with the wind.

— Let me help you, little sister ♥

That velvety voice of Kou… certainly has a tone of irony! And the way he looks at me with so much enthusiasm makes it worse. I'm being laughed at. With one breath from the vampire, the spark goes out, the brief song coming to an end.

The waitresses smile, leaving the cake along with the other delicacies Kou ordered by himself on the table.

— Enjoy! — a moment of peace for me to consume my meal after this crazy story.

I let a relieved sigh roll out of my lips, taking the warm croissant in my hands, taking a bite. It is very soft, buttery and smooth. Just how I like it.

— Aren't you forgetting something, masochistic kitten? You know, the bare minimum…

I wipe my mouth with a napkin that's decorated with cartoonish feline paws, my gaze unable to hide the merely indignant glow that this whole ordeal made me have. In the end, I end up laughing.

— Thank you, Kou…

A break from the chaos at home is welcome. But thinking about it, his presence already makes a lot of… interesting side-effects.

We spend a pleasant morning, surrounded by boxes and kittens that snuggle in our legs. The food was on point, and the conversations around us made us want to talk to each other too.

So we did — we talked and had coffee.

Maybe I'm being too tolerant of Kou, however, as I always see him so excited to do things, I find it difficult to deny his desires. Because it's also very difficult to deal with his bad mood.

On days like this, he just takes my arm and I follow him. And we get somewhere.

— Credit, please. — His mood had already improved a little, until it was time to pay the bill.

There was silence, and…

— Card declined.

Kou swallows hard next to me. He gives an embarrassed laugh, even flinching. The final receipt must not have been more than 500 yen.

— Try it again, please…? Haha…

His voice muffles in my ears, just as everything starts to make sense in my head… the extra hours of work, the tension at home—

Is it possible that the Mukamis…

Are having financial problems?

Why didn't any of them tell me? I swore they were mad at me or something. But from Kou's sheer panic, it looks like I was mistaken.

— I-I can pay. — I say, raising my finger. — You took the trouble to prepare all this... the price is just a detail.

His gaze follows me, an astonished face that turns to my desk. I had enough, so I quickly handed over the 500 yen coin and thanked her for the meal, standing up.

He does the same, our chairs clattering.

— You are really as kind as Ruki says... too kind. — Leaning against the table, he tries to suppress another smile. — Most of the girls would be screaming at me to the top of their lungs.

— It's really nothing too serious…

I look up to meet his eyes, noticing a soft red glow behind his bangs. It didn't come from the cheeks.

It was his special power. The iris that reveals the truth.

— No, it's not. — He grabs my shoulders before I can pull away, a mischievous emotion flickering in his eyes. — I think you deserve a reward.

It all happened so quickly, that I could barely notice the blush that spread across my cheekbones, the cause, or even the reason of everything that had happened.

His lips touched mine...

And for a moment, I was taken to the blue sky.

Floating, stupefied, above the cotton clouds that embraced us in that strangely tender moment, as sudden as the breeze.

— You need to be more honest with yourself. You didn’t go out with me because ‘I got a sharp tongue, no. — He caresses my cheek with the tip of his nail. — You came because you like me.

The weight of the world seems to fall on my head. Smug, powerful words that I feared were true.

CLAM!

But I didn't have time to process any of that.

The old lady who served us just dropped an entire plate of sweets. She looked at us in astonishment.

— Y-you… ?

Finally, with Kou's lackey laugh as he pulls me away, I understand the reason for horror.

— Wait! — Before passing through the door, I shout: — NO, WE ARE NOT SIBLINGS!

She's even shaking. Everyone is looking….

— K-Kou!

I don't think I'll ever go out with him again.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Hello, I'm back! This is an old request that was sent to me in April and I'm only posting it now 💖 (punctuality is not my thing.

I wrote this as if Yui had left the Sakamakis' mansion and was starting to adapt to the Mukamis 🫠 I hope it's decent!

Have a nice day ☀️

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diaboliklovers #yui komori #kou mukami #kou x yui #yuikomori #koumukami

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friends-w-ghosts · 1 year ago

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Some Edgar & Sabin headcanons because I love them. If they make a FFVI remake I hope we get more dialogue and have side quests relating to each of the characters, I just think every one of them is so interesting and I’d like to see them each get more time to shine.

Edgar

- He is the furthest thing from a morning person. Unfortunately during the plot of FFVI saving the world generally required getting up before it was even light out. He would much rather get up at 8 and spend until 9 waking up and getting ready. But alas, duty calls.

- Also definitely has the WORST bedhead. I imagine him having fairly thick hair that’s straight but has enough of a wave to it that it makes it time consuming to do in the morning. That and he just cares about looking presentable so he doesn’t cut any corners.

- He loves spending time on his appearance not because of vanity but just because he enjoys it as a form of self expression. He canonly enjoys decorating his room so I can see spending time choosing outfits and jewelry for himself as an extension of that.

- Terra was enslaved to work for the Empire, Locke is a thief, and Sabin is a monk…. This leaves Edgar as the person funding everything. Which he doesn’t mind in the least, money and treasure doesn’t mean much to him. His friends being healed up, fed, well-equipped, and well-rested means much more to him.

- He’s also very good at caring for people when they’re sick! Because Sabin was sick so often when they were younger he spent a lot of time learning how to care for him and all sorts of folk medicine. He can be a little over worried and over bearing with it at times but he means well.

- At the beginning of FFVI he’s very pale because he spends so much time inside and doesn’t really have any free time. Sabin for sure teases him about this and by the end of FFVI his skin tone is closer to Sabin’s and his hair is lighter because he’s actually getting some sun. Aka, Gerad looks different than Edgar because he’s just Edgar after being in the sun.

Sabin

- The biggest morning person ever, unlike Edgar. He gets up far before anyone else to get ready and train a little before the day starts.

- He also probably has pretty bad bedhead too considering Edgar and him are twins, but it doesn’t matter as much because his hairstyle is pretty messy to begin with. He just throws it in a ponytail and calls it a day.

- He HATES asking Edgar for things (or anyone, but especially Edgar). Knowing that Edgar already sacrificed so much by becoming the king of Figaro to let Sabin go off and have whatever life he wanted, he feels bad asking Edgar for anything more.

- He still gets sick easily, but not nearly as easily and as badly as when he was younger. He also never admits that he’s sick and tries to hide it. You basically have to beg him to rest when he is.

- He actually enjoys being a little bit dressed up but doesn’t because it’s inconvenient with his fighting style and he strictly limits his material possessions to what is necessary. He does wear different bows that Edgar gives him and occasionally small earrings. (I imagine Edgar loves dressing Sabin up too so the bows were completely his idea and bypass Sabin not wanting to ask him for anything).

- Actually the best parental figure to Gau, he probably models his parenting style mostly after Duncan. He’s very kind and surprisingly patient but also very strict at times, which works well with Gau. He also probably gets advice from Cyan. I could write a whole different post about just Sabin and Gau.

- I imagine the world of final fantasy 6 is actually made up of a few different languages, with one standardized language that is none of the characters first language but is built to make communication easy. Or maybe it would be the first language of people in the Empire, because I can see that being one of their grand pursuits or something. Anyway, this applies to Edgar and Sabin because I can see them talking in whatever Figaro’s language would be called when they want to talk privately but don’t get a lot of space from at least 2+ other people.

I wrote this up quickly so sorry for any grammar mistakes/weird sentences. I just wanted to get this out there for fun. If anyone is interested I might write more!

#final fantasy 6 #ffvi #sabin figaro #edgar figaro

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parkezra · 1 year ago

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✨ hello, beautiful citizens of jongnorp! ✨ how the hell are ya?! my name's ryan (h/h, 25+) and i'm so thrilled to finally be posting one of my eight muses' (yes, i know... i know 😅) intros! first up is one of my all-time favorites, ezra park! he's currently working as an influencer who mostly creates fashion, lifestyle, social commentary, and makeover content, but he'll be expanding his résumé with exciting new projects very soon! 👀 below, you'll find a quick breakdown of his life, as well as bits and pieces of his personality. please 💖 this if you'd like to plot!

to keep things simple, he was born and raised to a rather liberal family in queens, nyc. both his parents made good money, he felt very supported, loved, and accepted, and honestly speaking, he had a rather idyllic childhood. i've written this muse before, but in this update of him, i wanted to give him a less grim upbringing.

however, his brighter history has created new flaws. being that he grew up in a rather privileged environment, it's made him ignorant to many things, and upon moving to seoul, he's been hit in the face with plenty of life's harsh realities. he's on his own now (for the most, part, anyway—his older half-brother is also in seoul), he's starting a career for himself, and it's his first time in a part of the world that's dramatically more conservative than the safe haven he surrounded himself in back home.

is he losing his mind? sort of, but he's doing keep his feet on the ground. he'd love it if you joined him on this new journey he's on!

ezra park is a hedonist. he's someone who'll never say no to another drink, or a second slice of cake, or going home wrapped around the arm of a handsome someone. he's over-indulgent like that, and substantially sensual, as well. he's someone who will catch a man's attention by eye-fucking him across the room, then moments later, appearing only to whisper the most delicate compliment in his ear; hoping that the sweet scent of his breath and the feeling of it ghosting along the other's skin is enough to reel him in for a night of fun.

if there is one thing that ezra park values, it's beauty. why else would he host a show on his channel that highlights attractive men from around the city, mostly by giving them makeovers? why else would he be teaching people how to upgrade their closet with clothing that accentuates their best features? why else would he be interested in ensuring that he never leaves the house looking anything other than immaculate? however, he realizes that, like most things, beauty is subjective, and he aches to discover what others find people, too.

ezra park is an individual, much to the chagrin of his grandparents' home country. he's still not gotten used to the stares of his elders whenever he enters public transit, or the glares he receives from his peers when he's a little too "flamboyant" in a public space, but he likes to think he's learning how to comfortably coexist in a place that doesn't fully understand him. after all, that's kind of all he can do. he made the choice to learn about his heritage and expand his career by relocating, and it's a choice he has to live with now. at least for the foreseeable future.

ezra has a show on his youtube channel where he gives handsome men from around the city (often male models, drag queens, and less often men from off-the-street) to interview and give makeovers to. he asks them questions about growing up in korea, and the knowledge they have on queer individuals, and their opinions on certain topics. in addition to this, he also hosts queer people of korea to ask them, specifically, about their experiences living in the country; hoping to shed awareness on stories told by marginalized voices. these could work as connections!

he's been in the city since february of last year, so it's been around a year and he's likely made some friends! maybe they could be your muses?

he's also likely slept around with plenty of men. he's no stranger to jongtaewon, and even hongdae, so if your muses frequent these areas, they've likely ran into him or ended up in his bed.

does your muse watch his content? do they love it? hate it? have them tell him! it'll be a fun time either way!

i'm honestly down for any and all connections, and this is already so long, so let's come up with something incredible together! 🥺💖

#JONGNO:HELLO #/ late to the party but i hope you forgive me!#/ been wearing my “🍑” hat if you know what i mean... 👀

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epicrox · 2 years ago

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Till The End Of The Moon Thoughts - Episode 2

WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW

PARTS: 1.1 | 1.2 | 2 |

This is mostly for me to look back on and see the moments that I caught my eye. Nothing analytical. I offer nothing to the table

I'm also a visual person so there's a lot of screenshots x

This is called my thoughts because I refuse to call what I'm writing down as a review. Reviews inform people and this post does nothing for people.

I’ve seen posts on Tumblr calling Tantai Jin a Disney princess cuz he’s being mistreated and talks to animals 🤨

The scenery is so pretty.

3. There seem to be Chinese subtitles on the right side of the screen indicating that background music is playing but I think they cut it out because I’m not hearing anything. Maybe it’s because I’m watching it on YouTube. I don’t know about other platforms.

4. Yeah, they cut the music now and it just sounds awkward and empty.

5. Omg she’s just leaving him there! Aren’t you supposed to keep him alive?

6. He legit looks like an old man because of the snow.

7. This man looks so delicate.

8. Even at the brink of getting hypothermia, he looks like he has a better chance of getting a modelling contract than me.

9. Disney Princess indeed.

10. Bingchang looks really sweet. I’m praying she doesn’t turn out evil or two-faced.

11. Wtf is this crow’s voice?!

12. It sounds like a demonic robot. This further proves my point about this show being sci-fi.

13. The crow’s basically a camera.

14. Then don’t let him die! That celestial being never told you to kill him and didn’t even mention the evil bone, your dad did. He literally told you that Tantai Jin’s torment and death triggered his demonic powers. All you need to do is prevent that! And what do you mean he deserves this?! He hasn’t done anything yet!

15. Her strategy is irritating me.

16. It looks like she’s cradling a head. Just the head.

17. I love that he just had to faint for her to understand the severity of the situation.

18. Wtf is that? His subconscious?

19. This demonic being reminds me of that demon that trains Luo Binghe after he gets pushed off the cliff.

20. He wants Tantai Jin to give him his soul to allow him eternal peace? Does he want to use Tantai Jin’s body as a vessel?

21. It’s the 2nd episode and we’ve got Xi Wu feeling him up.

22. Ma’am, how are you sleeping with that on your head?

23. She even got her dangly earrings on!

24. Get over what?

25. Ha! Xi Wu is having thoughts.

26. So am I.

27. She beats him?!

28. Why am I surprised?

29. OG!Xi Wu was an evil person.

30. The fact that she is hesitating about hitting him! Put the whip down! Even though he’ll see you’ve changed and would make him suspicious, at least he’ll be happy about not getting whipped.

31. She cares more about staying in character than changing the past.

32. At least take the gear off before you go to sleep.

33. After literally TORTURING HIM, you're worried for his health. It seems you’ve figured out actions have consequences.

34. AHHH!!!

35. Also as an otherworldly being, deity or whatever she is, Xi Wu can be really dense. I’d understand if she didn’t know how some things worked in the mortal world but for someone responsible for saving the world, your strategy is confusing.

36. I know she’s grieving for what had happened but she can prevent tragedies if she were a little smarter.

37. Is that even comfortable? I’ve always envied my parents for being able to sleep while sitting down because for some reason I can’t.

38. Awww. I love how confused he is.

39. He’s so delicate (This man is over 10 years older than me).

40. Yes, she’s possessed.

41. Just like villainess stories, is she hated by her family?

42. Oh no. She seems to be the favourite. Makes sense since the OG!Xi Wu was running around making trouble without much consequence. How can you be punished for your actions if you’re the Apple in your family’s eyes?

43. Also how many concubines does Xi Wu’s dad have? Does Bingchang and Xi Wu have different mothers?

44. It’s very clear from the beginning that the eldest brother is going to be useless.

45. Ze Yu just vanished. And make Xi Wu apologise to Bingchang. OG!Xi Wu must’ve thought she was entitled to everything. Bingchang must feel ostracised by her own family.

46. Wow, even the kitchen boys are bullying him. They’re probably gonna get beaten by Xi Wu and zapped when Tantai Jin gets into power.

47. This whole thing must be so humiliating as a prince.

48. How is he working in the kitchens and doing dishes while looking so pristine?

49. Is that ice?

50. Are they purposefully making him wash dishes in ice-cold water? Or is it something people did historically?

51. HE HASN'T DONE ANYTHING YET. But he’s going to.

52. I’m not sure you’re aware of this but you’re in the body of his abuser. Of course, he’s avoiding you. Like didn’t you whip him last night?

53. Also, you haven’t spent long enough in that body to make this statement.

54. Yep. I think they put the ice in to torment him.

55. This reminds me of a trope you mostly see in isekai mangas/manhwas where the ML is so rude and aloof towards the FL that all the servants start to think they can do it too.

56. One thing that irks me about these tropes (it irks a lot of other people too) is that when the FL begins to stand up for herself against the servants, she slaps them.

57. Ooh, the music changed.

58. Not only does he speak to robotic crows, but he’s also talking to flies. Or was that a wasp?

59. I was under the impression Tantai Jin would commit murder but he just made the head cook (I think) swallow a fly. His reaction after swallowing the fly would have made you think he was being poisoned or choked.

60. It’s funny that she’s lecturing the staff about how rude they are even though this whole time she kept on saying he deserved it. You left him in the cold and whipped him. You know he’s a captured prince.

61. She’s putting all the blame on the servants rather than saying that OG! Xi Wu and even herself were wrong.

62. Instead of Xi Wu slapping them, they’re slapping themselves.

63. “If I had dignity, I would’ve died years ago” He really is a Disney princess.

64. More specifically, Cinderella. I saw a video essay from a channel called The Take. They talk about how people victim blame Cinderella a lot for not fighting back her abusers. In one part of the video, they talked about how Cinderella allows the abuse to continue as it is very likely that her stepmother would kick her out if she acted out.

65. Tantai Jin doesn’t know that the Xi Wu in front of him is not the original. So if I were him, I’d be more cautious about what type of food Xi Wu feeds me than the servants. Although, OG!Xi Wu could’ve ordered the servants to poison Tantai Jin’s food.

66. This man gives me Jin Xixun vibes or Mo Xuanyu’s cousin who died in the first episode of MDZS/The Untamed.

67. Oh, this is hard to watch.

68. That guy threw the cake on the ground and then stepped on it. Even if I was hungry I could never take a bite of it. It took me a while to even eat/drink something that someone else touched with their hand or mouth.

69. Is she drugged or drunk?

70. omg

71. They kissed! And we’re on the 2nd episode. I know it isn’t the FL but still. I count it.

72. Ok, they’re drugged.

73. I remember the two actors were together in a previous drama and there was a make-out scene that everyone freaked out about. So I assume they know what they’re doing in this drama.

74. So someone tried to make Bingchang and Jin Xixun prince spend the night together by drugging them but instead, they both ate it. It was 100% OG! Xi Wu.

75. Oh wait, they actually did it? But they’re clothed.

76. He has every right to be suspicious of you and the food you’ve given him.

77. Gosh. That crow’s voice is terrifyingly comedic. I giggle every time it opens its beak.

78. Tantai Jin is definitely planning something.

79. At least he’s pretty while doing it. Look at this shot.

80. This king looks familiar. Wasn’t he the emperor from Ashes of Love?

81. Tantai Jin is definitely ripping his head off.

82. This whole political drama is going to push Tantai Jin to join the dark side.

#till the end of the moon #tteotm thoughts #tantai jin #ye xiwu

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cilil · 10 months ago

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5, 6 & 8 for the Eowne week ask?

Thanks for the ask!

Appearance idea

Conveniently I was asked about this by various people before (unrelated to this ask game), so I'm going to take and adapt my summaries from there -

Eönwë's "default" is a mostly humanoid form, basically model "standard angel man". Unlike Manwë's "airiness" he has the muscles, bone structure and just overall mass appropriate for a male humanoid warrior and is therefore significantly heavier and physically stronger than other wind spirits. He also has a pair of (physical) wings that are capable of flight and it looks like he has a pair of small wings as ears, but in actuality he has normal Elven ears that just have feathers on them (and they can emote). He also usually has humanoid legs and feet (to fit into boots and such).

His feathers are white with the occasional golden, brown or black spots, his hair is white golden/pale blonde and curly (inspired by cherubs, since it's my hc that depictions of angels in Middle-earth are based on Eönwë) and his eyes are usually sky/azure blue.

When dealing with fallen/evil Eönwë or him being so enraged he loses his shit, I swap this palette, giving him yellow/orange eyes (like raptors have, though you can also imagine Sith eyes if you want lol) and his skin, hair and feathers all have an eerie, cold blue tint, basically highlighting the wind spirit, storm and bird of prey angle instead of the angel angle (haha).

There's also a more "animalistic" humanoid form - though it only very, very rarely comes out - that is bigger and more eldritch, with additional plumage for example in the shoulder and chest area, tail feathers and bird feet.

Fanon idea I've adopted

That's a bit difficult to tell. Not because I think I'm the master of all things Eönwë who has come up with everything herself or any bs like that, but rather because I've loved him and read and written about him for so many years that it's hard to remember which ideas came when and from where.

I suppose one idea that I can say with relative certainty came from fanon is him having a close relationship with Finarfin, as well as having a relationship with/connection to Maglor. Both of these I've since picked up on in my own writing or am planning to pick up on in future projects and want to expand on.

Favorite friendship/platonic relationship with Eönwë

I'll preface this by stating real quick that with a lot of relationships it's fic and verse dependent whether I write them as platonic or romantic so if you see me talk about some relationships here and write them as romantic pairings another day I wasn't lying to you, I'm just trying out something new/doing requests😆

So one is definitely Ilmarë. I talked about her relationship with Eönwë more in depth in another response yesterday, so I'll keep it brief here: I like them as work besties, being in the weird position where everyone expects them to date, but they aren't really interested in that. In verses where I ship Ilmarë with Arien Eönwë is also very supportive of them, disregarding any feelings he might have - he just wants the girlies to be happy.

I also have to explore Manwë and Eönwë platonically more, I'm now realizing, but I'll get to do that soon with a Lost Tales based fic (which means that Manwë will be his Papanwë in that one). Cute!

Another friendship I like for Eönwë is Olórin. I see them growing closer post-War of Wrath, not least because Irmo and Nienna saw that Eönwë was struggling and decided to sic one of their emotional support Maiar on him. When Olórin dies in battle against the Balrog, Eönwë is absolutely devastated, wishing he could've helped him.

#eonwe headcanon asks #asks #cílil answers #eonwe

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aryanightshade · 2 years ago

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This Episode of Stranger Things is Called: Playdate

{two new messages}

“Hi, I’m calling for a… Eddie Manson? No, Munson. Sorry. Jerry writes like a chicken. Uh, my name is Alice, I work for the parks department. You called about the job posting we had up on the community board on Main Street, and I was wondering if you wanted to come in for an interview later today? We need someone in the position ASAP, so please give me a call back when you get the chance. Thanks!”

Eddie wakes up on the couch with the headache of someone mildly hungover. Which is irritating because he didn’t get drunk or high last night. Aside from almost burning down their apartment, he didn’t do anything fun at all, actually. His life has become spectacularly un-fun recently, what with—

Right. Embarrassing himself in front of their neighbor. The one who looks like a swimsuit model.

Steve.

Steve with the luscious flowing hair and pretty smile and tan skin that Eddie wants to lick all over.

That Steve. The Steve who smiled at him and lit Eddie up from the inside like he swallowed a ball of sunlight.

In the light of day, it’s actually worse than Eddie thought. He slipped while running down a flight of stairs and knocked over a trashcan like a total klutzy idiot. How can he show his face after making such a fool of himself? Steve is going to take one look at him standing on his porch doing his friendly Mr. Rogers thing in one of those tight, preppy polo shirts, and Eddie is going to combust into ashes on the spot, leaving his only child homeless and orphaned.

The obvious solution here is to become a hermit. Eddie will simply never leave the safety of their house ever again, and therefore drastically decrease his chances of making a complete and utter buffoon out of himself in front of another man.

Eddie presses a couch cushion over his face and groans. God, he’s pathetic. He sees an attractive man and immediately all his brain cells liquify and trickle out his ears. It’s probably for the best, anyway, him being so weird. Small town Indiana isn’t the best place to be picking up dudes. There’s no anonymity here, and besides, Hot Neighbor Steve has at least one child, which means he likes women enough to procreate with one. He probably wouldn’t respond well to Eddie salivating over him. He probably has a wife. Eddie hasn’t seen her yet, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist. She’s probably really pretty and knows how to make Hamburger Helper without burning down the neighborhood, too.

Realistically, Steve will probably just ignore him. Eddie is self-aware enough to know that he’s off-putting to a lot of people, but a little part of him isn’t sure he wants to be ignored. He’s no stranger to chasing highs, and the one that filled him when those warm hazel eyes pinned him down like a butterfly in amber feels worth sucking into his lungs until he suffocates. Which is stupid. Eddie is gay, but he’s not a moron, and people like his neighbor don’t generally say yeswhen he offers to suck them off between some dumpsters behind a pizza restaurant.

Not that he would. He would take Hot Neighbor Steve to dinner first. Because he’s a gentleman. But he won’t do that. If he sees Steve Harrington around, he won’t do anything at all, he decides. He’ll be real regular about it and hope Steve doesn’t remember Eddie tripping over his own feet like a moron.

Eddie’s theatrically self-indulgent misery lasts another ten minutes or so before he screams quietly into the pillow and tosses it aside with a dramatic sigh. It’s fine. This will be fine. This is only temporary, after all.

He’s trying to be optimistic, so of course, it’s inevitable, like heat death and rich people flouting traffic laws, that Eddie will run into Steve Harrington again.

Read on Ao3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie fic #fluff #the way they pine for each other is truely pathetic #steddie big bang #steddiebang23

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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 1 year ago

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Shhh everyone's asleep, post self ship fanfic from ages ago

S/I/OC x Riddler

Tw: nsfw 🔞

Belle was anxious as she waited in her uber going over to Edward Nygma's house. It's the first time she's been invited over- all the banter and clever word play culminating in an actual date. He'd been so *persistent* in a way she found charming, damn her instincts.

She pulled at the skirt of her dress, suddenly feeling self conscious. The choker on her neck felt tight, though she knew it wasn't. Of course she'd decided to dress up! Most of the time when he had seen her, she was so casual, usually in some kind of t-shirt.

What in the world did he see in her anyway? Sure, he'd said there was a list if she wanted to hear it, but- really, what could he want? They were so different in a lot of ways. He was immaculate and always well groomed from what she'd seen. Well spoken, brilliant- a narcissist with plenty of flaws, yes, but she would expect a guy like that to want a model. Or a rocket scientist, at least!

Yet as she read over the texts of the morning confirming her coming over for dinner... he really did want to see her. Maybe for a polite "the chase is over, but I had fun" spiel. No. No, no, he's not THAT socially inept... is he?

The car stopped in front of his home and she felt her heart wanting to stop with it. Instead she gave the driver a thanks and got out, straightening her clothes to be presentable. The dress had pleasant different colored vertical stripes and a collar that dipped down to show *just* enough cleavage. She wished she had a mirror to check her hair and makeup.

Too late to leave now. Her knuckle raps on his door, no indication this place belongs to the illustrious Riddler save for a small green question mark by his mailbox. That and the camera that looked down at her above the door. The place is relatively discreet among all the other buildings around it. If she didn't know how extra he was, it would look like a regular apartment or townhouse on the outside.

She can hear a sort of shuffling behind the door before it opens and immediately her heart goes for a loop.

Her mouth goes before she thinks, "You're casual! I didn't think you even owned a t-shirt!"

Yes, in fact, for all the times she had ever seen him dressed in a full suit- Edward Nygma was in an open button down and plain shirt underneath. His hair wasn't perfectly pushed back with product. His brows might have even been a few small hairs out of place! It spoke to a vulnerability she hadn't quite seen from him before. His bravado lowered.

He clears his throat before grinning, "And you're not! Look at you. Do a spin."

Belle scoffs with a nervous laugh, "Stop. I'm just- I thought-" She rubs her arm and looks away.

It clicks in his mind and he puts his hand to his head, "Of course! And here I thought an evening at home should be more comforting. Should I change?"

"Oh god please don't I already feel embarrassed." She says, "You look good. I was just surprised."

He ushers her into the building, quick to hover his arm just above her waist. He's looking at her up and down, seemingly very pleased.

"And I was thinking while you look wonderful normally... this is something I could get used to." His arm ends up on her shoulder as they go towards the kitchen.

"What, the makeup and everything?" She's ready to roll her eyes.

He leans in closer to her ear, almost in a purr, "No, I meant seeing those legs on full display. And these *curves.*" A finger brushes over her waist and she almost jumps. Before she can scold him, he's pulling away to step in front of her, facing her.

With all her nerves, she hardly even noticed the heavenly smell in the house. As it catches her nose she takes a deep inhale and smiles.

He holds up a finger, "Ah, yes! The menu. Lobster tails."

"Geez, aren't those expensive?" Belle asks, "You didn't have to go all out."

"Then I shouldn't tell you about the steaks." He says with a raised brow, "You finally said yes, I need to impress! Well. I thought the clothing would balance it out, really." In truth, he hadn't expected her to dress up and he wanted to match. Now that he's seen her, however, there's no way he's going to just say that.

The idea of balancing out makes her laugh, "You're a dork. It's cute." Despite herself it rather spills out and she's flush.

What she wasn't expecting was him to flush as well, "O-oh. You... think so?" He clears his throat and is pulling out a chair for her to sit on in the small dining room of his home.

Her heart flutters and she's blunt, "I mean. I always thought so? Not always but. Once I got to know you." She's flustered remembering that first time. Being caught up in one of his schemes and catching his attentions. Being stuck with him for that short time period and seeing, every once in a while, that villainous facade slip.

"Ah yes. That plan should have worked... but I suppose if... if meeting you meant it failing..." he stops talking, his face getting redder, "I wish I'd recorded you saying I'm cute, dear Diana. Proof you're fond of me."

Her eyes narrow. *That* nickname. It had confused her the first time he had called her that, after one of their run-ins. Diana, the goddess of the hunt, of the wild and the moon. Once splashed a hunter with her spring water to be set upon by his own hounds for gazing upon her bathing.

For some reason, Edward associated her with the moon- one of his compulsive little habits was to categorize. One of his "love letters" had even been attached to a Moon tarot card stuck into her door. Animals ended up fitting as he found out more about her. Over their meetings it became a unique pet name.

Belle leans forward in her chair, "I'd hope me being here is proof enough."

"There can never be enough evidence of one's affection." He points out before going back to the kitchen. The smile on his face gave her butterflies. Internally she chastised herself. Ridiculous.

As she looked around she realized his place was... actually nice. Cozy. Way less clutter and organized chaos than hers. She wondered if it had anything to do with his diagnosed OCD or if this was him impressing her.

Green was definitely the main color in different shades. But not so much so to be overpowering. Several pieces of question mark themed furniture or small pieces that she could see. In that way he was delightfully predictable. A shelf of puzzle boxes and complicated brain teasers she could never hope to solve without some help. Another shelf of devices she can only assume he made himself.

No computer that she can see from her seat. Either out of sight or his technology and workspace was somewhere else entirely. A basement? Or a different building entirely? It was nosey, yes, but she couldn't help being curious given his status as a member of Gothams infamous rogues gallery.

All of that wiped from her mind, however, as Edward returned with two plates in hand. Once a plate was put in front of her, she couldn't help but swallow back her excitement. Damn. He really did call her out on what she'd like.

"This looks and smells wonderful!" She praises, "I... didn't know you could cook."

Edward sits across from her, preening, "I'm skilled with more than technology, Miss Jones."

"Oh please, stop the bond villain routine." She scoffs, which just makes him give a short laugh.

He puts up a pointer finger, "Hold that thought." He gets up from the table and digs through a cabinet in the kitchen before returning with a candle and a box of matches.

Belle almost snorts with laughter, "You have not been saving that!"

He returns his own grin, "We get power outages in Gotham, as I'm sure you know. But... it creates a mood, doesn't it?" As he lights the candle he snaps his fingers and the lights in the house dim. Belle moves to cover her mouth, face red, and he would think she's possibly embarrassed if it wasn't for the delighted look in her eyes.

Her hand moves over her eyes and he can see the wide grin on her face, "You're so dramatic, oh my god."

"But you like it." He says, feeling at peace seeing how happy she is.

There's a moment where she pauses and catches her breath. A sigh, "Yes. I do. I really like it. And you."

The admission leaves him with a dopey look on his face and he lets out his dorkiest chuckle. In front of anyone else, he'd be embarrassed for it but for her he feels... safe. At home. It doesn't hurt it makes her laugh just as loud and as embarrassing. It's infectious.

When she realizes, she's putting food in her mouth to change the subject. Immediately she's humming, "This is so good! Thank you for making dinner."

"You're so very welcome." He replies, drinking in her pleased reactions. The rest of the dinner passes as expected. Light anecdotes about their lives, a joke here or there. Nothing too deep or too vulnerable- them having the dinner at all was vulnerable enough.

Yet as everything cleared and she was following him into the kitchen, she felt... there needed to be more.

In fact she jokes, "It's only 8:30. Did you... want to do something? Or-"

"Don't even suggest you've overstayed your welcome." He stops her, putting rinsed plates into his dishwasher, "But what could we do... I suppose hacking Gothams mainframe doesn't do it for you?"

She shakes her head with a grin, "I was thinking more of a movie? Unless that's too low-brow for you."

That laugh again, "Cute. A movie is an excellent choice." She can't see it but he feels the heat under his collar. She wants to spend more time. With him! He needs to calm down. If she'd asked to see the workshop he'd likely hand her the keys and that just won't do.

"What do you think of a mystery?" He asks, that cat like smirk showing over his face, "See if you can figure it out before the credits."

She gives him a look, her brow raising, "Better than a riddle, I guess."

"As you said, the night is young so don't tempt me." He laughs and leads her to his living room. She doesn't say it, but is absolutely not surprised he would have a fancy flat screen and a cushy couch for optimal viewing. She can see game systems tucked into an entertainment center underneath.

He puts out his hand to the table in front of them, grabbing the remote, "Alright. I know a good one."

Dramatic music swells and several familiar names and credits flash over a river. It's older. She doesn't recognize film until she sees that man with the mustache, Hercule Poirot, sitting by a pyramid.

"Death on the Nile?" She asks.

Edwards face goes sour, "You've seen this?"

"It's Agatha Christie." She laughs, "Next you'll try to show me Alfred Hitchcock."

Hitchcock was his next choice.

Belle is quick to pat his leg, "I haven't seen this in ages. It's fine."

The affection is enough to make him completely forget about trying to make her guess. Funny thing, that. The colorful cast of characters, the aesthetic- it's all so easy for her to relax next to him on the couch, slowly coming to lean on him. He tries to be nonchalant about it, his hand going to rest over her arm. It's when she moves her arm and his hand falls to her waist that he hesitates. Her hand laces over his and he feels a shiver up his back.

Internally she's panicking and deciding if she wants to go further. Her eyes close and her head leans on his shoulder.

His breathe tickles as he turns his face, "You can't be falling asleep."

"I'm not." She says clearly, "Just. Enjoying the moment." Her voice is quiet and both of them have racing hearts.

His lips move to her hair and lay a soft kiss atop her head. She feels like she could swoon. Instead she looks up at him and places her own kiss on the corner of his mouth. There's a fluttery sort of sound that comes out of him and he sighs. His grip on her waist gets tighter as his other hand goes to her chin. He guides her face to his and her hand finds purchase against his chest. The kiss between them feels electrifying.

Her lips are still buzzing when he pulls away. There's calluses on his hands that she only notices as they run up her thigh and threaten to push up her skirt. Her breath catches and her hand stops his. He's quick to pull back.

"I- I'm sorry did I-" Did he misread all of that?

Belle shakes her head, "No, I want this I'm just-" She kisses him on the jaw and stays close to his body, "It's just been a minute. I'm worried I- you know-"

His hands go to her face and he looks her over, giving a pleasant smile, "I want you, Belle. All of this." He kisses her forehead and her shoulders untense. The look she gives him... that trusting, soft vulnerable look- its enough to get him right back where he paused.

His hands go up her skirts as they make out and her hands twist in his shirt. There's a look of surprise as his fingers reach a particular fabric. She can feel the friction of his skin against hers as they dive beneath the band of her underwear.

"Lace? For me?" He asks with a smug glance.

She looks away for a moment before admitting, "I thought there was a possibility."

"So prepare." Edward nods, "Oh, I was right. I knew we'd make a great match. From the moment I saw you."

"Is that so?" Belle laughs as his kissing get to her neck. A soft moan and she holds onto him tighter.

"Of course. I'm always right. I'm a genius!" Edward pulls away just enough so she can see his overconfident smile, "And these... oh, these need to go. What color are they, I wonder...?" She says nothing as his hand yanks down on her panties and he catches a peek of the most delightful shade of green. Her face flushes.

Yet he doesn't tease her. Instead he continues his kissing, the underwear swiftly hitting the floor. The pad of his thumb delves at the very edge of her lower lips and Belle shudders. He moves up and over the clit, circling over with just enough pressure.

"Ff... fuck, Edward-" Belle breaks away from the kissing and allows her head fall back.

The riddler goes for her throat, "That's the idea- hm... I think we should change venues." A nip over that soft flesh to feel her shiver.

"Yeah maybe... maybe the couch isn't..." Belle can't complete her thought at first, but feels a quiet whine in her throat when his touching stops.

Edward gets up from the couch, giving her a hand to stand, "As much as I'd love to get it on like teenagers on the couch, I think we'd both be more comfortable on the bed, hm?" Belle briefly thinks on it. Both of their backs. His knee.

"Yeah, that's... that's fair." Belle kicks away her panties and waits for him to pull her down the hallway to his room. Not exactly a tour but she does take in the decorations and art that lines his walls even as they round the corner to the room at the end.

She has to stop herself from laughing at the ridiculous (what she assumes is) custom grey and green comforter- carefully embroidered with question marks and geometric patterns at the bottom. It's so him. The little work desk next to the bed covered in grease, tools and a half finished project. A closet filled with she assumed a various collection of suits. A dresser that she wasn't actually sure of... but she'd love to find out at one point.

All of this she takes in just before she feels his hands unzipping the back of her dress. Instinctively her hands go to her front as the dress falls forward. Those callused hands go to her shoulders, pushing the fabric away. His lips find her bare back and she shivers as she moves her arms to let the dress fall to the floor.

"Cold, dear Diana?" Edward murmurs, "Let me warm you. Let me the grace of touching you. If you should not allow me this, let me be be cast by your spring water and eaten by my hounds-"

Belle finds herself flustered by his words but turns around to stop him, "I want nothing more than for you to touch me, Edward."

She unbuttons his pants as his fingers unclasp the choker around her neck. Then he tries to start on her bra. A growling hum as his pants start to fall and her hand dips over his hard cock. A small squeeze before he's grabbing at her wrists.

"Too much?" She teases, biting her lip.

Edward has a desperate dry tone to his voice, "Get on the bed. And get that damn bra off." He gives her hands back, his own pressing on her hips and guiding her to lay down. The bra quickly thrown off somewhere in the room. His pants and underwear thrown somewhere else in the room.

He's quick to knock her legs apart and press his middle digit inside of her, curling along her walls. Pumping slowly, his thumb going back to her clit. The sharp sound of her moan makes him twitch and he kisses at her torso, then her breasts. His tongue goes to work around a nipple, trying to study what elicits the best response.

She can hear him take a deep breath and sigh out. Her own concern brushes his hair back and gives a light tug and he stops his ministrations. Her voice is soft in the dark room, "You okay?"

"Y... of course! I'm just... is this good?" Edward Nygma for once struggling to find the words, "You're so beautiful. I want to taste and touch everything." His finger slides out of her and she leans up on her elbows, seeing him better.

She wishes she could save this image in her mind. His flush face and messy hair. His cock leaking precum and she hasn't even really done anything yet. How desperate he looks right now for her.

She could get emotional, someone being like this for her.

"It's so good, Eddie." She leans forward to kiss him, "I just want to feel you inside me. Is that okay?"

His eyes widen and he seems to have lost his brain function for a moment, "....Yes! Yes. Yes, yes. I can- hold on!" And he's digging in a drawer next to the bed feverishly before pulling out a condom, "Let me just-"

"Let me." Belle moves to stand on her knees on the bed. She pulls the condom from his hands and tears it open with her nails. Just as she positions it, she moves closer to kiss his chest and then his jaw. Her hand rolls down over his cock and she can feel him shudder at the attention. It isn't long before she's moving her hand up and down. His hands go around her back and his face goes to hide in her neck.

Its only for a moment before he's sighing, "Come on. There's plenty of time for that later."

"Oh, you're expecting rounds?" Belle laughs before she lays on her back and spreads her legs.

Edward has that smile on his face as he lines himself up, "No. But I am expecting you'll be wanting more of me." She can't even make fun of him, of his narcissism- he presses his cock inside of her and any laughter turns to a giggling moan.

A smile on her face and she wraps her legs over his, pulling him deeper. Hands in his hair, this time to pull his face closer. Her lips going to his shoulders, tasting and nipping. Something about it, her using her teeth just so makes him calculate his thrusting. Pulling out slowly just to fill her up in a swift push. Pausing just that one moment to feel them joined at the hip.

Her own mind gets hazy and she looks him in the eye to tell him, "You're so handsome, Eddie...."

He gulps, moving faster, eyes focused on her, "I... I am?"

Belle nods, lopsided grin on her face, "You are. You're handsome and smart and- oh, you feel so good-" He seems almost stunned by the sudden compliments and his movements get... sloppy.

He loses his words and moves to kiss her neck, teeth and tongue as she had done to him. Her nails pressed into his back but she resisted the urge to scratch or accidentally hurt him.

"Please don't stop-" was all she could manage as she started to reach that peak, "Edward, fuck, please please I'm so close-" her grip around him was almost white knuckled as she came. He pressed in deep, the stimulation of her finishing almost pushing him over the edge.

"Edward..." she murmured as she came down and his own actions sped up. Her body clenched slightly at the sensitivity as he continued. She wound her fingers in his hair and mumbled in his ear, "You're amazing... You're so handsome and I feel so, so good and- and- ah, ah-"

As she stuttered, Edward moved his lips over hers. The sloppy thrusting moved to a standstill before he pressed in again, his groan quiet against her.

He collapsed over her for a moment, his arms wrapping around her. He could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. His eyes fluttered.

"That was..." he paused to think of exactly what he wanted to say, "...spectacular." There. Amazing. You did it.

Belle put her own arms loosely around his back and sighed, "Yeah. That was- probably the best- You get it."

His brain booting back up, he smirked, "Oh? The best? I'm the best you've ever had?"

Belle pushes his face back lightly, "Get off. Your ego is blowing up with hot air." A scoffing laugh before she leans up to kiss him again. A soft smile. He's definitely going to remember that.

With a soft grunt, he rolls over and off of her, his hand going to his bum knee. As her eyes had adjusted to the light she could see the scars of multiple surgeries across the skin. He was lucky he didn't have a rod in there by this point. Still weary, her movements were slow, her hands going to his knee. Feeling the scar tissue.

"Ah. Yes, you've never seen that." He says, "I'm greeted by the sight every day."

Belle hums, "Didn't hurt too badly with you on top, did it?" She kisses his knee and he feels his heart flutter.

"N-no. No. Unless that's an offer for you to be on top next time." Edward winks. She rolls her eyes.

"Where's the bathroom? I'd like to clean up." She asks and receives a point to the right direction. The moment she's out of sight, Edward is ditching the used condom in the trashcan and finding underwear to put on. Getting back under the sheets and covers and almost posing for when she returns. Not too posed, though.

When she does return, she seems so... nervous. Her mouth opens, "Do you want me to...?" She makes a movement with her thumb behind her.

"Leave?! No!" Edward almost loses any of what he thinks is his cool appearance, "I- I mean if you WANTED to, I won't stop you but if you wanted to stay... I... wouldn't mind that either."

Belle laughs at the whiplash of his reaction before trying to cover her smile, "If it's really okay... can I stay?"

Edward has this look on his face that resembles a sad kitten left out in the rain, "I would like you to." The facade broken. As tired as he is, he realizes how desperate he is for more contact and affection.

Which is why he gets into a perfect spooning position for Belle as she gets into the bed with him. At some point during cleaning up she found her phone for an alarm in the morning. It's placed next to her glasses on the nightstand. As he holds her he thinks of how nice this would be... all the time.

Can't move too quickly, he knows. No, this is going to be healthy with healthy boundaries. From what he knows about her, she definitely deserves that much. She's so cute and warm and soft to hold-

Even as he falls asleep, Edward's hands and body find new ways to brush against her even as she moves around. Magnetic, almost. Her dreams are light and she feels... safe as she sleeps. Even the one or two times in the night when she wakes up, she sees Edward next to her and immediately falls back to slumber.

In the morning they'll both rush off to do different things in their lives. But she tells him goodbye with a kiss and that she'll talk to him soon. That along with the instant ping on his phone once she's home reminds him- yes, he was absolutely right to take the grand effort for her attentions.

#🦊🍯#this isn't even going in the masterlist lmao #and boy howdy is it cheesy

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