#ill give her a fair try though

[saraa-lancee]

Y'know, I have infinite more interest for Kate Kane as Batwoman but I *havent* watched the new season so I will simply watch all of it 🤷

[jynxpsiche]

no me mires con esos ojos

kang dae ho (player 388) x fem!reader

🎐. summary: you didn't know that the opportunity offered to you by that strange man in the subway was going to be a dead game, but mostly you didn't know that even in a scaring place like this it was easy to catch some feelings.

🎐. warnings: doesn’t precisely follow season 2, maybe some spoilers, female reader,swearing, typical squid game gore & violence, minor character death, slight angst, slight suggestive (??), romance & fluff. English isn’t my first language!

Your sensibility and your kind heart led you to where you were right now. An unknown place with hundreds of unknown and untrustful people.

Your sick mother was the only one left to you and you weren't ready to give up on her too. You had to fight for her and to find money in order to pay for her treatment. Then how did you end up with a debt as huge as yours?

You had always been the most appreciated daughter among the other two siblings you had. Everytime someone asked your mother how did you treat her, she always replied with the most utter honesty. "She's so nice and always worried about me, even though she should go out and enjoy her youth".

Yeah. Your youth. You were only 22 years old and already with an immense debt on your shoulders. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. You also wanted to go out with your friends, laugh with them, joke around and maybe experience love. But you couldn't. You had to drop out of college because of your mother’s illness and you were the only one to care enough about her.

Your other siblings just didn't care. They had followed their path and never looked back, not even when you and your mom needed the most. Now you were alone, working your ass off trying to repay your debt and still finding the adeguate cures for the illness.

Hoewever, your life took a different turn when you had met that strange salesman in that damn subway. You were waiting for train after a draining day at your job when this guy, probably not much older than you, dressed in a grey and seemed-rather-expensive suit approached you with his black silvercase.

"Ma'am, would you like to play a game with me?" That is what he said to you in a calm and polite tone. But why a game?

It's after a round at ddakiji, which was won by you, that you decided to stop there, just because you weren't a gambler and you didn't find entertainment in that.

You noticed how he wore, even if for a second, a surprised expression, but then immediately regained his confident facade. He simply smiled at you and handed you a business card with some strange simbols on a side and a phone number on the other.

That night when you returned home you found yourself sitting on the sofa, staring intently at the card. Which was the right thing to do? That man told you that by playing some games you would have been able to repay your debt and to help your sick parent. But what if it was a scam? You were in no position to fall for one, not with all the burden you were already carrying.

The flame of your lighter was extremely close to the card, ready to burn it, but you stopped yourself at the sound of your parent's coughing. Faint laments and sound of sheets came from the other room and that was the moment you realized for what you were fighting for.

And that's how you where there, in an unfamiliar room with not-so-trusting people and a negative vibe lingering in the air.

'Til that moment you had been on your own, away from the others players and not engaging in any conversation. Obviously you weren't the only one in that state, but you surely seemed to be the youngest there and that already worried you off.

When everybody gathered confused in the main space of the room a group of pink guards wearing a mask with some symbols entered the room and explained the rules of the game.

The prize money would have risen for every passed game. The total being 45.6 billion wons.

That statement flamed everybody’s spirit and the guards led everyobody out to play the first game.

You were escorted in a huge and long room that resembled a field and at the very end, facing the players, there was a strange doll. "The first game is Red Light, Green Light" a feminine voice explained through the speakers "You need to cross the field without being spotted moving by the doll. If you move or the time finishes you're eliminated".

The game appeared to be easy enough, it was one of those games the kids used to play during recess but your guts where telling you that something was off. It couldn't be this easy.

You closely analyzed the other players, observing how they all had printed on their face a confident expression. All except for one.

A middle aged man, probably in his fifties, but by the look on his face he looked older and so tired, like he went through hell. The hard look in his eyes was distant, lost in the space in front of him. Not so positive thoughts behind those eyes. He seems to know what was going on there, like what to expect from a place like this.

456. That was the number on his jacket. You memorized it, just in case.

Then the game started. Cautiously but quickly you stepped forward, keeping your sight focused on the robot girl. The others started moving too but then the childish girl’s song stopped and you all froze on the spot.

No one dared to move and all the field was enveloped by a sinister silence.

Just a second later, a girl a couple of steps ahead of you moved distressed because of a bee. “Oh shit, I moved!” she said in a laughing tone and then she was shot in her chest, falling on the ground. Blood started pooling around her.

It was at that moment that everything went down hill. Players at the sight of blood and of the dead corpse started screaming and running back, begging to leave.

You heard shots all around you, sending waves of fear in you.

Your vision was starting to blurry, the tears on the verge of escaping your eyes, your hands were trembling slightly and all your anxiety was pressing against your stomach.

You stood still but you were so close to break down.

Then all the shooting sounds stopped, the silence back.

It was broken by that irritating song, the robot girl turned back in her original position.

However, no one dared to move from their position. Only one man moved quickly, reaching the front of the group.

The song ended again and the giant girl turned back towards us. Her eyes scanning everybody.

“THE ROBOT’S EYES CAN DETECT YOUR MOVEMENTS! IF YOU MOVE YOU’RE OUT! He suddenly yelled, keeping his mouth covered. He was player 456. “IT CAN’T DETECT THE MOVEMENT BEHIND SOMETHING!” He continued, showing us his moving hand behind his back. Nothing happened to him, he was still alive.

“SO FORM A LINE BEHIND WHO’S TALLER THAN YOU AND CONTINUE WALKING!” And in an instant, everybody followed his orders, too eager to survive this nightmare.

I ended up behind a tall woman, the number 120 on her back. “From now on I’ll stay behind you” you whispered to her to make your presence known. She didn’t answer but she understood.

While slowly walking forward and keeping an eye on the timer, you managed to reach the safe zone. Only there shaky breath left your lips.

Those who survived were then escorted back to the dorm room and there you spotted the tall woman who gave you shield before.

“Excuse me…” she somehow heard your whispered words and focused her attention on you “I-I wanted to thank you for letting me stay behind you during the game” you thanked her while bowing your head as a sign of gratitude.

Her gentle hand softly patted your shoulder, a small smile on her face “There’s no need”. That was all she said before departing from you.

Only then the guards entered the room again and everybody started begging to go home after what they witnessed. The square-masked guard explained that the could sent us home since we signed the terms & conditions and agreed to stay there and take part in the games.

The situation definitely wasn’t in your favor when again player 456’s voice echoed through the whole room, silencing everyone. “Clause 3 says that we can leave the place only by voting and if the majority decides so. Let us vote.” His voice was firm and his eyes serious and cold, fixated on the guard on the front.

The square-masked guard slowly nodded. “You’re right and your comfort is our main priority. But first let me announce the total you’ve made after the first game.”

A giant piggy bank was lowered from the top center of the room, then filled only in part with money. Everyone was mesmerized at that sight. “Since 91 people were eliminated, you all have accumulated 9.1 billion won”.

Low whispers started rising among the others, not so sure to leave after they’d seen the sum of money. “Now let’s begin with the vote”.

The first to be called up to vote was player 456 who confidently pressed X and went to stand on that side of the room. Right after him there were you, since your number was right after his.

Without a doubt you also pressed X and went near the man, who smiled at you in gratitude. He said to have already played these games before and that it didn’t end well last time. Strangely you trusted him. But you also weren’t ready to die. Not like that.

Unfortunately the O prevailed, so it meant that you had to play another game.

After that moment you a ticked with player 456, who’s name you later discovered to be Seong Gi-hun, and he took you under his wing. He was so nice and acted so fatherly towards you.

Also player 390, who was Gi-hub’s best friend, and then player 001 joined your group.

You felt relieved to have found some allies in this crazy place, people to rely on and that had your back, just like you had theirs.

At 30 minutes before lights off you whispered to Gi-hun that you would have gone quickly to the bathroom. He flashed you a worried expression but you reassured him with a gentle smile.

You stood up and went near the small pink door in the room to ask someome's permission to dismiss yourself.

[ જ⁀➴ ]

It was only a matter of minutes before the lights were turned off for the night but somehow you weren’t too worried about that, maybe because you found some nice people who you could trust.

Despite not being too sure about it, you were fine with it.

After coming back from the bathroom you spotted player 120 by herself, her face concentrated and her brows furrowed in thoughts.

Quietly you approached her stiffed figure and then cleared your throat to make your presence known to her.

Her confused gaze spotted you and when she recognized you she flashed a small smile.

“Something bothering you?” She shook her head lightly, even if her gesture wasn’t so convincing “Just…this whole situation is…absurd. I would have never thought in my whole life to fight to survive in some stupid children games” you clearly caught the distress in her tone.

“I know I should be the last person to say this but you got this, you’re brave and after the stunt you pulled before in the game I think you can pass every other game” your sweet and caring words seemed to have calmed her down a bit, who smiled at you and briefly hugged your side.

What you didn’t notice, however, was a set of eyes observing you from the distance. Kang Dae-ho knew you were part of the team he latter joined but he hadn’t met you yet.

From observing you he thought you were really pretty and kind.

A small blush crept on his cheeks at his own thoughts.

Jung-bae immediately noticed this and nudged him with his shoulder, startling the young man. “Brother Jung-bae! You scared me! Never do that again!” The old former marine simply snickered at his words and then took the spot next to him on the stairs.

“I noticed that look on your face” he commented “and I also understood who you were looking at” his tone became a bit playful and poked slightly Dae-ho in his ribs.

The blush on Dae-ho’s cheeks became more prominent and he tried to hide it but failed miserably because Jung-bae snickered louder.

“J-just shut up, it’s not what you think!” The young man tried to say, pushing the older man’s face away while hiding his face with his other hand.

Jung-bae shook his head amused and then gently patted the guy on his shoulder.

“If you feel something, you should just tell her. You’ll never know when you’ll have the opportunity”.

It was at that moment that time stopped, every sound around him muffled and every figure blurred out, only her was in his view.

Her gracious and warm figure.

Then the lights turned off, only the golden light from the piggy bank and the symbols on the ground emanated some light.

He was still grounded in his spot, didn’t move an inch.

Only a soft tap on his shoulder awoke him dreaming state. Quickly he lifted his gaze and locked his eyes with yours. The girl from before.

You were looking at him with those enchanting and marvelous eyes, so bright and curious. He would have gladly lost himself in them.

‘Oh please don’t look at me with those eyes’

The ex marine’s heart was beating so hard that he was sure he could have had an heart attack. No saliva in his mouth, his tongue so mushy, surely not able to utter out a vowel.

But you were still standing in front of him, waiting for any type of reaction from the guy, simply poked at you like you had grown three heads.

Now worry was starting to creep in when he still didn’t show any responsive sign.

Concerned you crouched down to his level and gently placed your hands on his shoulder, facing him fully and devoting all your attention to him.

At the contact a delicious shiver went down his spine, making him sight out a shaky breath.

“Hey are you okay?” Your voice up close resembled angels’ chorus and for a moment he felt in heaven, cocooned in a warm embrace and protected from outside’s dangers.

And those eyes…they were making him go crazy. Those doe eyes looked up at him all prettily and anxiously, really worried about his well being. He couldn’t have asked for more.

If that was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up ever again.

“Please…don’t look at me with those eyes” unconsciously he breathed out those words in a loving and needy way that he himself woke up from his daydreaming state.

He slapped his hand on his mouth, wide eyes staring scared at the girl in front of him.

His face so red that he thought he would have gone on fire any seconds now.

He had made himself look like a fool in your eyes.

Shame and awkwardness lingered in the room. No one uttered out a words as you both only stared at each other, you taken back by his reaction and him ashamed of the stunt pulled previously.

You were opening your mouth to say something, anything to lighten up the situation, but in a second he run off to his bunk bed, not so far from yours.

An amused chuckle left your lips, a faint blush on your cheeks.

“What an interesting guy…”

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Pt. 4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Danny blinked down at the cart, where a red hoodie and pants with red stripes along the side laid over the lip of the cart. Considering they’re in this universe’s brand of Marget- seriously, who names a store Target? If anything in Amity Park was named that, Skulker would have wrecked it in five seconds flat- it’s hilariously on brand. Though, to be fair, this was Gotham’s version too, which meant a lot of security guards (who definitely doubled as goons for the Rogues, Danny was sure) and the vibes were spooky.

“I’m guessing red’s your favorite color.”

Instead of the humorous way he meant the sentence, Jason looked up anxiously and Danny immediately hated himself a little bit more.

“Sh- I can put it back..?” Jason hunched in on himself.

Danny tracked the movement with clearer eyes than he’s had in a long while and ancients, does it remind him of how Dani was in front of Vlad all those years ago. And Danny has spent his entire half life being not like Vlad, so he’s not going to start now.

“Nah, you should definitely add some more stuff. This is no where near enough clothes.”

It really wasn’t. Danny had taken Jason to the store to pick out clothes- “Ther’s a second hand store down the stree’, ya know,” Jason had mumbled when they went through the doors- but the kid had only tentatively put in a small red hoodie and some pants in the cart. Now he had to put this in a way that’ll wipe the stubbornly hesitant look on Jason’s face off.

“Think about it this way, then. You’re repping me now, and while I might be the alley drunk, I’m not the poorly dressed alley drunk, yeah?”

“Oh. Tha’ makes sense.” Jason nodded to himself determinedly, and the kid strode over to the t-shirt section. For all of his confidence, he still glanced back to see if it was okay with Danny.

Well, Dani was the same way before she found her confidence (when she knew Danny wouldn’t abandon her or hurt her) so Danny just gave him a thumbs up before reaching into the rack and sweeping an armful of clothing straight into the cart. Then, he strode over to the jackets and grabbed the ones in Jason’s size and slightly bigger. Oh, he has to grab shoes. He’ll leave that for later, but Danny was going to get those ratty trainers off of Jason’s feet and into the nearest trash can if it was the last thing he does.

The halfa hummed, pausing at the first decidedly not miserable sound he’s made in a while. Dammit, if that wasn’t a sign of Danny’s attachment to Jason, he doesn’t know what would be. To be fair… Danny already committed murder for the kid, which was pretty much something he thought he’d never do, so in for a penny out for a pound or whatever.

He put a significant amount of the budget aside for the section labeled “JASON” so Danny shopped without a worry. Charlie’s ill-gotten assets were a good monetary compensation for his crime of existing near Jason or existing, period.

He picked up toiletries, toothbrushes and the like, when Jason came back sans t-shirt. Instead of a shirt- Danny had actually hoped that Jason would try to get multiple shirts- Jason was clutching a book.

Before he could even voice anything, Danny plucked the book out of his grip and put it into the cart with a disarming smile.

“Oh, good idea. We should get you books too. Wanna go pick out some more?”

“Uh- y’re just gonna get a book, just like that?”

“More than one book, I should hope. You are going to school, right?”

“…Yeah!” Danny couldn’t fathom ever being excited at the thought of school, but as Jason bounced away to peruse the admittedly poor selection of books, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe he should give this education thing another try. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be less stressful now that he’s not Phantom.

Danny walked to the aisle next to the books and promptly proceeded to shove every single piece of stationary he thought was nice- pens, gel pens, cooling pens and pencils, a thick stack of notebooks, flash cards, etcetera- into the rapidly getting full cart.

Jason came back with three more books- nice, the classics- and froze at the sight of the cart.

“Oh, hey. Getting all of those?”

“Wha’- wha’s wit’ the stuff?”

“School supplies! Quality education starts with quality supplies, you know!” Danny said, a sliver of the grin that used to come so easily to him making an appearance on his face. "Don't worry, I budgeted. See?"

Danny handed Jason a piece of paper, confident that the kid would know if it was good or not.

"Where'd... ya get all of this?"

"Hmm... here and there."

Jason looked up at him, squinting suspiciously. "I hear' Charlie's gone poofed up."

Danny shrugged and put a calculator in the cart. "Oh, I'm sure he's busy."

Yeah, Danny thought vindictively. Busy being dead.

"Ya sound like a walking con," Jason said as he visibly decided to give up fighting against Danny's spending. "We nee' food."

"Gotcha. Well, if you need anything else, just bring it into the cart."

"I want veggies. Frozen, 's cheaper."

Danny nodded, resisting the urge to ruffle Jason's hair.

----

"Hey, you's the Alley Drunk, right? 'Bout that boy you've been toting ar-"

Danny punched the guy in the face, dropping him like a stone. He looked up slowly and swayed.

"Any of you ask about my kid brother again, and I won't bother with being drunk when I hit you."

Rapid nods. Danny shuffled away, satisfied.

----

Two weeks later, after a school day, Danny finds Jason heading to the bathroom with a box of...

"Hair-dye?"

Jason, who was marginally more relaxed and assured that Danny wasn't going to kick him out, nodded.

"Dye's fadin' n' I dun wanna get nabbed on the streets for having red hair."

Danny blinked. "You have red hair?"

"Sure do. See? Roots are showin' again." Jason pointed at his scalp where Danny could see the hair was getting lighter.

"Right. Well- I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help, kiddo." Danny said, desperately hoping he hid how off kilter he was feeling well.

"I don't need help, ah've been doing this for ages." The kid went into the bathroom and closed the door harshly. When the lock clicked and the faucet began running, Danny let himself slide down the wall into a crouch, hands cradling his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Tan skin. The facial features. The intelligence and empathy.

Danny chuckled hysterically under his breath.

Was Jason this universe's version of Jazz?

"Fuck."

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

As a follow up to you post about mentors, just to make things fair, what are examples of Tikki being a bad mentor to Marinette?

Post in question for context.

Tikki often acts as the voice of the author. She's there to explain why Marinette is in the wrong. Since Miraculous has some wacky morals, that means we get a mix of good advice and wacky nonsense advice.

Two examples of bad advice that come to mind are Gamer and Strikeback. Gamer is the episode where Marinette stumbles upon an Ultimate Mecha Strike tournament, realizes that Adrien is taking part, and decides to compete so they can be on a team together. Marinette wins a spot through her own hard won skills and then this happens:

Tikki: All you wanted to do is spend time with Adrien, there are other ways to do that! Marinette: What are you getting at? Tikki: You know how much Max wanted to be in that tournament. Kim said he'd been training for it all year. Marinette: You're right. All I could think about was Adrien. 

This is how tournaments work, right? They're not tests of skill, but tests of who put in the most work or who wants to compete the most! That's why we had that scene with Marinette writing out her training schedule and motivations for evaluation, but she lied and that was wrong and...

Okay, I was the one lying here. There was no written evaluation because that's not how tournaments work. All anyone cares about is your skills. They don't care if you're doing this for personal glory or to get closer to a boy or whatever Adrien's motivation was because - notably - his motivation didn't matter in this episode about needing pure motives to be allowed to do things.

What if he didn't care about the competition and only did it to get closer to his classmates? That's not even a random guess. It's a valid read because Adrien ultimately gives his spot to Max while claiming that Max is the better player even though Adrien very clearly beat Max at the start of the episode. Ignoring that weird nonsense dialogue, why was it fine for Adrien to compete when he didn't care but wrong for Marinette to do the same? And Max wanting to compete to show off his skills is also a totally selfish motivation, so why does it matter that he wanted it more? Everything about this episode was nonsense and uncomfortably sexist. If Max wants to compete, then he needs to get better at the game. That's how competitions work.

Strikeback is the second part of the season four final and it starts with Marinette mourning the fact that "Adrien" has left Paris, leading to this:

Marinette: (crestfallen) It's all over, Tikki. Tikki: He'll be back, Marinette. He's just going on a voyage!

Which would be lovely advice if Adrien was a normal boy, but he's Chat Noir and Tikki knows that. She should be freaking out and trying to find a way to get him back to Paris, but then Tikki would have to support Marinette's actions and we can't have that, so instead Tikki gives this nonsense advice because she has to be against whatever "wrong" thing Marinette is doing today.

I could come up with a few more examples, but I think those two paint a pretty good picture of issue one re Tikki. However, when it comes to Tikki, my main issue with her is less a wealth of bad advice - unlike Plagg*, I think she's right more often than not - and more a lack of support. It feels like she's just here to judge Marinette and point out when she's doing something wrong, but a good mentor should be so much more than that.

Kuro Neko is a great example of this. When Chat Noir quits, Tikki just sits back and does nothing while her young charge is freaking out. She doesn't even try to defend Marinette when Plagg is going off about Chat Noir's "ill treatment". For all Plagg's faults in that episode, at least he's doing something about the situation. Meanwhile Tikki literally has two lines in the entire episode! A similar thing happens in Kwami's Choice where Plagg is the one driving them to act while Tikki just wrings her hands in despair.

Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do? Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must… free them of us.

These are not the actions of a mentor. Mentors aren't supposed to just offer judgement about things that their mentee has already done or is considering doing. They're supposed to be a source of support and guidance in hard times, but we never really see Tikki stepping in to give Marinette that kind of advice. If memory serves, she never offers solutions or acts as a sounding board. That role is mainly filled by Alya and I love Alya! It's good for Marinette to have support from a friend, but Alya is also a teenager while Tikki is an ancient being who has seen many Ladybugs go through the kind of struggles that Marinette is going through. I expect her to use that knowledge to help her charge, but she never does. This exchange from Passion perfectly highlights this problem:

Tikki: Don't worry, Plagg... my holder has decided to run away from her real feelings to pursue an impossible love with Cat Noir instead. Plagg: Uh, just to be sure, sugarcube, you do know that Cat Noir and my holder are one and the same person, right? Tikki: I do, but my holder doesn't. Plagg: If she declares her love to Cat Noir, something tells me she'll find out soon enough. Tikki: You have nothing to fear. When my holder is in love, she never gets anywhere. She'll just knit hats and make very complicated plans that will never come to fruition. Plagg: Hmm... ah, then everything's fine.

Tikki, I love you, but by the gods! With a mentor like you, Marinette doesn't need enemies to be miserable! Do you care about her at all??? What kind of mentor delights at their mentee's suffering? Not a good one, that's for sure.

*Quick note: I think that Plagg and Tikki are probably neck and neck for who has given the most bad advice, Plagg just feels like the bigger problem because we don't see him as much as we see Tikki. Since she's tied to the main character, Tikki gives advice in almost every episode and most episodes have decent morals.

Adrien's need for good advice can also feel more glaring because he's so isolated and passive. That makes Plagg's lack of good advice feel more harmful, but Marinette is just as isolated from real advice. Her mentor figures - Su Han, Fu, and Tikki - mostly give orders and judgement instead of support and guidance. It's just harder to spot that fact because Marinette is actively trying to do the right thing, meaning that she's more likely to make mistakes, and it's easy to see why she comes across as a lot less pathetic and a lot easier to judge.

[avelera]

Something something… through Viktor’s actions we see his possible linear mental checklist of his goals in life, and those goals included eventually confessing his feelings to Jayce, but before he did he felt he needed to do other things first. Namely:

1) Make Hextech a reality - Check. Viktor and Jayce actually achieved this one by 1.04. They could continue to refine forever but you can tell they both felt a sense of accomplishment in this.

2) Give Hextech to the people - Incomplete. At the end of S1 they had the refined Hextech crystals but the full benefits of their work had not reached the masses. Nor would it/should it ever.

3) Help the Undercity - incomplete, arguably completely unaddressed or even undermined by their work. The Hexgates drew Piltover’s attention away from the Undercity, which is why it languished while Piltover looked to distant markets. Hextech materially made life worse for the Undercity, as the alternate timeline showed us.

4) Hextech innovations lead to a cure for Viktor’s disease and disability - Successful but in the most horrifying way possible, including a body count.

5) Profit - Confess his feelings to Jayce.

(Don’t get too hung up on the order here because obviously a lot of these things could happen concurrently and I don’t think Viktor is stupid he would know that Hextech innovation could take a lifetime and probably wouldn’t wait to confess to Jayce just for that endlessly moving finish line.)

BUT, joking aide, I truly DO think that Viktor is kind and empathetic at his core and he really didn’t plan to confess his feelings to Jayce until he found a cure for his disease, which would require a lot of Hextech innovation to have any hope of reaching. Literally it would take a miracle.

I think Viktor’s belief in his own inadequacy could have festered in the painful doldrums of his own rapidly advancing illness after the initial glow of making the Hexgates happen.

Any hope of finding a cure was always remote, but as his illness advanced, this is when he may have even begun to push Jayce away, knowing the inevitable was coming. He certainly wouldn’t confess feelings to someone he loved with his days so numbered.

And that’s where I think a thread of actual resentment towards Mel might have crept in. To be fair, I don’t think Viktor hated her as a person, as such, nor was he a swooning teenager wracked by petty jealousy. But I think it must have stung to have his days so numbered and have this woman who represented everything he couldn’t offer to Jayce: health, wealth, beauty, position, prestige, etc distracting his attention away during what might be Viktor’s final days.

The thing is, I think rationally Viktor didn’t say anything because again, his days were numbered and Jayce and Mel were happy and well suited and beautiful and perfect together. He had nothing to offer. And it would be cruel to drag Jayce back just so Jayce would have to mourn him even more. Then as a result, Viktor was even more consumed by trying to save his own life by a miracle, though he now had to do it more alone than he ever predicted he would have to.

But there’s that horrible catch 22. He can’t tell Jayce how he feels because he might fail and die anyway and that would be cruel to someone he loves. But if he doesn’t tell Jayce, Jayce won’t come back to his side to help him out with the research needed to maybe save it.

Then Sky dies to the Hexcore and Viktor realizes just how much he’d lost of the parts of himself he liked, the parts that cared about helping others as PART of the cure for himself, and truly just gave up on any of it. He made his peace, decided to support Jayce during the emancipation of Zaun as a sort of ambassador, and resigned himself to the fact this would be the end for him.

Well, we know what happened next. Jayce saved his life, against Viktor’s wishes, using Viktor’s now-hates innovation.

Ok so now for the part that I was trying to get to:

A newly healed Viktor now has to reevaluate his life’s work checklist. It’s a much shorter list now.

1) Save his own life - check.

2) Figure out a way to make the world a better place - check.

3) Confess to Jayce now that you’re proud of who you are both inside and outside. You are finally worthy of him. You will finally live long enough that confessing isn’t an act of cruelty. You finally have achievements that make you worthy to proposition the creator of Hextech and the man you love, who is as far as you know, currently dating the physical embodiment of perfection.

And that explains Viktor’s catwalk into the Council Chamber in 2.08. He’s decked out in Mel’s colors. He’s ready to compete. He’s perfect now. He’s found a way to save humanity from itself. He is now worthy of Jayce and in a place where he can actually offer a lifetime together.

And Jayce rejects him.

This stuns Viktor. Actually, it fully knocks him into a villain arc, because Jayce has never refused him anything before. And Viktor can’t comprehend why his checklist didn’t work. Why did becoming perfect not work?

Because Jayce didn’t need the checklist. He’d already broken up with Mel. He didn’t need Viktor to be healed or to have already saved the world or to be anything else but Jayce’s partner. Jayce would have been happier if Viktor proposed at Step 0, but Viktor thought that would be a cruelty if he didn’t have a cure yet.

But I truly think Jayce would have preferred even just a day as Viktor’s official partner if that was all they got over a decade of being held at arm’s length until “everything was perfect”.

And that’s what Viktor doesn’t understand.

And that’s what Jayce had to show him in that final act of love.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 11.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 0.8k

—chapter content/warnings: not much!! something a lil more tame lol, prob one of the 0.5s that takes place right after the chapter beforehand, i promise there is no ill intention behind what's happening here - they're both equally torn about everything as san's good friends/colleagues

namjoon: you got a minute to meet up today? sorry for the last minute request but it's kinda urgent.

jongho: sure. i'm wrapping up. can meet you in the next 15 mins?

namjoon: i'll come to you.

jongho: alright then, boss.

Jongho continues typing away at his desk, responding to all the emails that came in today while he was off doing interviews for the new open faculty role in the electrical engineering department. He makes a mental note to submit his review sheet for the first round of interviewees and to review the applications for the next round tomorrow. He doesn't realize how quick 15 minutes flies by until Namjoon is swinging his door open mid-email. He continues to type away, but his eyes shift to Namjoon's figure as he fixes his blazer and takes a seat with a loud sigh.

"Long day?" Jongho cracks a small smile, typing up the last few details before sending it off and shifting his attention to Namjoon in front of him.

"Kinda." He nods towards his computer. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt or delay you from leaving."

"All good. Didn't really have plans, anyway. What's up? You seem a little flustered."

"Well, catching Yunho, Iseul and San arguing in a conference room wasn't exactly on my agenda for today."

"What?" Jongho cocks his head back a bit in disbelief, brows tightly knitted together as he tries to make sense of what he just heard. San had been giving him a bit of the story here and there and knowing Iseul, he wasn't exactly surprised this is how things were playing out.

He's just not sure why Iseul thinks it's her business to air this all out.

"You tell me."

"As much as I would love to help, I honestly have no idea what's going on.”

"Jongho."

"What? You know how Iseul is. She somehow still thinks she has a grip on San even after they've divorced and gone through all of that. Can't stand her, if you ask me."

"You don't have to tell me twice. But, why? Why is this a thing right now?"

"Beats me." Jongho tries to brush it off even though he can see the look on Namjoon's face, his eyes trying to study him like a damn book. He hates being in the middle because as much as he loves and supports his bestfriend, he also has the utmost respect for Namjoon and knows the guy will always be on their side regardless.

"That's the first in a very long time that I've seen San react that way at the happy hour event."

"Okay, to be fair, the guy was getting super disrespectful. I think any of us would've reacted in one way or another."

"Right, I agree. But, I know there's a story behind it. I know his anger was fueled by something else." Jongho sees the way Namjoon is going about this. He's prying for the answers he already knows, but he needs the confirmation and Jongho can give him that. 

It's just a matter of when.

"What if it was just a bad day?"

"Okay, you know what?" Joon leans onto the arm rest of the chair and gives him a look. "I'm just gonna go headfirst with it." Jongho cocks a brow up. "Is there something going on with San and his rotation student? Y/N specifically." He sighs.

"I figured."

"No, you knew." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"I don't know. I really can't tell you because I don't know anything." Jongho says he knows nothing when he knows everything.

"Jongho." Joon repeats.

"Joon, swear." He says, even though he tries to sit as still as possible. Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

It started gradually before it took off completely. Jongho knows about the last minute meetings San has had to take, Jongho has seen the subtle glances, the subtle actions, the mood changes when you're around. Jongho remembers seeing you slip out of his hotel room very early that morning during the NAS conference. Jongho remembers seeing the polaroid slightly tip out of the wallet case mid-breakfast and seeing a tiny slip of your face in his peripherals. San quickly adjusted the polaroid and continued on like nothing, wishing for the best with that one.

And he doesn't have to be told to know you've been over multiple times. All the calls that have gone curt and short, the distraction easily laced in San's voice on the other line. He remembers the faint trace of your perfume in his home, the little post-it notes you've left on San's office desk.

Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

Cause, yes.

"I can hear your thoughts."

Well, shit.

"I don't know what to say."

"I need you to tell me yes or no, that's all. I need to make sure I'm going about this correctly even though I heard a lot today alone." Jongho sighs and sees how torn Namjoon is. They both are. They obviously want what's best for San, and they both want him to be happy. He is deserving of good, genuine love. He is deserving of genuine happiness because he always rides for the people he loves, goes the extra mile for them. He acknowledges and learns from his mistakes, he apologizes when he knows he's at fault.

He's deserving of all good.

So, they both hate that it has to come to this because it's not even you that's the problem. It's the situation, and they both don't know how to approach it with enough sensitivity and care.

Even though it's good to San, it doesn't necessarily mean it could be good for San.

"Yes."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[nadvs]

push and pull (part two) (end)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post | part one

» masterlist

When Zach wakes up the next morning, he fully understands the term hangxiety.

His temples pound as he stares at his ceiling. At some point last night, he slipped from tipsy into drunk.

Thankfully, he didn’t get so wasted that he’s forgetting anything. But then again, that means every time he made an ass of himself is a memory etched into his brain.

He remembers welcoming his date. Having a decent time with her. Walking her downstairs. Her lips on his cheek when she kissed him goodbye. Feeling like something was missing, and then, that something wasn’t missing anymore when you came downstairs to let him in.

And he remembers looking over at you across the party. Wishing he was next to you. Feeling crappy for thinking about you while he was with another girl. Knowing he was idiot for thinking he could ignore his feelings for you and date someone else.

Talking to you in the elevator. Crap.

He buries his head into his pillow. Why did he blabber to you like that? His brother would kill him if he knew what he said. He probably already wants to kill him for loudly proclaiming how much he loves him in the hallway. Rafe’s not one for any sort of PDA.

Zach picks up his phone to text you: Trauma dumping to you was just a dream I had, right? Please tell me it didn’t actually happen.

You reply minutes later: you mean in the elevator? definitely a dream.

Despite his embarrassment, he smiles at his screen.

He replies: Sorry about that.

You send another text: it’s no problem. i’m guessing you have a pretty bad hangover.

He replies: Everything hurts.

You text back: make sure to hydrate and rest ok?

Zach smiles again. He can’t help but daydream about you coming over, taking care of him, cuddling him.

He’s worried about the consequences of things going wrong if he got into a relationship with you. But God, does he want you.

He replies: Ok :)

When he eventually leaves his bedroom, he sees Rafe lounging on the couch, still in his pajamas. Surprisingly, his brother actually tidied up.

It gives him hope that Rafe really is trying to improve himself. He’s had his fair share of meltdowns and Zach’s had a front row seat to all of them, watching his brother break down into tears, spiralling into his toxic, self-hating thoughts.

Once he calms down, every time, Rafe talks about how he knows he’s not a good person, that he wants to be better. But then, he sticks to his bad habits. He never gets the help he needs, even though Zach encourages him to.

Nonetheless, Zach never saw the bad in Rafe that he’s so adamant is there. At his worst, he can be violent, drunkenly throwing punches at parties, but Zach knows it’s a result of his emotional scars.

“Shit,” Rafe chuckles when he sees Zach. “You’re alive.”

“Barely.” Zach sinks onto the other side of the couch, closing his eyes as he tilts his head back. “You cleaned up for once.”

“Did you just say for once? I’m always cleaning up, asshole,” he mutters, making Zach laugh.

“I hope the neighbors don’t hate us,” Zach says. “The party got kinda loud last night.”

“This guy’s thinking about the neighbors,” Rafe says with a scoff. “The girl you were with looked like she was into you. Bet she would’ve stayed the night.”

“Maybe,” Zach says with a shrug, thinking back to his date.

Then, Rafe says he thinks you might be into him, too, considering he caught you staring. And Zach’s pulse picks up.

He loves and hates hearing that. Because if you really do like him back, it’s exciting, but that makes it even more crushing that he can’t pursue anything.

“Maybe,” Zach echoes.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe laughs, thinking about how good you looked last night. “I’d jump on that if I had the chance.”

“But you don’t have the chance,” Zach murmurs. “If you love me, you won’t jump on any of my friends.”

Zach sits up and looks at his brother.

“By the way, you never said you love me back last night. I’m still waiting.”

“Yeah,” Rafe snorts. “You can keep waiting.”

────୨ৎ────

On Monday morning, you finally get a response from a student you found online who’s selling a used textbook you need.

You’d rather not go by yourself, so you text the group chat: i need to go to a stranger’s house to buy a textbook tonight. is anyone down to tag along so i’m not alone?

To your relief, Zach texts the group a minute later: I got you :)

That evening, you’re knocking on his front door. Instead of Zach, though, Rafe answers.

“Hi,” you say. “Is Zach around? He’s supposed to come with me to pick a textbook up.”

“Haven’t heard him since he got home,” he says, turning to look up the stairs. “I’ll get him.”

A minute later, Rafe comes down, keys jingling in his hand.

“He’s sleeping,” he says. “I can take you. I was about to go for a drive anyway.”

“Cool,” you say. “Thanks.”

You watch him lean over to slip on his sneakers, his frame broad and tall. It’s surprising that Zach, who’s usually reliable, forgot about your plans. And that Rafe, who you’ve come to known as hot and cold, is willing to help you.

He locks the door behind him before you make your way down the hallway together.

“He must be tired after practice,” you say, well aware of the team’s training schedule.

“Yeah, when he’s asleep, he’s out.”

You smirk to yourself, imagining Zach adorably bundled up in his bed. You already know he’s going to apologize profusely once he realizes he accidentally bailed on you.

“It’s only ten minutes away,” you tell Rafe. “I just wanted someone with me since it’s some random guy I don’t know selling it.”

“Zach didn’t offer to just buy a new one for you?” he asks.

“No,” you laugh, entering the elevator. “Why would he?”

Rafe doesn’t get Zach sometimes. It’s insane that he’s not into you, that he sleeps through plans with you, that he doesn’t offer to buy you something that probably only costs a few hundred dollars.

“Want me to?” Rafe asks. You have to laugh.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I already set all this up. Do you always offer to buy girls school supplies?”

He bites his tongue. If Zach wasn’t so adamant about m not being allowed to try to hook up with you, he’d flirt and say yes, he buys all kinds of things for beautiful girls.

“Not always,” he settles for.

The elevator doors open. You enter the parking garage and follow Rafe to his car, settling into the cushioned passenger seat. He starts the engine, then offers the cable hooked up his radio to you.

“Already know you have good taste,” Rafe says. You smile, plugging your phone in.

You’re Zach’s friend, but he figures you can be his friend, too. Because he wants to get to know what he can about you, to flatter you and joke with you and talk to you, even though the night won’t be ending with you in his bed. He has fun with you. He’ll take what he can get.

He backs out of his parking spot, putting his hand against the back of your headrest as he looks through the rear window. You gaze up at his profile, taking in just how handsome he is, how nice his cologne smells.

Rafe doesn’t know the song you put on, but he likes it. He turns forward in his seat, driving out of the garage.

You chat about your days and even though it’s small-talk, it doesn’t feel like it. There’s an ease with Rafe that you can’t really compare to with anyone else.

Still, he’s kind of intimidating, but you naturally want to keep challenging this way he makes you feel, cracking the wall he has up.

When you reach the house at the end of a dark street, Rafe parks in the driveway, turns his key and takes it out of ignition.

“You can wait here,” you offer.

“Nah,” he mumbles. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

With Rafe standing behind you as you knock on the front door, the feeling of him protecting you is intoxicating, making your heart pound harder.

The door swings open and you greet the man you’ve been messaging. He’s holding the textbook you need and when you offer him four twenties, he looks through the bills and shakes his head.

“We said $100,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “$80. You said $80 was good.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have the texts to prove it,” you laugh in disbelief.

“Really, man?” Rafe mutters. “Just give her the book.”

“$100,” he repeats.

“Forget it,” Rafe says. He steps forward, roughly taking your money out of his hand and pulling you by the waist. “I’ll just get you a new one.”

“No, wait,” the guy calls. “$80’s fine.”

“Get fucked,” Rafe mutters. You follow him to the car, still mentally catching up to what just happened. “Trying to scam you over twenty dollars. What a joke.”

You settle in the car, feeling Rafe’s warm, big hand curl your fingers open so he can give you your money back.

He’s fuming, beyond pissed off that someone would try to trick you like that. He’s glad you didn’t come by yourself to have to deal with this idiot alone. And he’s not sure how Zach would’ve handled it.

“How much is a new book?” he asks.

“Like, $250,” you tell him.

“I got it covered, alright?” he says. “Give me your phone.”

You comply, still a little jarred but appreciating how quickly he swept in to help you. You watch him enter digits, call himself to get your number, then hang up.

He returns your phone and takes his out, taps on your number, and quickly opens up a bank app.

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

“It’s fine.”

Within a minute, he sends you $250. It’s bizarre how he’s acting like that much money is nothing. Like he’s giving you change he owes you.

Rafe exhales slowly, starting his car again, coming down from the daze. This happens a lot. It’s like he blacks out when he gives in to his impulses.

But what can he do? He has a weak spot for you and he hates the idea of someone doing you wrong, of him not helping you when he’s totally capable of it.

He scratches his forehead. Zach’s words resonate in his head, telling him he needs to cool down and think before he does things. Sometimes his temper flares with no warning.

He’s sure he came off way too intense. He doesn’t know how to apologize for it. Before he can speak, you do.

“Can you come with me every time I have to buy something?” you say lightheartedly. It eases some of the tension in his chest.

“Was that too much?” he says, tone low.

You smile to yourself. You wouldn’t call it too much. He seems like he’s an intense, passionate person. Beneath the surface, Rafe feels more than he lets on.

“You didn’t let a guy con me, then you bought me a $250 book,” you reply with a laugh. “Trust me, you’re good. Thank you.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Zach as you back out of the driveway. Crap I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Did you come over?

You reply: all good! i figured you were exhausted. rafe went with me.

“Guess who’s awake,” you say, the smile apparent in your tone. Rafe glances over at your profile as you text back.

He hates this about himself, the envy that pushes him to be sure that Zach is so much better than him. That every girl, if given the chance, would pick his brother over him.

“So, you were going to go for a drive?” you say, tucking your phone away. Because of his kind gestures tonight, you’re pretty sure that he likes hanging out with you. “Want company?”

Rafe taps his hand against the steering wheel. Even if this is just platonic, he doesn’t want you to leave his car.

“If I can pick the music,” he says.

“You said I had good taste.”

“Mine’s better.”

You laugh, and because he held your waist just a few minutes ago, you don’t feel apprehensive to touch him. You nudge his shoulder. He smirks.

An hour goes by like a minute. When Rafe and you part, your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing with him.

You talked together nonstop, touching on the most random subjects, finding similarities and differences. You have a deep crush on him. There’s no denying it.

When Rafe watches you step out of his car, he realizes that this isn’t just attraction like he’s used to. He feels like he knows you. And he likes you. It’s exciting and scary.

When Rafe makes it home, Zach is in the kitchen, the whole loft smelling like delicious food.

“You actually remembered how to get home?” Zach teases over the sound of ingredients sizzling in a pan.

“Lost track of time,” Rafe says. He settles on a barstool as Zach stands at the range, trying not to burn dinner.

Zach is glad his back is to his brother, because when Rafe tells him that he was with you that entire time, driving around and talking, his eyebrows furrow in anger and jealousy before he can subdue it.

“But before you lose your shit,” Rafe adds, “it was all friendly, okay?”

“Right,” Zach mumbles. He stares down at the pan, trying to breathe through his prickly frustration. He’s unbelievably mad at himself for falling asleep after practice.

You can do whatever you want, he knows that, but he feels that even though it’s just as a friend, you’re his, not Rafe’s. And his brother getting to spend time with you feels painfully unfair.

────୨ৎ────

The bright stadium lights pool over the deep green soccer field. It’s a cool evening, perfect for a match.

Cold seeps in through your jeans as you sit on the metal bench on the sideline. You have your phone at the ready to film the team as they rush the field for a home game.

You’ve grown to love your job. You found great friends, the TikTok account is earning more traction, and you’ve started to genuinely enjoy coming out to games and cheering on your school’s team.

It’s been almost a week since your night with Rafe. You haven’t seen him or Zach since. You welcome the distance. Liking them both is ridiculously confusing.

Minutes pass. The crowd is getting louder. The team still isn’t out on the field. Your dad runs a tight ship, so it’s weird that they’re late.

You head into the stadium tunnel towards the locker room, curiosity nagging you. A group of players are standing outside the door and you approach Chance.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Something’s up with Zach,” Chance tells you. Alarm rushes through you and you step into the locker room without a second thought.

Zach’s sitting on the bench by his locker, hunched over, surrounded by your dad, the team’s medic, and a few other players.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

Zach looks up at you. His eyes are sunken, his lips parted. And then, he loses consciousness.

When his eyelids flutter open, the brightness of the room is so painful that he has to squint.

“He’s up,” he hears. It’s you. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while. He misses it.

He slowly comes to, realizing he’s in a hospital bed. You’re sitting to his left. The team medic is standing at the end of the bed with a doctor. He’s hooked up to an IV.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“You’re dehydrated,” the medic explains, leaning over to hand a plastic cup of water to Zach. “You’re at Trinity Hospital. You’re okay. Drink.”

Zach weakly picks it up, downing the cool water, his throat feeling raw. He rolls his head to look at you again. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s relieved that you look so concerned for him. That you’re here.

The doctor introduces herself, then explains that Zach was unconscious for so long that she’d prefer to keep him overnight to monitor him.

The news makes everything in him twist with worry and frustration. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want Rafe to spiral.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m alright, though?”

“I’m not worried,” the doctor replies. “I just want to be sure you’re in good shape before I send you home.”

Within a few minutes, the doctor leaves the room. Then, the medic encourages Zach to drink more fluids, calls the coach to update him, and asks if you want to head back together now that you’re sure Zach’s okay.

You politely decline. You’re too worried to leave him alone so fast. And shortly after, it’s just you two in the room, listening to the beeps of Zach’s pulse.

“Dehydrated?” you say playfully, but still worried. “What the hell, Cameron?”

“I know,” he says with a smile. He regrets going hard at the gym today. He’s sure that’s what did it. “Rookie move.”

“I specifically told you to hydrate like, two days ago.”

Zach’s laugh is boyish. He reaches for your hand and squeezes. You remind yourself it’s likely nothing more than a friendly gesture.

“That was hangover advice,” he says. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

“It was life advice, actually.” You inhale slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He lets go of your hand, remembering you can hear his pulse right now and not wanting to risk you witnessing it beat faster.

“It was way more than two days ago, by the way,” he says. He threads his fingers through his hair, suddenly self-conscious of how bad he must look right now. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at your lap. You’ve been declining all the invitations to hang out in the group chat because the past few days have been so confusing.

Seeing Zach with another girl was painful, and then, you realized just how unimportant you felt to him when he slept through your plans, even though it was by mistake. You need time and space to stop liking him before you can hang out again.

“School’s been kicking my ass,” you lie.

“Do you need help?” he asks. He’d do anything to have you around again.

“Leave it to you to be in a hospital bed asking if you can help,” you mumble. Zach laughs. You try and fail not to fawn over his perfect smile.

“Did I faint in front of everybody?” he says, fixing his hair again.

“Not everybody,” you half-laugh. “But, seriously, everyone was really worried. We all care about you a lot.”

His heart warms. He may be in the hospital, but right now, he’s grateful for having people who care about him. It’s all he ever wanted.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Zach says softly. “And for staying.”

You nod. You were so worried that you told your dad you were going with the paramedics when they arrived, not even considering that you had work to do, that Zach was already taken care of.

“Of course,” you reply. “You said you don’t like being alone, remember? In that dream you had?”

Zach huffs a laugh and looks away, embarrassed as he thinks about that night in the elevator, but still appreciative.

“Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

“I texted him that I’m with you at the hospital. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Zach nods and thanks you. He tries not to fixate on the fact that you have Rafe’s number. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall to see it’s late in the evening. He figures Rafe’s out with friends or with a girl, not paying attention to his phone.

He wishes he could just talk to him. With every second that passes, he worries more and more about Rafe’s reaction to him being here.

“I should’ve grabbed your phone from the locker room so you could talk to him directly,” you say regretfully. “But I told Chance to get your things for you after the game. Is there anyone else I should contact?”

Admittedly, you’re bracing yourself for him to mention the girl from the other night. Or any girl, really. But he only shakes his head no.

A nurse comes in to remind you that visiting hours are up soon. Zach sits up, visibly on edge, asking her when he can have visitors tomorrow. She tells him 9 a.m.

Knowing he won’t be able to see his brother in person tonight makes him anxious.

After the nurse leaves, Zach frantically asks if he can send a voice-note to Rafe on your phone. You open the conversation and hand your phone to Zach, noticing the nervous way he’s chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker. “It’s nothing. I passed out from dehydration and I’m at Trinity and they’re keeping me overnight just to be sure I’m good, but the doctor’s not worried.”

His eyes flit to you and he swallows hard.

“This is nothing like the last time, okay? I know your mind’s gonna go there and this is not even close,” he continues. “You can come see me at nine tomorrow. And you better bring me food.”

Zach ends the recording, sends it, and gives you back your phone.

“Thanks,” he breathes. You nod, your eyebrows knitting in confusion and worry.

“Sure,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

Zach scratches the back of his neck.

“When he answers, please tell him that you saw for yourself that I’m okay,” he says. “He might be a little freaked out.”

You agree, not wanting to pry, and start to collect your things. There’s no television in the room and you feel bad that Zach’ll be left alone with nothing to entertain him. You want to help.

You tell him you’ll be right back, then rush downstairs at a vending machine you saw when you came in. After, you drop by the gift shop. It’s closed, the flowers and balloons locked up, but you’re still able to pick up a book sitting on a rack.

You leave behind more than enough cash for the book on the counter and go back to Zach’s room.

“Snacks,” you say breathlessly when you enter, dropping the bags of chips and candy and the paperback on the bed, “and a book. Hopefully, this’ll keep you entertained. And don’t tell my dad about the junk food. You know how he is about an athlete’s diet.”

Zach smiles at you, his eyes soft. With everything you’ve done tonight, you could simply be showing what a good friend you are, but what if you feel something for him, too?

The mention of his coach is reminder enough of why he doesn’t pursue this. It could get messy. But maybe he should be more like his brother. Taking risks. Allowing himself to do what he wants to do.

“I should go,” you sigh, looking at the clock. “Feel better, okay? We don’t stand a chance of winning without you.”

He laughs, his eyes lingering on you.

“Thanks,” Zach says. You turn to leave. He stops you with a gentle, “Hey.”

You stop, turning back to look at him. Zach takes you in, how good he feels when you’re around, how there’s still a little bit of worry written into your cute features.

He won’t tell you that he wants to you to be his girlfriend. Not like this, when he’s hooked up to monitors, stuck in a bed. He’ll do it when he’s out of here. He’ll do it when he can hold your face in his hands and tell you how much you mean to him.

“Seriously, thank you,” he tells you. “You’re amazing.” You smile at him again. If only he knew how much his words mean to you.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

You’re pacing through the parking lot when your phone buzzes. It’s Rafe calling you. You answer quickly. He says your name, his voice strained.

“I’m here. Is it too late to see him?”

“Yeah, visiting hours are over. I’m just leaving now,” you say, looking around the dark lot in case you can spot him. “But, honestly, he’s okay.”

“Does he…” Rafe pauses. “I think I see you.”

You approach each other under the starry sky, meeting by a line of parked cars.

His eyes are glossy. He’s been crying. No wonder Zach was so worried. He must have known the effect this would have on his brother. There’s more to this than you realize.

“Hi,” you say softly, ending the call. “It’s okay. He’s acting totally like himself.”

“He doesn’t have his phone?”

“No,” you say. “But I made sure someone’ll pick his stuff up for him.”

“What happened?”

“Before the game tonight, he was in the locker room and he looked really tired,” you explain. “He passed out, but he was already sitting and someone caught him, so he didn’t hit his head or anything. They have him on an IV and drinking lots of fluids.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Fuck. I was at a bar and I wasn’t checking my phone… I got into a cab as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you console him. “He’s good. He was more worried about you than himself.”

Rafe sighs, hands on his hips as he looks down and paces back and forth, hair hanging over his head. You can hear him panting.

“He was worried about me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Rafe asks the question the same tense way he did the night of the party. He’s so closed off, clearly upset at the thought of you knowing anything he doesn’t want you to know.

“I heard the voice-note he sent you,” you admit, “and he said you might be freaked out, but he didn’t tell me anything else. I didn’t ask. It’s not my business.”

Rafe chews on his lip the same nervous way Zach does. For once, you see a similarity between them.

His breathing gets even shallower. He rests his hands on the rear window of the van parked next to him. His body curls forward. His skin is flushed.

You step a little closer, searching his face in the light of the lamps lining the parking lot. He’s distraught.

“Rafe,” you say quietly.

His stare is on the ground, his chest heaving now. Something bad has been triggered in him.

“Hey,” you say.

“You can go home now,” he mutters breathlessly.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” you say. You take a risk, placing a hand on his back, feeling it rise and fall quickly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you say evenly. “I get that this is scary, but I promise you, everything’s okay. Zach is okay.”

Rafe’s chest is tight. His veins are made of ice. He feels like punching something. He hates this familiar loss of control, this shock of the world crumbling around him with no warning.

Yet while he thought that he’d hate someone touching him like this, that he’d hate being so vulnerable, he actually feels a little better.

You continue to rub his back, sweetly and tenderly. The touches he shares with girls are never like this. They’re always superficial, fuelled by lust. But this feels like real, sincere care.

“You took a cab here?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he rasps.

“Did you talk to the driver?”

“What?”

“Did you?” you say. “What kind of car was it?”

It’s all in an effort to distract him, and while Rafe stammers his way through his answers about the driver and the car and the bar he was at, you notice his breathing start to even out.

Minutes later, his heart isn’t racing as fast. His chest isn’t as tight. He can think clearer.

He’s embarrassed, but relieved you were here to talk him down before he ran into the hospital and demanded to see his brother. He now realizes how bad that could’ve gone.

“I don’t…” he stammers. He doesn’t know how to say that this doesn’t happen all that often, that this is a piece of him he typically buries deep from everyone.

“What?”

“You probably think I’m crazy.” Saying the word out loud hurts more than he expected. It’s what he’s felt all his life, that something isn’t wired right in his brain.

“No. I get it,” you say. You shake your head. “I mean, I don’t know what happened, but… I’m guessing he was in the hospital for something before, right?”

Rafe meets your eyes, straightening.

“I get why you’re freaked out,” you say. “I would be, too. Memories can mess with us.”

The way you just calmed him down, the sympathy in your tone, the alcohol swimming in his system are what push him to actually be honest with someone for once in a long time.

“We almost lost him,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Your face falls in sorrow, eyes searching his face. He looks down at the ground, too uncomfortable to meet your gaze again.

“I almost lost him,” Rafe mumbles, his voice thin. Because, really, he knows he would’ve felt the loss the hardest. His brother is the most important person in his life. Always has been.

And to lose him, someone so irreplaceable, someone he was with from the moment he was a living thing, would kill him. Zach’s right, even though he’s joking, that Rafe doesn’t tell him he loves him enough.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Rafe says.

It was mere months after their mother abandoned them, saying she couldn’t stay with their father anymore, that she did everything she could do as a mom, that she was done.

It left a hole in Rafe that he feels every day. If Zach feels it, he does an incredible job hiding it.

He still doesn’t know what the final straw was. Why fourteen years of her sons’ lives was enough for her. How could a parent decide that they had enough of their kids forever?

She wasn’t the best mom, unpredictable and erratic, but he loved her. There had to be something wrong with her mind for her to act like that. To leave. Something that Rafe is sure skipped Zach and was passed on to him.

“That’s so young,” you say sadly.

“He was really sick for a while.” Rafe’s heart twists thinking about it.

How a freak case of pneumonia had Zach bedridden, his lungs fighting to keep breathing. How mad Rafe was at his brother, as if he did it on purpose. How sure he was that in some twisted way, his mother’s sudden abandonment triggered it.

He still regrets how he acted when Zach was discharged. He couldn’t talk to him for days. He was too angry for scaring him into thinking he was going to lose his best friend, his anchor.

“How long?” you ask.

“Weeks,” Rafe tells you. “And you know Zach. He kept telling everyone he was fine. Even as a kid, he didn’t want people to worry about him.”

“He is like that, isn’t he?” you say with a soft chuckle. Since you met Zach, you quickly learned he dismisses any notion of needing any sort of help. “But I promise, this isn’t one of those cases. I saw for myself. He’s good. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Rafe nods quickly, finally looking at you.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” you say with a small smile, sad but touched that he opened up to you like this. “Until then, just try to relax.”

Rafe loves the feeling of your hand on him. He can’t remember the last time he loved someone’s touch. If he ever even did.

He’s keeping his promise to Zach. He won’t hook up with you. Because he wants more than that. He wants to know you and for you to know him. He wants you to stay the night, every night. He wants you to be his.

And he needs to be sure you don’t feel anything for his brother.

“Are you and him…” He swallows hard. “Is there anything there?”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion. Zach had told you that his brother was his best friend. You’re sure he would’ve told him if he felt something for you.

If he has to ask, Zach must not talk about you much at all. You’re nothing but a friend to him. Although you do have feelings for him, you were right to be apprehensive from the start. He doesn’t like you like that.

“No,” you finally say.

Rafe nods. At least there’s no unrequited feelings on either side. He must have been reading into things, imagining you looking at his brother a certain way.

“You wanna grab some food?” Rafe asks impulsively.

You agree. Right now, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.

Rafe’s been on a handful of dates before, but sitting across from you at a quiet late-night diner, sobering up, getting to know you more and more makes him feel like he’s living in a dream.

He’s never felt this way about a girl before. Scared in a good way. Slowly, he opens up little by little, peeling back layers of the wall he’s been hiding behind for years.

He shares what happened with his mom. How Zach was the strong one, while Rafe acted out and made his life hell. You take in every word, seeing just how much guilt and shame and pain he carries around.

You open up, too, sharing things you don’t tell many people. He’s a good listener, and the eyes you thought didn’t have much hope behind them at first aren’t cold at all by the end of the night.

It’s one in the morning when you part ways. Rafe shares a cab with you, making sure you get dropped off first, watching you step through the front door.

Everything in him wants to invite you to his place, but things are going to be different with you. He won’t rush into numbing himself with sex like he always does, because he refuses to be numb or absent or checked out with you in any way.

────୨ৎ────

“What kind of grown man forgets to drink water?”

Zach looks up from his orange juice to see Rafe walking into his hospital room.

He chuckles, asking Rafe not to give him shit for this because you already did. The mention of your name makes Rafe’s heart feel lighter in this tense moment.

Because of how good it felt to be so open with you last night, expressing just how important Zach is to him, remembering everything they’d gone through together, Rafe doesn’t shy away from leaning over to hug his brother, who stiffens in his bed.

“Uh, good morning to you, too?” Zach laughs. “Is this a hug? What the hell? Who are you?”

“I love you, too,” Rafe mumbles, pulling back and holding up a paper bag of breakfast for him. “And I got you your food, princess.”

“You try eating hospital food,” Zach replies, taking the bag, feeling ravenous.

Rafe settles on the chair, remembering his brother at fourteen, picking apart at the food they served him with a look of disgust, yet telling the nurses ‘it’s good, thank you’ when they asked if he was enjoying his meal.

Rafe urged his dad to bring his brother home-cooked food almost every day of his hospital stay. It was one of the little ways he showed up for Zach, taking care of him instead of the other way around for once.

“What’d the doctor say?” Rafe asks. “Do you feel better?”

“She hasn’t come to see me yet, but I feel totally fine.” Zach digs into his breakfast. “How are you?”

Rafe looks down at his lap, sighing before he speaks.

“I freaked out,” Rafe admits. Zach stills. “She told me you said I would and you were right. But, man… she knew exactly what to do.”

“It happened when you were with her?” Zach knows what Rafe’s breakdowns look like. He has full-blown panic attacks. He’s nearly inconsolable. He wonders how jarring that must have been for you.

“Out in the parking lot,” he says. “It was just too much. All that shit came rushing back.”

Rafe shrugs, defeated. Sometimes, he’s able to give into the fact that he can do nothing but surrender to the chaos in his mind. He felt safe doing it in front of you last night. He felt safe every second he was with you.

“Are you okay now?” Zach asks. He notices the hint of a smile in Rafe’s face. A brightness he hasn’t seen in him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I gotta ask you something, though.”

“What?”

“Does ‘off limits’ mean I can’t date her?”

“Date her?” Zach repeats, in disbelief. “You want to date her? Like, commit to her? You don’t commit to anyone.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle, pursing his lips.

“Well, now, I want to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe looks like he got rid of a ten-ton weight that was sitting on his shoulders. He’s relaxed. He’s content. Zach can’t remember the last time he saw him like this.

Zach became hyperaware of other people’s emotions at a young age. When their parents would argue, he saw what it did to Rafe, who would shut down and lash out. Zach would distract his brother in every way he could.

Then their mom left and it became ten times harder to keep Rafe steady. But Zach did it and he never stopped trying. Because helping others, putting their feelings first, really does make Zach happy.

But right now, he feels really far from happy.

He looks down at his food. He had it all planned out. He’d get in his best clothes, find a nice place to take you, give you a whole speech about how he hasn’t stopped thinking about you for days and how happy you make him and how happy he could make you.

“She feels the same way? Did something happen between you?” Zach asks. His chest is a hole. A pit.

“Nothing happened,” Rafe says, scratching the back of his neck.

It was nearly impossible for Rafe not to give into the impulse to hold your hand in the booth you sat at together last night and tell you how pretty you are and how much fun he has with you.

But he really does want to be a better person. He wants to think before he acts. And that means checking in with Zach that he’s okay with this, considering how tense he is about Rafe getting involved with his friends.

“But I think she might like me, too,” Rafe says. “And I made sure she’s not into you. I guess I was just reading into stuff before.”

That’s the moment Zach’s heart breaks. He licks his lips, his stare low. So, you would’ve just rejected him.

“You really like her?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“Why?”

“Don’t make me be corny,” he groans.

Zach’s head is pounding. He wants to be mad at Rafe. But he had so many opportunities to tell him that he likes you, and he was too chicken to admit it. And now, his brother is falling for you. And he looks so happy doing it.

“You’re gonna have to be corny,” Zach says. “I need to be sure you’re not just messing around.”

Rafe sighs. It’s always Zach doing this, gushing over a girl, freaking out over if she hasn’t texted him back, getting all nervous before a date. Rafe used to tease him about it. He gets it now, though.

“You suck,” Rafe scoffs, tensing up. It’s hard for him to talk like this, but he forces the words out. “I don’t know. I like who I am when I’m around her. And it’s… when she’s in the room, everything’s better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. He knows. He feels the exact same way.

“Is that corny enough for you?” Rafe says with a scoff. “Are you cool with this or no?”

Zach chews his food slowly only to buy time before he has to speak again. He’s trying to act unbothered and it’s working, considering how in the clouds Rafe seems.

He has no idea that Zach is falling for you. Because he’s too busy doing it, too.

He meets his brother’s eyes. He takes a deep breath. And, because Rafe’s happiness has always been more important to him than his own, he gives him his blessing.

“Go for it,” Zach says. “And don’t hurt her.”

He’s never felt so bitter. He hates that he hopes you’ll have a change of heart. He hates that he feels like he’d treat you better. He hates all of this. But he stays silent.

────୨ৎ────

You’re having a late breakfast when Zach replies to your text asking to keep you updated.

Doctor cleared me. I’m home and I got my stuff from Chance. Thanks for everything.

His message is cold compared to how he usually texts. But maybe he’s just tired from the hospital stay.

You gaze out your window, thinking about everything that happened last night. Rafe isn’t as different from Zach as you first thought. Behind his hard exterior, he’s sensitive and gentle and so badly wants to be loved.

He confessed to feeling like something was missing in him since he can remember. The look in his eyes when you told him that to you, he seems perfectly whole, is one you won’t forget.

Being with him for hours was a wonderful haze. You didn’t want to part. He made you feel heard. It’s a joy that you’ve been lacking for a long time.

Minutes later, Rafe texts you asking if he can take you out to dinner tonight. You smile at your screen. You love how you don’t have to wonder about if he wants you.

The restaurant he drives you to is lavish and elegant. Rafe is unbelievably handsome across the table over the candlelight, his dark button-up making his eyes look all the more blue. Your stomach is full of butterflies, yet a sense of calm fills you when you’re with him.

You pick up where you left off, conversation flowing without any effort. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. You’re sure you look at him the same way.

When Rafe pulls the car up to your place, in an effort to keep you from leaving right away, he presses his palm against the back of your hand.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, tone low, adorably nervous.

“Of course. Did you?”

Rafe chuckles at the question. Good doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You’re…” he begins.

“I’m what?” you laugh.

He squeezes your hand gently, turning it so he can lace his fingers with yours. The contact is warm, his ring hard but smooth against your skin. Your heart pounds in your ears as he stares at you.

“Beautiful,” he says. “In every way.”

His tone is sincere and firm. He says it like it’s a fact.

“And I want to keep doing this,” he says. “Seeing you. If you want to keep seeing me, too.”

“I do,” you say. When he leans forward, his kiss is soft but hungry, making your mind spin.

Zach fakes a headache when Rafe gets home. All he needs to hear is that the date went well. He doesn’t want the details.

────୨ৎ────

You’re wrapped in Rafe’s arms, your back flush against his chest, as music and chatter float through the air around you.

You’re settled on his couch, talking with your friends as the party rages. Rafe’s still getting used to what it means to be a boyfriend, tense and quiet around your friends, but he’d get used to anything if it meant making you happy.

You’ve only been dating a few weeks, but he’s sure if this isn’t love, he’s damn close to it. Aside from his brother, you’re his best friend.

You smile when you feel Rafe’s lips press against the side of your neck. He’s ridiculously affectionate, touching you whenever he can, spoiling you, whispering sweet things to you all the time. He’s completely unguarded.

Zach’s in the kitchen, as far away from you as he physically can be. After the hospital, he hasn’t been himself at all. You can tell he’s trying to be, though, forcing smiles around you.

It makes no sense. He called you amazing that night. But, then, he pulled away. It’s like he’s mad at you for dating his brother, but he refuses to admit it.

You’ve asked him multiple times if things are good between you. He reassured you over and over that they are.

Maybe someone else would believe him, but after you pined for him for so long, you can read when he’s trying to hide that he’s upset. At parties, at casual get-togethers, even at work when you’re making content for the team, he’s absent-minded and disinterested.

And whatever’s wrong, he prefers to hold inside.

Nonetheless, while your feelings for Zach have faded, you genuinely hope he’s happy and that you can be friends with him again one day.

The next morning, you wake up in Rafe’s bed. His arm is around your waist, his breath warm against your back. He’s still snoozing when you slip out of bed to get water.

Zach’s sitting at the kitchen island, staring down at his coffee. It’s almost funny how just over three months ago, you were here for the first time, yearning for Zach to give you a hint that he liked you. Now, you’re falling for Rafe.

“Morning,” you say kindly.

Zach looks up from his coffee. His smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey.”

You open the fridge, the awful feeling he’s been giving you lately sitting heavy on your heart. He makes you feel unwelcome, which is something you never expected from him.

“Just getting some water,” you say, searching through the shelves. “He’s definitely gonna wake up with a headache.”

Zach tenses. You’re doing for Rafe what he daydreamed you doing for him. Sharing a bed with him, nursing his hangover, touching him and smiling at him and giving him what Zach would die for.

You look so pretty in the morning, your bedhead adorable, your pajamas complimenting your figure. Why won’t his heart just catch up with his mind? He keeps telling himself to get over you.

He notices that you have Rafe’s ring on your finger. He used to imagine you wearing his things. He’d love to see you in his team hoodie. But he never will.

In another world, you’re in this kitchen as his girlfriend, talking about last night’s party, sharing kisses and laughs. But not in this world.

“I never asked you,” you say, your back to him, “how was that book I got you?”

You hope it serves as a reminder for how much you did for him and how much you care about him. It hurts, the way he’s been keeping you at a distance.

Late at night, as your mind drifts away from you when you try to fall asleep, you’ve considered the possibility of Zach being upset because he’s jealous of Rafe and wants to be with you.

But Rafe told you he checked with Zach to make sure your relationship was okay with him and he even said he didn’t feel anything for you. Maybe Zach thinks you’re not good enough for his brother and he’s too nice to actually say it out loud.

“Good,” Zach says.

You grab two water bottles and close the fridge door. One word is all he’s willing to say to you.

You can’t do it again. You can’t ask him for the hundredth time if you did something wrong, just for him to say you didn’t and he’s sorry that he made you feel like you did.

You leave him alone in the kitchen, padding up the stairs. Zach looks down at his coffee again. His eyes are starting to burn with tears.

He wants to remind his brother that they agreed they wouldn’t let people overstay. And you being here for even one night feels like overstaying. He can’t have you and every time he’s reminded of that, it hurts.

He can’t stop thinking about that night in the elevator and wishing that instead of drunkenly rambling about his brother, he rambled about his feelings for you. At least then, everything would have been out in the open long before you really got to know Rafe.

The girl he met through the video messaged him last night, asking if he was up to hang out again. She’s cute and nice. But she’s not you. And it’d be wrong to pursue someone just to numb the pain of not having you.

That’s all he wants. You. And because he was such a coward, he’ll never have you. Maybe at some point, he had a chance. Maybe you would have grown feelings for him if he was honest with you.

But you seem happy. So does Rafe, who actually wants hold you and kiss you in public. He was never like that with any other girl.

Zach realizes that while he was always so sure he coped with everything that life hurled at them better than Rafe, he wasn’t paying attention to how destructive he is to himself. His martyrdom was never a virtue.

He’s too late. He self-sabotaged. He has nobody to blame for his aching loneliness but himself. That’s the most heartbreaking part of this whole thing.

Rafe’s hair is tousled, his smile lazy when you come back to bed.

“Thought you left me,” he murmurs tiredly into your hair, pulling you tight against his warm body. You smile, your cheek pressed against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent.

Rafe’s sure you can feel his pulse on your cheek. He feels like you own every beat of his heart.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” you tell him.

The tension from what happened downstairs leaves your system. You swallow down the tears that threatened to fall when you left the kitchen.

You plant a kiss on Rafe’s chest. You know where you’re wanted. And you’re happiest staying there.

(the end)

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[bwat5-blog]

Quick Response To Some Fresh Lunacy

**Spoilers For Arcane**

So while I have only delved into the sheer bedlam that is the Arcane Critical tag once, every now and then one of those feisty little diesel drinkers makes it onto my feed and I am treated to something like this as reasons season 2 supposedly sucked (their phrasing was much more unpleasant):

1. The people of the Undercity died to save Piltover while wearing Enforcer uniforms despite Piltover doing nothing to earn it. 2. Silco was turned into a mouthpiece for forgiveness and letting go of the past despite being one of the only pro-zaun characters. 3. Jinx was redeemed by sympathizing with topsiders, forced to apologize for killing Caitlyn's mom and felt like she needed to die so Vi could run off with Caitlyn. 4. Vi didn't care about the grey and serviced Caitlyn in a prison cell where she was locked away by Enforcers as a kid. 5. Jayce acting like Viktor's illness that was caused by Piltover wasn't something that needed to be cured. 6. Ekko never calls out Heimerdinger for his failings, Vi for joining the Enforcers, and risks his people (the firelights) to help Piltover. 7. Sevika almost being cut completely, never reacting to Isha's death or interacting with Jinx in act 3 and risking her life to help Piltover which is way out of character.

Okay... breathe deep... it hurts.. I know it hurts. It hurt me as well to read such a strong concentration of felonious stupidity all in one place as well. But we must never falter. There are a lot of ways I could respond to this. And perhaps at some point I will go more in-depth. But the simple fact is nothing here requires a long, drawn out, point-by-point defense. Because I have seen the show. Which clearly gives me the upper hand here. So, I am going to give each of these the amount of attention they deserve.

The people of the Undercity died to save Piltover while wearing Enforcer uniforms despite Piltover doing nothing to earn it

Hey there. Remember him? Does it seem like once he pacified Piltover he was just gonna call it a day, get back in his gigantic astral hamster ball and fuck off back to the compound? No. His goal was the evolution of humanity. Not Piltover. Jayce spells this out clearly. "This isn't a fair request". But it is the truth. And regarding the uniforms. The average Undercity character is seen is some variety of leathers/cloth/wool whatever that usually is displaying a decent amount of skin. THE ENFORCERS WEAR ARMOR.

Silco was turned into a mouthpiece for forgiveness and letting go of the past despite being one of the only pro-zaun characters

Okay. I am going to make this is as simple as possible so you can follow along with me:

As we know, Silco is not there. Jinx is essentially working this out in her own mind through these hallucinations

Her status as Silco's daughter, being a symbol, his influence and shadow, it is all tying her to the past which as we know is filled to the brim with delicious sugary trauma.

Even though he was a monster, she views him as a father figure. And as much as it sucks to say probably more than Vander. She was so young when Vander died. She was with Silco during her real formative years. And I would bet she has pushed Vander away mentally to protect herself after everything that has occured. So while Vi sees Vander in the barfight when she wants to give up, Jinx sees Silco.

Silco is giving Jinx the permission Jinx realizes she has to give Vi to save both of them.

Jinx was redeemed by sympathizing with topsiders, forced to apologize for killing Caitlyn's mom and felt like she needed to die so Vi could run off with Caitlyn

Again. HUMANITY ENDING THREAT. Also ya know her fucking sister wanted her by her side.

OH NO! OUR MURDEROUS MENTALLY ILL TERRORIST IS HEALING AND TRYING TO TAKE ACCOUNTABILITY FOR HER MISTAKES! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! NOT CHARACTER GROWTH!

3. True. In that moment she felt she needed to die.. because as she says, she feels "there's no good version of me". I know it's unfair you have to watch the whole scene to get it. But you have taken a profound moment of Jinx's love for her sister and her recognition of how Vi loves her and made it.. whatever this was supposed to be.

Vi didn't care about the grey and serviced Caitlyn in a prison cell where she was locked away by Enforcers as a kid.

I have done this so... so many times. I am not doing it again. I will go with the same blanket statement I have been using lately: A non-lethal crowd dispersal weapon in targeted locations against dangerous drug lords and a terrorist who likes blowing shit up? Seems like a decent plan.

Well done. You have taken a beautiful moment of meaning between these two characters and simplified it down to the utmost degree. There are numerous thoughtful, in-depth and heartfelt breakdowns of this scene available and I promised myself I wasn't going to waste a bunch of my time responding to this mind-melting ignorance. So I will just say this. If that is all you see in that scene, I really am sorry for you. I hope someday things improve.

Jayce acting like Viktor's illness that was caused by Piltover wasn't something that needed to be cured

Because it wasn't about Piltover or Zaun you crusty dishrag. Viktor was trying to purify all of humanity after a life-time of seeing the imperfections and weaknesses in himself as a start. Jayce loved Viktor. I'm not even getting to romantic or platonic, he LOVED VIKTOR. I suppose you would have preferred for him to look at Viktor and yell "You know what you diseased freak you have a point! Good for you taking everyone's humanity. WELL DONE!"

Ekko never calls out Heimerdinger for his failings, Vi for joining the Enforcers, and risks his people (the firelights) to help Piltover.

Heimerdinger is very aware of his failings. You have to watch in season one. Again.. watching the show you talk about.. very hard I know. And as close as he and Ekko are in season two I think we can safely say they are on the same page. Never mind that Ekko has shown he has no trouble calling out anyone who needs it.

Ekko and Vi are family. So while it is true he may be angry and we don't see it, I think a character of immense heart like Ekko who loves Vi would actually talk with her. You know.. rather than the savage degradation of Vi some people seem to wish for.

AGAIN FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY

Sevika almost being cut completely, never reacting to Isha's death or interacting with Jinx in act 3 and risking her life to help Piltover which is way out of character

She is a side character. Sorry but she is. But after a lifetime trying and failing to stand for Zaun she becomes their first ever voice on the council. She is the representative of every person she has wanted to protect. Sorry if that doesn't cut it.

When exactly would we have seen this? I also would have been curious to see her reaction but they were dealing with the whole ya know.. war?!

Same to above. I wish we could have seen Jinx rallying the undercity with Ekko. I actually give you this one. I think this was a missed opportunity.

ONCE MORE WITH FEELING

I'm sorry scary Viktor. I don't know why they keep forgetting you.

[cake-emu]

Swarla scene visual language analysis pt.2

I know some of you were interested in my last post on this topic, and I thought we might as well take a look at this scene from Monday while it's still fresh. I haven't made gifs as movement is minimal here, so we're just using screenshots this time.

It's a shorter scene than the one I previously dissected but like the other, it presents the characters at odds with one another, though at a very different stage in their relationship. Visually, the narrative of the respective scenes is presented differently but what they have in common is how both characters' respective strong personalities/temperaments flavour how the scenes unfold - as you'd hope and expect.

So, 26th May 2025 - here in Carla's kitchen (episode directed by Tim Royle) is the first time we see Carla and Lisa after the latter sprung a spur-of-the-moment and badly timed marriage proposal on Carla in the previous episode - which we left on a cliffhanger, Carla's expression one of shock.

We open now with a medium-wide shot to give us plenty of information about body language and who is standing where in the room. The camera pans across the kitchen as Lisa walks through the frame, and then settles in place as she comes to a stop on the opposite side of the breakfast bar to where Carla is situated. From this point on, the camera remains static through the rest of the scene - no more pans, and certainly no slow zooms to create intimacy. Everything unfolds through editing as we cut between different coverage set-ups.

Look at how much distance there is between them:

Due to the angle that the camera is facing them from, the kitchen counter and built-in bar appear even wider than it actually is, elongating that space between them. This combined with Carla asking "Are we just not gonna mention it?" tells us all we need to know about how the surprise of the proposal has been resolved... i.e. it hasn't! There's a disconnect between the two women.

The one other time we've opened their scenes with them positioned across the counter from each other like this was in the episode from 17th March 2025:

In that scene, they're at odds about how to handle Betsy's refusal to go into college, after she's had a frightening experience. They amicably discuss and temporarily resolve the issue, but later in the episode Lisa is upset with Carla dropping the ball on keeping Betsy company - their positioning in this opening scene hints at the ensuing dissonance that unfolds later in the episode. (So, we have a visual cheat code: it seems fair to conclude that if an episode opens with them on opposite sides of the kitchen counter, they are probably going to spend the episode in disagreement over something, and trying to reach a consensus/find common ground).

In this May episode, the body language is different. Lisa is fidgeting, and delaying making eye contact for as long as possible; Carla has a very relaxed posture as she leans on the counter and sips her drink - by bringing herself down to a lower height, Carla is presenting herself as non-threatening to Lisa, who she knows is prone to running away but - perhaps counter-intuitively given the height differential - she has control in this moment, and it's Lisa who's on the back foot.

We cut to coverage from behind Lisa - it's still a medium-wide shot as we see her gathering her belongings, readying for her day. The camera angle still presents a sizable gap between the two women. Through dialogue, we learn that Carla didn't say yes to the proposal - hardly a surprise to us given all the visual information we've been presented with so far - and that her immediate response to it had been to point out how ill-timed it was.

Lisa, feeling the sting of embarassment at the perceived rejection is trying to downplay her emotions and brush the whole incident under the carpet; Carla wants to face the issue head-on and actually talk about it - not all that dissimilar to her approach in the October scene we previously analysed.

Pleading her case, Carla points out how emotionally devastated she was by Craig's death at the time of the proposal. As she speaks, we cut to a new coverage angle, this time facing Lisa with an over-the-shoulder, a shot type most commonly used to create a sense of intimacy or understanding between characters as they talk - we're now closer to them but it's a medium shot so it doesn't feel truly intimate. They're still not yet on an even level of understanding with one another:

"I knew that young man ... I watched him grow up around here," Carla says as Lisa nods subtly. Deep down, she knows Carla is right (but she's hurting, so she's in deflect, deny, and avoid mode).

Then we cut again to another over-the-shoulder as Carla comes to rest her case.

Lisa concedes that her timing was poor, and tries to make a quick exit but Carla - well used to her avoidant behaviour, and determined for them to address the situation - won't let her get away without agreeing that they'll meet again at lunch, planning to return to the discussion then.

We end with a final medium shot of Carla. It actually took me a few looks to notice that the set-up of this shot is just a fraction different to the previous: look at where the photos on the wall are cut off at the top of the frame, and at the diagonal line of the kitchen counter-top at the bottom of the frame. The camera has been lowered just slightly. Assuming this is an intentional choice, it subtly brings us down to Carla's level a little more as we sit with her for a second - after all, as audience members, we relate to her desire for clarity and resolution in this matter.

So, we see through dialogue married (pun intended) with visuals - presenting the scene's narrative - that things are unresolved as of yet, but the characters are a little bit closer to achieving that! We can reasonably assume that by episode end, they will reach that goal - despite Lisa's resistance.

The following bistro scene would be a good one to analyse too, so I'll try to do that somepoint soon. For now, here's a tease - look how much more intimate they appear in the final shots of that scene, despite still having a wide barrier (the table) between them:

Cosy!

Hope you found this interesting - let me know your thoughts :)

[somuchforahobby]

whiskey on ice, sunset and vine

Summary: A runaway lady ends up in the Volkvolny, will the Captain figure out the truth of who she is? Tags: Fluff, angst Warnings: AI style correction + HOW DO SAILORS SHOWER? I am deeply perturbed Word count: 6k Read on AO3 GIFS from @goatsandgangsters ***********

you should think about the consequence

Ten days had passed since she abandoned the comforts of her assigned bedroom, fleeing into the night with nothing but a handful of jewelry and a few silver spoons to sustain her.

Crossing the Fold had been her most costly venture yet, requiring the sacrifice of an entire sapphire necklace. Now, she wandered the bustling decks of the True Sea, scanning the ships and deliberating which one to board.

The Seahorse was one possibility, though the absence of other women among its pirate crew made her skin crawl. She doubted her dignity—or her steely gaze—would be enough to keep them at bay. The Alexandrite was another option, but the captain’s thinly veiled suggestion that her only sleeping quarters would be his cabin churned her stomach. Then there was The Volkvolny , a vessel infamous for many reasons, though chief among them was the magnetic charm of its captain, Sturmhond.

She had yet to meet this enigmatic figure. After a long stroll around the docks, she finally spotted him: chin held high, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed with confidence, and a smirk that screamed self-assurance. She approached him, keeping pace as a tall, broad-shouldered man suddenly barred her way, placing an axe at her neck. Unflinching, she extended a hand, offering a pair of diamond earrings to the captain. Her face remained shrouded by a heavy cloak.

“Please,” she said softly, her gaze fixed downward.

The captain sighed, waving a hand to dismiss the axe. Without breaking stride, he continued walking.

“I need to get to Ketterdam,” she urged, falling into step beside him.

“Not going there,” Sturmhond replied, his tone casual. His hands stayed clasped behind him, and he didn’t so much as glance her way.

“Please, I can pay you very well.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I ain't in this for the money, dear.”

As they neared his ship, her desperation flared, coloring her cheeks. “Please,” she implored, her voice faltering. “I—I can—” She swallowed hard, trying and failing to project confidence.

“If you so much as suggest any other form of payment,” he interrupted, his gaze sharp as he turned to look her over, “I’m afraid I will stop listening. Do not disrespect me or my ship.”

Finally, he came to a halt and faced her directly. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone firm but not unkind. Beneath the cloak, her features were still obscured, but when she met his eyes—striking and green, alive with curiosity—she saw his youth. He couldn’t be more than three or four years older than her. And handsome, very.

“Why are you so desperate?” His gaze probed her face, seeking answers she dared not give.

“My—” she hesitated, clearing her throat and lowering her eyes as if burdened by shame. “My father is very ill.”

He exhaled slowly, scrutinizing her for a moment longer. “I am traveling to Bhez Ju. Hop in if it suits you.” With that, he resumed his path.

She reached out and grasped his wrist, placing the earrings into his hand. “Just take me out of here,” she murmured before slipping past him and vanishing onto the ship.

sink & drown & die

“I would like a name, at least,” the Captain said, creeping up behind her. The ship was already far out at sea, and she leaned her chin on the rough wood of the deck.

“You cannot have it,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the endless stretch of deep blue. Her thoughts drifted to the possibilities ahead and the choices left behind.

“Then I’ll call you whatever I want.”

“Seems fair, Captain.”

“All right, Duchess.”

That made her turn to him. “Pardon me?”

“It’s my best guess,” he said calmly. “There are no princesses in Ravka—just two princes. And the earrings you used to pay your way? Not the kind of thing a commoner owns.” His sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, as if piecing together a puzzle.

“Maybe I’m Prince Vasily disguised as a woman, trying to escape my duties to the Crown,” she joked, masking the sudden wave of panic rising inside her.

Sturmhond let out a bark of laughter so loud that heads turned across the deck.

“Or maybe I am the young Prince Nikolai, the one no one can seem to find. Perhaps he now roams the world as a woman to avoid detection.”

His laughter faded, but his amused expression lingered. “I don’t think so.”

“How would you know?” she asked, smiling at the boyish gleam in his eye.

“I just would,” he replied, the flush of his recent laughter still coloring his face. “Prince Vasily isn’t nearly as pretty.”

“And you think I am?”

“I’m only saying I have eyes,” he said with a shrug, leaning on the railing in a more relaxed posture. “And I also don’t think you’re the young prince.”

“How can you be so sure? Nobody knows what he looks like. For all I know, he could walk past me, and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“This ship has carried all sorts of troublemakers, but this would be the first time it’s carried a traitor to the Crown. Not recognizing a prince would be a punishable offense—prison-worthy, at the very least.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying their exchange.

She raised her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m just a commoner. I’ve never met any of them.”

“Is that how you know their names?” he asked, leaning closer, his green eyes sharp. “By never meeting them?”

“Everyone in Ravka knows their names.”

“I’ve never heard a commoner say the young prince’s name before.”

“Well,” she countered, “I’m speaking to a captain. I wasn’t about to call him Sobachka .”

He sighed, and the boyish smile faded. “Very well. If you’re not noble, then you stole the jewelry.”

The accusation sent a chill down her spine. “I’m not a thief.”

“Then you’re noble-born,” he said, his tone sharp, like it was something to be ashamed of. She took a step back. “And you’re running from something. I want to know what.”

“Or what?” she shot back. “Are you going to kick me off your ship? I don’t think you’re keen on turning back just to do that.”

He sighed, tilting his head with a sly smile. “Kicking you off doesn’t require the ship to go anywhere near land, Duchess.”

Her stomach turned, but she refused to flinch. Gathering every ounce of bravado she could muster, she stood her ground. “Well then, do it.” She shrugged off her cloak. “I’ve been dying for a swim anyway. It’s getting a little warm out here.”

The Captain’s gaze flicked briefly to her gown before he smirked. “I’m afraid it’s just me, dear.” He stepped closer, leaning toward her ear. “Enjoy the sun and our banter all you like, but I’ll know the truth before we reach Bhez Iu.”

there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have

Tired of her restless nights, she returned to the deck and lay down on the floor, gazing at the stars.

Of all the things she hated about life on a ship, this was the one solace that made it feel bearable.

“What are you doing?” Sturmhond’s voice interrupted her reverie as he looked down at her.

“Gazing at the stars.”

“May I?” He gestured to the spot beside her.

“Of course, it’s your ship.”

He sat down first and then, as though reluctant or uncertain, stretched out beside her. “Now, what are you looking at?”

She raised her hand, pointing toward a star cluster. “The Stag. Have you heard the stories?”

“Indulge me.”

“The stories say it’s an amplifier for Grisha. Allegedly, it can be found in Tsibeya. Hunters and Grisha alike claim to have spotted it deep in the woods.”

“Is that your favorite?” His coat lapels brushed against her forearm.

“No, it’s the Firebird.” Her hand shifted westward.

“And what’s the story for that?”

“It’s another magical creature from Grisha mythology. But no one has ever seen it. Nobody even knows what it looks like.” She turned her head to look at him, wonder brightening her eyes. “What’s your favorite?”

“The Double Eagle.” He motioned north. Two large, shining stars appeared, one above the other, each flanked by three smaller ones.

“A bit corny for you, isn’t it?” She smiled as she turned to him.

“Well, you don’t know me, Duchess.” For the first time, she heard the familiar Sturmhond edge in his tone.

“That’s true.” Her gaze returned to the horizon.

“How are you holding up?”

“I keep telling myself this is better than where I was before.”

“And where was that?”

She scoffed lightly. “Nice try.”

“The first weeks are always the hardest,” he said with a sigh. “But think of this as temporary penance for what the future holds.”

“And what does the future hold?”

“Only you can answer that.”

i can’t say anything to your face

After three days at sea, she couldn’t take it anymore. She longed for a hot bath. All she could smell was salt and fish, and she craved the long, steaming baths she used to enjoy every day.

She had asked Tamar about it, but the woman had only pointed out a corner where she could wash herself with a bucket of water. Tamar had even offered to stand guard to make sure no one disturbed her.

But she’d never washed like that before—not that she could remember, anyway. It had always been proper baths, prepared by servants. Sometimes, she would even indulge herself, asking one of them to wash her hair.

The memory of that luxury hit her hard, a reminder of the life she had left behind in her search for freedom. Whatever that word even meant for a woman in this world.

Despite the discomfort, she washed herself, feeling a small wave of relief as the grime and the smell finally disappeared. Changing into one of the few clean outfits she had left, she hung the little bag that carried her jewels at her waist and left the washroom feeling lighter, clean at last. She thanked Tamar and made her way back to the deck.

Leaning against the railing, she heard footsteps behind her and turned instinctively, fear sharp in her chest.

“Just me, Duchess,” the Captain said, raising his palms in surrender. “I see you’ve grown accustomed to our facilities.”

“As much as I can, yeah,” she replied. Her wet hair clung to her back. “I’ve never taken a bath like that before,” she admitted, her eyes drifting back to the sea.

“Ah.” The Captain paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “A unique experience, I presume?”

“Quite so,” she said, though her voice held a hint of doubt. “It made me wonder what I’m even doing here.” She hadn’t told him who she really was or why she was running, but her resolve to keep up the facade of commoner was weakening. The weight of her choices was pressing down on her, and she couldn’t help but question if she’d made the right one.

“Why did you do it?” he asked gently. When she didn’t respond, he sighed and began speaking again. “I served upfront for a while.”

She turned to him, surprised. He was looking out at the ocean.

“At first, I did it out of ego—I wanted to prove I could be strong. Then it was for patriotism. And finally, it was back to ego again,” he said with a small sigh. A confident smirk crossed his face. “When I returned home, everyone praised me, admired me—but life was dull. There was no adrenaline, just…” He paused, searching for the right words. “…obligations and duty. So, I became this. I wanted freedom, excitement, adventure, I suppose.” His eyes remained fixed on the deep blue sea.

“I wanted to be free,” she confessed, her voice quiet as she turned her gaze to the waves. “I was betrothed. Against my will, of course.” Tears pricked her eyes. “At first, it seemed like a good idea, but then I got to know him, and Saints, he’s terrifying.” She drew a shaky breath, steadying her voice. “When I saw what my life would be, I realized I didn’t want it. I wanted to travel the world, to learn, to be someone on my own. So, I ran. But now…” Her voice broke. “Now I don’t know if I made the right decision. For all I know, I could end up dead in Ketterdam or beaten by some drunk trying to take advantage of me.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It’s stupid. I’m chasing a freedom I know doesn’t exist. Not for people like me.”

“And what type would that be?” His voice was soft, caring—absent of his usual smugness.

She glanced at him. His eyes were warm, kind. For a fleeting moment, she didn’t see the cocky Captain Sturmhond but instead a man straight out of a fairy tale. She considered telling him everything but stopped herself. “A woman, of course,” she said, keeping her response simple. It wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t the full truth, either.

“In my territory, you will always be free, Duchess,” he said, his tone sincere. “For whatever that’s worth.”

He hesitated, as if remembering something. “There is a bath on this ship, in my cabin. Feel free to use it whenever you like. I’ll make sure you have all the privacy you need.” With that, he turned and walked away.

touching my hand in the darkened room

A few nights later she took in his offer; filled the bath with clean water and indulged herself with the expensive lavender soaps the Captain had.

The Captain’s cabin was a small corner of luxury amidst the ship’s roughness. The man clearly had taste—every detail in the room gave it away.

After finishing her bath, she stepped out of the chamber and found the Captain seated at his desk, reading.

“Hey, thank you for the—” she began, but he looked up, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“You’re very welcome. Please, use it anytime,” he replied smoothly.

“I don’t want to distract you—” she started, but a flush crept up her neck as his gaze lingered.

“Please do. I beg you,” he said, leaning his elbow on the desk and resting his chin in his palm, watching her with a flirtatious smile. “Would you join me for a drink?” He rounded the desk to the bar, serving two cups before returning to his chair and placing both glasses on it.

“Gladly.” She walked toward the desk, glancing at the scattered papers. “Perhaps you could give me something to read so my days and nights on this ship become more bearable,” she said, leaning on the desk beside him.

Sturmhond leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing her face as if memorizing it. Though desire danced in his gaze, he shrugged casually and asked, “Can you read Shu?”

“I can.” She took a sip from her ambar drink.

He nodded, pleased. “Then you can help me translate this,” he said, handing her a letter.

Her eyes scanned the paper. “Where did you get this?” she asked, recognizing it as a private communication between Shu militia.

“That’s not part of the job, Duchess. Tell me what it says.” He downed the liquid and raised from his seat to get another.

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can sell that information to Ravka,” he replied without hesitation.

“Am I to believe you have no other interest but the well-being of your homeland?” She sat further into the desk.

“What can I say? I’m still a patriot, after all.” He stood between her legs, holding her gaze before returning to his chair to grab a pen and paper.

She sighed, studying him for a moment. “Well then, this one says the camp is stationed just outside Bhez Ju, asks about the new routes, and wishes a blessed birth for the receiver’s firstborn. Aww, you got in the way of the well wishes.” She nudged him lightly with her knee, his hand steadied her briefly as if he was incapable of letting her near.

“They got in Ravka’s way of peace first,” he said, focused on writing down her translation. “Does it say where they’ll march next?”

“No, but it’s very descriptive of the first time they attended a birth.”

Sturmhond scrunched his nose. “You can keep those details.” He flexed his fingers, signaling for her to return the letter. When she did, he signed the translation, sealed both papers in an envelope, and pressed wax onto it with a ring. “Thank you for your help.”

She straightened and gave him a mock-stern look. “Anything for my Captain.” Her eyes wandered to the maps spread across his desk. “So, how do you know where we are?” She was currently sat over the Southern Colonies depicted on the map.

He sighed, his eyes never leaving her. “It’s a mixture of facts.”

“Such as?”

He rested his jaw on the palm of his hand while gesturing loosely with the other. “Wind, time, currents, stars, squallers.”

“Where are we right now?”

He leaned forward, circling a spot near the shore of Os Kervo. “Somewhere here.”

“Are we stopping in the city?” she asked nervously.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want to?” His eyes fixed on hers, and he leaned closer, his left hand graced hers.

She swallowed, her nerves heightened under his intense gaze. “No.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Thank you.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Anything for my Duchess.” He smirked.

She pushed away from the desk and walked to the door. “Good night, Captain.”

When she glanced over her shoulder, he was still smirking.

“Good night, Duchess.”

you should take it as a compliment

“So there was a war between the Fjerdans and the Shu?” she asked Tolya, sitting across from him on the deck.

Since the Captain had yet to provide her with any reading material, she had turned to Tolya. Unable to sleep in the common hammocks, she spent her nights immersed in the poems and sonnets he kindly shared. Every morning, they would discuss what she had read.

“Indeed. That is why the Shu warrior promised his beloved never to raise a sword again—because he would shed the blood of her kin.” Tolya’s eyes gleamed as he explained the stories behind the sonnets and the political context in which they were written. She found herself drawn in by his gentle, dark gaze.

“And did they ever get together?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t think they did. The author was charged and hanged for treason.”

She gasped. “How terrible.”

“Almost as terrible as not having a maestre on board,” a third voice cut in, breaking the moment.

Tolya was on his feet in an instant. “Captain, I was making sure the Duchess was comfortable at your ship” he said respectfully.

“As thoughtful as always” 

“Excuse me Captain” Tolya acknowledged him and then turned to her, “Your Highness.” 

“Wait” Sturmhond called, a grimace on his face. “The right way to address a Duchess is ‘your grace’, ‘your highness’ is only for the royal family. Make sure you know the protocol if you pretend to court her.” The Captain fixed Tolya with a stare.

“I do not—please forgive me your grace.” Tolya’s face was flushed, he nearly ran after getting a dismissal nod from Sturmhond.

She sighed, glaring up at the Captain for ruining her peaceful morning conversation. “I like talking to him.”

“I like his work better,” the Captain replied, masking a flicker of jealousy in his tone.

“It’s nice to share a conversation about something as beautiful as poetry,” she retorted sharply.

“Then you really are one of a kind,” Sturmhond quipped, settling into Tolya’s seat across from her. “Do you like poetry?”

“Why, are you going to recite some?”

“Nah. I prefer doing rather than saying .”

Her cheeks warmed at his words. Turning away, she summoned the courage to speak. “You didn’t give me any reading material.”

“I gave you a job, but you haven’t been back since.”

She looked back at him, her eyes full of disbelief. “Am I to visit your chambers every evening and return late at night to the bunks? Not exactly the reputation I’m interested in building.”

“You could stay the night if that suits you better,” he said with a cheeky grin, his tone infuriatingly casual.

She stood abruptly, but before she could leave, he caught her wrist. “Nobody on this ship is going to speak about you, because nobody on this ship is going to speak about me. I need your help with those translations. Help me, and I’ll consider your travel paid—and return your jewels.”

“Can’t I translate on deck where everyone can see?” she countered.

He didn’t release her wrist, instead toying with her fingers with his free hand. “No. That correspondence is confidential.”

“Then why are you showing it to me?”

“Because I have a feeling you’re just as patriotic as me.”

“Then you’re mistaken.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “when we arrive at our destination, you can leave this ship without a coin to your name—or you can do so with a pretty pair of diamond earrings. It’s up to you.”

She scoffed. “What makes you think I’ve run out of jewels?”

His gaze quickly swept over her surroundings, but before he could respond, she cut him off with an icy “Excuse me, Captain.”

He released her hand, and she walked back to her hammock, determined to lose herself in her reading once again.

but if you’re single that’s honestly worse

She had read every book Tolya owned, and after the incident with the Captain, he no longer discussed them with her. Bored to death, she decided to head toward the Captain’s cabin in search of something—anything—to read.

She knocked once. The quietness of the sea amplified the sound of footsteps approaching the door.

He opened it, bare-chested, a sheet draped loosely around his waist. His eyebrows rose at the sight of her.

“Duchess,” he greeted, his voice a ragged breath.

She blushed and turned away instinctively. “I am sorry, my apologies—”

“Is everything okay? Do you need something?” His voice was heavy with exhaustion.

“No, uh—” She turned back to face him. His hair was disheveled, his cheeks flushed; it was clear he wasn’t alone tonight. “I was just bored and thought you might need help,” she added, though the sight of his darkening crimson cheeks made her smirk. “Translating some documents, of course. But I see you’re busy, so—good night.” She turned to leave, but a female voice rang out from inside the room, cold and clipped, telling him to send her away.

“Duchess,” he breathed again, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back, eyebrow raised.

“I do need your help with some documents,” he insisted, voice firmer now. “Give me a few minutes.”

He shut the door, and she heard muffled arguing within. A moment later, the door flew open again, revealing a slender woman glaring daggers at him.

“I am DONE with you, Sturmhond. You’ll drop me off at Os Kervo and NEVER see me again. Keep your fancy little bitch!” the woman snapped, storming out without sparing a glance at the so-called ‘fancy little bitch.’

Sturmhond leaned against the doorframe, now fully dressed, his boyish features darkened by the dim light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she offered.

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

Extending a hand to her, he silently invited her in. Against her better judgment, she took it.

Later, she refilled their glasses and returned to the correspondence. Sitting on the left arm of his chair, her legs dangled near his forearm.

“The General Ito will be out of office this winter,” she translated, and he scribbled it down.

“Does it say when Colonel Sazaka will take office?” he asked, leaning toward the letter in her hands.

“Hmm, yes! The first week of spring.” She pointed to a word on the paper.

Taking a sip of the amber liquid in her glass, she dropped the letter onto the desk and turned toward him, a sly smile on her lips.

“Captain,” she began seductively.

He raised his eyebrows, expectant.

“I haven’t translated anything about Colonel Sazaka yet.”

Caught, he smirked and turned away.

“You can read Shu!” she accused, angling her body toward him in mock outrage.

He covered his face with one hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “You caught me.”

Her legs were crossed between his knees, and his left hand absentmindedly traced lines against her calf.

“Why am I here, Captain?” she asked softly.

He finally met her gaze. With a tug of her ankle, she slid into his lap, her hands resting on his neck while his settled instinctively at her waist.

“I don’t like reading Shu,” he admitted, voice low.

Their faces hovered inches apart, the sweet burn of whiskey lacing their breaths. Her lips inched toward his, but he pulled back the slightest bit.

“I have certain standards” he said, his eyes half closed

“oh?” she smiled playfully, “and those are?”

“I need a name,” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly.

She sighed, “You can’t have it.”

He rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Please.”

“You can call me Duchess. Or little fancy bitch. Whichever you like most,” she teased.

“A name. Just a first name,” he pressed, his breath grazing her neck—a beggar at her feet.

“I could ask the same.”

He lost the battle against his own will, kissing her neck softly before answering, “Kolya.”

“That’s not a name,” she retorted and he resumed his path on her collarbones. “But I like it. Kolya.” She smiled and looked down on him, a boyish glint shone in his eyes. “My father calls me Krasotka”

He smiled, “And he is right.” He kissed her collarbone, “I just want to protect you.”

She mused on his words, her expression softening. “That’s what my father said before selling me off to the highest bidder.”

He scoffed, biting on her neck causing her to tremble. “I can make a very high bid.”

“You wouldn’t win.” Her voice wavered, a sigh of resignation.

The tiniest laugh left his throat as he continued his path towards her mouth. “Try me,” he whispered, his nose brushing against her jaw, poised for her surrender. “Even if I do not win, I can still give him a bloody nose.” She felt his smile on her skin, “and give you a pretty good night.”

She leaned back, cradling his face in her hands. “I bet you would.” She scoffed in amusement. “But I would never let you near him, knowing the cruelties he could do to you.”

Rising from his lap, she turned and walked out of the room.

“Krasotka” He called, not ready to give up, “what makes your fiance so terrifying?” 

Her hands went limb at the question, her body suddenly afraid again. She answered firmly, “Power”.

She walked out the door. This time, she didn’t look back.

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Sturmhond had made the announcement earlier that day: they would reach the Os Kervo docks by evening and depart for Bhez Ju the following morning. Anyone who wished to could spend the night in town.

The Duchess knew the risk was too great for her. Instead, she handed Tolya two silver pieces of cutlery and asked him to bring back as many books as he could find. Then, she stayed behind in the bunks, hoping solitude would grant her some much-needed rest.

Sleep came, though briefly, until rough hands yanked her arms above her head. Her legs were pinned down, and another set of hands began to lift her dress. Panic surged through her as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Don’t make me hurt you!” one of the sailors barked. His breath reeked of alcohol. She couldn’t see the others clearly, but their laughter and slurred voices confirmed they were equally drunk. She kept screaming until a filthy hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound.

She writhed, tears streaming down her face, desperate to break free.

“Where are the jewels?!” the man hissed, his face inches from hers. Her sobs came uncontrollably now. “Tell me, and I won’t hurt you,” he continued, voice venomous. “Easy, princess. Just tell me what I want to know. Understood?”

She nodded, trembling, trying to steady her breath.

When he removed his hand from her mouth, she screamed again.

“You little bitch!” He slapped her hard across the face.

Then, suddenly, a gunshot shattered the chaos. Three heavy thuds followed, and the weight pinning her down vanished.

She lay motionless, too numb and terrified to open her eyes. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She didn’t dare move, certain the pain would start any moment—or that she was already dead.

“Krasotka?”

The familiar voice pierced the haze. She was alive. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she felt the cold air on her exposed legs. Curling into herself, she hugged her knees tightly and finally opened her eyes.

Sturmhond knelt beside her, his face etched with concern and gentleness. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as sobs wracked her body.

His hand rested on her back, steady and reassuring. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

She glanced past his shoulder and saw Tolya standing nearby. Then her eyes fell on the scene around her: the two men who had pinned her down lay unconscious, while the one who had lifted her dress had a fatal gunshot wound to the head.

“Kolya” she murmured, leaning her head against Sturmhond’s shoulder.

“Can I take you out of here?” he asked softly.

She nodded against his shoulder, and he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to his cabin.

He set her down carefully on the bed and took a step back. “Would you like to wash?”

She nodded.

“I’ll find something for you to wear,” he said. “Do you want me to bring Tamar or one of the girls?”

She shook her head.

He sighed, opening and closing a few drawers before returning with two pieces of soft cotton fabric. “This is the best I can do for now. I’ll ask Tamar to find you something in town tomorrow. Will that be all right?”

Kneeling before her, he searched her eyes.

She looked up at him and nodded.

She emerged from the bath dressed in Sturmhond’s oversized clothes—a military green shirt that fell to her upper thighs and matching pants that barely clung to her hips. The loose fabric concealed the small bag tied around her waist.

He was waiting for her outside, seated at his desk.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“You should stay here until we reach Bhez Ju,” he said. “I’ll take the bunks.”

“Thank you, but you should stay. I’ll sleep on the chair.”

He sighed. “I may not look like it, but I am a gentleman. You will do no such thing.”

“If you’re not here, I’m just as vulnerable as I am in the bunks,” she countered. “It’s you they respect, not the cabin.”

“And what about your reputation?” he asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“I’d rather be a living whore than a dead virgin.”

Her bluntness struck him silent for a moment. “Fair enough,” he finally said, standing. “But there is one thing I need from you, Duchess.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“A few days ago, you announced to the entire ship that you’re carrying valuable jewels,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need to know what you have, and if you wish, I can keep them in my safe for the rest of the trip.”

She stood, lifting her shirt just enough to untie the small bag from her waist. His gaze darted away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Once she was covered again, she handed the bag to him.

He placed it on his desk, undoing the red ribbon and carefully opening the velvet pouch. His breath caught as the jewels spilled onto the wood.

“How did you get this?” he demanded, holding up her engagement ring. The kindness in his eyes had been replaced by urgency and something darker.

“I didn’t steal it.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “How did you get this?”

“How do you think?” she replied sarcastically. “A man on one knee, as usual.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“There’s nothing usual about the Crown Prince kneeling.”

Her breath hitched. “How—” Her mind raced for an explanation. “The whole ‘Duchess’ thing is funny and all, Captain, but I don’t know where you got the idea I was engaged to the Crown Prince.” She forced a confident tone.

“I know because I’ve seen this ring every day of my life.”

Her heart pounded as she held his gaze. The realization struck her like a blow. “Wha—how?”

“This is my mother’s ring,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I can’t let you keep it.”

Her world tilted. All this time, she had believed herself free, only to find the chains tightening around her. “It’s mine!” she snapped, reaching for the ring.

He stepped back, his expression firm. “It’s one of the most precious heirlooms of the Lantsov dynasty. I can’t allow you to pawn it off for some muddy apartment in Ketterdam, Princess.”

“It was given to me!”

“Yes, for you to marry Vasily! Not to give away at some ratty city across the world.”

“Captain—Nikolai,” she corrected herself, his name feeling foreign on her tongue. His lips tightened. “I beg you, don’t take me back there.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. But I can’t let you keep this, and I certainly can’t leave you in Bhez Ju. You could be recognized, kidnapped, or worse, become a prisoner in a war bargain. No, you’ll stay with me, and we’ll return to the Palace.”

His words carried the weight of a prince, not a privateer. The sadness in his eyes was undeniable.

“I must take you back to Os Alta,” he finished.

“How is it that yesterday you were ready to fight my fiancé, and now you want to hand me back to him?” She asked, hurt.

“I can do both, darling.”

Her defiance flared. “I’ll go out there and tell everyone who you really are. Let’s see how your crew feels about their beloved Captain being just a spoiled prince.” She stormed toward the door, but he blocked her path, his back to the latch.

“You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because then we’d both be prisoners on this ship.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his touch measured. “You must return. We both have a duty to Ravka.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Yet I’m the only one who’ll lose control over my own body, forced to bear children for a monster.” She turned away from him, retreating to the bed, her back to him.

unless you wanna come along

"Krasotka." Nikolai sat at her feet on the bed.

Days had passed since their fight, and since then, she had stayed in the cabin day and night. Nikolai brought her food, and Tolya brought her books. But her sadness and anger wouldn't let her leave.

Every night, the Prince would try to talk to her, but she ignored him just the same.

"Rodnaya," his voice weary, she lay with her eyes open, not looking at him. "Zolotse, please."

"Calling me your playboy pet names doesn't change the fact that you're taking me to my deathbed right now, sakharok ." She bit back her anger.

His eyes showed pain. That too-clever fox nowhere to be found. "I don't want you to marry him either."

She sighed sarcastically. "You could've fooled me."

"It is my duty."

She took a long breath. "I wish I were having this conversation with the resourceful Captain Sturmhond. He'd know what to do. But sweet little sobachka will only do what his mother wants." She turned her back to him, tears welling in her eyes.

"Sturmhond would ask you to marry him."

The mere words stung her head. She sat up instantly to look him in the eye.

"He would make a stop at Os Kervo, overpay some monk to get you married to him. Claim you were both drunk, didn't know who you were, and consumed the marriage, of course. He'd send a letter to Os Alta, then ride there and deal with it." There was determination in his eyes.

She weighed the plan. "You offer me another cage."

"A kinder and wider cage, yes."

"And the reputation of a whore."

"A wife who can travel with her husband on any of his quests, see the world alongside him. Yes, a wasted lady who married the first drunken idiot in front of her, but didn't you say you'd rather be a living whore?" His smugness returned, a familiar smirk on his face. "I'd also become an irresponsible idiot who stained his family's honor for lust."

She sighed, suddenly touched by his offer. "You'd stain your honor to save me from your brother?"

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I'm willing to stain it just to hold your hand."

Her hands circled his neck in an instant; she clung to him as tears streamed down her face, but with a completely different sentiment than before. "Thank you."

His hands caressed her back softly, unsure of how much touch he was allowed. "Anything for my Duchess."

She pulled away from him and laughed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Kolya."

"You must know," he murmured, feigning shame, "you'll get a smaller ring, since you won't be queen and all." He searched her eyes carefully.

She laughed, the sound filling the room with a new lightness. "Can I be co-captain?"

"Ahhh," he searched for words but failed at the sight of her teasing smile.

"Yes, Captain?" she insisted.

"You can be whatever the fuck you want when you're with me." He answered with all the smugness of Sturmhond, though a sign of Kolya's kindness was hidden in his eyes.

"Come here." She flexed her index finger. He obliged. "Care to put your plan into action?"

His eyes traveled from her eyes to her lips, a smirk already halfway formed. "So desperate?"

"Shut up." She kissed him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her and pushed her against the mattress.

"Can I get a name now?" he asked, gasping for air.

She smiled against his lips. "Yeah, you can."

[the-s1lly-corner]

Pocky game w/ them (Main edition)

maybe ill put some buffer posts between parts so its not the same thing back to back to back- i need to really get better at balancing what fandoms i write for. not fair for everyone else notes: gn toon reader, pre game, short and sweet, max characters for requests is still 3-4 this is just a time killer for the admin, no i dont want to hear "butbutbutbut dandy is a lethal-" idc hes not getting his solo post sorry if this comes off as mad im just annoyed LMAO, written on mobile cws: none

DANDY

Oh you don't have to ask him twice! An excuse to give you another kiss isn't an excuse- it's a call to action!

But don't think his eagerness is going to mean he's going to speed run the game... oh no, no no no- he's gonna make you wait for it. He likes seeing the realization and horror as he takes his sweet time, while you're already at the middle

...and don't try to rush it, he will lightly (but playfully) scold you got it... come onnnnnn you can be patient, can't you?

SHELLY

ASTRO

...hopefully you catch him before he goes down for a nap, he doesn't like eating sugar before going to bed

But if he is, he'll make sure to play the game with you as soon as he's awake if he's too exhausted to stay awake! A smile on your face always makes him smile, too

He's a shy kisser though, and the game makes him a little more... well, shy- he doesn't back down but there is some extra sheepishness in his body language

Yes! Yesyes please! Honestly she thinks it's really cute and she's instantly in love with the idea

The grin she has is heavenly, she can't help but giggle as your lips meet- even if it's the gentlest and softest kiss you've ever shared it makes her melt on the spot

If she had a tail it'd definitely be wagging right now!

VEE

SPROUT

Pocky? Oh! He thinks he's heard of that before... honestly he's considered trying to make his own version when he had the time but oooooooh... he hasn't quite gotten it right yet..

But when he does you can expect him to try the game with his pocky! In the meantime your box will do...

Neither rushes nor drags it out, it's a cute game in his eyes but he's not going to giggle or grin like an idiot

...her screen is... flat... the pocky kind of just clacks and smears around- which she doesn't appreciate very much by the way!

She doesn't need to eat at all actually, she gets her energy through electricity, has a whole plug and everything-

And sure she probably already knows what it tastes like, or can make an educated guess based on what she's already programmed to know... but she's not going to stop you from trying to describe it to her

[mariusrenathyrs-crashout]

Randomly started talking about a Renaissance Fair EoM AU.

Marius is well known as one of the two dueling Knights, he and his best friend Victor. The two are a duo up until Marius meets his girlfriend Lillian (thank you for name inspo @pawpunkao3 ) who's another actress at the Fair as a The Duchess. Stuff happens and everyone takes notice that for a few seasons Marius just, disappears. He doesn't come back for the Fair and Victor is left without his partner so later on he is given a new role as he doesn't wish to continue without Marius - also his chronic illnesses have gotten worse making it harder for him to perform - and they give him the role of King Victor who oversees the tourneys. After his promotion and a few more actors are added - the remaining Witchhunters join in slow succession - Marius makes his return but not as the Gold Knight like years prior. He is the Black Knight and he has come to try and dethrone King Victor and allow for Duchess Lilith to take over as Queen Lilith. The crowds are aghast, this is a shock, and nobody is more surprised than Victor. His friend just ghosted him for three years just to return and instead of even saying hello just openly challenges him and tells the crowds he's unfit to be King? The lads go through some back and forth arguing behind the scenes, it's honestly very rough. The Witchhunters aren't quite privy to all the drama as newer additions so they do observe Marius and get to know him gradually, but even they can feel the tension and pick up the awful vibes of when Marius is around Lillian.

Lillian loves all the attention Marius gets as the best Knight of the Fair. Tons of people end up crushing on him and swooning over his looks and abilities, she thinks it's so amusing to then flaunt her relationship and hold over him to others and put them down. "You think he'd ever even look at a wench like you? You're nothing more than a tavern whore." Just saying awful, awful shit and really using him as arm candy. A few people - including Lethica - note how she seems to take ownership of all Marius' successes, Lethica and Victor also saw what happens to Marius when he fails. (It's bad). Victor tries to convince his best friend to leave her as she's clearly abusive and toxic, and the two slog it out in a fight as Marius is so wrapped around her finger he thinks Victor is just jealous like Lillian said and it gets pretty bad. They're separated and Victor decides he's leaving this place if Marius is gonna be such an asshole and turn his back on him. It isn't til later on Marius hears about how the altercation was enough to exacerbated Victor's poor health and he's doing very poorly, the guilt of it making him more suseptible to Lillian who now has taken over as Queen.

Around this time is when the Witchhunters really kick it into gear trying to befriend him. Unlike a lot of the other actors who have started avoiding him not only because of what he did to Victor but also because of his partner he's left pretty isolated. The Witchhunters though start forcing him to stick to them like glue whether he protests or not. They already all had some level of repor but now that hes basically lost his support system and is very visibly falling into a dark spiral they all decide to step up and become that for him. He feels extra guilt as he begins developing feelings for Lethica who is super kind to him, it makes him feel odd being treated so kindly with no expectations from her. It starts planting the seeds of doubt in his relationship but also he struggles with his morals as he worries he is emotionally cheating on Lillian.

OK that's all I got rn.

[incognito-girl]

entertainment - A. RUSSO

“hi pretty!” you hear the blonde Italian girl shout from the kitchen. You had left Alessia alone for the majority of the day as you and your friends had decided to have a girls day together. The pair of you spend the day shopping getting food and catching up with each other as your schedules usually conflict, so your girlfriend had been left alone all day waiting patiently for you to come home. When she got the message from you saying you were on your way she almost jumped out of her seat with excitement.

she sat waiting for you before she realised that she could make you a nice dinner and get in your good books. so she immediately hopped off the couch turned off the television and ran to the kitchen in hopes to find something she could easily make before you got home. she ruffled though the cabinets in your shared home to find pasta and sauce, a discrace to her Italian heritage but she put it off with a shrug knowing it would be easy for her to make for you.

her eyes light up when she sees you. you left after her today with her having training early this morning so she hadn't had the chance to properly see you previous to this, and when the first time she sees you is when your hair is done perfectly and you are wearing her favourite pair of jeans it certainly makes her day that much brighter. she sees the collection of bags that were in your hands inwardly rolling her eyes at you, not wanting to think about how much you had spent today. “hi darling” you say while placing a kiss to her cheek. “you missed” she mumbles grabbing your hips to keep you in place. you look at her with a grin and place a sweet kiss to her lips. “not long enough” she says letting go of you tapping your bum lightly. “what are you cooking” you say laughing slightly at your girlfriend. “pasta with sauce” she says not really paying attention to you as she went back to stirring the pasta. “wow, nonna wouldn't be proud Lessi” you say, acting hurt placing a hand over your heart. “oh shush, don't act like you don't have this for dinner most nights anyway” “shut up” you mumble back as she laughs at you.

after you had both had more than your fair share of the pasta your girlfriend had cooked, she had requested dome after dinner entertainment - a fashion show of everything you bought. “god less with how bloated i am i don't know if ill fit into anything i bought anymore.” you say laughing while rubbing your stomach as if you were pregnant. “shush, you will. stop being so silly.” she mumbles into your neck while wrapping her hands around you pulling you into a tight embrace. You both stood there for a few minutes in each others embrace before the blonde girl suddenly spun you around by your hips pressed a kiss to your lips then demanded to see all your new clothes. “ugh it’s just so much effort though.” you say looking up at her through your eyelashes - giving her puppy eyes to try convince her to not make you show her. “nope that wont work. go. i want to see.” she retaliated, pushing you away from her. you moan at her for this while taking off the hoodie you had on all day leaving you in a white t-shirt. you threw the piece of clothing at her as she sat down laughing at you.

after changing into a new dress you bought you went out to the girl who was waiting patiently for you as she sat on her phone. “ta-dah!” you shout out to the girl while doing a little spin to let her see the dress. once you stop your eyes fall onto the girl properly, the hoodie that once was on you had now taken residence on your girlfriend. a big grin had fallen onto her lips as she looked at you. “looking beautiful as ever, mrs russo.” she said standing up offering her sleeve covered hand to you to spin you around. “not mrs russo.” you say wiggling your fingers in her face hinting at an engagement ring. “soon enough i’ll have my very own mrs russo” she said while kissing your hand. “hmm when’s soon enough?” you question wrapping your hands around her waist. “that’s a secret i’ll never tell” she said while quickly lifting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist, forcing you to put your hands on her neck. “i love you.” she whispered onto your lips, her lips ghosting over yours before she pulled away, dropping you. “Now” she starts before pulling your dress back down, “show me the rest of what you bought.”

after a gruelling half an hour of changing clothes constantly you were perched on the blondes lap dawned in her oldest tracksuit and jersey. her last name on your back that she was tracing while half listening to you go on about your day. the remote in your hand as you try to find something to watch on netflix. “then i came home to you.” you finished looking back at your girlfriend who had a small smile on her face. “fun day?” she asks pulling you further into her. “mhm, best day. especially coming home to you.” you answer her. “you want to know the best thing about my day?” she whispers to you. “of course” you quickly answer very eager to hear about her day. “you walking through the door and seeing your beautiful smile.” “little liar” you retort with a little smirk before leaning into the older girl and locking lips for the hundredth time that day. each kiss just as exciting as the first.

[moonstruckme]

In a week-

I saw you did royal Bodyguard poly!marauders to sunshine!reader, ans I was wondering if we could get something like that but instead reader is a little sneakt bitch who uses escaping her bodyguards as a fun pastime?????

Thanks for requesting!!

join the party

bodyguard!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 979 words

You’re about to take a sip from your cup when your wrist is gripped by a strong hand, stopping it from reaching your mouth. 

“You have no idea what’s in there.” 

“Hi, Jamie,” you shoot him a smile, warm and loose all over from the drinks you’ve already had. “Sure I do. It’s a rum and coke. Pretty straightforward, actually.” 

“He means,” Remus says, prying your fingers from around the cup and setting it on the bar, “that you probably weren’t watching to see if anyone slipped something into it, and unfortunately for you, we weren’t here to do it for you.” 

You don’t have to look around to know Sirius will be here as well, your three bodyguards relentless and nearly impossible to shake. Still, you’re a bit proud you’d managed to get free for a little over an hour tonight. That’s not an easy task. 

“No one here is going to drug me,” you say, though you know that’s not strictly true, and you go on before one of them can contradict you. “How’d you find me anyway?” 

James gives you a deadpan look, the closest thing you ever get to anger from him. “If we told you, you’d just figure out how to get around it next time.” He sets a hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently away from the bar. “Come on, let’s go home.” 

“I don’t want to go home,” you say, and despite your best intentions, your voice comes out with a petulant edge. “Why can’t we stay here?”

“You know very well you’re allowed to go out,” Remus says as he and James steer you towards the exit. “But we haven’t had time to look around this place, and you’re supposed to be studying at Kate’s.” 

“So this is a punishment.” It’s not a question, but Sirius answers you anyway, draping an arm around your shoulders as you meet him by the door. 

“Yes, it is,” he says lightly. “You almost killed Remus tonight, doll, and attempted murder deserves a time-out at the very least.” 

Even whilst scolding you, Sirius’ voice is teasing. Between the three of them, you know he’s the least upset with you. He might be a bit frustrated, sure, but he seems to also harbor a tiny bit of respect or understanding for what he calls your ill-timed rebellious phase. Though to be fair, you’d never had much cause for rebellion before your mom had forced a security detail upon you. You were used to doing whatever you wanted, and what you wanted had never seemed so wild until one day you needed permission to go outside and your privacy was blown to smithereens. 

You step out into the cool night air, and Sirius rubs your upper arm when you shiver. Remus leads you all towards the parking lot, and you’re secretly glad to be able to get into a warm car even if you’re still stubbornly yearning for the mundanity of the bus. 

“I know you think of running off as trying to get back some sort of freedom,” James says, and his voice is gentler now if not quite friendly, “but it’s not going to feel like freedom if while you’re off by yourself one of your mom’s…critics,” he decides, using the most delicate term possible, “takes the opportunity to kidnap you.” 

“Or kill you.” Remus says gruffly, his posture extra-stiff as he scans the parking lot, eyes skimming over every dark corner and potentially occupied vehicle. 

“Their issue is with her, not me,” you sigh, somewhere between frustrated and resigned. “You should be protecting her.” 

“She’s got her own detail,” Remus reminds you. “And it wouldn’t be the first time extremists have targeted a politician’s family to get at them.” 

You’re silent at that, and the boys let you stew in it, the memory of your mother’s face when she’s gotten the news that her coworker’s son had been killed in their home. She’d grieved for her friend that day, but her panic had been for herself. For you. 

“We’ve got to find a way around this need to escape, angel,” James says, opening the door to the backseat and offering you a hand in. You nod hello to Marcus, your mom’s driver, whose duties have apparently been extended to picking you up when you go “missing” for an hour or two. Sirius gets in on your other side, Remus taking the passenger seat. “Are we really so awful to be around?”

“No,” you say, though you know the question was meant in jest. They deserve to know anyway. “You guys are great. It’s your job that’s the problem.” 

“Unfortunately, it’s still our job,” Remus says, turning around to fix you with a look. It works, and you shrink in your seat. Remus is such a kind, gentle soul, especially considering his profession, so when he focuses his disapproval like this, it always leaves you feeling thoroughly shamed. “Every time you slip off, we have to act as if you’ve been kidnapped, even if we know better. And you very well could be kidnapped. You just—” He shakes his head, and guilt sprouts, winding and thorny, in your gut. “—I don’t think you understand the danger you’re putting yourself in when you do this.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look him in the eye so he knows you’re really listening. “I’m sorry. I’ll…” you sigh, indignation eating at you even as you give in. “I’ll try to work with you guys more.”

“That’s all we’re asking, sweetheart,” James says, bumping your shoulder with his lightly, and you know you’re at least mostly forgiven. 

“For tonight,” Sirius drawls, “are you going to actually stay in your room, or is one of us going to have to tie you to the bed?” He winks. “Because if you need me to, I can totally do that, dollface.”

[acupofinkedblood]

Shuriken x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Shuriken is definitely an interesting yet charming demon that you come across with. He is like the Robin Hood of Thieves Den, though you aren’t too sure of whether or not if he has other intentions aside from stealing for fun. You have mixed feelings about Shuriken, I can be sure of it. Sure, he’s nice, but let’s not forget that he’s also a thief, no? Well, your first impression of him can vary from one to another, can be positive or not so memorable at first. But in the end you just follow your heart and give it a shot. And as you currently look at the present dynamic between the two of you, you are more than certain that you have made the right decision

• The ninja himself loves showing off what is his that he takes pride in. And this includes you. He’s huge on PDA, always seeking you out in the crowd before rushing to your direction almost immediately. In some sense, you can even compare him to a golden retriever. That playful and energetic personality of his really works its magic with you after all. And have I mentioned the fact that he also enjoys messing around with you to get your attention? He won’t go too far with it, so don’t worry. Shuriken means well to you

• When he first introduced you to Slingshot and Vinestaff, you knew damn well that they would be giving you a vibe check though it wasn’t too obvious. Especially Vinestaff. She cared a lots for her brother after all. Once they have made up their mind that you had no ill intentions with Shuriken, you would be welcomed as family

• Sometimes the dynamic catches you off guard in a good way. Imagine you are chasing his ass off around the house because of some random reason and either Slingshot or Vinestaff walk in. They will back you up and start chasing the living hell out of Shuriken as well, mostly for funsies. Hell, sometimes Vinestaff is willing to wrestle Shuriken down after Slingshot has captured him back to you while you’re laughing like a dying tea kettle over there. They have your back. And Shuriken doesn’t mind if much since he finds the whole thing to be quite hilarious as well. He might find a chance to get back at you though. All is fair in love and war, so you do have it coming

• He has an odd interest in bugs. And no I don’t mean eating them — that’s gross — he doesn’t do that at all. Instead, he collects and puts them in his terrariums. He actually has a lots of it, the amounts will certainly surprise you. A specific corner of his room is dedicated to that hobby of building terrariums in different sizes and putting his favorite insects into it. If he finds one that doesn’t fit into those spaces, he will just put it in a box temporarily. You lost count how many times you accidentally opened it up and was jumpscared by a literal huge mantis. That’s his favorite insect, if you’re wondering

• Speaking of hobby, he is actually quite the artistic type himself. He isn’t technically the extraordinary artist in the typical senses with good portrait and all, but he does know how to design stuff on paper before takes it into practice. He knows how to carve stuff out of wood and paint them himself. It does help him to keep focused, and he can sell them as well for extra cash. Mostly small sculptures for kids to view as toys or decorations, but sometimes he makes masks for special occasions too. You have received a good load of his handmade gifts, and he makes sure that it’s something that only you will ever have that no one else has the same privilege. He even designs them all specifically to your liking and personal preferences

• Face painting is a traditional thing in Thieves Den, which is coincidentally also his specialty. He can paint your face if you want. And trust me, you’re in good hands because Shuriken knows what is he doing. Most of the materials he has for paints are from crushed plants and flowers he made himself, Vinestaff taught him how to do that. When he paints your face, he will try to be extra careful since he doesn’t want to ‘ruin his bae’s beauty’. Of course, he will be very close to you, like merely inches away. Is he aware of it? Yes. Will he back off? Eh, why should he? Maybe he might steal a kiss from you if you are distracted by him

• Remember that tattoo on his arm that he got in honors for his sister? That’s just another proof of his skill. Honestly having the endurance to stay still while getting a tattoo is already impressive, but he just has to take it to another level by doing it himself. The fact that his arm is literally covered in it with the questionable accuracy in each of the patterns— it’s just amazing at how he is capable of doing so. Shuriken will be more than just happy if you want a tattoo by him, as long as you don’t question his method, you’re good to go!

• And yes, he doesn’t kill people. But with all that is said before, it’s more than enough to put someone down into the ground unconsciously. Most of the time he will decide to flee the scene to save both of you the hassle of violence, his instinct values flight over fight. But if things go south, he doesn’t mind drag someone down to the mud for the both of your sakes. He wants to protect you, and if there is danger sneaking around that threatens your safety, Shuriken will back you up almost immediately

• If you think this guy is a wimp, you have never been so wrong in your life before. He is a ninja after all, of course he knows how to keep up with his training for the sake of his own technique. His figure is rather slim, but don’t let that deceive your eyes about his actual strength. Although Shuriken isn’t the type to just charge forward into a fight without thinking it through, if he wants to get in a fight, he knows exactly how to put his advantages to good use. He specializes in Taihenjutsu and Shurikenjutsu — no jokes intended — but Taijutsu is also there waiting to be used

• Shuriken dedicates most of his free time to train in specific times of the day. Finding him whenever he is off to train is kinda hard, considering the fact he usually goes inside the deep woods with thick forest that isn’t really suitable for beginners to go into. You have probably been lost a few times before in that area, and he has to come out to bring you back home. He will definitely laugh the hell out of the situation, saying that you can just call him instead of following him like that. He will bring you with him properly next time, your company will definitely boost up his motivation as he will try to impress you at every single opportunity

• He won’t be hesitant to try the whole Spider-Man kiss when he hangs himself upside down with his ninja’s equipment out of nowhere with that shit-eating grin on his face while asking for a kiss. This guy is just full of surprises, isn’t he? He expects it half-heartedly, since you’re probably used to his random schemes already. Yet when you do entertain his idea, he will have that dumbfounded expression on as if he hasn’t seen that coming yet. Just a few first time like that, then later on afterwards he will just hang down and give you a peck immediately before you even realize it. Now you’re the one who is stunned!

• With that being said, Shuriken knows what is he capable of. But on the side note, he is actually rather clumsy on how to take care of himself. You can already expect that his room is technically a literal mess with the bit of dirt from the terrariums and sawdust coming from his DIY projects, and have I mentioned the snacks he sneaked in his room alongside with paints smearing here and there? You definitely understand Vinestaff and Slingshot’s insistence on making him clean up his room. Living with him is like staying in touch with an actual miniature ecosystem without organizing it up daily

• Shuriken doesn’t mind it, you can definitely tell by that expression on his face when you visit him for the first time in the trio’s apartment. Trust me, your jaw will be on the floor with that hint of judgement when you see the thing yourself. Honey, you have to tell your man to clean up his room up before the ants start to take him away in his sleep. Of course, he will only do so begrudgingly. At least with you there, it doesn’t seem too bad like when he has to deal with it by himself. Don’t get sidetracked by his coos on just leaving things there, you have to keep your opinion steady

• While the two of you are cleaning the room, maybe he will have a good chance on finding things that he thinks he has lost before. It’s like treasure hunting at this point. But hey, it gets the job done, so why not? Vinestaff appreciates your presence a lots because of the effect you have on her brother. It’s a positive thing, and Slingshot thinks so as well. Do expect those silly smiles of theirs when the two of you look back and find out that they are watching, it’s genuinely so amusing

• Just a reminder, he snores. And I don’t mean by just snoring oh so lightly every now and then, he basically roars in his sleep. He probably uses something to muffle it down whenever he’s asleep, but it’s still questionably loud as hell. If you want to sleep with him, I highly recommend using thick earplugs with blanket that is comfortable enough for you to drape over your head to get over his snoring. But his body is actually comfortable to cling against to, and he doesn’t mind holding you close against his chest, so that is definitely an option on the table as well

• You’re probably the reason why he finally has a good reason to look after his hygiene. The last thing he wants with your first kiss is for you to find out he hasn’t brushed his teeth. Vinestaff definitely owes you a ton of thanks for being the reminder to keep him brushing his teeth. Shuriken doesn’t sweat that much, so there isn’t anything too special about his body’s scent in a positive or negative way. He actually smells like petrichor subtly with a slight hint of wood lingering on his body, it isn’t that noticeable much though

• And as for his other identity as Sliver Shadow? Well unless you want to be the Gwen Stacy of his Peter Parker, I suggest you to keep the blissful unawareness of said demon in the box. And don’t be too curious, you won’t know what might happen. But then again, it’s probably an unfamiliar name for you— like, who is Sliver Shadow, right?

• You don’t know about Sliver Shadow at first. All you can be aware of is that this individual is some sort of urban legend revolving around a demon who lurks in the darkest corner of the night to deal with brutes that dares to disturb the peace of the neighborhood. You have no idea that the stoic enigma of a vigilante is actually your boyfriend. And he seems to be pretty into the whole ‘act fool’ thing in front of you whenever you mention his other identity. It just adds up to the thrill of it

• Of course, he keeps his hidden vigilante identity as Sliver Shadow away from you as he also keeps it away from Slingshot and Vinestaff. It’s not like he enjoys the cliché of mysterious people hiding who they are to people around them to keep them blissfully unaware, it’s just that he knows damn well the idea will get shut down the moment you guys knows about it. And listen, he becomes a vigilante for the love of the game, so there is no way he will give it up

• But if there is any chance he encounters you while he is only his duty, maybe when you’re struggling with punks who don’t know anything better, then he will just have to cross his fingers and pray to the SFOTH above that you will not recognize him at any chance. He will make sure to deal with it quick before leaving almost immediately without a trace. For your information, later on Shuriken definitely has to find a place to calm the adrenaline inside him down. Hell, you manage to make him so anxious yet so thrilled to the point he can only laugh it off somewhere secured

• Since his vigilante stuff at night really causes his sleep schedule a havoc — although demons don’t need to sleep everyday necessarily, Shuriken still needs his sweet time to just close his eyes out of exhaustion — you aren’t too surprised whenever you see that tired yawn escaped his mouth in the morning at the cafe anymore. Shuriken usually uses the excuse of staying up late to train or just anything that hits his mind to cover his actual story up. Thankfully that you believe it. After all, his excuses are pretty convincing when you have grown so familiar to him that much

• And if you pay him a visit during his shift at the cafe, this guy will find any possible way to talk to you without making it looks too obvious that he is currently ditching his work for you. He just can’t help it, Shuriken just loves to spend time with his beloved — which is you — and he just hopes that his boss doesn’t catch him because he knows damn well he won’t be able to hear the end of it. Last thing he needs is to be worried about his salary again when he’s already such a mess in morning shifts like that

• He loves taking you to festivals around Thieves Den and enjoying the moment with you. Shuriken is pretty keen on the culture of his factor, you can even say that he is proud of it himself as well. Festival dates are just the best in his eyes, the experience of the traditional upbeat atmosphere adds up with the remarkable customs, and he gets to be so lively with you by his side. Isn’t it just perfect? There was a time when he took you out to see the firework festival, and before you knew it, he already carried you up to hop from roof to roof just so the two of you can get a clear view out of it. It was a golden memory that he treasured in his heart

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I know I’m supposed to take a 2 days off before come back, but I’m just bored =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇)

Note 2: I’ll receive the results from the competition tonight, I’m worried-

[justbelievinginmagic]

the dragon-blood chronicles ⎯ part 1: the spark.

pairing: namjoon x reader series summary: There are tales about dragon-blood men ruling over the kingdom of Bangtan for centuries; old myths that Crown-Prince Seokjin and second-born Prince Namjoon heard while growing up. Stories about bullet-proof, fire-breathing serpetine creatures with the ability to shift into human form and dominate the land with an iron fist. It was a fable of power, but just that - a fable. Dragon-blood folk have been gone for centuries. But when Prince Namjoon get sent away from the Palace at a young age for unruly behavior, things being to change in the kingdom as a war beings to brew, causing eight magical fates to intertwine. glimpse: Namjoon was the second born. The useless prince. The back-up. Forgotten and locked in a tower of a far-off castle, he brewed in his uncontrollable frustration at his fate... until a spark ignites that changes the path of the kingdom. warnings/tags: This is a repost of an older oneshot inspired by the song, we are bulletproof pt. 2 i wrote! i've updated it a bit to loop into the larger story and just to follow the way i write now! ive added about 2.5k new content so if you liked the og give this one a look! PG-13, Romance, Fantasy/Royalty AU, bad family dynamics, possessive & protective Namjoon, dragons, unspoken love, illness. word count: 7.1 k -> next chapter series masterlist

Heavy was the crown on the head of a king.

Namjoon wouldn’t know about that though – even if he wanted to know what the hefty load of a kingdom on his shoulders felt like, he would never have it. He was, after all, the second born. A spare prince. A back-up king. Second to the throne, third in life of the royal family.

The king, naturally, was first. First to enter a room, first to eat their meals (after a servant tested it for poison, of course.) But after him, it was Seokjin.

From birth, Seokjin was first for everything. First to be taught, first to eat, first to be tended to, first to be trained at swordsmanship. Namjoon was quick to learn that as he hobbled around the halls of the palace as a youngster. He was ignored among the royal family – seemingly weaker, smaller than his older brother when born. He made the queen quite sick during her pregnancy. When born, Namjoon was prone to illness as a child. An annoyance, a drain on the kingdom’s resources.

He still tried to follow after his older brother.  Seokjin, eldest by three years, tried when he could to be a good bother. He loved the idea of a younger brother, wanting to be the best of friends. He wanted to play Knights and Fiends with him; he wanted to teach him how to read and write; he wanted them to go on fishing trips like he read about in his fairytale books. The older brother played with his little brother only to have the sounds of his nanny calling to him distract him.

“Come along, Prince Seokjin. You have your classes. Leave him alone.”

He hated it, but complied with a frown towards Namjoon and a sad wave.

Namjoon, at the mere age of seven, couldn’t help but begin to try to gain attention. He wanted attention. He wanted to have all the attention that his brother had. He began to do what a child does when upset. Tantruming. Pleading for attention through misaction or disobedience. He’d throw his food to the ground at dinners, arms crossing over his little chest. He’d interrupt classes with cries of ‘this isn’t fair’. He’d fight as his nanny dragged him away from Seokjin, screaming. It grew to such a state – even with Seokjin’s quiet scold of pleadings - “Namjoonie, you’re going to get into trouble; please stop” – that the royal family acted.

That was when he learned he wasn’t loved.

Not like Seokjin. Never like Seokjin.

Namjoon was cast aside. Thrown into a tower at another castle. He was stole in the night – taken in a carriage and awoke in this new place. Alone.

His family didn’t love him. No, they didn’t. The little boy cried and cried.  

Namjoon was utterly alone now; all in the name that he couldn’t “distract the crown prince from his duties.” He was cared for enough to know that he was still a prince. Given the finest of things – silver, gold, and silken treasures to keep him content. A collection of maids and servants were there to feed and care for him and a table of knights were there to protect him. He was carefully watched over from a distance. Sadness ate a child and few cared. Few knew what to do when the little boy slammed his door and hid in the tower. The prince fell into a lonely state.

The knights protecting him looked at him as a stranger – an isolated boy, a spare – even if he strived to learn to study weaponry. He tried to join them on their practice range once; he was turned away.

“Your Highness!” there was a cry from a nanny. “You have no need to learn such a skill.”

No, he didn’t he sulked. He didn’t need to learn anything apparently. After all, the second prince had no need to learn of knightly duties, nor fighting, nor war, nor kingly duties. His brother had learned though; at the old castle, Seokjin beamed and preened about his lessons with swordmastery. But Namjoon didn’t need to know it. Because, in the end, Namjoon wasn’t the prince headed to the crown.

The Second.

He was the second.

What did that even mean? If he wasn’t a King, if he wasn’t a Knight, if he wasn’t seen as a worthy Prince either… what was he?

Namjoon learned – like most things in his life – he would have to adapt. He would watch things from afar, learning from high up in his windowed tower. Mimicking the motions the knights made, the strikes of the blade against his bedpost (instead of a training dummy) left deep grooves into the fine wood.

The servants gossiped about his anger issues and how he destroyed things. A monster of a prince.

Namjoon’s focus grew on things he could do without the roadblocks put up by the servants and the royal family. He couldn’t study metalsmith with the knights. But he could study wordsmiths.

Besides his tall tower room, he was granted access to the library. He threw himself into his studies – he learned charts for sailing, war strategy, language, public speaking, trade, and folklore. He’d learn to be king – even if he wouldn’t be one.

When a nanny asked what he was reading, he’d learn to lie a white lie. Just a fantasy book.

After all, wasn’t all of this a fantasy? What was a Prince to do when he wasn’t a Prince?

At first, he envied his brother. He used to think he hated him. Hated him for everything Namjoon couldn’t be. Namjoon fueled himself on that hate in the early years of his isolation – studying with spite on his tongue. Writing curses towards his brother in the sidelines of books. He knew his brother had all the highest advisors and scholars telling him this… and he knew Seokjin didn’t listen. Seokjin wasn’t a good student, in a traditional sense. He liked stories, and most of the history and war tactics the youngest Prince read about was not a good story.

Until he received a letter from his brother.

I don’t know where to turn. I’ve missed you, brother. I feel so lost. I don’t think I’m meant for this. I don’t think I’m meant to be King.

The words were scratched out over and over, as if even writing what was beneath was forbidden.

Father expects so much – expects me to talk with a booming voice. He wants me to be like our ancestors.

Namjoon knew what Seokjin was referring to – even if it had been years since he’d been by his older brother’s side or heard the tales of their family line. Everyone knew the stories of the dragon bloods. How they were creatures that could shapeshift into reptilian beasts that flew. Powerful myths. How they took the throne with ease and led with wisdom beyond this realm. How their royal bloodline supposedly came from them.

It was a story, a folklore. But it was still used to rally the people. The kingdom was strong, strong like a dragon.

Seokjin wrote to Namjoon for advice. And though he thought he despised the crown prince, he replied. At first because Namjoon’s nanny urged him to – “it’d be rude to not reply to the future King, my prince” – but soon he wrote to ease his brother’s worries. He was an aid in running the kingdom even at his young age.

He liked that.

He’d write advice for his brother, sending flocks of pigeons with letters. Books were his escape. And soon, so were you.

He was sixteen when he found you when he was looking for a novel in the library. It was early in the morning; the dew had barely settled on the grasslands. Namjoon stumbled down the stone steps into the grand library, sleepy eyed and still in his fine-tailored pajamas. It took him far too long to notice you. It was only when you let out the smallest giggle. His head snapped to the sound, and he saw you for the first time. A servant’s daughter dressed in worn dark browns and creams; an apron sat dirtied around your waist; it was clear you weren’t where you were supposed to be. Engrossed in a book, your eyes taking in gulps of words even if you stumbled over the larger ones – a finger resting over the word that seemed too complicated to pronounce let alone understand.

And instead of anger, instead of a tantrum, perhaps due to his isolation, he felt… kinship.

You liked to read like he did. You were like him. Alone in the place. He hadn’t seen someone his age before this, he was so used to the older figures rushing around. But you… you were like him. Even if you were dressed poorly.

“Excuse me?” His voice was now a rumbling deep thing with the brink of teenagerhood, deeper even more when dusted with the throes of sleep.

It startled you, slamming the book shut with a puff of dust from the old thing. Your gaze settled on the fine clothes – finer than you had ever seen – and a fear clung to your bones.

The worst-case scenarios tumbled through your head. You would be sent away. You’d be beheaded. Your family would suffer. Your eyes would be plucked out. He was an angry boy – you had heard the rumors and here you were trespassing. In the royal library. His royal library.

“My prince,” you stumbled to your feet, bowing your head. “I’m sorry – please forgive me.”

No, no, no he didn’t want this. He didn’t want fear or babbling or… to lose a possible friend. He had never seen someone in the library. It was his private library, too grand for a single soul to occupy. It wouldn’t hurt… to share. It felt like nails down a chalkboard, like someone was taking his to from him. Why was that so hard to concede to that? Sharing.

Still, he bit down on his tongue.

“No, please. It’s okay,” he tried to soothe.

His hands outstretched to touch your shoulder as if to urge you out of your bow. You shuddered under his touch as if he’d strike you. “It’s okay. Really.”

His voice, deep and warm, lacked the fire of anger. It was more like a hearth, bumbling with embers.

“What… what are you reading?”

“What… what am I reading?” you repeated, incredulous. Baffled.

He offered a small smile, cheeks red as he nodded slowly. He was so unused to this. So used to the nannies who were frightened of him or the tired old maids who didn’t want to put in the effort to care for him truly.

He tried to make himself look smaller, that’d help right? You were so much smaller than him already he noticed. He nodded again.

“It’s… it’s a fairytale, you probably wouldn’t like it,” she insisted.

“I like reading,” he said simply. “Tell me about it? Please.”

You licked your lips, eying him up and down before nodding softly. It wasn’t a beheading. It wasn’t a violent tantrum. In fact, he looked kind of sweet, bashful, as his sleepy face broke into a grin and he settled down next to the spot you were previously sitting.

Day by day, you’d meet in the early morning light of the majestic library. In that time, he’d hear what you were reading; even insisting on you reading the words aloud. He’d correct you where he could. Never did his corrections make you feel ashamed or stupid. He was surprisingly gentle with his words you noticed.

Your mornings – when you were meant to be preparing his breakfast - were spent reading beside the young prince. Eventually, when you got scolded so much, it made you cry and you were trembling in your shoes to miss a shift – he changed your schedule. While in the early morn you’d share your books, by mid-morning, he shared with you the books he loved – philosophy, folklore, science - while you rushed to make his breakfast in the grand kitchen. He’d lean against the cutting counter and stare as you whisked eggs and kneaded dough.  

It was sometimes difficult to be around him. The Prince was a handsome man. His hair was long for his age, curling up at the nape of his neck. You wondered if he cut it himself. Most servants were warned of his unruly temper and childish tantrums; they avoided him the best they could and it was easy with how much he stayed in his tower. He was violent… That was why he was sent away – at least, the rumors spoke of that.

The prince you grew to know wasn’t an angry person. No, he smiled with a softness, his cheeks squishing to reveal dimples. He listened as you spoke about things in your life– from the novels you had read and loved to the flowers you liked in the gardens to the work you loathed to do. (He had laughed when you mentioned you disliked when he requested bacon for the splatters of oil always burned your arms; he promised he’d request bacon less for your sake. He hadn’t requested it since.)

Namjoon enjoyed your company. You were his friend. His only friend.

He hadn’t had a friend before.

He cared for you, watched, and aided you when he could. He didn’t want you to suffer or feel alone. You were the only other teenager so far outside the kingdom’s town. It must’ve been lonely. He couldn’t imagine you hurting or else his heart felt like it’d burn up.

Even as he felt stirrings of things within him as the years went by, he focused on what you needed. A love that was selfless wasn’t second-nature to him. It was an effort. He didn’t want to be greedy and lose you. He grew fond of you beside him. His fingers intertwined with yours as you walked through the gardens, shyly at first, before it happened every time afterwards. Your hand in his was cool to the touch; he hoped you weren’t cold. He gifted you a pretty cloak a few weeks later, one that was the same shade as your favorite flower.

You leaned towards him when you read together. Sometimes your cheek was so close he could feel their warm. His lips would tingle and he couldn’t read the manuscript in his hands. All he could focus on was how pretty your skin was… how your cheeks were a reddish pink and your lips… oh your lips were so tantalizingly close for him to press a kiss to them. He swallowed down this love, keeping you close to him but guarded from himself.

Perhaps it was anxiety – the consequence of being friendless for so long. He was bashful, fearful. Him – fearful it made him want to shake his head at his foolishness. He ached to wrap you into his embrace, to shower you in kisses, to allow you to lay in his bed. But he settled for now, the softness of your friendship was a comfort. Your hand against his was still enough to get his heart racing. His love festered in his chest with the inability to grow further – if only he could speak of his fondness.

He claimed he’d try again tomorrow – and the next day – and the next.

However, as his love grew into a mess of tangled vines, an illness began to fester and choke him as well.

It had occurred when he turned twenty. At the stroke of midnight, you had knocked onto his bedroom door.

“Joonie!” Your voice chimed as he opened the door. Dressed in his pajamas, it should be improper but you had seen him in them many times before – you met him in them. His face lit up at the sight of the cake – his birthday cake. It was decorated with edible flowers from the garden and a gentle blue frosting.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Y/N,” he exclaimed. “This is beautiful – all for me?”

You giggled and he smiled wide enough his dimples peeked at you.

“Yes, your Highness,” you chuckled. “Don’t eat it all or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

“I won’t… aren’t you tired?” he asked watching you blink slow and steady like a cat.

“A bit; I wish I could stay awake longer but I wanted to be the first person to see you and wish you a happy birthday.” You claimed.

He wanted to press kisses all over your face; he wish you knew that you were sweeter than this cake. That you’d be the only one to wish him a true happy birthday. Instead, he simply place the cake aside on a desk and hugged you close.

“Thank you. I love it.” You.

You hummed happily. “I’m happy. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Not too early,” he promised. “I’ll take breakfast later, okay? Prince’s orders. Sleep in a bit.”

It was sweet. Even on his birthday he was treating you. You smiled up at him, squeezing his hand fondly.

“As you command it, oh mighty prince. But other than that, we will spend the whole day together.”

That sounded like a dream. With the door shutting behind you, he felt a giddy rush course through him. His skin warmed and his stomach filled with butterflies. Looking over at the cake, he took his finger and swiped at the frosting, tasting it. But the mere taste of the sugar felt like curdled milk in his stomach. Namjoon frowned. That didn’t make sense. Your treats were always so good. He loved this cake recipe in particular – you made it every birthday since you became friends.

Perhaps it was his excitement. His face already felt clammy. His hand shaky. Sleep claimed him quick, his cake left untouched.

He awoke in the morning to a fever, his skin burning hot.

“Stay away, Y/N,” he had called out when you insisted on helping him. A cool rag to his forehead, sweat trickled down his temple.

“You’re burning up, Joonie” you had murmured, swiping his hair aside. Once, you’d shake in your boots imagining touching the prince like this, but after your friendship grew through the years. You had stopped referring to him as your prince and simply as Namjoon, and later even Joonie – something he had smiled warmly at.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” he continued as you lifted a goblet of water to his lips.

“Shh.” You hushed as you let him sip the fresh water. It didn’t ease the fire in his veins. “You’re the one sick on your birthday.”

Namjoon’s fever didn’t break for days. It felt like his muscles were combusting, aching, and burning. No doctor had the answer. The royal family even came to visit – fearing the worse for the bedridden prince.

“Namjoonie, you better get well.” It was a light threat from Seokjin as he sat on the bedside of his younger brother. It wasn’t much of a threat when Seokjin sniffled and raised a handkerchief to his eyes.  “What would I do without your aid if you left? I’d be waiting for your letters daily.”

You worked on with a watchful eye. Wringing cool rose-water from a rag to place on Namjoon’s forehead as the crown prince held onto his brother’s hand. You couldn’t decide if the first-born prince was being genuine. You noticed other things though. The way the plump lips of Seokjin were bitten raw. The trembling broad shoulders. There was a quiet to Seokjin, a timidness even if he was built and grown as a Prince; he wasn’t built to be a King. Even a servant girl could see that.

It was as interesting as it was fearful.

There was a night when he refused to let you into his bed chamber. The large clanking of a goblet hitting the tiled floors echoed, and you had rushed to the door with his name on your tongue.

“Don’t enter,” his voice was pained.

“Namjoon, what’s wrong?” you asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he sounded pained, his voice coming through gritted teeth.

Clanking and shattering objects came from within the room. You did not cease your calling. Servants whispered and gossiped about the prince having a temper tantrum in his weakened state. Some things never change.

The next morning, Namjoon’s fever broke finally. And you nearly cried of relief.

“You scared me so much,” you scolded the prince as you clung to his hand. His arms wrapped around you tight, pulling you closer and closer until you were in the bed with him. Surprised by not frightened, you remained in his arms. They trembled with a weakness, from the sickness you assumed, but they didn’t let you shift in his embrace. He held you close and breathed you in. You smelled of home. Of everything he cared for. The smell of food cooking on a hearth, of indigo flowers planted in the garden, of the vanilla hidden in old books. He trembled under your hug, but he pressed his lips to your hair, something you don’t miss. Fondness bloom in your chest like a flower.

“What happened yesterday?” you murmured, curiously.

You knew it wasn’t a temper tantrum. He didn’t do that. It wasn’t Namjoon.

He breathed out shakily. He felt… different. His skin felt tight to his bones; his muscles remained tense like a suit of armor forged into his own flesh – but he didn’t feel unwell. The fire that had burned through him had settled into a steady flow of embers through his veins. A comforting warmth, a harness-able power.

“I-I don’t know,” he lied as he held you closer.

After the illness, Namjoon held himself differently. He was taller, broader. He almost reminded you of Seokjin’s naturally wide shoulders – except Namjoon’s frame was different. More muscular, beefier.

He could lift you now, carrying you to your quarters ( which had moved to the castle, per his request ) when you fell asleep reading beside the prince. He was eating more – but maybe you simply forgot his appetite after suffering under the illness for so long. He’s moved into training again – now outside the tower he called his living quarters – something you knew he had liked to do after years of friendship.

He was different but the same. He almost seemed more at peace as he greeted you in the kitchens with a friendly kiss to your cheek.

He was bolder. Happier.

Different but good.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around you.

It was a welcome change; Namjoon had begun to hug you closer, wrap his arms around you more and more now. Your hand moved to rest against his intertwined arms.

“Good morning, Joon.” His chin rested on your shoulder, watching as you made his plate (and yours at his request – he loved eating breakfast with you.)

“You’re in a good mood,” you commented.

“I received a letter from my brother.” he didn’t speak of Seokjin with ill-will; he had spoken of the king with a tone of discontent – detested affection - before.

“He wants me to be his Advisor.” He revealed. He sounded excited, happy. “Officially.” He turned to rest his cheek fully on your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against your servant garb. “Father is preparing to shift things around, giving Seokjin more power in decision-making.”

Which Namjoon knew Seokjin hated.

“You have worked hard. You’ll finally be able to show off that big brain of yours in front of the court,” you added as you continued to slice the apple for your individual porridges.

“Finally,” he sighed against you. Things were looking up.

He dragged his cheek against your shoulder once more before hugging you close. As he pulled away, his fingers swiped an apple slice from the tray.

“Your Highness,” you scolded, making him chuckle out as he pressed another fond kiss to your cheek.

It left tingling warmth in its wake.

You couldn’t seem to rest despite yawns tumbling from your lips. Restlessness clung to your bones, making you stand from your bed. Your gaze peered out the high window to look into the night sky.  The tower room that Namjoon insisted on you having as you tended to him while he was ill was grand. It was larger than your homestead, draped in finery that you had been fearful to use. There was even a balcony to look out into the night sky – which you used now. Namjoon hadn’t asked for anything in return, simply saying he adored your company. He wanted you here. He had been kind to you; sweeter than ever.

The very thought of the prince made your heart race. Letting out a girlish giggle, your eyes continued to stargaze. Arms draping over the baluster, you pressed your cheek to the cool stonework. There were many stars you could name; Namjoon particularly enjoyed astronomy. You were naming each one you could.

There was the Chamaeleon, Corona Borealis, Lepus, Lupus, and the Dragon.  Your eyes drooped sleepily when something caught your gaze. There was flicker against the midnight skies like a shadow dancing across the stars. The shape made you shudder, your eyes widening like saucers.

It looked like a dragon flying high in the sky.

You blink, blink, blinked.

It was gone. No, you know what you saw. You saw the impossible.

“What are you reading, Y/N?” Namjoon asked after catching you in the halls of the palace, curled in an alcove he knew you favored.

“Folklore,” you commented.

He noted your sleepy eyes; lavender painted your under-eye area. His brows pursed – even if you continued reading with interest.

“What’s caught your attention, sweet one?” he chuckled softly before his fingers tucked stray hairs away from your face. Fingers grazed your skin fondly. You looked up at the gentility. He lips pursed into a frown. “You look like you’ve been up all night; were you reading by candlelight again?”

Your face didn’t lighten up like he loved. It made his stomach churn a bit. His brows pursed. He was far too easy to read like your favorite book.

You tried to comfort him, shaking your head. Your cheek pressed into his large, hot hand reassuringly.

“No, no; I just – Namjoon –, “ you started a sentence, pausing in your words.

Licking your lips, your tired mind caught up to your train of thought and you had to pause.

Everyone knew the tale of the dragon bloods. Creatures who could transform at will – fire breathed into their souls, powerful and greedy but wise. They took over the throne from an evil ruler; then they ruled with wisdom for decades. It was a tall-tale you were told since childhood. But… it was just a story. How could you have seen one? And why did it strike such fear in your heart for Namjoon and the royal family? Was it an omen? Was he in danger?

Your breathing shuddered.

You couldn’t tell him. He’d find you crazy.

Your gaze shifted from his kind umber eyes to the book beneath her fingertips.

“I’ve just been engrossed in this story,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t quite a lie.

He frowned, but brushed a thumb over your cheek soft. He didn’t like you keep things from him. But he’d let you for now.

“Seokjin-hyung truly doesn’t know how to rule; what did he do during all those lessons? He knows nothing!” Namjoon lamented, flopping down beside you in the grassy riverside. It was a heavy thud of his body against the vegetation.  

“Be careful,” you commented at his violent action yet he didn’t even grunt from the action.

“I would’ve loved lessons on trade routes,” he sighed out, frustratedly. His hands trailed over the wild indigo tousling in the wind.  He watched the petals pass through his fingers before huffing again.

“I know, Joonie, but you learned regardless. That’s resilience.”

He hummed out an agreement. His gaze shifted from the weeds beside his head to focus on you. You were reading again. A sight he loved. He loved when you were focused, immersed in something more. It was like he could see your brain working, see the imagination flickering behind your beautiful eyes.

The leather-covered book bore the same “History of Fae & Other Creatures” title. You’ve been reading it for more than a week now. It made his curiosity spike.

“What are you so intrigued about, sweetheart?” He leaned up on his forearms, gazing up at you with flower petals and leaves clinging to his long hair.

You let out a soft chuckle at the sight, reaching out to pluck the remnants away. Why were you nervous to tell him? Would he laugh at you? He hadn’t before. You knew your fears were foolish – a Dragon wasn’t coming to destroy his family line – and him. That was… not set in reality. Its been something you’ve ruminated on night after night as you laid in your cushy bed. You could’ve seen something totally real that night – a strange bird or a kite or a very solid looking cloud that moved really fast. Right?

Fiddling with the corner of the worn page, you hemmed and hawed. Namjoon waited patiently. Smiling up at you. He’s never been cruel or mean. Surely, he’d just tell you saw nothing. That it was the sleepiness. Reassure you. He fiddled with the fabric of your dress – a new one he had made for you of indigo blue.

“I just – I’ve been thinking of dragons recently,” you finally said, turning the page.

Namjoon paused, his smile freezing. His dimples weren’t showing as the smile faded into a confused frown.

“Dragons?” he asked again. Namjoon’s blood felt hot.

“I—you’ll think I’m silly,” you said, shaking your head – your gaze hadn’t left the page. “I thought I saw one the other night. I was tired though. Maybe I just was – I don’t know, day-dreaming.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon supplied.

He felt hot.

He’d tell them soon. He promised.

Namjoon’s face was grim as he sat in the rocky carriage. Stuck in the royal attire he often disregard around the palace, his limbs felt tight and itchy; his fine silver crown atop perfectly styled locks. His hair had been cut, by your hand at the insistence of the maids and caretakers. He was a Prince not some long-haired pirate! He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. He was stuck in a carriage far away from you and only taking him further and further away by the second. It left him worrying. A pit growing in his stomach as the carriage shuttered against the rocky path.

Even if he hadn’t spoken his love to you, you hadn’t rejected his affections. His soft kisses to your cheek, his embraces where his hands remained respectfully at your waist, or his affectionate nicknames. It was more than friendship, surely you knew that. You weren’t dumb. You were the smartest woman he’d met. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

He felt anxiety creep up at the thought of the castle unprotected by him. You were unprotected. It made the fire splutter and splatter like lava within his soul.

But he had a duty – not to his father, but Seokjin.

It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.

The castle was a day’s journey, one that he handled as gracefully as one could. Soon enough, he was back in his childhood home – yet it felt unlike the true home he left behind. Bereft figures, dull colors of dark blacks decorated the halls. Sobs filled the streets.

After all, the King was dead.

Seokjin was going to be crowned – and soon.

It was the night after the funeral. Seokjin had barged his way into Namjoon’s quarters – a forgotten childhood bedroom. Everything had been left where Namjoon had place it. His dragon stuffed animal sat on the window’s ledge, looking out.

At least it has been, before Seokjin had picked it up and fiddled with it. Squeezing it, tossing it between his large palms, hugging it.

“I can’t do this, Joonie,” Seokjin hyperventilated.

“What are you talking about, hyung?” Namjoon tried to understand.

“The crown,” he blurted out. “The ceremonies. The ruling. The laws. The court. I’m not—I can’t. I’m not – built for this.”

Seokjin was trembling; his fingers digging into the stuffed animal harshly. His lips were bitten red, bleeding.

“You’ve grown up learning for this,” Namjoon countered, disbelievingly. “Its your-“

“I don’t care!” Seokjin cried out. “I—I never wanted the crown. I never—I can’t handle the pressures; Father, before he passed, he knew – he knew. He said if the crown failed in my hands that I’d go to hell. That I’d be cursed to be outcasted. History rewritten. He called me weak – he called me-“ Seokjin was sobbing. Namjoon had never seen his brother cry before.

“I don’t know what to do. You do.”

You know how to rule.

“Help me, Joonie. Please. Please I revoke my crown. I revoke it. I revoke it to you.”

There was a jostling outside your balcony, waking you with a start.  A grand wind pounded on the glass panels ferociously, rattling and creaking them violently. Your eyes flashed open and you looked about bewildered.

There had been no wind when you fell asleep. Especially not so violent.

“What is going on?” Your fear made you jump, holding the covers to your form as if that could protect you.

You saw no clouds nor tells of rain or wind last night. But now, it was almost like your window frame was trembling from the force outside.

Standing to look, what you saw nearly made you faint. There, outside your window – perched awkwardly on your stone balcony’s balusters – was a dragon. Larger than you by an incredible amount. Its form wasn’t even at its grandest; you could see its body was curling inwards; its large clawed paws were shifting underneath it as it balanced, almost similar to a cat. Its wings were outstretched wide, the width of them taking up the length of many men. It didn’t look threatening; there was no fire or brimstone. Instead, it almost looked clumsy. It was far too large for the foundation beneath itself. The stonework gave a horrible groan, loud and bellowing from the creature’s weight.  

A scream was on your lips, aching to tear out of your throat – but before you could, you saw before your very eyes the dragon begin to tremble and shrink until… there was no dragon there anymore. No, it was just Namjoon.

Namjoon was on your balcony.

Rippling muscles shuddering as he stumbled off of the stone baluster and towards you a wild look in his eyes.

“Y/N,” you could hear him even with your balcony window shut – however, not for long, as you promptly fainted.

He was a dragon.

“Darling,” you could hear a soft croon. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

Your head ached, but you could still recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had read you countless novels in the field of flowers by the gardens.

“Joon?” you queried in your drowsiness.

Blinking your eyes, you look up to see him, clad in his royal attire – the very attire he had left in – sitting beside you in your quarters.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, rushing to press kisses to your knuckles. His crowned head bowing towards you in regret.

He hadn’t thought about how it could startle you – all he could think was he had to return home. Had to discuss things with you – his only friend, his love, his confidant.

“I—I, did—I had the strangest dream,” you murmur out. “You were a—” Your gaze traveled to the window, now open to where you had seen the creature perched in your dreams. Only to see the shattered stonework. The broken balusters laid messily in front of the gargoyles.

“A dragon,” Namjoon supplied, quietly. Almost bashfully like that morning you met.

Your eyes drifted back to him. His umber eyes were fiery, even if they were glancing away almost boyishly shy.

“What?” you asked quiet. “Namjoon, what?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit. His head tilted downwards. All the fire of a dragon he had – but its courage he still lacked, he scolded himself.

He lacked when it came to you; selfishly afraid and yearning to protect and shield you away from him.

“I’m a dragon blood. I-I learned about it a few months ago,” he said. “After my illness, I had these abilities. These powers…”

You stared at him; partial awe, partial fear, partial confusion, and partial betrayal painted your features.

Before you slapped at his shoulder, angrily.

“You—” You nearly curse at him, anger peaking.

His hands went to capture yours before you could slap at him again. Firm but not painful, his grasp was one of desperation as his brows crinkled in despair.

“I know; I know. I didn’t tell you. How would you have reacted?” he rambled on. “You would’ve thought me mad; you would’ve left me alone. You would’ve never spoken to me.”

His fear was laid out in a rush– you leaving him.

“I couldn’t bear that.” he whispered ardently.

“So, you lied!” you bitterly exclaimed. Your hands – now curled into childish fists – couldn’t shift in his grasp. He was strong.

“You never asked!” Namjoon countered smiling awkwardly. Your glare shut him up, his mouth opening and closing as his eyes shut. “That doesn’t matter I know. You can be angry later, please. I have news from the kingdom. I need you!”

A Dragon never needed anyone. But he needed her. He always would.

“Seokjin is going to revoke the crown – and I’ll be crowned king.” He said out in a flurry.

Once again, as if a bomb was dropped on you, your mouth dropped open.

“He’s revoking the crown?”

Namjoon nodded, almost excitedly. You could see flames dance in his eyes – had that always happened?

“This is horrible!” you murmured out, fear written in your face.

Nightmares of disasters flickered through your mind. Namjoon and Seokjin being killed in an uprising. Namjoon being prevented taking the throne. Seokjin lying to cause Namjoon’s death. So many worst-case scenarios flickered through your mind. Your mind was an expert at plotting the worse. Even if the dragon you saw was him – it could be a warning. He could be a warning of worse things to come.

“Darling?” Namjoon asked, his voice gentle as he saw your outburst – your fear and disapproval were the opposite of what he predicted.

“Seokjin doesn’t want the crown,” Namjoon reassured, hands leaving your wrists to cup your face. Tilting it his way to watch your mind rush faster and faster. He licked his lips as he saw your mouth shuddered.

“If you do this, Namjoon, the kingdom will be in uproar; they will fight against a shift in power – even if it’s as peaceful as your brother granting you the throne.” You countered. “It’s signing a war declaration.”

He let out a huff of a growl, smoke tumbling from his nose. His impatience bubbled up. He didn’t like being told that he couldn’t do something; he never had.

The smoke shocked you, but somehow not enough to scare you. It was just… new.

“I don’t want a war,” you said looking at him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Desperation and yearning. Longing. It was complex and somber and… soulful. He felt like he saw your soul for a moment. And it was scared for him. You didn’t want him harmed or put into harm’s way in any way. “And I don’t want you fighting in it.”

Want. Want. Want.

Namjoon wanted too. He wanted so much over the years. He had wanted his family’s love. He didn’t receive it. He wanted to learn. He was given road block after road block. He wanted you, all of you. And he forbade himself.

He wanted the throne. He wanted what he deserved. He wanted respect. Your breath left in a soft huff of a sigh. You pushed yourself up to sit higher on your bed, closer in his embrace, his hands sliding to your jaw to accommodate.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Joonie.”

His fiery gaze eased a bit at your words. You were precious. Kind-hearted, gentle. His only true friend. His. And as a dragon blood, he was greedy. You were a treasure he didn’t know he hoarded. Until now.

“I don’t fear anything anymore. At least nothing like that.” he commented softly. “Not after the change.” He shifted from the floor to your bed, his tall form towered over you, but you didn’t feel discomfort as he embraced you. His thumb caressed over the soft supple skin of your cheeks, lovingly. “Why should a monster fear anything he can devour?”

You think if someone else had said those words a shiver would go down your spine. But it was Kim Namjoon. The very Namjoon who you’ve known for so many years. Namjoon – the prince who didn’t tattle on you – a servant girl – when you were avoiding work. Namjoon – who learned botany because you said you loved the wild indigos you found on the path between the castle and your homestead. Namjoon – who would sit beside you and point at the words you couldn’t decipher from old folklore scripts and ramble on and on about the history of them. Namjoon – the man who would grab your hand and sneak down to the river’s shores to skip stones with you. Namjoon - who had pressed soft kisses to your forehead when you fell asleep beside him in the grand library. Namjoon – who gently took your hand in between his as he confessed how much you meant to him beside the hearth of the fireplace.

Namjoon – the son of the Dragon, the inheritor of the flame – the rightful heir of the kingdom as a dragon blood.

It felt like two separate people – but even now, when his hand slid to your jaw – you could see both sides of him. The powerful being and the gentle giant. He would fight to protect you. And you knew deep down you would fight to protect him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured lowly. “Of me, of a war.” He clarified. “What I am now – what awoke within me - is bulletproof, darling; I will not fail us. I will protect you and my kingdom.” And with that, he leant down, cupping your cheeks, and kissed your lips for the first time.  

You swore you could taste fire-smoke and ash on his lips.