#it was good already but it's getting gooder

[snowblossomreads]

me reading the tags : oh yeah they are gonna get back together and love each other and he's gonna be like put the decor up darling and kisses and all that -does a little dance-🥰🥰🥰

me reading your notes: ayo what do u mean it's not the end yet and it's gonna get darker else is about to happen???? 😶😶😶

I just love how yn goes thru this whole thing in about how he probably doesn't care for her as much as she has begun to and she just goes on about it but ms Lowel is like well actually. And then starts to go off about all the things that has changed in him 🤣🤣 yn is like thanks for the contradiction i guess. Also her glaring at the tree hoping it catches fire love.

and of course turpin would be lurking around just watching to see if she takes the decor down he's a very sneaky man who we love but who also needs to get his emotions sorted for the sake of everyone (even him!!) we love him tho.. 🥰 I'm pretty sure i have more thoughts that will come later LOL

Also cough that description of him and is desire for yn had my soul acting up during work hours...glad i'm not in a office rn bc hoo boi 😀😀 is that why he is also so mad...because he hasn't uhm consummated the marriage yet..LOLOl i'm sorry i'm sorry but oh goodness oh gosh i'm like what is going to happen i'm waiting friend and ready to see what prompts u end up using to shake us to our core

Onward to the question of the day though! I think the only one i have is to listen to a christmas song each day ! other than that each year varies on what i do or if i put decor up LOL.

Prompt: 6. Out Of Care [C2]

Pairing: Turpin x fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin

Setting: Turpin’s house

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Sharing

A/N: And we're back to our dear Judge Turpin this Wednesday! 😍👏 I'm honestly super excited about this story and feel my creativity brewing and bubbling like crazy this December - all the stories have me aching to write more 😂👏

Anyway, I'm hoping you're all in good spirits, that December is treating you nicely (kicking it in the tush if not) and that you're feeling ready for more Rickman content! 🥰❤ (Reminder, the Turpin serial for Rickmas2023 will get darker before we get the HEA)

Tags/TW’s: Regrett, Worry, Wanting Forgiveness, Reunion, Returning Home, Half-Admitting Feelings [Love, Fear, Hurt, Want], Changing For Another, Admitting To Wrongfulness/Selfishness, Pillow Hugging, Slightly Smutty Thoughts

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 3.1k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

The echo of the door slamming shut, the memory of stumbling down the stairs, it was all so fresh in your mind. It nearly felt as if it had just happened, a mere second ago, yet it had been two days. Your husband had been gone for two days, after a fight you had never imagined ever having. His words, those cold accusatory truths, made you shiver. The remnants of the revelation of how selfish you had been, how single-mindedly you had been viewing Christmas, and the whole thought process behind decorating your home for the holiday.

You shivered and glared at the overly decorated tree, it ought to have caught fire with the intensity of your eyes — it did not, of course, burst into flames. “I did warn you, me Lady,” said Miss Lowel as she sat a tray of tea down on the table in the drawing room. “His Lordship does not take the holidays lightly, me Lady.” “You don’t say…” you murmured with a snark in your voice. “Could have been worse, me Lady. Could have put you out.” “Instead he abandoned our home. Me.” “Me Lady?” You looked toward her. “Does the lady… Do me Lady fancy his Lordship?” she asked timidly, her hands held tightly before her while a look of trepidation and something close to disgust flitted across her sweet features.

You sighed, averting your gaze to the hearth and the glowing embers within it. Is there a point in denying it any longer? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t feel so… sad… “Yes, Miss Lowel. I-, I do,” you said quietly. “I think… I think perhaps I may have come to like the man, a bit.” A lot… Miss Lowel smiled, but it was a forced sort of thing. “I see, me Lady.” “Not that it matters, the man could never feel a thing for me, I’m not sure he’s capable of feelings of a positive nature.” “Oh, I don’t know about that, me Lady. His Lordship is quite… different with you.” “Ha, funny, Miss Lowel, very funny,” you said dryly, reaching for the teacup. “He barely speaks a word to me, at dinner he does not so much as hold half a conversation with me, he always storms off to his study, to the court, away from me.” “His Lordship eats dinner at home, he quietly watches you speak, he offers space and no forced proximity, apart from insisting on sharing a bed but, if I may be so bold, I dare say there’s been no coercion inside the bedroom, me Lady?”

Your eyes bulged at her brazen words and forward manner. She spoke the truth though. So you nodded. “I dare say that is quite the change from the man I have served these past four years, me Lady.” “How so?” you asked while sipping your tea, endeavouring to not appear too hungry for information about the man who grasped your heart tighter with each passing day.

“Neither of the things I just mentioned would have been connected to His Lordship before your arrival miss. I do not think I’ve once served him dinner at home before ten in the evening before your arrival, me Lady, and even those times were rarities. This was not a place he remained for more time than necessary. And conversation within this house, no, that was not a possibility, yet you are given time to speak, not simply to reply to commands. Me Lord even listens, that is quite something, me Lady.”

You looked at her, wondering if she’d lost her mind — had too much eggnog perhaps? “That’s silly, Miss Lowel.” “Silly? His Lordship has changed with your arrival.” “I highly doubt it has anything to do with me, the man is brutal and cold. Unfeeling. I will not even attempt to pretend to possess any value for him beyond being his wife as the daughter of an upstanding and wealthy family. He seems to be a man completely out of care for anyone and anything, I am no different to him than any other person.” Miss Lowel bowed her head with a straight face. “If you say so, me Lady. I do not possess the frankness to contradict your words.” The maid left the room while your thoughts whispered, you just did.

***

The last piece of Christmas decore landed in the sack by your feet. The house was restored to its less festive state after a couple of hours of your hard work. It had taken longer to put it all up than take it down, down was easy, especially with a simmer of anger and hurt in your muscles which had forced you to move faster.

You wouldn’t admit to it, but you hoped he’d return and you’d be forgiven for what you’d unwittingly done. Your intentions had been good, but Richard’s view of it all had changed your perspective of your actions. He hadn’t been wrong, you hadn’t talked with him, asked him, or even thought of taking his input on decorating the house. But, how could you have known the man didn’t like Christmas?

He may hold no care for me, or anyone else in the world, but I can still care for him. Can I not? I can still change and do things out of care for him even if it’s not reciprocated. But you knew it would be a difficult task, loving and caring for someone who housed none of that love or care in return, but you were a stubborn person. Once you set your mind to something you refuse to back down or give up until you have enough evidence to show something was an impossibility. Perhaps that was why you had been used by people you believed to be your friends, even family, before?

You had dragged the sack back to the attic, locking the door again before heading toward the drawing room where you plopped down in a graceless heap on the sofa. Miss Lowel had stoked the fire recently it seemed so you soaked up the warmth by pointing your feet toward the hearth, watching the flames dance while your heart turned heavier.

You had no idea where Richard had gone, he had said he would not return until after Christmas to give you your holiday cheer but you had never felt as dreary or sad in December before. Especially now, with no holiday cheer to be found in your home. It felt utterly wrong, but the way Richard had reacted and how he had felt when seeing all the decorations you’d spent the entire day putting up had been worse. That you’d hurt him made you feel beyond heavy, no matter if it was on purpose or not. He’d been hurt, and you had for the first time gotten to hear of his emotions — how he saw it all.

“Sharing, as in taking the liberty to completely alter my one sanctuary without so much as a word with me beforehand? Sharing seems to be all, about, you,” he had seethed two days ago, for the first time truly sharing how he felt and it had hurt you deeply. Admittedly, in the moment, you had felt hurt yourself by his words but now, with some time to think of it all and look at it from his viewpoint, you felt horrible at having caused him harm.

What did he mean by his sanctuary? You didn’t quite understand that, he didn’t act as if his home was a sanctuary. Did he mean from the holiday? I mean, all of London is filled with Christmas cheer — carols, decorations, happier people, all the markets and — Your mind turned quiet as you understood what he’d meant.

Christmas was inescapable. One foot out the door and there was a carol floating on the wind, the smell of roasted chestnuts, someone ringing a bell for donations to the poor during the time a year of giving and gifting. The holiday was tangible everywhere, oppressively so if one disliked it… To give up the holiday wasn’t a possibility for you, though. You’d celebrate, but perhaps you didn’t need to do so in a way that reached or imposed itself on your husband — after all, Christmas wasn’t actually about the decorations, the songs, the food, or even the gifts. No, it was about a feeling, a sense of hope and joy, a warmth on the inside rather than sparkling surroundings.

You stood up, patting down your dress. “I can do that. But, how do I tell him I took it all down?” You nibbled your bottom lip, wondering if your husband was at court perhaps — it was Wednesday after all. “Should I even bother him? Can I go to him?” His angry features, his cold eyes, the harsh tone of his voice — it all told you you couldn’t. Richard was a man who made his own choices, took his own decisions, and as far as you knew he never went back on his word.

He had declared he’d be back after Christmas, perhaps all you had to do was wait for time to pass, respecting his choice? You’d already overstepped so greatly it felt as if seeking him out would only enrage him, perhaps forever close off the slightest possibility he’d ever grow close to you as you had grown to truly like him. You dared not think the feelings you had for the man were even deeper than that; if you admitted to it things would become far too hard to endure. You had had hope the feelings were mutual, the difference between the man you had heard of before wedding him and the man he was around you were far different from each other. 

You sighed and looked at the clock, it struck eleven and it was time to sleep. You moved through the silent house, halting by the guest room, a sense of lacking enveloped you as your fingers lingered on the knob. You glanced down the hall, toward the door leading into your shared bedroom. You missed him. Missed sleeping next to him, and as Miss Lowel had pointed out there had never been anything more than sleep happening in there since you moved in. He’d never forced you, never asked you, never even so much as changed in the same room. He’d respected you, and your privacy, only sharing a bed through sleep. Why it was like that you didn’t quite know, your husband had been known to take whores before your wedding but not once had you noticed such a thing happening after you became his wife.

Your face mushed against his pillow a few minutes later. You inhaled his distinct scent, a shiver slid down your back before you squeezed the feather-filled thing. You curled up in a ball for a moment under his cover, thinner than yours but comforting despite not fully keeping you warm. “I miss you,” you whispered and inhaled deeply, feeling yourself go heavy by the comfort of his scent.

⩤• Turpin •⩥

The wind tugged at the ends of his hair peeking out beneath his top hat. The house lay nearly dark, save for one single candle in the window of his bedroom. The bedroom he shared with you. There were differences to when he had stormed out of the house though. The curtains were changed back to their ordinary ones, there were no longer any decorations in the windows from what he could tell, empty as usual.

The cold had begun to slip inside his clothes, yet he remained on the sidewalk across the road — watching his house in a tense silence. For two days he had stewed over his reaction, his behaviour towards you when you had so obnoxiously obviously been exuberantly happy about decorating the house for Christmas. Everywhere his eyes had gone there had been reminders. Old decorations, from his time as a boy when joy was as far from Christmas as one could get despite the house being abysmally drenched in beautiful decorations looking to spark a sense of awe. All it ever meant for him were dread, loneliness, and pretending.

His family, rich and well-off as it was, had no real riches beyond money and status. His mother was a shell of a human, his father a devil of cruelty, his brother a demon of wickedness, and his sister… dead. The one who had been a joy, had died far too young, and what little love there had been in the mansion of a house went with her.

He shrugged, flexing his fingers within the leather gloves to bring some blood and warmth back to the tips. His eyes remained fixed on the dreary-looking house, darker than others along the street with not so much as a glimmer of a sparkle or flicker of an ornate lantern anywhere to be found. It had his jaw clenching as he thought of the sparkle that had been in your eyes before he’d snuffed it out with words of cruelty. Honest words, yet cruel in their harsh nature.

His spine stiffened as the curtain flickered in the bedroom. Mrs Lowel appeared, blowing out the candle, and given her timid motions he guessed you lay fast asleep in the bed he usually shared with you. Our bed, our home, my wife… My sweet wife… He drew a deep breath and marched towards the door on stiff legs while his mind ran rampant — wondering if you could forgive his outburst and rage, his words and behaviour. You were a joy in his dark life, and as he opened the door that very darkness seemed to glare at him.

All your work, all your thoughts, all your sparkling wonder; all of it was gone. He found not a single shred of tinsel, not even a lonesome garland remained as he removed his cloak and snow-covered boots, stepping into a pair of slippers while looking all around him at the utter lack of Christmas. That you listened and possibly respected him enough to remove it all made a warmth bloom in the pit of his stomach where a knot had formed over the whole situation. I usually do not care. I am not a caring man. I am not a man who cares for others’ emotions, yet, I find myself caring for yours most deeply. Disturbing business.

He moved up the stairs, his steps heavy yet quiet. His heart beat harder for each stride while his hand glided along the railing — partly for support as he felt himself waver at the possibility you may not be able to forgive him. Or, worse, you would possibly only do so with an explanation, a tale of his past he never wished to divulge.

He quietly opened the door, his body tense and his face set in a stoic mask as he struggled for the control he nearly always held a firm grasp of. When his eyes landed on your sleeping form, curled up on his side of the bed with his pillow held in a vice grip against your chest half buried under his cover, his heart stuttered and his body stiffened.

You were beautiful, angelic in your sleep, and he had to resist the urge exploding within his body as it had done every day since you became his wife. He yearned to touch each part of you, kiss each sliver of skin, caress each dip and mound, and explore every aspect of your body in its entirety. Months upon months had passed since he last took pleasure from another body. Ever since he vowed before God and congregation, before you, to be your faithful husband he had not touched or even looked at another woman. You were the only one for him, yet your innocence had proven a difficult thing to conquer. His own sins were like long shadows keeping him away, forcing him to wait for you to come to him willingly. He had tried, by God and Heaven, he had tried to be kind and caring, thoughtful and patient, yet you had not come to him still.

He stepped up to the bed, his eyes roaming your outline, and reached out his still-cold hand. His fingers graced your cheek, stroking away a tendril of hair so utterly soft to the touch he twirled it once between his fingers before letting go. “Sweet wife,” he whispered and just barely stopped himself from leaning in to kiss you. You stirred at his deep voice. “Richard?” you asked, your eyes blinking away the haze of sleep while he stood over you with nothing but his willpower to respect and be kind towards you keeping him in place while he watched your eyes clear — sleepy, to happy, to sad. It tore at his heart that your eyes no longer sparkled like last time he had come home.

“I took it down,” you whispered, your voice a meek sound. “I saw.” “Will you stay now?” He blinked at that, his brain addled with worry and an uncomfortable amount of desperation to hold you close. He was far too enchanted, in far too deep when it came to you. Not that he could verbally admit that. “I will,” he said, his voice a quiet drone while he attempted to keep himself in control. “Will you—” “I’ll move,” you said before he could ask for your forgiveness, and you shimmied out from his cover while laying his pillow in its proper place before situating yourself on your side of the bed. Not once did you expose any part of your nightdress-clad body — to his utter dismay and relief at the same time.

“I won’t look,” you whispered while turning around to face the window, giving him your back. He wished to turn you over again, make you watch him undress, make you see what you always did to his anatomy. But he did not. He watched the back of your head with growing agony and want, with a wish for forgiveness he could not quite bring himself to ask for now that his body burned with lust despite the cold sadness you emitted. I am a lesser man, thinking of ravaging you at a time like this. I will not yield to it, love. I vowed to myself you would be the one to come to me. If I so perish without ever having felt your warmth, it shall be so.

He slipped on his nightshirt and slunk in under the cover, keeping space between you both. The warmth you left behind, the wonderful scent now embedded on his side of the bed, made his entire body turn rigid. You were perfection, and now he may have ruined whatever chance he had so painstakingly long worked to gain. He drew a deep breath, your warmth and closeness offering relief of the acutest kind, and fell asleep in a matter of seconds. Too drained to remain in the moment, too comforted by your closeness to resist the relaxation. The knot in his stomach was ignored for the moment as dreams slipped in with nothing but you in them.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Uffh, these two have me in such a grip - and their story isn't quite at the HEA yet 👀 I'm kinda itching to make Y/n a bit more fierce, after all, her emotions are running rampant and Richard isn't really in control of his emotional state either - they have a lot to figure out between themselves and perhaps we ought to throw in another curveball or two to really make them argue (or perhaps bang) it out? 🤔🤭❤

Q: Do you have any tradition of your own around this time of year that you always keep? A: I have a few, one of my longest-running ones is being the one to put up and decorate the Christmas tree (the first weekend of December since I moved out of my childhood home). I've been in charge of doing the tree since I was a teenager and I've always loved it 🥰🎄✨

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87

@elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @leah1243 @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[raineandsky]

hi! could you write a piece about villains resolve to hate hero slowly growing into concern when he notices that hero is always showing up to their fights with injuries he didn’t cause? begrudgingly, tries-to-convince himself-and-act-like-he-doesn’t-care protective villain, and usually golden boy hero turned messy crier

thank you for the request! hope you enjoy :D

tw: implied abuse

The villain manages to bowl the hero over, and the hero winces a little more than is normal for a little toss like that.

The villain waits while the hero scrambles to correct himself. It takes too long. His hands are shaking as he grapples with the ground. Then the villain sees it; the shadow a touch too dark on the do-gooder’s wrist.

It’s not the first time he’s seen it, either. The villain doesn’t go for the wrists. Nor the neck, or the ribs, but he’s still caught glimpses of them, littering the hero’s body like little mockeries that someone can do it better than him.

“Who is it?” the villain asks sharply. The question seems to catch the hero off guard—his head snaps up from where he’s still on the ground. Why hasn’t he gotten up yet?

“Who’s who?”

“The other villain.” The villain takes a step forward. “Who’s beating you up in my stead?”

He made no reference, but the hero pulls his sleeves further down his wrists all the same. “There isn’t anyone else.”

“Don’t mess with me, [Hero]. Tell me who it is.”

“There’s no—” The hero’s voice catches. The villain knows what that means. Please, god, don’t cry. “It’s not a villain.”

“What?” comes out before the villain can stop it. “You mean there’s some goody two-shoes doing my job for me?”

The hero nods once—short, sharp—and with a sob, crumbles into a flood of tears.

The villain watches distantly as the hero wipes at his face in vain. This isn’t right. No, it’s the agency and the villains. Good versus evil. Wrong and wronger. This isn’t supposed to happen. Who the hell is acting like this and putting themself on the hero pedestal? Even the villain’s goddamn better than that.

He takes a cautious step forward again. The hero’s still trying desperately to stem the flow of tears to no avail, his hands pawing uselessly at his eyes. The villain bends down towards him and opens his mouth before realising he doesn’t know what to say.

What would come out? I can help you. He sure as hell can’t. Or won’t. He’s a villain, the hero’s… well, a hero. He doesn’t help heroes. Then maybe who is it? But the villain doesn’t give a damn about that.

The slow churning in his stomach is selfish, right? Someone’s swooped in and done his job for him. He could be out of business if the heroes just turn on each other like this. But the hero grabs onto him when he makes the mistake of getting too close, burying his face into his shoulder with a grief-stricken sob, and that pit in the villain’s stomach yawns wider. 

“Okay…” the villain says softly, because that’s really all they can think to say that’s not too revealing. “You can stop now.”

The hero’s hands are balled in his shirt. That’s going to goddamn crease, he can see it already. It can’t find it in himself to move the hero away, though, so he wraps his arms around the other to distract himself from the future of ironing he’s facing. That’s why. No other reason.

“I–I’m sorry.” Ugh, the hero sounds snotty. “I didn’t… I wasn’t meant to be…”

“Yeah, I could’ve kicked your ass by now.” The villain shifts to run a hand through the hero’s hair. He barely even realises he’s doing it. “I don’t kick crying people’s asses though. I appreciate it’s not exactly a fair fight when you can’t see.”

The hero snorts a laugh that’s immediately punctuated by another heave of tears. “That’s very kind.”

No it’s not! the villain wants to screech, but that’s not true, is it? It is kind. It's battle etiquette, if the villain’s going to twist it in his favour.

He’s not going to though. He knows he won’t. So he props his chin up on top of the hero’s head, prepared to wait this thing out, and simply asks “who did this to you?”

-

The hero goes back to the agency after that fight, exhausted, stressed, nervous. Another failed capture, another round of punishment for his incompetence.

He gets back to the superhero’s office to report and finds that he’s not there.

And if the villain has any say in it, he never will be again.

[pastelwoolfie]

raise your hand if you like old man yaoi!! ✋✋✋

good GOD i love optiratch like hrrrrgrgrgrgrggg I LOVE THEM🫶🫶🫶

(it’s headcannon timeeee)

ratchet (the ookiest pookie) was born to be a medic, right? cybertronians have different frame types, we know this, there’s grounders, seekers, racers, two-wheelers, war frames, etc etc we know this!! i like to think that a bot can be born in a medic frame - that means more dexterous/nimble and sensitive servos, sharper optics, additional system processings/knowledge retention capacity to account for All That Knowledge they need to know to be a medic. a bot born to be a medic is a bot known to be a medic, which ratchet was. he was born a medic and became a phenomenal one. that doesn’t mean non-medic frames can’t be medics, though! knockout was born a racer, but he became a physician. medic-borns can also be really really bad doctors!

more about ratchet though. this post is about ratchet.

born to be a medic, he went to medical school. as one does. and fresh out of school, just starting up his work, BOOM there’s a war. obviously this doesn’t take him by surprise - his college roommate was an activist-slash-archivist-slash-his-crush-slash-protestor, renown Good Guy orion pax. he was literally there when he became a prime!! he had met megatron, awesome gladiator extraordinaire, and was all ‘oh he’s so violent’!! already being close with optimus meant he was immediately enlisted to the autobot cause. he was so ready to join the autobot cause. in fact, it was his joining the autobot cause that convinced many others to join. do-gooder, no-nonsense medic ratchet, top-of-his-class, kind-sparked ratchet wants to join the autobots? oh, good golly!! i should join him too!! if he’s an autobot, the cause must be worthwhile, right?

ratchet never got to experience that normal childhood most cybertronians have. he was medic-born, after all. he was raised with that always in mind, that pressure of healing others always there, and he simply grew into it.

thats why he’s so lost after the war’s end. it is literally almost all he knows - and the parts of his life that weren’t seeped in war and revolution and politics (he hates politics so much, but he was unfortunately involved in them) he spent training to be a doctor, surrounded by illness and injury.

ratchet does not know how to relax. he just doesn’t get it.

yap sesh over 👍

[vigilante-3073]

Wilson with an intern f!reader imagine maybe? 🤍

Internships & Relationships

James Wilson x Female Intern Reader

Summary: Wilson takes on a medical intern and the lines of professionalism begin to blur.

TW: Workplace relationships, inappropriate jokes.

James Wilson had a medical intern. He didn't usually take on interns and he had a very good reason for it. That reason was his best friend, Doctor Gregory House. House was a walking HR violation and would likely scar whatever poor intern he came across.

Cuddy was reluctant to bring the offer of an intern to Wilson at first. She knew that he was extraordinarily good at his job, but House already commandeered the majority of Wilson's time.

House was a loose cannon that could not be controlled, but Wilson hoped that it wouldn't ruin this apiring Oncologist's experience. Wilson agreed and Y/N started her 8-week long internship with him the following day. She worked alongside him, sitting in on meetings and looking after his patients. Y/N was an amazing doctor and she got along swimmingly with hospital staff.

Wilson knew that she would be an excellent Oncologist and that her patients would be given the best possible treatment.

Cancer was dehumanizing and Y/N understood that. She didn't beat around the bush, but she also had the ability to relay news in a way that made sure her patients understood. Y/N was extraordinary with a light within her that needed to be protected, which is exactly why he had been hiding her from House.

By the sixth week of her internship, keeping her away from House had become exhausting. The man may have had a limp, but he was certainly tenacious enough to figure out what Wilson was hiding.

...

Wilson stepped into his office with Y/N following closely behind him. They had been seeing patients all day long and were finally going to take a moment to go over some patient files.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" House questioned, spinning around in Wilson's desk chair to face them.

Wilson sighed, "House, this is my Intern, Y/N. Y/N this is Doctor House, he's the head of Diagnostic Medicine," Wilson said.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor House," Y/N said.

House stared at her for a moment, "Wow, you are gorgeous. Up top, Wilson," House said, holding up his hand for a high-five.

Wilson shook his head, "I'm not giving you a high-five, House," He said.

House dropped his hand before sitting forward in the chair, "Tell me, you aspiring do-gooder, did you have to send in head shots to land this gig? Wilson is pretty specific about the students that he chooses to sleep with," House said.

Wilson scoffed, "You are just so out of line right now. I don't even- I am so sorry, Y/N," Wilson said.

"No, it's- It's fine, Doctor Wilson, really," Y/N assured.

"House, get out. Now," Wilson snapped.

"Fine, I'll let you two lovebirds enjoy some time alone," House said, standing up and making his way out of the office.

"I am so incredibly sorry about him. I've been trying to keep him away from you, but he's like a dog with a bone," Wilson huffed, sitting down in his desk chair.

"You don't have to worry, Doctor Wilson. Doctor Cuddy warned me about him before I started working with you," Y/N said.

"I'm so sorry... I am mortified that he would even think that was something okay to say to you," Wilson said.

"I mean, you're a very beautiful young lady and anyone would be lucky to be with you like that. I just- I'm your mentor and it would be wrong of me to take advantage of you," Wilson amended quickly.

"Doctor Wilson, we can just pretend this never happened if that would be easier," Y/N offered.

Wilson sighed, "Yeah, that would be amazing," He said.

"Consider it forgotten then," Y/N said, sitting down on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Wilson watched her as she ordered her patient files on her lap, preparing to go over them after their morning rounds. The interaction with House didn't even seem to phase her and Wilson found himself questioning why.

Cuddy may have made her aware of House's existence before she started her placement, but no amount of preparation could get anyone ready for an interaction with House. He was abrasive, misogynistic and could be incredibly rude whenever it suited him. Y/N heard every remark he made, but they didn't seem to bother her.

Wilson certainly wouldn't be disappointed if Y/N chose to stay at Princeton-Plainsboro after she completed her schooling. He could always use some backup when it came to dealing with House.

...

The final weeks of Y/N's internship flew by and her last day was one that saddened not only the staff, but the patients too. Wilson made sure to get a cake for the occasion and gather everyone in the staff room to celebrate her accomplishment.

Y/N would be great.

There was no doubt about just how amazing she would be. Y/N cared and that would make her an extraordinary Oncologist.

They leaned back on the countertop beside each other as they both ate small pieces of cake. Wilson looked over at her, watching as she took a small bite of her slice.

"Have you given anymore thought to where you want to apply after graduation?" He asked.

"I was waiting until the end of the day to tell you, but I talked to Cuddy a few weeks ago... She actually offered me a job here," Y/N said.

Wilson turned towards her, "Please tell me that you said yes," He said.

"Of course I did," Y/N replied.

"That's amazing! Congratulations, Y/N. You're going to be great... Are you planning on staying in the Oncology department?" Wilson asked.

"I am," Y/N said.

"Really? That's awesome!" Wilson said.

"I'm looking foward to working with you, Doctor Wilson," Y/N said.

"Me too," He replied with a gentle smile.

A heavy feeling had suddenly settled in his stomach, it wasn't until a moment later when he realized what it was.

Wilson was disappointed.

He was interested in Y/N in a way that he shouldn't have been. Wilson was her superior and he would remain in that position for the forseeable future.

Wilson knew that he would never be able to be completely impartial, he always led with his heart and it tended to get him into trouble. Wilson had been walked over by House and Cuddy at times because of their relationship within the workplace. He hoped that if he still harbored these feelings for Y/N that their relationship would follow the same pattern.

If she had chosen to work somewhere else, he may have been able to cope with it, but at Princeton-Plainsboro would the limited distance overwhelm him? Or could this finally be the time he gets it right?

Before he could stop himself, he had opened his mouth and the words came tumbling out.

"Would you like to go for dinner tonight? With me?" Wilson asked.

A stunned look crossed her face and his heart began to pound in his chest. She was his student and he just asked her on a date.

"Oh, I-I'm so sorry. That was completely inappropriate and I am just so stupid for putting you on the spot," He began.

"Wilson," She said softly, he quickly closed his mouth despite wanting to explain himself further and take back his question.

"Are you asking me on a date?" Y/N questioned.

"I- Yes, I was, but you don't have to respond and I promise that I'll never bring it up again," He assured.

"I'd love to go out with you, Wilson," Y/N said.

"Really?" He asked.

She smiled, "You're a really nice guy and if I'm being honest, I've had a bit of a crush on you since I started," Y/N admitted.

Wilson huffed a laugh, "This is the best day of my life," He said.

"You can pick the place, just let me know how fancy I need to dress," Y/N said.

"Yeah, I can do that," Wilson nodded.

The door to the staff room opened, "Y/N, come here, honey. We got you a little something," One of the nurses called.

Y/N nodded, "I'll be right there," She replied, setting her plate down on the counter.

"You can feel free to take off after this," Wilson said.

"Are you sure?" Y/N questioned.

"Of course, it's your last day. Just text me your address and I'll come pick you up after I'm done here," Wilson said.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight," She smiled.

Wilson watched her walk out of the break room with a lovesick smile on his face. Little did he know that in a few short years she would become the fourth, and final, Mrs. Wilson.

[cosmiado]

thinking about the teens again and how they act in regards to getting attention, because they clearly need So So Much Attention All The Time.

Normal: easy. he is a Good Good Boy in order to get attention. when he doesn't get it, he tries to be gooder, as if by him being good enough, it will make everyone love and pay attention to him. (it does not)

Scary: the polar opposite of Normal. she is a Bad Girl for attention, and acts out when she doesn't get enough of it. as if by her being bad enough, it will make everyone hate and pay attention to her. (occasionally, it does work, but she only seeks hatred because love is too hard to handle, and despite what she claims, i think it definitely hurts her to be hated.)

Hermie: the most interesting in my opinion, because he is a combination of both Scary and Normal. he is either good or bad in any given moment based on what's more likely to get him attention. he's good when driving the Pussy Wagon into the molten cheese, but bad when he deliberately leads the teens into a trap during the Black Parade. he's good when they need him to act as Risky Click or Keira Knightly, but bad when he steals the mascot costume. he switches wildly back and forth; love and hate matter less to him than the sheer fact of attention. any press is good press.

Link: he's interesting because we don't really see how he acts when he Doesn't get attention, because he is perpetually getting attention from Grant and Marco. he sabotages everything that will even slightly take away their ability to pay attention to him. he seems like the most well-adjusted on the surface, but hes just as much of a wreck as the rest.

Taylor: deeply deeply hilarious to me, because he absolutely cannot conceive of the fact that he's not getting attention, to the point where he straight-up doesn't believe it. it may seem at first like he doesn't particularly care, but that’s just because he assumes that everyone is paying attention to him at all times, because why wouldn't they be? he doesnt feel the need to change the way he acts, because hes convinced hes already getting all the attention and love that he needs.

[bunnyreaper]

wc - 4.6k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), age gap (older male younger female), bodyguard!au, threat of violence.

notes - another visit to dilfville, a new series, because that's all we need, right? lol. hope you enjoy ♥

Friday nights meant one thing: unwinding after a long week of working in your home office, braving the outside world, and heading to the comfy flat belonging to your friend Jules.

While visiting her place was always a blast, Friday nights were for DnD. Leaving behind Earth for its fantasy counterpart and getting lost in the adventures of your group's merry band of do-gooders. 

Saturdays are usually spent drinking coffee, frequenting markets, and then rounding the night off with cocktails and dancing. (And Sunday's recuperating from being up on your feet all night, spending the day in bed reading whatever trashy romance novel is next on your reading list.) 

Your weekends are your sanctuary—your freedom from routine and work is your refuge. 

You dance around your bedroom, rocking your hips to the music as you pull on your clothes—a white blouse and black bustier to channel the vibes of your character Elora. 

When the doorbell rings, it's entirely unexpected. Anyone close to you knows you're just a few minutes away from heading out for the night—maybe it's a neighbour, you suppose to yourself as you head to the door. 

On the other side of your flat's door is an incredibly handsome man. Broad framed, ruggedly good-looking yet with a finely pressed white shirt and dress trousers. His features are striking, strong eyes and a brow slashed with a scar, stubble all over, and a neatly trimmed mohawk that strangely suits him. All in all, a sight for fucking sore eyes, standing so confidently and casually in your doorway like he belongs.

You hate how your eyes linger on his form far longer than they probably should, but the handsome stranger is just so enthralling.

"Hello?" You mumble, a little absent-mindedly, as you try to gather thoughts that aren't just lewd and dirty.

His stormy blue eyes meet yours, his cheek tugs into a half-smile that definitely doesn't meet his eyes, the faintest dimple appearing on his left cheek. "John MacTavish, ye maw sent me." 

"Oh, the bodyguard." You reply dumbly. Fuck. If you were opposed to the idea before, you certainly were now... or maybe you're not.

On one hand, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you—on the other, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you, while you act normal about the entire thing. 

You realise that you're acting completely the fool, so you snap out of your thoughts and step aside to allow the older man inside. "She didn't tell me to expect you... probably thought I'd run. Uh, come in." 

"Thanks." He nods as he steps through the threshold, ducking slightly as he does. 

Once inside, his eyes scan over the open-plan space of your living area, seemingly taking in every little detail. 

You watch him, sensing that his training and experience make him focus on the minute particulars of a room that others would completely skip over. 

Your mother had already clued you into the fact there might need to be security enhancements to the flat itself, and you assume those requests came at the behest of the man himself. He seems to be lost in evaluating what these might be. 

"So, what can I do for you?" You ask, filling the air with some sort of conversation starter. You have no idea what you're doing in this situation on the whole, but especially not when it comes to hiring, negotiating with, and retaining a bodyguard.

"It's what I can do fer you." He turns, taking you in now, and you start to feel self-conscious about having too many buttons undone, too much chest on show. 

Something tells you that MacTavish's gaze would make you squirm regardless—his eyes carrying a heaviness to them that seem like a fantastic attribute in a protector. Surely anyone who would even think about coming close to cause you harm would reconsider under his harsh look.

You start to wrack your brains for what he can actually do for you. Again, you have no familiarity in having personal protection, beyond what you've seen your mother undergo. Your work is fairly stable, you keep the same routine, and the biggest threat you ever seem to face is the creeps in the club. 

Well, apart from the online threats, but something about the anonymous, cowardly messages doesn't frighten you. 

"If I'm being honest,I don't exactly want a bodyguard. I don't see much of a point?" You admit, voice a little quiet. After all, you don't mean to upset or offend the man, but you're not sure he isn't just wasting his time with this job.

He squints, considering for a moment before he answers. "Yer maw sees things differently." 

She does, and that's probably the only reason you agreed to go through with this in the first place. You don't want to worry her, especially since her own security has had to be tightened due to said threats. 

"Yeah, she's really worried." 

John's brows furrow, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Aye, rightly so, considering everything." 

He seems serious and said severity gives you pause for thought. His job is to assess and protect against threats, so surely he wouldn't be here, acting the way he is were there not a valid reason for concern. The thought makes a lump form in your throat, makes your stomach twist in a way you'd rather not acknowledge. 

You try to cope with it the best way you know how—humour. 

"Eh, online threats are nothing new for a girl my age, you know? And it's not like I'm anyone important." You shrug it off, hoping that if you say the words aloud, they'll just come true. As you speak, your phone chimes with a notification from your group chat, reminding you of your upcoming plans—and the fact you're going to have to abandon this little meeting. "Uh, I'd offer you a cuppa, but I'm leaving soon." 

"Don't drink it anyway, but thanks." The man smiles slightly, before turning away once more and scanning the room. He cranes his neck to get a look down the hallway, leading to your bedroom and bathroom. "There's a difference between lads online, an' the kinda people that make up extremist groups like those targeting your maw and her party." 

"Really?" You laugh, a short, sharp sound that betrays your discomfort. You grab your jacket and keys by the door, desperate for something to fiddle with. "Thought they were all just sad loners, desperately searching for something to make them feel better." 

"Except some of them have connections, dangerous connections." 

There are a million and one reasons you don't want to go through with this, and very few urging you to. Though, removing a major worry from your mother's life is a big one—John MacTavish's gorgeous blues are another. The possible invasion of privacy lingers in your head, the worry that your father might be using this as an opportunity to have the inside track on your life, on all the things you don't tell your parents. Your mind also revolts at the idea of unnecessary restrictions to your plans, your friends being held under a magnifying glass. 

The thought of the threats being real is the only thing more startling. You sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. "If this is what will help her feel better, then I guess I better find a way to make this work." 

He nods firmly, joining you at where you hover nervously at the door. "I'd agree." 

"Unfortunately, you arrived at the worst possible time, because like I said, I'm just headed out. Can't miss the tube." You force a tight-lipped smile, making your excuse to leave—the thought of being late makes you jittery, the thought of being late continuing this difficult conversation makes you feel worse. 

"Where ye going?" He asks, head tilted. 

You know it's the first question of many. Where are you going? Who are you going with? The atmosphere already feels a little stifling, the relationship a little strained. You and John aren't friends, never will be friends. He's here to do a job, watch over you, and take your security very, very seriously. 

"This is how it's always going to be?" You ask, the question coming out a little snappier than you intend it to. 

John takes it in stride, unblinking in the face of your shortness, and yet unrelenting in his need for information. "Aye." 

Once more, you sigh. "Right... I'm going to my weekly DnD game at my friend's house, and please, I really don't wanna cancel." You plead, feeling like a child reasoning with their parents rather than two adults on equal footing. You hate the feeling, even if you know his intentions are pure. 

"How many friends?" He asks. 

"4." You answer instantly. 

"How long have ye known them?" His questioning continues, and his focus on the people you trust naturally drives you up the wall, even if again, you know it's just his job.

Your grasp on your keys tightens, your agitation growing. "I'll tell you whatever I can some other time, but please, I hate being late." You gesture to the door, indicating that it's time for him and you to leave. 

John grabs the door, opening it for you and allowing you to step through before he does. As you turn to lock the door, you expect him to arrange another time and to bid you farewell, but he doesn't. "I'll drive ye. Dinnae bother arguing, lass." 

His words have a finality to them that quiets you anyway, but the use of 'lass' renders you all but speechless. 

"Okay..." You mumble, leading the way down the stairs as his hand comes to ghost along your lower back.

MacTavish’s vehicle is parked out in the street, and as you approach the car, you can feel his eyes searching again. He beats you to the car, a sleek black Range Rover, opening the door for you before climbing inside himself.  

The action would be nice under any other circumstance, and such propriety is something you're probably going to have to get used to, but right now it just reinforces the annoying, infantilising feeling that you're currently suffering through. 

As you give your friend's address to John, he takes off without another word, flicking on the car stereo before he goes. The atmosphere is thick, stifling, and you can only hope that in time the feeling will lessen, especially if your mother makes him a permanent feature. 

On the way over, he picks up his questioning where he left off. "So, how long have you known this group?"

"A good few years, since uni." 

"We can go over names and details when you're ready." 

You take a deep breath, holding it in and then forcing yourself to calm a little. Instead, you try to focus on watching John, the diligent way he drives. "I'm assuming you have a long list of things we'll need to go over."

His eyes don't stray from you. "Aye, that we do." 

The two of you fall into tense silence for the rest of the drive, nothing but the music and the sound of the car to keep you company. In the quiet street your friend lives on, John pulls in to park on the opposite side of the road, killing the engine and the radio, making the silence almost deafening.

Your nerves are getting the better of you again, and yet John seems so comfortable, unperturbed by the awkwardness. You're unsure what comes next, what to say. 

"Not to be rude but, I'd prefer if you didn't come in." You utter, saying the first thing that springs to mind, despite it probably not being the best thing either. You flash the man an apologetic smile before you continue. "I don't know how to deal with all this, especially when we haven't agreed on how all this is gonna work?" 

You hope your earnest admission makes up for your temporary ill-manners. 

"Tha's fine, I'll stay here." He looks completely impassive. "Not ideal, but it'll do." 

He doesn't look bothered by the inconvenience, and you suppose you should assuage him of the idea it's going to be a quick visit.

"Really? I'll be gone for a few hours." 

His brow quirks. "Yer maw paid upfront, so as far as am concerned, my job's already started." Once more, his statement is absolute, and you don't bother trying to argue.

"Right then." 

John is out of the car first, headed straight to your side of the door, checking left and right before he opens to let you out. 

The action makes you both laugh and curse, perplexed by the deed as you climb out. "You're not my driver, you know you don't need to open the door for me?" 

He laughs too, derisive and short as he closes the door a little too sharply. "Not tae be rude, but I believe the words you're looking for are 'thank you'."  

"Gonna walk me to the door?" You ask, trying to shed yourself of your nerves and make the situation lighter. 

You can't stay tense and subdued for the entire duration of this relationship—besides, now you're moments away from reuniting with the others in Albion Vale and forgetting all about this mess for a few hours. That alone is enough to raise your spirits. 

John forces a cheeky, tight-lipped smile, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling almost condescendingly. "Not feeling tha' gentlemanly anymore. I'm sure ye'll be fine." 

"I'm sure." You make your way halfway across the road, before coming to a realisation, stopping and turning. "Oh, what's your number, you know, make this whole thing easier?"  

John darts out, his arm falling just beside you as he ushers you across the road and onto the other side.

"Pass yer phone." He says, holding out a large, rough hand expectantly. 

"Right, yeah." You nod, probably more than is necessary, as you pass your phone over to the man. 

John takes the phone more softly than you expect, typing in his name and number before holding it back out for you to take. "I'll be here when yer done, to take ye home." 

"Uh, thank you." You take the phone, before walking away sheepishly heading into your friend's block of flats and toward her apartment. 

With each step you take, you try to push John and the threats and everything to do with the outside world far, far out of your brain. 

The night passes by in a flurry of laughter and fun, lost in the adventures of Albion Vale and the antics of your party. 

The session wraps up, and while you would usually be in no rush to head back—you know you can't sit around and leave John, however much a stranger he is, sitting in the car outside. 

You text him to let him know you're headed down in five, and when you make it to the street less than 3 minutes later, he is there, leaning against the car door waiting for you. 

"Thank you." You whisper, climbing inside. When John joins you in the car, he scrubs at his eyes before putting the key in the ignition. "Have you not been bored out of your mind?" 

"Nothing I'm not used to." He replies instantly, pulling away before you can ask any further. 

"What did you do before this?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

From your understanding, most bodyguards cut their teeth in the police or the armed forces, and have tonnes of experience under their belt.

John oozes an ex-forces demeanour–his perfect posture, constant alertness, and the scars littering his skin. 

It'd be hard not to notice, but becomes immediately obvious with the way your eyes seem to love settling upon him when they can. You have to force yourself to squash down the drunken, misguided lust that flares within you as you watch his large hands on the steering wheel and notice his veiny, hairy, and muscular forearms. 

"Army, Captain." He answers, pulling your attention back to him in a more professional manner properly. 

Something within the way he speaks makes you think there's more to the story—though you suppose with that kind of background, he has a cache of secrets and tales that he can never really share.

"Oh." You nod, feeling a little soothed. If you have to be protected, you suppose someone with his level of experience is the best man for the job. "I'm in good hands then." 

Once more, he flashes a forced half-smile. "Aye."

A moment passes, and you find more questions bubbling to the front of your brain. Naturally, you're curious about this man who is undoubtedly going to become a big part of your life from now on, but the fact that his nature is a little reserved makes your curiosity multiply. You've long been a sucker for closed-off older men—call it a character flaw. 

"Why did you leave the army? If you don't mind me asking."

There's a beat of silence where you think he might not answer, but eventually, he does, eyes still fixed on the road. 

"Medical reasons. Nothing that affects my ability to do this job." He rushes to add, a slight spark of defensiveness flashing through as his jaw visibly tightens.

You're no expert detective, and you haven't seen your protector in action, but your first guess is that whatever ailment made him leave isn't entirely physical. The fact he's been somewhat open about it puts your mind at ease, the fact that your mother has clearly vetted him even more so. 

You offer an empathetic smile that he likely doesn't see. "I don't doubt it." 

The drive home passes quicker and easier with a bit of mead in your veins, allowing you to loosen up enough to hum along to the music playing from John's speakers. The little buzz passing through you alleviates that sense of trepidation you felt earlier, luring you into a false sense of security. 

When the car pulls up and John lets you out, you know just what to say what needs to come next. "Well, I guess you should come in so we can formalise things." 

"I'd appreciate it." He nods, before turning back to the car to grab a bag and follow you into the building.

 *

You and John sit at your kitchen island, tea in your hand and coffee in John's—a neat, stapled stack of papers sits before you.

"Here's the contract I signed with ye maw, but she's given us some wiggle room." John says, tapping the top of the paper where the bold letters of CLOSE PROTECTION AGREEMENT — 141 SECURITY sit. 

"Nice of her to allow me a say, if I'm honest." You laugh dryly—you love your mother dearly, but you'd be lying if you said she wasn't overbearing. Your initial protests about this whole arrangement had been entirely shut down, and clearly, she didn't trust you to follow through considering she sprung John on you tonight, unannounced.

"I'm sure she just wants what's best for ye." John offers as you flick through the pages.

The contract outlines the agreement between the Guard and The Principal—with stipulations on activities, compensation, and conduct. 

It's weird seeing it all laid out on paper, seeing the hefty cost of John's services, and the fact you'll be giving this man free access to your home and life. All of this to keep you safe from some nebulous threats that have not even been acted upon.

"She does, but this is inconvenient, and frustrating to say the least." You purposefully choose not to include the words 'fucking annoying' and 'torturing me with a hot man I can't have', though your next conversation with your therapist will absolutely include such descriptions and more. 

"I can understand tha'." He nods understandingly, before raising his coffee and taking a sip—his gaze unwavering as he does. "You've never had close protection before?" 

You shake your head. "No, this is all new to me." 

"Okay. We'll start by discussing exactly what kind of protection you're looking for. Part of tha' will be dictated by what yer maw laid out, like I said, we can decide specifics." 

"Sounds like a plan." You lean back in your stool, tea in hand as you contemplate. Admittedly, you should have done some research before this, but in your defence, you did think you had more time. You're not entirely sure what boundaries you can set—but you hope that John can lead the process a little. "I don't think I can do something 24/7, and it's not like you can stay here, I guess."

You cringe internally thinking about how fucking awkward that would be—your tipsy brain supplies the image of the world's most uncomfortable sleepover. 

In your imagination, John looks grumpy and uncomfortable, still tucked up in bed in that stiff shirt with his boots still on. You are, of course, in little fluffy bunny pyjamas staring at him all gooey-eyed whilst he tries to pretend everything is normal. It takes conscious effort for you not to giggle at the mental image.

"I understand. I'd suggest I escort you anywhere outside these four walls, day or night, work and social events. Conduct security checks on your flat, vet close contacts, update your digital security, things like tha'." John supplies a rundown of potential actions like it's a grocery list, yet a very severe grocery list. His collected nature does put you more at ease.

"Sounds a tad invasive." 

"I'll try to make it as little as possible." 

"Thanks, I appreciate it." You smile slightly, truly thankful for his consideration and tact.

You give John a once over, thoughts once again ticking over. "If you're going to be with me everywhere, you can't walk around like that, outside of my work, that is. No offense, it's just, all my friends are gonna think I'm a self-important twat if I start showing up everywhere with some posh bodyguard." You stop abruptly, realising how much you're bloody rambling.

"Am far from posh. But, more casual look then, aye?" 

You smile a little nervously, hoping you haven't completely offended the man. "Please." 

This whole situation is beyond difficult to navigate—untreaded paths, forging new relationships, balancing existing ones. Your friends really are going to think this whole situation is beyond bizarre. They already find amusement in seeing your mother on the news. Having a bodyguard is going to leave you subject to endless teasing, relentless mocking, and attempts to make your and John's life a whole lot harder.

Your head falls into your hands as you rub at the sockets of your eyes, undoubtedly smearing your makeup and making a mess of your face. It'll get easier, you reassure yourself.

With your eyes closed and pressed into the heel of your hands, you don't see the way John's expression softens or the way he moves closer to comfort you before hesitating and stopping short. "Wha's the matter?" 

"I'm just... incredibly anxious about how this is going to play out with my friends, with work." 

John leaps into problem-solving mode, immediately pulling from his brain some words to soothe you, as well as making note of what bumps in the road to smooth out. "Ye mother said she already consulted yer work, and they're fine to make accommodations." 

Of course, she'd already talked to David about the whole thing. "So it'll be fine aside from all the gossip it will cause." 

"It's politics and I ken yer not naïve, everybody's talking anyway, no?" He offers, and yet you don't seem assuaged, so he tries a different tactic. "It's my job to blend in. They'll barely notice me." 

"With that haircut? Sorry." You giggle—surprisingly you find the mohawk suits his rugged look, but it certainly isn't something you've seen on a man that wasn't walking the streets of Camden. Though, even with a more fitting haircut, the man is so casually striking and ever so slightly imposing that he just naturally draws attention. "In general, you don't strike me as a man who does blending in well, not in civilian life anyway."

His eyes narrow for a moment, before he struggles to fight off a smirk. "Hmm, ye might have a point. Not changing ma hair though, sorry. Nae sure ye family has enough money for tha' one."  

His more playful side makes your heart soar, and gives you hope that everything might just be alright.

"I have a crazy idea." Okay, maybe you're more tipsy than you thought you were, as your brain supplies an outlandish plot and your mouth runs away with it. 

His eyebrow arches and his eyes sparkle with intrigue. John MacTavish seems like a man who likes crazy ideas. "Go oan." 

"I'll tell my friends that you're my boyfriend, and we're just so madly in love that you have to come everywhere with me. Means no real questions." 

Your proposition is met with deafening silence, despite the huge, encouraging grin on your face.

John laughs, just the once, before his expression hardens. "Not a chance, lass."

"Why? You don't have to really do anything. Besides, it'll save you sitting outside in the car, or staring from the shadows and making everyone feel uncomfortable." 

You realise now that while you noticed a distinct lack of a ring, there's the possibility that John is still attached, and what you're suggesting is wildly inappropriate—but it's not that point he argues on.

"Aye, so I just have to spend ma time socialising instead." He scoffs.

"Well, surely you're not brooding and mysterious all the time." You wager.

Once more, he finds a smirk tugging at his lips that he can't hold back. "No' at all, but it's been a long time since I was the life of the party, and something tells me that me an' your DnD friends don't have a lot in common." 

"They might surprise you, but you also might surprise yourself. Maybe you're a secret nerd." You wink, still being jovial before you shift back to your genuine pleas. "It'll make my life a whole lot easier and be one less thing for me to stress about. My friends wouldn't second guess the story much once they got past the shock of me bagging someone older, wiser, and oh-so-handsome. Please."  

You flash your softest, sweetest doe eyes and lay the compliments on extra thick in the hopes of swaying him. In the political world, you're used to using charm to try and get what you want, and know that without charisma you'd get nowhere. Perhaps it's a bit low of you to stoop to using flirtation on someone who could likely run rings around you when it comes to negotiation, but it's worked before, and at this point, you're desperate.

John straightens up in his seat, eyes you for a moment, and then lets out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine." 

The fact he relents honestly takes you a little by surprise. You're relieved, but yes, surprised. "Huh?"

"Fine, I'll be whoever ye want me to be..." The look in his eyes shifts to something imperceptible, as he leans over the counter closer to you. "As long ye listen to what I say when it comes to yer safety and security. Deal?" 

He holds out his hand, and your own feels dwarfed when you reach out to take his calloused palm.

"You drive a hard bargain, John MacTavish. Deal." You shake, and neither of you makes a move to immediately let go.

"Aye, a know." He winks, and the action makes your heart skip a beat, your cheeks flood with heat.

Each second passes slowly, his touch feeling like too much and not enough all at once. You know at that moment that life from now on is going to be especially difficult as long as John is around.

What he says next is the final nail in that particular coffin. "Would've done it anyway, but glad I got ye to agree to ma terms, lass." 

[beautifulpaprika]

Rivalry at the Manor

pairing: sorcerer!fem!reader x sorcerer!yeonjun

warnings: 18+, spice mixed with magic B)

summary: Yeonjun has stolen your father's affection all because he can do magic. You're going to prove to both of them you're better than him. Nothing will get in the way. Not even him.

word count: 9.1k

Masterlist✨

I watch Choi Yeonjun from afar as he swirls his hands in the air from the garden. The smile spreading on his face is the bane of my existence.

I take a bite out of my toast, my jaw tense and my mouth dry as I eat. The plate on our oak table sits in front of me, peaceful, but my body itself is anything but. 

The hardest part is watching my father fawn over him and tell him what a good job he’s doing. I can’t hear them, but I can already tell from the years of hearing it. 

“Oh, Yeonjun, you’re doing amazing!” “Oh Yeonjun, I’ve never seen anyone with your skills.” “Oh Yeonjun, there’s no one like you!” “Y/N, why can’t you be more like this charmer?” 

My fist slams into the table thinking about the smile on his face when he said that to me, but I wasn’t laughing. 

So what Yeonjun can do magic? I can too! 

Maybe I’ve never saved a cat from a tree with my mind or liftend a tree itself to get it out of the road, but I’ve written my name with a pencil- that I didn’t pick up! 

Even then, I couldn’t get a reaction from my father, not while “precious Yeonjun” was around. 

“Miss, are you done with that?” one of our ladies, Ellie, approaches me. I nod but before she can take the plate away, I stop her. 

“Ellie? Would you be able to help me out with something today? I’ll make sure you get extra pay this week,” I smile at her. She nods, a smile on her face.

“Of course, Miss!” 

***

Thump! The chair falls onto its side again and into the grass. I try not to show my frustration in front of Ellie who doesn’t react to any of my failures to lift the chair. 

This has been an ongoing activity for the entire day. I tried helping the delivery boy bring in heavy bags of food in, but even then, my magic failed. 

“Is the chair supposed to be on its side?” the last voice I wanted to hear chirps behind me. 

Yeonjun already has a smirk painted across his face, a shine in his eyes from watching me prove that he’s better. 

“Don’t you have something better to do with your time? Like running around playing do-gooder with my father?” I ask facing him now. He rolls his eyes at the last part before looking behind me again.

“Than this?” his wags his finger at the wooden chair. “Absolutely not. It’s a huge ego boost,” he steps closer. 

“As if you don’t have enough of that already,” I scoff. 

He approaches the red bench on the side and sits back to watch. 

“What’s a little more?” his head tilts and I hate that I used to have a crush on him, but when he does that, I can understand why I found him handsome, but now all I can seem to do is hate him. The way he can tease me but then act like the most innocent man in front of my father, the way he finds more ways to embarrass me, the way we aren’t even related and he somehow receives more love.

“When is it enough for you?” I ask, when the grin is still on his face. “Why can’t you leave me alone? You’ve already taken the only family I have, why do you-” his smile is fading. I stop myself, forbidding the tears from coming out when he’s here. I refuse to give him any more material to work with. 

I spin around to face Ellie who is unaffected by the tension. 

“I’d like to take a break, Ellie. I’ll come find you when I’d like to resume,” I smile at her. She bows her head and makes her way inside in a shuffle. 

I turn to Yeonjun, who’s still sitting on the bench, wondering if he’ll get the hint to move, but he scans my face. No sign of him getting ready to leave, so I make the first move to head to my room, but I don’t get past Yeonjun when he steps in front of me. 

My jaw aches from the way I’m grinding my teeth. 

“Leave. Me. Alone,” I try to step around him, but he blocks my way again. 

“Or what?” he asks. I take a deep breath, not allowing myself to be angered in front of him. “You feel that? The anger? You’re trying too hard to suppress it, when you need to use it.”

”Oh, give me a break Yeonjun. The last thing I want to do is listen to you,” I step around him again. If he thought I would believe he was trying to help me? He is severely mistaken. 

When I rush through the door, my father appears. 

“Y/N? What were you doing out there?” He peeks into the garden and spots Yeonjun, a look of understanding on his face. “You two haven’t been doing magic together have you?” He raises an eyebrow and I scoff at him in disbelief. 

“Of course not. I would never corrupt your precious toy,” I roll my eyes. 

“Y/N-“

”I need a shower,” and I walk around him the same way I did to Yeonjun thinking that the best option for me is simply to leave this house forever. 

***

The next day, my mission is not stopped and the chair is right back where it was. 

”Miss, I can grab you a glass of water if you think it will help,” Ellie proposes. 

I shake my head, not able to look up at her from keeling over and panting. 

When I do look, I try lifting the chair again. 

3. . . 2 . . . 1. Lift! Lift! And. . . Back on its side. 

“Damn it!” I yell out, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when the chair hits the bushes. Ellie mirrors me putting a hand over our mouths. 

“‘The last thing I would do is listen to you,’ she says,” Yeonjun appears from the corner of the garden while mocking me. 

“Were you spying on us?” I accuse. 

“That’s not what we’re discussing,” he waves me off. 

“You had no right-“

”Spare me the moral compass. I did it to help you,” I can’t even get a word in! ”You’ve been too busy trying to be perfect and nice - you’re doing it all wrong if you want to use your magic properly.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

”You just did it!” He seems more excited than I am. 

I slowly turn to Ellie who is watching all of this go on. “You’re welcome to have your break,��� I dismiss her. 

“Do I have to?” She asks. I give her a look that says “Go.” I roll my eyes when she giggles behind her hand and retreats from the garden. 

“You scared to say I’m right in front of others?” Yeonjun asks, resting on the same bench as yesterday. 

“A lady can always admit when she’s wrong,” I play with some of the leaves on the bushes to distract from the fact that he’s staring at me. 

“Do ladies also say “Damn it,” when they don’t get what they want?” I purse my lips. My cheeks flush at the fact that he heard me losing my composure. It wasn’t my proudest moment. 

I sit next to him on the bench and he tenses. 

“Look, Y/N, I want to help-“

”What’s going on out here?” My father’s voice booms and it’s as if even the birds have gone quiet.

”Shit,” Yeonjun mumbles. 

“Yeonjun, your practice was an hour ago,” he points to the watch on his wrist. And if I’m correct, I started messing with that chair for about an hour. He missed practicing his magic to watch mine. He said he wanted to help earlier, but why? It’s not like we’re friends. I’ve known Yeonjun since my father brought him here because of “stuff going on at home”, and he has never given any hint that he could help me. 

“I was-“ he gestured to me. 

“Yes, I see,” my father held his chin higher when he looks at me. I can see his guard come up when he talks to me and all I want is to understand. 

“I didn’t mean to go against what you wanted, but-“

”Yeonjun!” My father interrupts, “I don’t want another word,” he’s quieter. “Go inside.” 

“If you’ll hear me out-“

My father doesn’t say anything this time, he gives him a hard look that says “Do as I say or you’ll regret it.” 

Yeonjun pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, while taking a quick peek back at me, but eventually makes his way inside so that I’m left with my father. 

He watches Yeonjun disappear into the house before looking down at the ground, not even back to me. He mumbles something and I raise an eyebrow.

”Are you going to keep mumbling or are you going to tell me the reason you want to keep him and I apart?” I cross my arms. It’s never a good feeling to get hostile with my father, but it’s as if that’s the only thing he responds to these days. 

“Don’t act like you’re lovers who can’t be together. You’re hardly friends!” For a second, I imagine Yeonjun and I being forbidden lovers. Sneaky rendezvous in the middle of the night, a stolen kiss here and there behind a wall. 

God, I need someone to bed me and soon if Yeonjun is the one making my heart race. I peek at my father, wondering if he can hear it, but all he wears is dismay and disdain for me.

“Can you listen to the words your saying for a moment? You don’t even want us to get along? What is it? You think he’s much better than me and you’re too afraid it’ll rub off and suddenly you’ll have no reason to dislike me, your only child? Are you afraid you might actually want to take care of me for once?”

”That is all I have done! I’ve fed you, clothed you, made sure you were safe, and you want to claim like an ignorant child, that I have done nothing for you!” 

“You have done nothing that matters! You-” I stop myself, feeling the tears well up again. Yeonjun’s voice comes to the front  of my mind  about trying to be perfect and suppressing my strong emotions. “I need to meet with Ellie, she’s been waiting for some time inside.” As much as I would like to argue with him and tap into whatever Yeonjun was talking about, I need to buy time so that my father doesn’t find out I’m practicing. 

“This discussion isn’t done,” he calls after me. 

My shoes echo off of the walls when I step inside, and when I look up, Yeonjun is leaning against a wall, arms crossed and leaning back. 

“You said you could help me, right?” I ask. He nods in reply, still not moving from his spot. “Tomorrow We need to go somewhere, not in the garden. He’ll know where to find us if we do.” 

“I know a place,” he finally says. I purse my lips as we stare each other down, no one here to witness this. There are more words stuck in my throat, but I don’t let them escape when I turn away from him and make the trek back to my room. 

***

“I don’t see how this is going to help,” I roll my eyes as we walk through the market streets. My father typically hires people to come out here and get our food, it’s strange to see pictures come to life. 

“You’d think by now you would see that I know what I’m doing,” he holds an orange to his face and sniffs it, before scrunching his face and putting it back. 

“An explanation helps enforce trust.”

“Then what’s the point of the trust if you need an explanation?” he asks and I take his words into consideration. My mouth opens to come up with an answer, but a man approaches us, a smirk on his face, his dark hair slicked back, and a confidence in his walk. 

“Well, well,” he chirps. He’s making direct eye contact with Yeonjun, I look over to the man who’s rolling his eyes. Clearly, this is no friend of his. “Haven’t seen you in a while, especially here!” his hands spread to the bustling market. “Didn’t think I would ever see you again after last time,” his chuckle is deep and Yeonjun tenses. 

I examine his body language at the appearance of this man. 

What is the history between these two? 

“Lye. I see you’re still chasing after me even after all of these years. Does your father know you’ve been after me?” Yeonjun asks. The man standing across from us doesn’t seem so cocky after that comment. 

“Don’t worry about my father. You’ve done that enough,” he seethes. 

“Somebody has to, considering you’re out here and not with him. Then again, I would be worried even if you were with him,” this really seems to press the man’s buttons. He’s fuming now and steps forward. 

On instinct, I move between him and Yeonjun. 

Lye looks down at me and starts to laugh. 

“Yeonjun, I knew you could get low, but I didn’t know you would start using girls as your guard dogs,” he doesn't look at me as he says this - like I’m a bug he’s already stepped on. 

“If you were such a tough guy, you would look me in my face when you’re talking about me,” I spit. He rolls his eyes then glides them down to me. As his burning gaze meets mine, I’m starting to think it was better when he wasn’t addressing me. 

“You don’t know who you’re defending-”

“Oh, I do,” I roll my eyes, “If I’m the one defending him, you know it’s bad,” I mutter. 

“Gee, thanks,” Yeonjun mumbles behind me and Lye’s face starts to stretch into a smile. 

“But I need him. You can’t hurt him,” I say. 

“Fine,” his lips purse, “I’ll walk away,” he nods. 

I’m filled with a sense of pride. My words are more powerful than-

“Watch out!” Yeonjun yells when Lye picks up one of the oranges and throws it in our direction. I scoff up at Lye. 

“You-”

“If you thought for a second I was going to listen to you, you need another head screwed on. This one isn’t working,” he pokes a finger into my forehead. 

The blood in my veins rushes to the spot he poked - an anger that needs to be soothed now. I’ve taken enough demeaning comments from my own father, but I live with him. Who the hell is this man?

“Use the anger, Y/N,” Yeonjun whispers to me. 

Lye must have been angered by our secret exchange of words and his hands move to pick up a bin of bread and it hovers to move over us. Does everyone in this world know how to use magic except for me? 

The bin plummets down to hit us before Yeonjun uses his magic to redirect it to a far wall. 

We’re starting to gain an audience as some people scream and hide behind objects while others watch in awe. 

Lye picks up another bin of something, it takes Yeonjun redirecting it to the wall again and smashing it to find out it was a bin of jewelry. 

“Come on, Yeonjun. I thought that was your bodyguard! Why are you doing all the work?” he laughs again. “Oh. Oh, no. Don’t tell me she can’t use magic,” he makes a pouting face. I’ve felt useless before, but having Yeonjun watch me expectantly, relying on me- it’s new and uncomfortable. Everyone in the crowd is watching my 

“Stop suppressing it. Use instinct and emotion,” Yeonjun grits out to me. 

“Yeonjun, what’s the point? Fight me like a man, don’t put a woman between us, it would be too easy.”

“That was pretty rude actually,” my lips pout involuntarily and Yeonjun rolls his eyes.

Lye’s hand moves and I look beyond the crowd gathering to see a sword lifted above them. 

“You have to do it now, Y/N!” Yeonjun yells behind me. 

I need to use my emotions to my advantage. 

The sword swings high above. As it  swings back and forth, Lye taunting us, I think of the thing that angers me the most. 

Myself.

I think of why I couldn’t be good enough for my father. Why he chose Yeonjun over me despite me being his only child. Why I was never successful in the one thing he wanted me to be good at. 

I can’t even count to three before the tip aims at Yeonjun and it’s coming towards us. 

It’s not going to work! Yeonjun is going to die because of me! 

I close my eyes expecting to feel pain or to hear screams of agony from Yeonjun but they don’t come. The crowd murmurs and I move my hand away from my face. I almost collapse when the sword is held up hairs away from my face. 

“She’s got something in her after all!” Yeonjun jeers at Lye. I smack the feeling of pride I gain from his words considering it’s coming from Yeonjun. 

Lye’s jaw ticks and when the murmurs and chatter start to pick up from the crowd, he smirks a bit. 

“You won’t have to worry about me anymore,” and he flees. For a moment, I’m drowning in confusion, but Yeonjun rushes to me, offering a hand. 

“We need to go.”

“Why?” I whisper. 

As if we were meat hanging for a starving carnivore, the crowd’s faces are filled with pinched eyebrows and tense jaws. They’re out for blood. 

“Now, Y/N!” I take his hand as a man grabs a shovel from his stall. The murmuring develops into protest and shouting.

“Get your curses out of here!” 

“They’re going to kill us!” a mother cries. 

Our feet kick up dirt as Yeonjun drags me behind him, running in the direction back to the house - some citizens chasing us, others watching it unfold. 

***

I sat in the garden for a few hours staring into the bushes, but it’s as if they are not there. I’m stuck in my head, replaying the features etched onto the crowd’s face as they watched us. 

Fear. Hatred. 

“I knew you’d be wallowing, I didn’t know it would be this much,” Yeonjun’s voice appears from the darkness, knocking me out of my head. “My realization was only an hour,” he says.

“Realization of what?”

“That the magic you thought would help people, the one thing you might gain approval for, only makes them fear you,” the tone of his voice suggests he never did get over it. 

“Have they always been that way?” I ask. I have visited the town more times than I can count, but I suppose it was never long enough to hear their opinions on people using magic. 

Yeonjun responds by nodding his head. “They see it often,” he starts, “but because they don’t have an understanding of it, it’s not the most accepted activity,” he explains. I nod my head. 

“Why did that guy have it out for you?” Lye did not seem like someone who has a small grudge against Yeonjun. He was willing to kill him. “Did you steal his parents away from him too?” I’m not sure what urges me to ask the question.

“He thinks I did,” he answers. I stare him down, trying to find any sign that he’s joking, but there is no sign. He doesn’t say he’s joking. “Linus is sick - has been for a long time,” his face contorts, struggling to get more words out. “My parents died when I was very young and I didn’t have anyone to take care of me,” I gulp, not ready to have sympathy for someone I envy. “Linus caught me stealing, but he ultimately felt bad for me.”

“And he took you in,” I interrupt. He nods. 

“He knew he was sick. Memories were slipping away and so was his health. He taught his son magic already, but he wanted to teach me before I ended up on the streets again. As you could see from the near death encounter earlier, Lye was not happy I was getting his father’s last moments.”

“No kidding.” 

“But he was my first and only father figure too. Lye tried to kill me at least three times before I decided it wasn’t worth my life,” he ends. I think about my father who was so happy to have Yeonjun shown up at his door offering magic services. I wasn’t the favorite anymore. 

“So, Linus was your first, and my father is your second,” I say out loud. 

“I wasn’t planning that. The plan was to work for him and have enough money to leave - go to a whole different town so that I never have to see Lye again.” 

“Why are you still here then?” 

His lips pry open for a second flashing a bit of the white of his teeth, his eyes moving away from the sky and looking into mine. I swallow, anticipating his answer. 

“I found something,” he says. His eyes move to my lips and I shake my head more confused now than I was before. “Your father told me I shouldn’t approach you, but I saw it as a challenge,” he continues. I continue to shake my head. “Yeonjun, you’re not-”

“I knew I’d find you two here,” my father’s face appears behind the bush, the moonlight hitting his face. He always has the perfect timing - then again if we wanted to be more secretive, we should have chosen a spot he’s never caught us in before. 

“Sir-”

“Don’t worry, Yeonjun,” I interrupt, “I wanted to talk to him anyway,” I purse my lips, a sign of his dismissal. There’s no reason Yeonjun needs to listen to me, but he exits the garden nonetheless. 

“There’s nothing to talk to me about. You’ve been out in town without my knowledge and putting yourself in danger!”

“Why have you been telling Yeonjun not to approach me? Why are you so afraid of him teaching me magic? If you think he’s better than me, and you’ve always wanted a son instead of me then just say that!” I feel a sting in my eye on the last sentence, and for the first time, I let myself feel in front of him. I let the tear slip so he can see the agony he’s caused me, if he even cares. 

His face does change. 

“Y/N-”

“You were supposed to be my father! Even more after my mother passed away! Time and time again I try to get your attention, time and time again you’re never on my side and when I finally do something that you have been praising him for non-stop, you want to shut me down!” 

“I have never wanted to replace you,” he says. “You are my daughter, I-” he stops. “I’ve been helping Yeonjun for you, not against you,” he tries to reach out for me, but I take a step back. 

“I don’t know what kind of manipulation you’re trying to pull, but I already know that’s not true. You haven’t done anything for me since he showed up. If you’ll excuse me ,I have a bit more practice to do,” I walk past him to go back inside. 

“Keep practicing, Y/N. It’s not going to save you from the mob waiting for you out there,” I almost stop in my tracks. My feet fidget, but I’m able to keep myself up and move inside. Yeonjun is waiting for me again. 

“I would prefer my father doesn’t come in here to see us talking. We need to go somewhere more private,” I suggest. His eyes flick around my face, his shoulders a bit more stiff.  “Don’t go getting any ideas now,” I tease. He closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“I wasn't thinking of it until you brought it up.”

“So, you’re thinking about it now?” I look back at him, an eyebrow arched. 

“Do you want me to lie?” he asks quietly. My mouth flops open and closed similar to a fish on land, not knowing how to answer the question. A smirk paints his face and he steps around me to walk, the sound of his shoes hitting tile slowly fading. I turn and do my best to catch up. 

My mouth is shut as I follow him into a room - one I have never seen before. 

He opens the door, revealing a bedroom. The bed is large and shoved into the left corner furthest from the door and the window. A desk sits on the other side, nearest the window, a stack of paper the only decorations I spot. A stack of books sits on the floor. 

There are no signs of any other hobbies other than this stack of books, the spines titled “Magic Among Other Things”, “Beginner’s Guide to Magic”, and the one that catches my eye, “Women Wooing Witchcraft”. 

“This one must be your favorite,” I hold up the book with the silhouette of a woman on the cover. He blushes, snatching it from my hands. 

“It’s proven useless so far,” he throws it onto the bed, it sparks a thought on how easy would it be to throw me on the bed. Would he use magic or his arms? 

My eyes trail to the very thing sliding through my mind. His arms flex while he cleans up the space. How much strength-

“Y/N!” Yeonjun has an eyebrow raised and my face heats. Caught red-handed. 

“Did you say something?”

”Something on your mind?” He asks. I shake my head a bit too quickly. 

“That book . . .” I point back to the one he is still carrying. “Has it worked for you?” 

He looks at the book then back to me. 

“Why?” 

“None of your business,” I argue. 

“If you want information, then I’d say it is my business,” his arms cross, keeping the book guarded with his biceps, the ones I couldn’t keep my eyes off of earlier, and am struggling to keep my eyes off of now. 

I hesitate, but ultimately find myself agreeing.

”It’s been tough the past couple of years. Love hasn’t been easy and I don’t plan on staying here. A way out of here is marriage,” I confess.  Marriage wasn't always my initial plan on leaving, but I recently realized that I have no money or connections to move out on my own, not yet anyway. 

His eyes flash, a bit of panic crossing his face. 

“Do you have someone in mind already?” He questions.

”No,” I sit on his bed. “I haven’t set the plan in motion, but that’s why,” my hand gestures to the book still in his hand, “I need to know if that worked out enough for you.”

A lump forms in his cheek from poking it with his tongue. He’s silent for a few moments, the book slapping against his hand, before the mattress dips beside me, his leg touching mine. 

“It hasn’t,” he confesses. “But I haven’t gotten a chance to try it on someone,” his fingers fidget with the cover of the book. 

“You have to try!” I urge. 

“Why do you care?”

“I have to know if it works.”

“And who would you use it on?” his fingers stop playing with it and he looks up to finally meet my eyes. 

I gasp, his gaze taking me off guard. There’s an intense feeling behind those eyes but I can’t place it. 

“Well, I-I haven’t thought about it m-”

“How would you use it, if you don’t know who to use it on?” He searches my face. There’s something he’s not telling me - something I’m not sure I want to know. 

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me who you plan to use it on.” He flinches at my proposal, his eyelashes fluttering. “It’s only fair. You have the book for a reason, so who is it?” I move my leg so that my legs are on the bed between us.

He clears his throat. 

I’m picturing the garden, his face when he told me found someone. 

Your father told me I shouldn’t approach you, but I saw it as a challenge, was what he said. Was the book meant for me? I was hoping we could have changed the subject back to Lye, but it seems that’s not going to be possible with the track we’re on - the track that leads to him possibly confessing he harbors feelings for me. 

“Before you say anything else,” I say, “Tell me. Did my father really restrict you from  chasing after me?” 

“Y/N-”

“Please.” I cringe internally at the way my voice is meek. 

“Yes,” he confesses. 

“Why?” 

“We should talk about it tomorrow,” his hand raises to rub two fingers on the sides of his head. 

“Swear it,” I demand. He sighs, looking up at me. His face contorts, ready to protest, but the same features relax.

“I swear.” 

***

“How did you do that so easily?” I cry at the flower in Yeonjun’s fist. The same flower was a rock halfway buried in the sand a minute ago. The waves crash against the shore, the ocean luring me with its sounds to drop this magic practice and jump in the waters. 

The place is barren with not a soul around but the crabs that creep through the sands every once in a while, and there isn’t a single tree around at risk of burning from my oh-so-spectacular magic skills.

Yeonjun laughs. There have been few times I’ve gotten to hear Yeonjun’s genuine laugh. It’s one from his chest and vibrates in my bones. So I take this one into my memory and lock it in. 

The same image of him laughing replays in my head once, twice, before I start wondering when I started to care. Before, I would have never given his laugh or the idea of him being happy a second thought unless it was out of jealousy that he was sharing it with my father. However, even then, his smile didn’t spread as wide, his laugh not as deep. It’s relieving and terrifying at the same time. 

He takes the sunflower dancing between his fingers and tips the top of it toward me. I look at the flower then back to his face.

“For you.” I take his words in, first analyzing them. There is no teasing tone, or hint that he has trapped the flower to prick me. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to pursue me,” I raise an eyebrow, laying a tentative finger onto the stem. 

“I never said this was a romantic gesture,” he smirks, a slight tilt of his head. 

My jaw clenches and I take the flower and sniff the petals, hoping it will hide the flames rising from my neck to my cheeks. I thank him, wondering if he could hear me over the crashing waves. I’ve never been given a flower before. 

“Remember, use your emotions,” Yeonjun spins me out of my thoughts with his new advice. “The anger inside of you, use it again.” 

“But -” I stop myself, and clear my throat. My eyes travel to the spot where multiple rocks are sitting atop and some are buried beneath the sand. I place the flower in the ground to lean on one of the boulders with the utmost care. 

I hold the rock, my grip firm and caging it in my fingers. My hand holds it out to the waters and I focus. Focus on the anger simmering whenever I look at my father. 

I try. I try hard to channel the emotion. 

“Close your eyes, envision the flower you want and take it,” his whisper pushes his breath into my ears, sending shivers to the tips of my fingers where the rock . . . is still a rock. My mind flushes every thought other than transforming this earth into life. 

I peer one of my eyes to open to peek at my hand- still a rock. 

“Damn it!” I nearly throw it to the ground. 

“Do the same thing you did when you stopped the sword. Think of your anger-”

“It wasn’t anger!” I confess. I turn to be inches from his face, causing me to reel back. My heel sticks into the sand and my stomach drops. 

“Y/N!” he calls for me before a hand wraps around my waist pulling me to him. I try not to breathe for the sake of not having my chest touch his. “You need to be more careful,” his voice is low, and his breathing is heavier - the opposite of me. His eyes travel behind me. I follow, turning my head to glance at the rock sticking out of the sand, right where my head would have landed. 

My head feels clipped when I face him again. 

“Thank you,” I whisper. His gaze drops to my lips moving. His face is the perfect angle where if I were to lean forward just a touch-

Yeonjun pulls me to stabilize my body back in the sand. 

“What did you mean it wasn’t anger?” he asks. 

I purse my lips. I was hoping he would have forgotten about that. 

“When I tried using my father to stop the sword, it didn’t work, but,” I avoid eye contact with him as I say, “I saw Lye was aiming for you. He was going to kill you. I was afraid you would die and it would be all my fault.” I let the words slip out. Letting Yeonjun know I care for him was not on my agenda for the day. 

“Fear. That’s what must have helped you,” his tone is very matter of fact, as if there could be no other answer. 

“Yes. Fear. But there is no risk of you dying while I am shapeshifting this rock into a flower.”

“There doesn’t need to be. All you have to do is put yourself back there- in that moment where you realized I was going to die.” 

I gasp. I do imagine the sword piercing him, but for a second before I shut that out of my mind. 

“Stop it. Don’t say anything that preposterous again! Nature has ears and has a funny way of making things come true.”

“Ha! If that were true you would-” the air freezes as he does. A cough rumbles his throat and up to his mouth that opens.

“If you say anything other than what you were going to finish that sentence with, I’m afraid I’m not interested in hearing it.” Please, finish the sentence! I thought. Whatever it was, was personal. 

“You don’t want me to finish it,” he challenged with a smirk on his face. 

I tell myself I don’t have any clue what he was going to say, but then I’d be lying to myself. The gleam in his eye gives me a hint to what it is, but I have an inkling it will sound better coming from him. 

“Please,” I whisper. “Finish it.” 

HIs smirk is gone and his eyelashes flutter, noticing my desperation. 

“If that were true, I would . . .” I start for him, taking a step forward at the same time has an intake of breath. “Yeonjun?” I urge. 

“If that were true, you would be naked on this very same beach, wind sneaking sand into your mouth because it’s open from moaning my name.” 

My eyes widen at his revelations. I wasn’t prepared for the bit of detail. Did he think about this often? 

His hooded eyes watch me for my next move despite myself not knowing my next move. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asks.

“Why? Why me? Of all the girls you could have and you choose to chase me and now of all times. I want to know why.” The thought of him wanting me as a way to spite my father is one that continues to tickle my brain. 

He’s not affected by my question. 

“I’ve always had my eye on you. You’re the reason I found your family in the first place,” he says. I’m slapped back into reality and away from my vision of lust. “When I was driven away by Lye, I naturally ended up on the streets. You and your father were in the same place I was - the only difference is I was in the back of the restaurant and you were in it.”

“You-” I realize. 

***

“There’s something you and I need to discuss, Y/N,” my father says before taking a bite out of his cheesecake.

“Father, I would swear this is the fifth time you’ve wanted to discuss the rules before I go to Key Mage,” I laugh, not in the mood for another lecture. 

“You’re not going to Key Mage,” his words cause time to freeze, the piece of cheesecake not too far from my mouth before I set it back on the plate. 

“You promised . . .” I keep my tone in check, not wanting to feel the anger rising. “You said I would get the chance to learn magic and now you’re taking it away?” 

“I’ve decided it simply isn’t best,” his voice has no emotion. No regret. No remorse.

“You can’t keep me away from it forever!” I slam the napkin on the table, allowing the small bit of anger release. “My mother may have died as a result of magic, but she wouldn’t have wanted this!” I hiss before leaving the restaurant, my father’s calls drawing eyes to me. 

Soon enough, the stifling air is replaced with that of the city and its dark sky. 

Tears sting my eyes, but there are too many people around, so I make an escape into the alley letting the dark protect me. I don’t get the chance to let my tears fall when I hear grunting only a few feet away. 

I look further into the alley to see the silhouette of a man standing over another. 

“Take,” he kicks him, earning another grunt, “that hideous magic of yours elsewhere!” Another kick. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” I push the man back. “What do you think you’re doing?” With the bit of light under the moon, I notice the man’s crooked grimace. 

“You clearly don’t know what this is, lady,” the man says. I’ve decided to tune out his hatred when I see the man whom he was kicking has blood dripping down the side of his mouth. He’s awake, but has injuries all over. “He has magic. He doesn’t belong here,” the man behind me continues to spit. 

I pay him no mind, only running my fingers through the bloodied man’s hair. There is no perfect way to describe how he looks at me. Confusion, relief, and exhaustion are written all over his face. 

“You’re okay,” I whisper. 

“Lady, you want to keep him as a pet? Be my guest. But when he brings hell and bad luck to you, don’t say nobody warned ya’,” he leaves me with his oh-so-great wisdom before leaving me and the man alone. 

“Why were you out here?” I ask, examining some of the cuts on his head. He moves to sit up against the wall while I continue to look at his state. 

He says nothing yet, but plays with a box sitting next to him. His finger play with the top enough for me to peek at some rice, half eaten. 

“You’re looking for food,” I conclude out loud. His nose scrunches and his gaze avoids mine, neither confirming or denying - not with words anyway. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, heading back into the restaurant where my father was silently finishing his cake. 

The rest of the evening was spent with quiet glances between us, before I finally found an opportunity to bring a dessert back to the man in the alley.

***

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Y/N,” Yeonjun’s thumb grazes my bottom lip. “I followed you and your father that night home. I meant to knock on your door the very same night, but when you arrived, I heard an argument about Key Mage Academy. I heard you were willing to learn, but that your father denied you.” 

The anger I felt the night he told me I wasn’t going hasn’t died down. I can feel it now. 

“My intention was always to approach you first. But your father . . . he caught me trying to sneak up to your window,” he laughs, fondly I should add. “I was using magic to balance chairs on top of one another. Now that I think about it, should’ve used a ladder instead,” he continues. I smile at that. “He recruited me. ‘Said I would have a home to come home to, a place to practice magic, and that my job was to protect you from the people in town who know about your family and the ones in town who remember your mother, but my interactions with you would be limited. Was it hell that the beautiful woman who took care of me was out of reach? Of course,” his eyes are not meeting mine, his thoughts further away than this moment, “but you were closer than before. The part I hadn’t anticipated,” his eyes come back to mine, “was you so passionately hating me. You didn’t even remember me.” 

“To be fair, you were in different attire and you had a new aura to you from when my father introduced the two of us. I could hardly recognize you,” I pluck at the more luxurious clothing sitting on him. 

“I guess after that, you couldn’t recognize me through your rage,” the hand still caressing my face, moves to my waist, where he yanks me closer. “How strong is your anger now, Y/N?” 

My mouth feels dry when his eyes lock into mine. I’m convinced not even an explosion can pull this man’s gaze away. 

“I’d say my anger has disappeared now,” I whisper. My heart feels like it’s ready to jump from my chest when he leans in closer. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” his sentence ends with his lips pressed against mine. I’ve never seen or heard of Yeonjun with another woman, so I’m shocked when I find he is an amazing kisser. Our lips mold together perfectly. It doesn’t feel rushed or sloppy as I rest my hands comfortably on his neck. It’s magical. 

Tingling spreads through my whole body. Not the kind that people typically describe when it comes to a kiss - one rooted from nerves, excitement, or lust - this is different. It is literal magic. Wisps of energy and emotion mix between us and it’s more addicting than the desire that I have for Yeonjun. 

He signals that he can feel it too when he groans into my mouth. 

“Y/N,” he sighs. We break away long enough to see the gold in his eyes. 

“Your eyes,” I warn. 

“They’re gold, aren’t they?” his hand comes up to caress my face as I nod. “So are yours,” he tells me. 

“What does it mean?” I ask, trying to find my own meaning in his eyes, staring deep in the flecks shimmering. 

“Our magic was made for each other. Here,” he pulls away from me and it’s a loss for my arms. He bends down to sit in the sand and I follow him. The same rock I dropped earlier is the one he hands to me. “Try turning it into a flower now, but focus,” he takes my hand and pulls me to lean into him, “on this,” he kisses me again, this time with a little more hunger, a little more bite, but I can still feel the magic flowing through us. 

“Yeonjun,” I sigh between kisses, his fist tightens on my hair at the back of my neck. 

“Change it,” he demands. Pulling me even closer to where the rock is the last thing on my mind and I choose to position both of my legs on either side of him. “Change the rock, Y/N,” his voice sounds more pleading now as he moves to make ministrations on my neck. 

“I can’t focus-”

“You can,” his hips move up into me and my mouth pries open in a moan. I thank everything on this earth that there is no one around. 

“You’re making it very difficult,” I tell him. Even with the round earth in my hand, I’m able to run both my hands into his hair and down his skin. Every inch is filled with energy and light. 

“I would lose a lot of confidence if I wasn’t,” he chuckles into my neck. “Now change it,” I squeal when he rolls us over, my back in the sand. 

“Oh,” is all I say when he tugs at his shirt, pulling it off. “Are you sure this is a good place to - mmm!” my worries are suppressed by his lips again, but I can’t pretend that him being on top doesn’t bother me. I use my strength (with the help of a bit of magic) to roll us again however, this time I am the one in control. 

We switch roles when I start to kiss up his neck, rewarding me with a sigh that escapes his lips. 

“You think this is your moment?” I whisper, ‘You’ve had enough moments taken from me, don’t you think?” 

“I didn’t mean-”

“Sh,” my thumb grazes his lips, “You’ve done enough,” and suddenly there is no longer a rock in my hand, but something much more useful. My hands graze his sides as I slide them to his arms, pulling them upwards. “You may not know it, Yeonjun, but you  have been controlling many aspects of my life - I’m at least going to get the chance to control this one.”

His hands are together above his head when I take the rope and tie it around them. 

“Y/N, wait-”

“Relax. If you’re good, I might let you out of them,” I tease him, my smile touching his lips. He’s hesitant for a moment, but his muscles finally relax. “You’ve put me through quite a bit when it came to us practicing magic. Should I put you through some trials as well?” 

“If you were good at things like turning a rock into a flower, maybe I wouldn’t have to put you through so many trials,” he argues. I should be taking offense, but the smirk on his face tells me it’s a tactic to get his control back. 

“You’ve got a big mouth for someone who is tied up,” my nails graze his abdomen and up to his chest, his breaths grow heavier, forcing his chest to push into mine. “Stay,” I instruct, before lifting myself up and standing to drag my undergarments down my legs beneath my dress. His eyes follow my movement. 

“Was that supposed to be tempting?” he asks, a tick in his voice. 

“It worked, didn’t it? Or are you trying to break out of your restraints to run away?” I’m about to sit on his lap when he stops me by clearing his throat. 

“We should be even shouldn’t we?” he eyes the same pants with a very noticeable bulge. 

“I have your permission?” I ask. As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I know it was a mistake. I’ve given him some of the control back and he knows it the moment I do by the way his lips pull up in a tug. 

“Is that even a question right now?” he responds. It’s difficult to comprehend how Yeonjun could go from my worst enemy to him asking me to take his pants off on the beach. 

Nonetheless, I answer to his request and loosen his buckle to drag them down. It’s a bit of a struggle at first, but my new magic allows me to pull them off effortlessly exposing his bare skin and the very thing causing the tent shape. 

“You’re doing so well with your magic,” his soft tone shoots straight to my stomach as it flips, “but I don’t want anymore of that,” he looks down then back up.

“What is it that you want?” My core rests on his bare skin, spreading my wetness up and down his length. 

He winces at the new touch, “Y/N,” he groans. “You know what I want,” he’s gasping for it at this point. 

“You haven’t even said “Please”,” I push, continuing to move. He doesn’t first, his jaw clenched while he watches me. “Yeonjun,” I moan before stopping. 

“Please,” he immediately gasps.

I slide over him again, this time also leaning down and kissing him. I can feel the magic coursing through the both of us again, and it’s all I need to sit up and hover over him. His eyes swirl with gold as he watches me lift the skirt of my dress and slide him into me. 

His name is sweet on my tongue and the feeling is heavenly.

I bounce on him while I spot his arms struggling in the rope. 

“Y/N,” he gasps when my nails start to dig into his chest, “Y/N, please let me out of this rope, please,” his words are choppy, but I understand what he wants - however, I won’t give that control. He realizes this when I shake my head, slow. 

My mind is starting to melt and all I can see is Yeonjun and the sand underneath him. I clench around him and slow down my movements for the sole reason of torturing him. I wouldn’t be able to get tired with the magic keeping me up. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters. Smoke emerges from the rope around his hands and, in a flash, Yeonjun is able to break free and sand kicks up in a flurry when he flips us and my back is in the sand again. 

I don’t have a chance to scold him when he’s inside me again. I was afraid to loosen the leash and let him take charge, but knowing I’ve tortured him enough to burn the rope is enough satisfaction. He doesn’t let my womanhood stay under my clothing enough and I feel the sea breeze touching every inch. 

All of the feeling starts to overwhelm me but not in a way that stresses me, instead in a way where my brain is starting to malfunction. My concerns about control wither away when he gasps my name into my ear. 

My nails dig into Yeonjun one more time as he drives me to the edge where he meets me in bliss. 

His body weight collapses onto me and we stay breathing together until we’re sick of the sand and the ocean. 

***

Yeonjun and I spend the evening together in my room. He suggested his in the beginning, but considering my father never comes in to check on me, I knew my more decorated bedroom would be the more stealthy option. 

He makes love to me two more times before we relax into our pillow talk session. My arm rests on his middle and our legs tangle. 

“Could you burn through the rope the whole time?” I throw the question into the dark. 

“Yes, but I wanted to indulge you. For a bit anyway,” I can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Don’t worry. I just wanted you to wriggle a bit for the torture yuo’ve caused throughout the years.”

He doesn’t say anything to that at first. 

“Do you still think I am your enemy, Y/N?”

“Of course not! You’ve done the one thing my father could never do - you told me the truth and you showed me how to use magic,” I cuddle closer to him when I’m reminded of the favor he has done for me. 

“Which . . . “ he sits up, the absence of his warmth disappointing, “I have a gift for you.” 

In one hand he holds a candle that he lights with his finger, and in the other hand he holds a folded piece of paper. I recognize the symbol stamped on the front. 

“Wait. Is that-?” 

“From Key Mage? Absolutely,” he kisses my cheek and hands it over to me. “Open it.”

“But how did you know?”

Yeonjun sets the candle onto the bedside table.

“You and your father had a few loud arguments for a few weeks while I was . . . creeping around,” he explains. I scoff and start to rip the letter open. “I used the excuse with your father that it was me who was applying, instead I filled it out with your information. I only slightly lied about your magical abilities at the time, but now,” he moves down to my neck, “you’ve accomplished even more than that.” 

All I have to read are the words “You’ve been accepted,” and it’s enough to throw myself onto Yeonjun again, laughter bubbling up and into his mouth.

“Thank you. Thank you!”

“All I did was move pen on paper-”

“No.” I stop him. “You did more than that. You’re the first person in years to believe in me.”

“Pretty soon your father will too.”

I picture my father being proud of me and sitting in the audience while I’m surrounded by people who are like me and walking the stage with me. I see Yeonjun there with a smile on his face. Suddenly my father is an option. It would be nice to have him during my success, but I realize I have to let his opinion go until he’s ready. 

“I don’t care what he thinks anymore. I don’t even care that he wanted to keep us from interacting. I’m ready to move on from this house and this life. Just promise you’ll keep teaching me spells from that book you got because of me.”

“I never said it was because of you.”

“You didn’t have to. I saw a few of the notes in there,” I chuckle. “‘Y/N might like this one’ you wrote under the transformation into a flower spell. ‘This could benefit me when we finally f’- mmm!” He interrupts me with a rough kiss. 

“I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve for you. A lot more than what was in that book.” 

[pommetarte]

𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝖆𝖓𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌.

Sae Itoshi x reader (may be OOC, i tried) Fluff, Romance GN pronouns “Really?” “Yes. Anything for you.”

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙

"You sure? I don't want to get in trouble at all with the team," you stated, worried because the soccer team was well known to have ruthless players and often had a penchant for trouble. You, on the other hand, were somewhat a do-gooder, and yet here you are asking a member of the soccer team if you could stay in the gym to skip mathematics class.

The boy was none other than your childhood friend, Itoshi Sae. You both grew close that one summer, when it was you, him, and his younger brother just spending time in the playground, taking turns to kick a ball. Occasionally, you guys stopped to buy ice cream as a snack.

"Of course it's fine. don't worry." He reassures you, even offering you his jacket so you could feel even more comfortable. the night before you were ranting to him about how unbearable class had become, especially with the teacher jumping straight into a new topic when the previous one was already a struggle. He feels bad for you, so as a result, he agreed to let you into the gym; he also agreed that none of the other team members would snitch on you—partially because the others don't care about that sort of stuff; they're the kind of people who just go all out when it comes to sports.

And so there you were, in the gym, just resting. Sometimes you'd peek out the gap in the door and catch a glimpse of Sae on the field, dribbling past other players. A match was coming up, so you understand why everyone was so insistent on training.

"It must be fun." you think to yourself, your phone in your clutches to help pass the time.

As the practice match continued, you found yourself staring at the boy as he played. Since when did he look so good? You think back to the times you both had, never really noticing him that much. Sure, he was your friend, and that's probably why he's nice, right?

Isn't that why all your classmates seem to swoon when they catch him in the corridor? but he always seemed distant to them and much more approachable when it came to you. But that's just you, right? There's no way that meant anything; you're grateful to have even become friends in the first place.

The longer you watch him play, the more your mind kind of decides there is a need for action. You absentmindedly grasped your phone and snapped a picture of him on the field, focusing on scoring for his team. You instantly put your phone in your pocket and mindlessly stared at the ceiling, waiting for the bell to ring.

And not long after, it did. The bell rang, and students came bursting into the hallway, crowding outside. You waited there in the gym to hand back his jacket (and maybe pay him a compliment for his generosity and his skills). Little did you know he was already hatching a plan to get his oblivious childhood friend to fall for him—just as he had for them.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Lunchtime came around, and you still sat there, wondering how long it would take him to come back. You understood that he was probably changing, but no one would ever take that long.

You took out your phone only to see that a text message notification filled the screen.

'Can you come to the field?'

'Please, it's urgent.'

And with that, you left the gym, holding his jacket in one hand while you practically sprinted to the field. You were already worried about what had happened because it's unlike him to ever stress urgency.

You arrived at the scene with him on the bench; he was sweating and didn't look at you when you came onto the field. He didn't even hear you calling his name from afar.

And with that, you left the gym, holding his jacket in one hand while you practically sprinted to the field. You were already worried about what had happened because it's unlike him to ever stress urgency.

You arrived at the scene with him on the bench; he was sweating and didn't look at you when you came onto the field. He didn't even hear you calling his name from afar. It's all because he was planning the very next steps carefully.

You approached him, and that's when it happened. You felt your arm being pulled by him, and you found yourself embraced in a hug. You thought he was just messing around. When he pulled back, you noticed that there was something in his hand. He showed you a piece of paper.

"Well, what is it that's so urgent?" you ask.

"Just read it."

Time stopped as you looked at the paper while he whispered the contents of his heart to you. It was direct, like him. It was heartfelt, like him. and it was open for anything, like him. You had him wrapped around your finger since the day you first met him, and yet you never noticed how he would steal glances, how he'd do anything in his power for you, and how he would take time just to listen and comfort you whenever you needed him to.

You were in love, but in a way you've never been in love before. No other time in your life has you felt so wanted and special.

For him, you were everything.

And for you,  he’ll give you anything.

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

[trappedinafantasy37]

Alright! It is finally time to face the Elder Brain and end this run. For a little disclaimer, I did complete this run just a few days before Patch 7. I just have posting paralysis and shit sits in my drafts forever before I post things.

Shadowheart tried to dominate the Elder Brain. But, her plan was an abysmal failure.

And doomsday has arrived for the city of Baldur's Gate.

Pro tip: before walking into the apocalypse, make sure your pet illithid is well fed. Locally sourced brains are the preferred nutrition, but store bought is fine.

Despite the apocalyptic scenario she finds herself in, Minthara is enjoying herself and having a grand old time. Definitely the kind of person who thrives in chaos and is her most calm when shit hits the fan.

At the beginning of this all, Shadowheart was alone, trying to navigate the dangers by herself. She felt that she did not need any allies as they would be nothing but liabilities. But Minthara was the one who, ironically, pulled her out of the darkness and gave her the push she needed to step away from Shar. She never could have made it this far without her.

A failed Sharran, a drow, and an illithid walk into a bar...

Meet my friends!

RAWR!

Now this is what I call some quality gameplay! No one can attack you if they can't see you. And even if they could see you, you've evoked the "you can't touch me" rules!

In a final act of desperation, the nether brain pleads for its life, trying to entice Shadowheart into becoming Absolute. Of course, Minthara wants Shadowheart to take the brain and they can rule the world as gods. Sadly, Shadowheart has turned into a helpless do-gooder and destroyed the brain. Lame.

Yay! They saved the city and Minthara unintentionally did a good thing! Now, she wants to get shitfaced so she can forget the awful experience of being a hero against her will.

So, Shadowheart sleeps and Minthara trances, right? Meaning Minthara wakes up long before Shadowheart does. Therefore, Minthara has spent at least 4 hours just sitting here, staring at Shadowheart and waiting for her to wake up. I mean, I would do the same thing too...

Babygurl, it is just me and you here. Who the hell do you think I've been partying with without you? Who are you so afraid of? Who are you trying to poison?

You know, Withers could have just visited the evil lesbians in Baldur's Gate instead of throwing this lavish and extravagant party in the middle of nowhere.

Whoooo boi! This has probably been the longest it has taken me to ever complete a run in Baldur's Gate. Not because it was difficult, but because I was fighting burn-out at the same time, and, well, life stuff happened. But now with Patch 7 being here, I can finally download and install some mods to bring back that spark and replay Daedra and maybe complete that Karlach origin that I keep putting off. This will probably be the last time I do a Shadowheart origin as I have already done it three times and I miss her as a companion.

This is my first duo run and I have had a lot of fun with it. Knowing that I only had two companions and limited resources really made me approach combat and scenarios more tactfully and prepare in advance. It also provided me with some really good RP reasons to make some not so morally good decisions. This was a run that started off with Shadowheart making evil decisions out of necessity and survival, but then her selectively choosing to be good and to be better as she knows she has the power to be better. And having a powerhouse like Minthara at her side certainly gave her the confidence. Of course, Minthara had to get dragged through all this character development, grumbling and bitching about it the entire time. Although, I do not think she learned the same lessons as Shadowheart did as she is still up to her same old drow shenanigans.

This entire run was completely inspired by a random Shadowthara gifset I came across months ago and I knew I just had to do it. Shadowheart and Minthara have very quickly become one of my favorite ships and is my second favorite ship for Minthara specifically. I always knew that Shadowheart and Minthara had some overlap in their stories, but I didn't realize just how much they did overlap. I feel most people probably would have had Shadowheart go the DJ route with Minthara (and would be the canon route if Shadowheart only had Minthara by her side). So I went the opposite direction and found a good RP motivator to make Shadowheart reject Shar instead. To be honest, I think Minthara and Selunite Shadowheart mesh better together than DJ Shadowheart (although DJ Shaodwheart and Minthara are delicious in their own way).

Now that the run is completely over, I will get to my final wrap up in the next coming days. I will also polish out the chapters I have already written for my Shadowheart fic and start getting it published. And for all those who have followed me through this run when you really didn't have to:

Thank you!

< Orin |

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Earth 3 Marvel fam and associates ideas

Okay so, context, Earth 3 is a mess. I’ve already had a headache realizing their Wonder Woman is apparently Lois and yet somehow Donna exists there too so bear with me, I’m just making shit up for this mess of a universe that’s just the dystopian “Heroes are villains and everything sucks” world DC pulls random threats from.

So, the main Thing™️ with Earth 3 is that things are reversed morally, the heroes are villains and vice versa. So if we account the still existing Marvel Family characters then all the villains for that world are Billy, Mary, Freddy, Uncle Dudley, Tawny, and The Wizard. I won’t include the other Shazamily siblings of Darla, Pedro, and Eugene bc DC doesn’t give them enough character to be swapped properly and they didn’t get to be heroes for a long time, this is more pre-2011 Marvel Fam based with the consistent characters form then that still exist now.

That means that the villains/anti-heroes of the family are as follows would be the Earth 3 heroes or do-gooders. Black Adam, Satanus, Blaze, the Sins, Sivana, and other miscellaneous rogues from their gallery.

So, ideas as I have them for this swap.

Historically for this switch The Wizard and the powers of Shazam (or Mazahs but I’ll keep using Shazam for simplicity’s sake) were inherently given to bad people, so it’s probably closer to some cabal of evil gods or demons who started the Shazam legacy with The Wizard and lived as tyrants or general evil villainous wizards until we got to modern day with Billy. His history swap would stem into his backstory too, making his parents less lovable as greedy archaeologists and his uncle Ebenezer not kick him out but instead probably do his best raising a horrible child, so Billy wouldn’t be homeless, he’d be a brat. Mary would also still be with Billy, some part for simplicity’s sake in the universe but also bc of Theo changes.

Another historical change would have to be Theo and Black Adam, who would switch to being good people apropos to their villain and anti-hero standings. Instead of taking the scarab necklace in the tomb for selfish reasons Theo would take it to preserve a historical relic and, in self defense, kill the Batsons as a role reversal of that situation and run away. If Mary is there he doesn’t kidnap her this go around, just sends her home to her kindly uncle Ebenezer and goes to his boss Sivana asking for help legally bc he literally just murdered two people. Cue The Wizard begrudgingly having to pass his powers onto someone new because either his benefactors demand new hosts or because of a selfish legacy reason and chooses the vile Batson twins to be his Champions of Villainy. Cue the renaming of Captain Billy and Scary Mary (names taken from what apparently was a prototype name for Captain Marvel and the YJ tv shows name for an evil Mary used to be the villain names two kids would come up with)

Theo then realizes the power of the scarab necklace and uses it to gain the powers of his ancestor, Black Adam, who was a cruel tyrant of a king the Wizard sought to make his earthly pawn but was reformed into being an agent of good by this universes Lady Blaze (who in this context would be the daughter of an Angel of sorts instead of a demon) and fought against the Wizard instead which led to his imprisonment in the necklace. Theo is beat by Billy and Mary who slit his throat personally to stop him from ever calling on the powers again and throw him in prison for the murder of their parents with him unable to claim self defense with no word to go against a dead couples. Double down on the bastardization of the Batson twins by making them tearfully make accounts of Adams villainy and desire to hurt their folks to make sure he stays out of their hair.

The Sins and Blaze are easy switches, you just make them the Seven Heavenly Allies of Humanity/ the Virtues and make Blaze and Satanus angel-kin with the minor name change of Satanus to something less Satan-sounding, like after a Saint or other angel. Sivana simply becomes a good scientist who still has two good children and two bad children, they’re just swapped. Beautia and Magnificus are cruel, spiteful people while Georgia and Thad Jr. are much more like their father and want to make things better in the horrible world they live in. Black Adam would closer resemble some prophet or elected official trying to save a land without a hero in Khandaq, leaning into the Anti-Heroism by trying to make Khandaq isolationist and use his magic to keep villains out by force or at the cost of his own life.

What wouldn’t change for any of them— Billy, Mary, Sivana, and Adam— is an overwhelming sense of family and the need to protect it. Billy and Mary would be upset their parents died more so because those are their parents and would be protective of the other more so in a “That’s my family” way than a “That’s my family” way. Sivana still loves his kids and Adam still loves his home.

Back to associates, Freddy and Dudley would also be swapped but Freddy more so into being a horrible person. As a part of the ensemble rogues gallery Krieger would be... well, what he is. Instead, Freddy would be more like him with those ideals while being a lackey for Billy and Mary instead of a close friend. And in keeping with the horribleness of the whole universe, he'd back stab them if he could but doing so normally gets his powers revoked and left in chronic pain from his bad leg. Billy and Mary are dangling being "perfect" and "powerful" over his head to get rid of his pain. Like, he's still a bad person but those two are just as bad and bad to him.

Dudley is still a con man, to put it simply, he's just successful at it and malicious in his practice. He's who the twins and Freddy replace the useless Ebenezer with after he "Suffers a terrible and unforeseeable stroke" to let them get their way with things.

Tawny is a maneater. He is a tiger and Captain Billys personal lapcat that happily devours nuisances and gnaws on their bones in the meantime.

Those are my thoughts to actually have some flesh to these versions of them, take the ideas as you please or tell me what you think about this!

[littl-snail]

Jacques Little Painters

Part 1

In a dingy Pensacola neighborhood lived a prostitute named Nancy and her two mentally disabled children, Jeffy and Feebee. Those children were Nancy's livelihood, their monthly disability checks were more than enough to support her addictions. And Jeffy's father was a famous painter who, for reasons unbeknownst to Jeffy himself, would never visit. He did, however, send child support checks that further filled Nancy's greedy pockets.

With those income sources coupled with Nancy's sex work, she was making enough money to have her children living in a safer neighborhood, eating food that was good for them, and drinking clean water. Unfortunately, Nancy didn't care about anything that'd enrich their lives. She gave them the bare minimum at best, and at worst, she tried her damnedest to make their already miserable lives even more miserable.

At least Jeffy and Feebee had each other. Being her older brother, he protected her from their mommy's beatings. He took the fall for her whenever he could. However, he always beat himself up about not being able to protect her from her other abuser. A pedophile named CJ who'd been assaulting poor Feebee since she was a toddler.

He felt it was his duty to keep her safe no matter what and felt guilt when he failed, too innocent to know that the blame fell solely on their mommy. She not only knew that Feebee was being sexually abused from the start, she was the one who encouraged it the moment she realized CJ desired her own child more than herself. Whilst at the same time, being harder on Feebee for being “fast” around her client.

She was only a child. It wasn't her fault that a grown man ogled at her whenever she played with her dolls while her mommy worked.

He was only a child. It wasn't his fault that he got violently angry every time that grown man hurt his little sister.

Why were they punished for these things? Why did their mommy hate them so? They'd learn the answers to these questions on a gloomy winter evening. Their mommy was sleeping in her recliner whilst the two siblings pointed out things in a toy catalog they'd gotten in the mail.

Jeffy circled a RC monster truck in black Sharpie with a big grin on his face. Feebee rested her head on his shoulder while fidgeting with her skirt, her smile suddenly faltering.

“I hope mommy at least gets us one toy this year…” she mumbles.

Jeffy turned to his little sister and put an arm around her shoulder. “Even if she doesn't, it'll be okay! We can make paper snow like we did last year and play” he says with a hum in his voice.

Feebee’s gaze narrowed at his response, which she responded to with a painful question. “But if she doesn't, what's…what’s the point in being good?” Jeffy's brow raised and he asked, “What do you mean?”

The girl took in a shaky breath and mumbled out, “We- we’re bad a little bit, but we get gooder and gooder. But mommy doesn't give us anything. She gets mad at us when we ask for food, a-and when we say the water is foggy she gets mad too. She won't give us toys neither…so…so…what's the point?”

Registering every heartbreaking word, Jeffy responded honestly, “I don't know…”

Tears filled his blue eyes which he roughly wiped away. “Are you okay?” Feebee asks him. “I’m fine” he grumbles, before pulling the girl into a rough hug. Her whole body tensed up for just a second, before relaxing in her big brothers safe arms. “We deserve toys” says with a huff, “Mommy’s just mean.”

In the middle of their cuddle, there was a knock at the front door. Both children froze and Feebee cowered behind her older brother, shaking madly. Their mother didn't wake and the knocking persisted. “Let’s just ignore them. Maybe they'll go away” Jeffy whispers.

The siblings covered their mouths in case the person outside could hear them breathe from the front porch. Usually those people would leave after a minute or so of no response, but this person was determined. They, presumably a man, called out “Nancy! I need to speak with you!”

His French accent was unlike anything the pair had ever heard. It was, however, familiar for their mother because her bloodshot eyes popped right open at the sound of it. With a snort and a slurp of her own slobber, she got up and hobbled to the front door. “I’m comin’! Quit yer knockin’!” she hollers.

Jeffy and Feebee gave each other quizzical looks before cautiously turning their attention to their mommy and the door. She didn't open the door up enough for the children to see and she flirtatiously leaned against the doorway.

“Couldn’t get enough of me huh?”

The man outside, dressed in a black and white striped sweater, black leather shoes, and a matching black beret, scowled at the sleazy woman. He took his cigar from his lips and blew his smoke directly in her face before saying, “Stop with ze jokes. I’m here to see the boy.”

This man was Jacques Pierre François. A world renowned painter born and raised in France. His paintings, no matter how rushed, always sold for millions. In the eyes of the elites that idolized his skill, he wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.

Nancy's thin brows raised and she scoffed, “Why do you wanna see him all of a sudden? You haven't cared about seeing him for his whole existence!”

The man’s eyes narrowed further and he yelled back at her. “Haven’t you seen all the bullshit being spread on the news lately!? People are losing their fame because of what they do to their children! If someone were to find out I don't care for the boy, then what do you think will happen to my fame and fortune? I won't be able to live it down!”

Jacques heaved in a heavy breath and stepped away from Nancy, seeing the agitation growing on her hideously deformed face. His mouth ran without him and against his better judgment, he snapped “This is all your fault anyway-”

“My fault?” Nancy snarled, making Jacques flinch. “You’re the dumbass Frenchman who accepted a drink from a stranger! Hell, even coming into my house was stupid! It was natural selection at that point!”

The man took another drag of his cigar, his free hand clutching his chest. His cheeks were flushed because part of him believed that Nancy was in the right about him being an idiot. Jacques walked into the lion's den and it's been his biggest regret since. Her words brought him back to that horrific night and he was nearly sent into a panic.

Nancy grinned as she drank in the sight of his fear. “Glad we can agree on something” she cruelly spat. “Anywho, you can take the little fucker another day. Give him a week or so.”

Exhaling the gray smog did nothing to fog those gray memories. So, Jacques reminded himself that he was a man, and like the man he was, he straightened up and put his foot down. “I came all the way to this shitty country from France, I'm not leaving without ze boy.”

Nancy tried to argue and keep the man at the door, but he shoved past her and was able to see the state of Jeffy and…a little girl? He knew Nancy was capable of evil, but to leave children in such a horrific state was something else. He was mortified when he saw the interior of their filthy house, even dirtier than the last time he walked inside. And the bruises on their skin. How they trembled in silence rather than being loud and rowdy like children were supposed to be.

Jacques couldn't find words to describe how disgusted he was with Nancy.

“Jeffy and his sister got into a bike accident today” she explained in her best mom voice. “Mommy told you little rascals not to ride your bicycles on the roof and you did it anyway, right?”

Jeffy and Feebee nodded their heads in unison, robotically, they were so clearly afraid. Their compliance was enough for Nancy to think her obvious lie was convincing. With clasped hands, she smiled at Jacques and batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Jacques stood frozen, his fair skin becoming paler as he continued to stare into their sad eyes. “You sick or somethin?” Nancy asked him, before Jacques hunched over and vomited on the floor.

“Oh come on! You jackass!” she screeched, as if her floor wasn't already rancid. She gritted her teeth and stomped the hallway to get a towel. Leaving her children with a man they didn't know.

When Jacques took a step towards them, Jeffy stood up and said “Don’t touch my sister.”

The man paused again, what did Jeffy mean by touch? He felt bile rising in his throat once again, but he held it down this time. “I won't, I would never” he assures the boy. Jeffy was still on guard.

Jacques understood Jeffy's protectiveness and stayed put. “Has your mother told you about me?” he asks Jeffy, his voice slightly muffled by his cigar hanging from his mouth as he respectfully takes off his hat. The boy shook his head and asked, “Who are you?”

Sweat rolled down Jacques face at Jeffy's question. Judging by how he reacted upon being left alone with him, he definitely wouldn't be excited about another male entering his life. Especially one who, to his knowledge, never did anything for him throughout his entire life. He had to introduce himself in a way that at least softened every word. There was no way to avoid sounding like a deadbeat father.

‘Spit it out already’ he told himself, gripping his beret a bit harder. “I’m your father, Jeffy,” he says, watching the boy's blue eyes widen along with his little sisters.

“You’re my daddy…? Really?”

Jacques nods his head.

“Are you Feebee's daddy?”

Jacques hesitated to answer that until he saw the sullen look on Feebee's face. So, he nodded again, causing her to perk up and smile bright.

Jeffy ran to his daddy, hugging him tightly. Jacques was shocked at his strength, feeling as if the child could lift him up with ease. He hugged Jeffy back though, while also feeling grateful he held no resentment towards him. Lord knows nobody could blame him if he did.

Jacques looked up and saw Feebee, now standing. She was fidgeting with her skirt and watching them longingly.

The man held his arm out, a gesture for her to join the hug that she didn't reciprocate. She only stood there nervously before plopping back down the moment Nancy returned with a small rag in her hand. Her nose scrunched up in disgust at their affection as she shoved the rag into Jacques hand.

Jacques sighed and let go of the boy, crouching down to attempt to clean his vomit with the small rag.

Jeffy watched and leaned to the side curiously, studying the man's face. They looked alike and that solidified his naive, immediate belief that this man hadn’t lied about being his dad. “Daddy, are you gonna live with us?” he asks with a grin. Jacques hugged him, mommy never did that. If Jacques stayed here then life would be much better.

Nancy butted in with a snide remark, “He ain't been here in nine years. What do you think?” Jeffy frowned and Jacques became frustrated. Frustrated because he couldn't say what he wanted to say in front of the children. He could only let out that frustration by ferociously scrubbing the floor. Cleaning even a portion of the floor without a hazmat suit and some powerful bleach was an uphill battle.

He picked up the vomit soaked rag and gasped when he saw the mushed body of a cockroach in the threading. He dropped the rag immediately and turned to Nancy, “I need a bigger towel. Zis little one is just pushing the mess around.” Nancy rolled her eyes but thankfully left the room to get another without fighting.

Jacques turned his attention back to the children when Feebee asked, “So are you going to live with us or not?”

His brows knitted and he muttered, “No I'm not.-” His eyes narrowed as he glanced around the awful space, taking it all in again. ‘I can't leave them here’ he tells himself, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he puts himself in these scared children's shoes. To knowingly leave them here with Nancy would make him just as evil.

“You’re not going to live here anymore either” he says, keeping his tone hushed so Nancy wouldn't hear.

The children's eyes went wide. “Wh-what do you mean?” they asked in unison, as Feebee hurriedly got behind her big brother for protection.

“I’m not going to let you two live in such a terrible place. I can't.”

Jacques held out his hands for the children to hold. Jeffy wasn't hesitant to walk over to his father and take his hand. Feebee had to follow because she couldn't bear living here without her big brother, which attested to Jacques beliefs about how Nancy treated them. She didn’t hold Jacques’ hand though. Instead, she held onto her brothers shirt.

Jacques hurriedly led Jeffy and Feebee out of the house just as mommy was returning. She screamed for the children, mostly Jeffy, and ran after them. Smoking and drinking with a side of more smoking didn’t do Nancy's body any favors. Screaming while running knocked all the wind out of her tortured lungs in only a few steps.

She collapsed in the lawn, her knees further crushing a cigarette that'd been carelessly dropped amongst the other filth that'd piled up around her home, as she watched Jacques’ silver Volkswagen Beetle peel off through a blur of tears. In her eyes, it was like watching her wallet grow legs and run away from her.

She wasn't going to let Jacques get away with this.

[zmediaoutlet]

“I’m starving. You think they’ll let me sell your ass for a Slim Jim?”

“You made that joke last time we were arrested.”

“What, you think a good bit is only good once? I get no respect, no respect.” The last part not much of an impression because Sam presses harder on the bullet wound with the wad of toilet paper and Dean’s voice goes thin and crackly. A clean-ish hole, in through the meaty part of his shoulder and out by his armpit. Could’ve got his heart or a lung but it doesn’t even feel like it cracked the collarbone. Apparently demons are terrible shots. Lucky, Dean had said, swallowing hard and making his voice harder after. Sam didn’t dignify it with a response.

Dean’s trying to get blood off his hand with more TP. It’s thin, awful stuff, shreds against the tacky stain. The chain between the bracelets clinking. “In those Norwegian prisons I bet they get wet wipes, huh?” he says. Sam takes a deep breath through his nose. “Pampered, or whatever. Could go for some pampering.”

“I’m not killing you,” Sam says, “does that count,” and Dean laughs breathy and weird. It must really hurt. He’d be throwing Sam off already, otherwise.

They dragged the body of Henriksen’s old boss out into the main part of the jail. There’s been shouting. A boom that shook the building but no one has told them what it was, exactly. They aren’t currently top priority, despite being such world-class criminals. A break but not much of one, with Dean still bleeding over Sam’s hands. With what’s coming.

“Demons, huh,” Dean says. On the same train of thought when blood’s on the line, as always. He shifts on the shitty jailhouse mattress, gets his bootheels square on the ground. Sam shifts along with him, keeping the slack easy between their manacled ankles. “Better or worse than cops?”

Henriksen’s vicious little grin, telling them they’d never see each other again. Not quite yellow eyes but Sam’s stomach flips. Dean’s fingers slide over his, in the enveloping shadow of Dean’s jacket. Sam’s let his grip go slack.

“Can’t exorcise a cop,” Dean says, answering his own question because Sam feels like he’s going to puke. Taking point, as always. “Gotta be a point in the demons’ favor.”

“How are we gonna get him to believe us,” Sam says.

It’s all he can think. There are demons and there’s this asshole, do-gooder cop, who thinks he’s saving the day from monsters when he doesn’t know what monsters really are. If they had iron and salt and silver and a chance they might make it out. Maybe. Not like this.

“He thinks we’re psycho graverobbing murdering cannibals, Sammy, I’m not sure we’re in the circle of trust,” Dean says. He jostles his shoulder against Sam’s chest, even though that must hurt. “But hey, at least he didn’t guess about—”

“Jesus,” Sam says. Dean grins white in the emergency lights. No, Henriksen didn’t say that, did he. Although he did—about Dad—

“You think if we start making out in here, they’d open the door?” Dean’s fingers slip against his, pressing both their hands harder against his shoulder. He flinches. Still grinning. “Just to pull us apart, anyway. Worth a shot.”

“Shut up,” Sam says. Dean bites his lip, turning his face away. His chin trembles and Sam wants to—lay full length over him, take the next bullet if it comes. Go back in time and exorcise the demon before it could pull its gun, get Henriksen against the bars and get his hands around Henriksen’s neck and force him to hear the truth. That the dark was swarming up around them and if Henriksen didn’t let them go then it was going to take everyone in this station and, worse, it was going to take Dean and there was no chance, not one in the fucking world, that Sam was going to let his brother go without a fight. That it was impossible for that to happen again. Everything in him was solid on that part. That just—there’s no way that was going to happen.

Dean’s knee sags and presses against Sam’s. “Okay, so,” Dean says, chin tipping down. “We’ll take out the demons, save the day. Guess even cops beat demons. And save the making out part for later, huh? Though I could go for some of that surf and turf.”

Sam breathes out. He puts his forehead down to Dean’s shoulder for two seconds, and then sits up straight. There’s more shouting, somewhere past the hall to the holding cells. Sam squeezes his wrist, lets him drop his hand, presses the compress hard and solid against the wound. Dean’s looking straight ahead, steady. A well, somewhere in him, that always seems to have one last drop of relief.

[bananastarion]

Here's a whole bunch of cute, fluffy Tav/Astarion headcanons for you

With just a touch of Gale and Halsin in there, as well. I might break some of these up into their own posts eventually. Enjoy? And let me know your thoughts, I crave feedback. <3

Astarion & the Rainbow: After a rainy day, the most brilliant rainbow appears in the sky above Baldur's Gate. You catch Astarion just sitting on the ground and watching it, and you sit beside him. He doesn't take his eyes off the sky, and his expression is difficult to decipher... is he in awe, or sad, or just spacing out? You realize this is likely the first rainbow he can ever remember seeing, and that he knows it most likely will be his last. You sit together in silence as he grips your hand tightly, and stay there until the rainbow has faded away completely.

Astarion & Love Bites: Astarion gets bitey when he's feeling frisky, or hungry, or just affectionate. Like a cat. You'll be cuddling or play wrestling with him and he'll start giving you little love nips. Not enough to break the skin, though they often tend to lead to that if you let him. Sometimes he accidentally bites a little harder than he meant to, and to make it up to you he'll kiss the spot better. Sometimes you'll be praising him or saying sweet nothings and his brain will just short circuit, and instead of coming up with anything to say back, he'll find it irresistible to just grab you and give you a happy little nibble.

Astarion Proposes: Astarion has never felt the least bit sentimental about marriage, but then again, he's never loved anyone like you before. The idea of you being his legally, forever, definitely has given the tradition a newfound appeal. Plus, it would be a good excuse to throw a lavish party. He takes you out to a beautiful, remote location where the stars are fully visible, and you lay together under the beautiful night sky, taking it in. He clasps your hand and with his roguish dexterity slides the ring almost imperceptibly on your finger. You notice the coolness of the metal and look to see what he's done- and oh my gosh, it is an absolutely gorgeous looking ring. Very ornate and regal looking, with diamonds and rubies. He gets down on one knee and proposes to you with tongue in cheek theatrics, before ending it with a quietly earnest plea to marry him and spend the rest of your lives together.

Of course you say yes... just don't ask where he got that ring from. Something tells you he probably didn't pay for it. "Oh, never mind that... you like it, don't you?" But if you push him- "Fine. If you must know, it belonged to an undeserving couple in the upper city with more money than they know what to do with, and a marriage that surely won't last. We'll make far better use of it than they ever could." If your Tav is a do-gooder, you might have an argument about this, and make him return the ring. Then he'll buy you a new ring with the reward money he got for 'finding' the 'missing' ring. Old habits die hard, okay?

Astarion & his Mirror: Astarion asks you a lot for feedback about his appearance. He really likes it when you play with his hair or rough it up after a night of passion, but afterwards he'll fix it back up again right away. He'll always ask you if it looks good, even though after 200 years of practicing without a mirror he already knows it does.

After he drinks from you, he'll wipe the blood dribbling from his lips with the back of his hand and ask if he got it all off. More than occasionally, he just ends up with a big smear of blood across his chin after doing this, which you are happy to wipe off for him.

You like to go shopping together, and he loves trying on clothes- while asking you lots of questions about how they look on him. Does the color suit his complexion? Is he more of an autumn or a winter? Does it flatter his figure? Does he look better in silver or gold jewelry? He takes your opinions on these matters seriously. He's still figuring out who he is as a free man, and how he presents is a big part of that to him. It's less overwhelming for him to have the feedback of a trusted person guide him through it, but you try to push him to make his own choices as much as possible.

Astarion & Poetry: Astarion feels strongly about poetry. Surprisingly strongly, once you get him on the subject. There are lots of poets he considers to be hacks that only write sentimental claptrap. But other poems he knows by heart and will passionately recite them for you with the zeal of a bard. He likes old, dark and enigmatic poems, ones that capture his own feelings and struggles better than he can express in his own words. If he knew of our world's poetry, he'd probably consider Invictus a favorite. (bonus thought: Halsin would probably really like this poem)

Astarion & Cooking: Back when you and your companions were all traveling and camping together, Astarion was feeding on you regularly so he could be strong in battle. But seeing the effect this was starting to have on you roused some concern in him. He can't have his favorite blood supply get too low in iron! So one morning, Astarion gets up before you to cook breakfast, to help replenish your strength after a particularly... draining night together.

The trouble is, he's never really cooked anything before that he can remember, and has no idea what he's doing. Gale catches him putting a half-burt, half-raw, unseasoned pork loin on a plate and asks him why he's making food. When he tells him it's for Tav, his eyes go wide. "Gods, are you trying to kill them?! Here, let me show you how it's done..." After much bickering, and Gale struggling not to go full Gordon Ramsay on Astarion for being so clueless, they manage to make a decent breakfast together.

You wake up to a pleasant surprise and Astarion is quick to take all the credit before Gale butts in and says "Ahem! Actually, we made you breakfast. Well, mostly me. If it weren't for my culinary expertise, Astarion would have effectively poisoned you. You're welcome." Astarion shoots him a glare, but deep down he is appreciative that you got to have a nourishing meal one way or another.

Astarion & Gift Giving: Astarion is great with his hands- he has beautiful handwriting, is deft with a needle and thread, and wields his weapons with much flair. He gets fidgety when his hands aren't busy, so often when relaxing he'll be doing something with them. He fidgets a lot with coins, rings, his daggers and whatever else he happens to have on hand. He discovers he has a knack for making little things, and he has the perfect excuse to now that he has you around. You'll find him shyly gifting you all sorts of intricately made little knick knacks- embroidered handkerchiefs, crocheted scarves, precisely folded origami. Often times, he just leaves them on your pillow without a word. Maybe Halsin even turns him onto whittling. It's oddly relaxing for him, and refreshing to be a little generous for once. To you only, of course.

Thanks so much for reading! <3

[delightfully-deranged-dagur]

Finished my Total Drama OC Cast!

Let's meet the cast!

Alex. The Attention Hog

Doesn't care about anything except having everyone's attention on him. I mean, why wouldn't you pay attention to him. He's ripped, he's clever, he's hot, he's got muscles, did I mention he's ripped?

Finn. The Workaholic

Money, money, money. That's what Finn dreams about. It's why he works 6 different jobs and sleeps 2 hours a week. (If he's lucky) He loves money. He wants a lot of it. But the only way he'll accept it is through hard work.

And what's harder then winning Total Drama?

Gabriel. The Pretentious Goth

He barely glanced at you and he's already unimpressed with you. You're just not up to Gabriel's standards. Too mainstream and normal. Have you ever even worn a corset?

Just because he thinks he's better then you doesn't mean he has to constantly remind you of it. And yet he does.

Darla. The Visionary

Darla doesn't create art. She IS art. She breathes, eats and drinks art!

What exactly does she consider art? Oh you know, the usual. Glueing her schools desks to the ceiling. Swapping out the football uniforms for ballgowns. And of course, shaping her hair into the shape of the moon.

Rachel. The Rodeo Star

This devious diva has it all. Brains, brawn and beauty. And she's planning to walk away with the million keeping that all intact.

She's not a bad person, really. Just competitive. If she wasn't competing, she'd rather treat her fellow contestants to one of her Rodeo shows and some home-baked pie.

Raheem. The Oblivious Heartthrob

Raheem doesn't seem to realize how attractive he is. In fact, he doesn't realize a lot of things. He's kind and pretty book smart. But he's just terrible at reading social cues.

He feels terrible whenever he offends someone or make them upset because he didn't read their emotions properly. He doesn't really know to fix this issue so he just puts on a smile and suppresses his turmoil.

Olive. The Doormat

Coming from a big family where she doesn't feel like she fits in, Olive tries her best to help people so she'll feel accepted.

Now if only there was a way to help people without dragging so much attention to herself.

Lulu. The Clown

Lulu just wants to put a smile on people's faces and have fun. She can get easily carried away when she's excited. But once she calms down you'll notice just how pragmatic this Clown is.

Just because she's silly doesn't mean she doesn't have common sense, she might just surprise you in ways you didn't expect.

Phoenix, aka Francis. The Menace

Phoenix identifies as a problem. An inconvenience. An absolute menace you're never quite sure is messing with you, or is joking around. He randomly SHOUTS random words when he speaks, either another way to annoy people or just a disorder.

He lost his arm in a fire he may or may not have definitely caused himself. But he survived which is how he got the name Pheonix.

Cherry. The Competitive Dancer

Cherry values teamwork more then anything. She tries her hardest to be a valuable teammate and keep everyone focused. Of course, they might listen to her more if she tried to spend more time with the team outside of challenges.

After a recent betrayal in her dance troupe where someone sold routines to rival troupes, Cherry doesn't trust new people easily. And clings to the ones she does trust.

Augustus. The Religious Do-Gooder

Augustus is a sweet kid. Always looking to do a good deed for someone. That's how he was raised in what is definitely not a cult.

Good deeds are very important to Auggie here. After all, once you do a good deed for someone, they have to do a good deed for you. They have to. Because if they don't, things get ugly...

Janus. The Hippie

Janus is like, Fer sure, the chillest guy around. He's all about that inner peace stuff. And outer peace. And of course, in-between peace. He spreads his message of peace by sharing crystals, flowers, and songs played on his guitar.

People say Janus is incapable of feeling any hate. He loves everybody. But he's a romantic at heart and is still looking for that special someone to love.

Marlo. The Prankster

Marlo loves pranking people. Fart cushions. Prank calls. Acid in the towns water supply. You know, the usual. Okay so Marlo may be lacking some, what do you call it? Morals! And yes he's uncapable of feeling empathy.

But. He's also got a criminal record. So point is. When you see Marlo, run the other way.

Flo. The Rebel

Flo isn't a big fan of authority or "The man" telling her what to do. She'd rather live her own life, free from anyone's expectations or rules.

Her favorite past time is rocking out with her band, Voltageous Chaos! She's lead singer and bassist. Her little sister Beast is on the drums, BFF Prof. Cavity on keyboard, sleepy gal Moot on Sax and incomprehensible Zips on Trumpet.

Still looking for a Guitarist though...

Parvati. The Mythology Buff

Parvati adores learning about Mythology. Especially the creatures. Fantastical beasts she can only fantasize about. Of course while learning Mythology she also learns a lot of history and cultures from around the world.

She has so many thoughts going through her head sometimes she loses focus on what she was doing. But after stumbling a bit she gets right back at it and gives it her all. For a nerd she's quite athletic.

Sasha. The Nepo-Baby

Wait, you guys don't have family members working high in the industry and getting you onto TV-shows? But there's so many people in the industry, surely you're related to some of them?

That's what Sasha thinks at the least. She doesn't really see how many privileges she has in life. Which thankfully means she never taunts less fortunate people with those privileges.

Her dream is to become a famous singer, and she has enough connections to make that dream a reality. Of course she herself works hard on her singing and encourages others to work on their dreams too. She's very sincere and optimistic.

Tony. The Short-Tempered Greaser

Tony has always been a bit, vertically challenged. Something bullies picked up on. Which then got picked up by his younger twin brothers, who did get blessed with the tall genes and at 14 tower over their older brother.

The constant bullying at school and at home, unable to tell his mom in fear of worrying her, and never quite properly dealing with the grief of losing his father, has left Tony with a lot of bubbled up anger. And it doesn't take much for him to snap.

Madileighn. The Annoying Influencer

Madi worked hard to gain a following. But her general cluelessness about the problematic brands she endorses, sharing videos about animals that look cute but are in distress, and accidentally joining a pyramid scheme makes her tiring to be around.

As she genuinely believes she's doing nothing wrong.

Well. That's it. My Total Drama Cast! I'm planning on writing a fanfic about them.

Taking place after the 2nd season of the Revival, where the show goes back to the abandoned film lot for a Take 2 of Total Drama Action.

18 contestants. 9 per team. Only 1 winner.

Stay tuned for more news.

[monosanimegenericzone]

Hunter x Hunter: troupe brainrot part what

okay i had some thoughts saved up

so with the flashback chapters + several months of brainrotting about these stupid bugs.

types of character progression arcs i think the troupe would have. thats just me tho

so by reverse engineering each member of the troupe i have a few definite conclusions of their character arcs based on other anime that i rather enjoy.

uvogin - wind breaker. i have not read the manga but this guy going from the strongest to THE STRONGEST is definitely fitting. plus learning how to do more with his fists than just destroy (pure headcanon fight me i love this man) is just really cool.

alt. just any generic shonen "power through and you win" character arc. eg. goku, deku,

like hear me out. he was already crazy strong, bro threw a brick so hard it made shalnark flip at least three times. (also shalnark's head is thick as hell for not DYING to that)

learning nen just opens the gate to this idea of being the strongest man on earth so all of his fights that actually count as fights would be his struggle to the death.

i dont know who exactly he fought that would ever make him struggle, but early days uvo having to gon-style power up to punch GOODER is going to consume my available brainspace until the day i die.

pakunoda - death note. tell me right now to my face that homegirl did not have to wrap the cops around her finger SEVERAL TIMES. homegirl has the suit jacket and all, she is rocking six figures AND the spider tattoo, i just know she had to lie her ass off to stay off record.

which she is. she is still off record by some fucking MIRACLE.

like she's the only one of the troupe i can see having an actual permanent estate away from home. we have no idea what the troupe does in their free time, but i know for damn sure she actually puts that money to good use.

SO I KNOW FOR DAMN SURE. she has gotten at least one detective on her ass connecting her back to the troupe that she has to conspiracy theory into believing its not her

i have a few good scenes stored up in my notes and god DAMN. she could put in some serious work.

shalnark - monster. johann liebert with a twist of lime. need i say more.

manipulator. the only one of the troupe that we know of. (illumi and kalluto dont count) so boy had to struggle on his own for inspiration.

add on the complete disregard for human life and this apparently flippant judgement of life and death and holy shit you've got one fucked up little dude. add on the lack of untraceable fingerprints and other dna and wow. that's ONE FUCKED UP LITTLE DUDE.

i dont know if he'd have one persistent guy after him his entire life. i think he keeps his trail clean. but good lord it'd be funny. imagine that's how he loses the long hair. he finally kills the tail that's been after him for 10 years and then makes the chop because he no longer needs the calling card.

nobunaga - demon slayer. its swords and martial arts. tell me to my face that ain't him. im watching demon slayer rn and all im thinking about tiny nobunaga getting his ass BEAT by old man sensei until he learns how to use the damn sword.

im sorry but i am loving demon slayer for the training arcs. i am throwing nobunaga onto that big ass mountain, throwing him in the river, throwing him into the dirt.

nobunaga getting the sass knocked the fuck out of him to a point he genuinely loves the art and carries that goofy aah sword around him everywhere.

i dont have a good third bullet. sword man go brr.

thought i had more but i do not. i mean i have a fully fleshed out bonolenov story arc but it does not map onto any outside characters i know. same with kortopi and mayyybe shizuku.

i'll revisit this when i have more thoughts but these are thoughts i have.

[skyler10fic]

Alter Ego

Summary: Daisy Johnson might be falling for her new roommate, but she has to hide her secret identity as the masked vigilante Quake. Her superhero rival, Captain Marvel, gets hurt one night on the job, and behind the helmet lies a surprise!

Notes: For @ficwip All Ships Ship Week. Prompts: Domesticity / living together, Sickfic / hurt/comfort / whump, Double life, and “Who did this to you?” Yup. I worked all of the prompts into this one!

Read on Ao3

---------------------------------------

Quake may have been the city's most mysterious vigilante hero, but that didn't pay the rent. In her normal life, Daisy Johnson was just an IT girl at Stark Industries during the day and she needed a roommate if she was going to keep her apartment. She sighed at the bills piling up on the dining room table. 

A notification pinged on her phone. “Hi, this is Carol Danvers. Are you still looking for someone to sublease your second bedroom? My uncle is Nick Fury. He said it was exactly what I'm looking for.” 

Daisy sat up straighter and typed a response back that yes she was and that Fury had mentioned he might know of someone but hadn't said who, which ended up in Carol scheduling a day to come over. Fury was Daisy’s dad's friend, former boss, and longtime mentor at “the US State Department” aka the top secret spy agency Shield. She'd assumed Fury was just being polite when she mentioned her roommate search at a family barbeque and he seemed to have someone in mind. Now his own niece was on her way over. 

Daisy just hoped Carol didn’t ask too many questions if she noticed Daisy went out at night. The last thing Daisy needed was for Carol to mention it to her uncle and then for Fury to pass the suspicion along to Daisy’s retired spy dad and agency-contractor pilot mom. No one could know about Quake and her illegal vigilante crime fighting.

—---- Carol loved the apartment, but as Daisy finished the tour, Carol’s phone beeped at her. She enjoyed being Captain Marvel, but her uncle emphasized no one could know, for her own safety and that of their spy agency that she technically worked for. Her paychecks said the US State Department, and the story she told everyone, including Daisy, was that she was a low-ranking assistant to the physics specialist of the federal scientific policy advisory board. That was usually sufficiently impressive and complicated enough to satisfy other people without having to answer too many questions. Meanwhile, she was flying around the world and beyond as her alter ego defending earth from terrestrial and extraterrestrial villains. 

Today, however, she wished she didn't have to answer the call to duty. At least not right this second. They were having far too much fun already after a few hours of conversation and coffee. Daisy was so smart, kind, and generous, not to mention exactly Carol’s type, and Carol could already picture her bedroom furniture in the empty room Daisy had to offer. 

“I am so, so sorry,” Carol said, glancing at her phone. “I have to go, but send me the lease and I'll get it back to you ASAP.”

“That's a yes then? Good. I was hoping you liked it. We have to have that Mario Kart tournament after all. If you're brave enough to challenge me.” 

Carol didn't miss the hope in Daisy's teasing smile. 

“Oh it's a plan.” Carol stopped herself from pecking a kiss to Daisy's cheek. She'd never done that with anyone else before, and it would be even weirder to start now with a near-stranger she was about to move in with. 

—----------------------- 

An exasperated sigh sounded from behind Quake in a dark alley where she’d just prevented a hate group member from setting off a shrink ray. “Not you again.” 

“You’re welcome!” Quake retorted, voice muffled by the black mask covering her mouth and nose. She finished hogtying the criminal and he grunted, nearly coming back to consciousness. 

“I’m serious.” Of course she was. It was Captain Marvel, the head-to-toe red, blue, and gold do-gooder. She was like the stereotype of Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and “truth, justice, and the American way” comic book perfection come to life. She stood watching Quake from the roof of a parked delivery truck, as if to show off that she could fly and Quake couldn’t.

“Oh I know. Captain Mighty here to save the poor criminal,” Quake sassed.

“It’s Marvel,” the blonde annoyance grumbled. “And I have to take him in. Ever heard of the justice system? A fair trial?” 

“Don’t need a civics lesson, Girl Scout. He’s all yours.” Quake built up vibrations with her palms toward the ground and blasted off to the rooftop of the nearest building, high above the alley and even Captain Marvel, who was now checking that tonight’s evil henchman was still alive. He always was. Quake knew her own power. She could take out the whole city, maybe more, if she tried. She’d taken down a dozen of these ordinary criminals and never left them with fatal damage. Not that they didn’t deserve it. But that was the vigilante in her talking. 

She’d dropped out of Shield agent training as she hit against protocol again and again, ashamed she couldn’t live up to her family legacy but unable to excuse the politics driving who got their help and who didn’t. Her father’s retirement and subsequent declassification of several of his missions in which he had similar concerns only reinforced her choice. She was better on her own. 

When she got home, Carol was in the shower and it was easy to sneak in unnoticed. Having a roommate added difficulty to the whole secrecy thing, but Carol was so easygoing and fun, she probably wouldn’t even be phased by the truth. Daisy realized she was considering telling Carol, if nothing else, just to make herself feel less ridiculous when sneaking into her own home.

—------------------- 

Home from superhero duty, Carol couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew Quake’s voice. She could never hear it clearly because of the mask, but there was something about her that niggled at Carol’s sense of familiarity, beyond their crime-fighting run-ins of course. Carol had never gotten close enough to see Quake’s eyes, and besides that, they were heavily lined with black makeup. The pain in the ass usually wore a hooded leather jacket or hoodie as well, covering her ears and hair. Carol hated that the vigilante got into her head like this. Sometimes the obsession felt like jealousy over Quake’s freedom, and other times it felt like lust, if she even dared admit it to herself alone in the shower. Seeing Quake use her powers, even in frustrating ways that made Captain Marvel’s job harder, was just plain hot in all the ways that turned Carol on. Which made Quake even more obnoxious. 

She heard Daisy come in and hurried to get out of the shower. After dealing with Quake the Reckless, it was refreshing to think about Daisy’s gentle smile and quick wit. She grounded and comforted Carol in ways no one else did. Even when she couldn’t know why Carol needed it. 

—-------------------

Quake heard the telltale thump behind her of Captain Marvel landing forcefully on a car roof. 

“Ugh, I didn’t even get there in time tonight—” Quake spun around to defend herself from Captain Marvel’s scolding. By the time she had arrived at the top-secret lab, the glass greenhouse roof had already been shattered with black goo everywhere. A hovercraft was flying away, hauling a screaming alien blob covered in giant flowers. Quake was left staring up at them in the parking lot, having only just arrived and discovered the empty lab. 

Captain Marvel didn’t land on her feet, however. The thump was her body falling from high above. She cried out as she rolled to the ground. She was protecting herself by falling with her body tucked in, so she had some awareness of what was happening, but by the time she hit the asphalt and Quake rushed over, she was slipping in and out of consciousness. 

“Who did this to you?” Quake panicked as she looked over a bleeding, prone Captain Marvel. While she wished they stayed out of each other’s business, she certainly didn’t want any harm to come to Little Miss Perfect. The bleeding seemed to come from the neck, under Captain Marvel’s helmet. 

“Shit,” Quake swore. “I’m going to have to take off your helmet. Is that okay?” 

Captain Marvel groaned and slowly crossed one hand over to the opposite wrist. It must have been a release button because the helmet retracted, leaving Quake in true shock.

Quake’s hands shook as she tried to find the source of the bleeding. She kept looking back to her superhero rival’s face. It was Carol. This wasn’t just a woman who resembled her. Her voice rasped out a sentence Quake didn’t quite catch. 

“It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” Quake looked around helplessly. There was no one to pass this one off to so she could maintain her cover. No nearby crowd to call to for help or off-duty nurse running their way to take over. She was alone. 

Carol tried to speak again and the lines on her brow furrowed. The bleeding had stopped, and her neck looked intact. The blood had to be seeping up from her shoulder. That was a good sign. Quake had repaired her own shoulder injuries more times than she could count. 

“What’s that?” Quake leaned down, as Carol seemed really adamant about her mumbled phrase.

“Call an ambulance, dumbass.” 

Quake almost laughed. “Right. Sorry. I forgot you are all legal and everything, not a secret from the government.” 

Carol grimaced again and pulled up a holographic number pad from her forearm. Quake dialed 911 and immediately hated herself for wondering if she should wait around. Of course she would. This was CAROL. The realization was still sinking in. Captain Marvel was Carol. Her roommate and friend and crush Carol was her greatest annoyance Captain Marvel. But Carol was so laid back and cool. And Captain Marvel was so all-business and by-the-book. 

In an effort to look more like a normal person and less like a vigilante superhero, Daisy made minor adjustments to her appearance as the ambulance loaded Carol in. Daisy noted the truck had a government license plate, not a standard one, and one of the EMTs glanced at Daisy like he knew her. 

“Are you coming?” the familiar EMT called. She placed how she knew him: Shield. He was one of her dad’s former coworkers from Shield.

“Um, yeah? Yes.” Daisy’s mind was made up. She would be there for Carol through whatever came next. And if Carol hated her for it when she realized the truth, then at least it was better than this secret eating at her alone. She sat on the bench by Carol’s feet as the EMTs sedated her and worked to get the supersuit off. It certainly wasn’t cuttable by anything they had in a standard ambulance, but with the disengaged helmet and some quick guessing on Daisy’s part at the buttons on Carol’s wrist, they managed to get the top off without causing further injury. 

Without the supersuit, Carol’s white ribbed tank top further hammered home the situation. Daisy had seen her wear it around their home a dozen times at least. She’d even folded it, or one identical to it, as they did laundry together last weekend. 

Carol was rushed off to triage care as soon as they arrived at the emergency room, leaving Daisy to pace the waiting area. Eventually, the nurse at the reception desk cleared her to go back to Carol’s newly assigned hospital room. She’d been here so many times with her parents that it took a second to realize she hadn’t needed directions. They were at the Shield ward of Walter Reed’s classified Agent Care Center. Everyone in here was current or former FBI, CIA, NSA, and the like. But only a few knew how to even access the Shield floor. She punched in the Shield-only access door code from pure muscle memory, and when the check-in desk receptionist tried to stop her, she simply kept walking and greeted a nurse by name. 

Even with her mask off, the Quake professional-badass energy was still coursing through her. That is, at least, until she saw her roommate/friend/crush bandaged and badly bruised in a hospital bed. 

A nurse stood at Carol’s bedside holding a Shield tablet, and he startled and then softened as he saw Daisy. “Hey, you’re Phil and Melinda’s kid, right? I have here you’re also on Carol’s emergency contact call sheet and approved disclosure list.” 

Daisy nodded. She hadn’t known she was one of Carol’s emergency contacts, much less on the list of safe people to communicate declassified information to. In fact, she was only just realizing that Carol’s job sounded suspiciously like a cover story for the agency. As the puzzle pieces fell into place, Daisy watched as Carol’s body glowed slightly, healing itself.

“Damn, I’m jealous of you even when you’re sedated in a hospital bed,” Daisy quipped, more Quake than roommate. 

Carol grumbled as she awoke but didn’t open her eyes yet. “And it’s still somehow never you taking the hits.”      

“I’ve got bruises to prove that’s not true,” Daisy countered.

The nurse, satisfied with Carol’s slow waking, said, “I’ll leave you to it” and closed the door discreetly behind him. 

Daisy scooted closer and took Carol’s hand to coax Carol to stay awake. This time her voice came out softer, more love-smitten friend than bitter rival. “Hey there, Girl Scout. Turns out we need to talk. Roommate to roommate.” 

Carol struggled to open her eyes, but then blinked hard when she did. “Daisy? But I thought…?” 

She was about to say “never mind,” to blow off the confusion as part of her injuries, but Daisy watched the excuse die on Carol’s lips as she took in Daisy’s outfit and makeup. Black eyeliner, hooded leather jacket, tight black ripped skinny jeans and dark grey shirt. The hood was off and the gloved gauntlets were stored securely in her inner jacket pocket, but recognition clearly passed over Carol’s face. 

“You’re? But you can’t… You wouldn’t.” Carol’s glowing body, meanwhile, was rapidly fading her many bruises and repairing the damage as they spoke. She tried and succeeded with great effort to push herself up to sitting. 

Daisy choked back a half-laugh half-cry. Carol was going to be okay. “I’ll tell you the story later, but it’s really me, both your Daisy and the Quake you chase around, making sure I am always doing the right thing, even when we disagree on what that is.” 

“My Daisy,” Carol sighed and laid down again. The IV in her arm sent painkillers that along with the super-healing was sending Carol back to dreamland. 

“We’ll talk when you’re better. Just get well okay? Maybe we can even find a way to work together.” 

For now, Carol didn’t fully process these words as she slipped back into recovery rest. But eventually, Daisy would make good on that promise. 

—-------------- 

Fury had known the enhanced division couldn’t operate as ordinary Shield agents forever. This latest development proved it was time. Phil had always told him he needed to let superheroes be superheroes, as dangerous as they could be. It’d be more dangerous to have them out there unsupervised with no backup. His thorough, proposed revisions to Shield policy had recently been unanimously accepted by the governing board as well. 

That said, no one was more shocked than Phil to find out his sweet baby adopted daughter turned fully grown superpowered adult was the masked vigilante no media outlet could get a picture of. Humble pie was eaten by all that day, as Fury reinstated Daisy as a provisional agent of Shield’s enhanced division, with full honors upon finishing her remaining training courses. Only this time, the training was suited to her learning style and experience as a hero. The mutual compromise came with maturity on Daisy’s part as well as she learned to work as part of a team and put trust above impulsivity, even when she offered constructive, instead of explosive, feedback. 

The key in all this, of course, was the newly mellowed Captain Marvel. Whether it was the time in physical therapy rehab or making things official with her roommate/girlfriend/superhero partner, Carol and Captain Marvel blended more seamlessly into one another, with Carol more confident and Captain Marvel more flexible and less anxious about perfection and pushing herself beyond her limits. Daisy helped her bring her full self to the job, and Carol helped Daisy find belonging and attachment, each helping to heal part of the other. 

The only people who didn’t enjoy this partnership were the villains, henchmen, and run-of-the-mill supernatural criminals they encountered. For them, it was a nightmare ending behind bars as two superhero girlfriends holding hands walked away into the sunrise of a safer, happier new day for all.