#or second most powerful behind the end (due to the inevitability of death)

[navree]

the magnus protocol getting a mini hiatus means that my mind is trying to overcompensate by going back to brainrot mode and i am therefore once again back on my "the lukas family is probably one of the most powerful groups of people in that entire universe" bullshit

[aethesfaelibrarae]

(holy shit was I not expecting anyone to like that previous Mouthwashing post—but thank you, genuinely for reading it and this one)

The Mouthwashing brain worms speak to me again—let's talk about hierarchy and caste and the implications in Mouthwashing one more time.

Say what you will about Jimothy's cowardly ass: he's not an idiot. The apathy of the crew is, at least, in part maintained by the top of the ladder: Curly and Pony Express.

Curly starts the game at the top of the ladder, able to help out a guy he perceives in a rough spot with a snap of his fingers, able to control how much sugar anyone got.. Able to control the food, the medicine, the weapons. Curly isn't the sort of person to abuse his power.

But he also isn't the type to use it.

Next up is Jaundice. His second in command, his (traitorous backstabber) right hand man. We'll get back to him.

No, who come next in this hierarchy can be debated—is Daisuke for his youth and potential or is it Swansea for his seniority? It could be both, depending upon the lens of examination. When the chips are down.. Or when they're still able to make a bet?

I'm going with Swansea, simply because of the fact that both Curly and Catastrophic Jameson's headass respect him. Neither of them really correct or step in to ask about his behavior with Daisuke, Jaundiced is more than happy to leave the room alone until it stands in his way and up until the chase sequence is largely unwilling to get into physical altercation.

Daisuke is next on the rung—an intern getting his due hazing. Young, plucky, clumsy, the aimless silver spooned baby of the crew. He wants to be liked by people in the higher rungs and he trusts in their authority. To his own detriment. But for the most part, he's neither too high for the responsibility or too low to really suffer in forced silence. He's protected.

Anya is not. As the sole woman of the crew, soft-spoken, heavily pregnant and forced to entertain her abuser's delusions of grandeur with the wreckage evidence of how far he's willing to go to get rid of her, rinse his mouth of her, all around them.. She starts the game on the bottom of the ladder—ignored, talked over, dismissed. People's—Curly and Catastrophe Jim—eyes skip over her without thinking. It's easy to dismiss her. Empathy is extended to her as an afterthought. Her death an inevitable tragedy. Because either way of framing it, without access to the ax or the gun, the ship was Jimothy's way of shutting her up for good and she knows it. In my previous post, I touched on the difference between the situations that Anya and Curly find themselves and in all honesty, it's defined by who finds themself at the bottom of the rung when Mr. J finds himself a way to the top.

And who else would it be but our resident golden boy himself, Captain Enablement—I mean, Curly. Now that he's completely disabled, useless and helpless.. He finds himself in a position even worse than Anya's. Both of them taking on the brunt of Jimmy's worldview—he's gotten way more than he bargained for from Anya and besides, she was a means to an end. At the moment of the assault, she was an object, the lower rung of the perceived ladder. It wasn't his fault, just look at her—And afterwards.. Well, this whole thing could also be framed as spite. Sneaking behind the golden boy's back and "stealing his girl" or whatever, maybe he knew that he'd be caught and wanted to see something other than Curly's gentle understanding. He wants more. And in direct opposite to Anya, Curly is the center of his world. The spindle upon which Jaundice's last steadily fraying thread of sanity spins. And what an awful place it is to be. He gets front row seats to hindsight truly becoming 20/20 vision when it's a barrel of shotgun—and you're jealous of the fact that it's not aimed at you. He suffers being consumed and thus consuming himself. Looking into why didn't Jimothy just cut up any of the others is a fascinating exercise. By the time he starts eating Curly, this is not the first time he's imagined Curly in the place of food—of nourishment. He imagines him in the place of cake—even the way that he cuts a part of Curly's leg is reminiscent of the way that Curly cuts into the cake. (yes, what the heck Curls but then again, gelatin probably feels weird to cut). Eating someone is often a taboo form of intimacy in media like Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain or Tokyo Ghoul..Listen. There's a reason why vore is popular.—it's the most violent type of intimacy.

It's the only type of intimacy Jimmy engages with on screen and yet—There's an equally fascinating intimacy in consuming yourself. And even that is ruined.. Being forced to eat your bile-covered offal again and again and again.. A memory that would scar on its own. But. With the implications of this being the one type of intimacy that Jimmy feels comfortable sharing combined with what the game says about rape culture have "good" men protect and enable their friends.. There's another angle of their friendship there.

Jimmy loves Curly as much as he hates him. He wants him to suffer. He wants him to live. He wants him dead. Who is saying I hope this hurts?

The hierarchy traps them in so many ways—and the first time we see it for what it is is with Curly. Not Jimmy. From Curly's perspective, we see him unfocused and exhausted and Anya offers him a helping ear and he can't accept it. He's the Captain. He can't be seen asking his subordinate for help. Jimmy was removed from the hierarchy in Curly's eyes. Maybe even at the same spot. Co-captains. Two peas in a pod—except one is a festering open wound and the other has his eyes tightly closed, quietly muttering he can fix it if he just gets a little bit more time.. Can't tell the difference between who's who?

Top or bottom of the hierarchy—awful and isolating for two men who claim to take responsibility. Both have some level of inferiority complex—a complex that I'd argue is the becoming the bread and butter of modern day society but is steadily starting to show the signs of where it's been baked into the perceptions of being a man—there is the fear of someone bigger, better and more capable of you.. But there's also that small quiet part that gets told men don't cry that desperately, desperately, wants to have no choice. Almost takes comfort in the idea of someone better than you.

And everyone in between their rungs gets crushed as collateral.

In a caste made by white supremacy, white able-bodied young men who meet societal standards for being in their prime are at the top. Old enough to know better, young enough to play stupid have potential. Just look at all our promising young rapists men with their whole lives ahead of them.

On a ship like the Tulpar, that hierarchy gets a necessary edge—the Captain is the most useful person aboard the ship, the most needed. The man of the proverbial house. The co-captain is like being called vice president—made only as important as the person in that role can make it. Otherwise it's a hollow consolation prize. And Jimothy can't work an honest day in his life. So it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Then would be the nurse but.. It's a feminine job, a pink collar job through and through. If Anya had been a man, the jokes would have been targeted at her masculinity but as she is a woman, the role and her usefulness to the crew are invisible necessities. The quiet labor and genius that keeps great men going. I think people underestimate how much work goes into even passing the N-CLEX to become an RN. Anya was trying to get into medical school—she studied the human body extensively and in all honesty, the way that I've read it is (especially with the context clues of her being overlooked continuously) she just wasn't important enough to help out. Medical textbooks are expensive on their own and tests can be upwards of 2,000 dollars (my sources: my mom had to take the N-CLEX 3 times when I was much younger and the financial strain was ridiculous especially if you want to get in on a study group).. And Anya clearly worked for that goal. You don't throw that kind of money at anything else but the goal—the one you could just swear would make it all worth it. Maybe if she was Doctor Anya, the crew would've treated her better.. Her usefulness cemented and people would question how such a nervous woman made it through medical school.. Maybe it would have made Jimmy worse. There's nothing hollow about being a doctor after all.

But Anya is Anya and so Swansea, the mechanic is useful. He keeps the ship going and Daisuke in line. Bitter Knowledge and the Dog Days of Youth.

Wasted Potential (double entendre) and Boundless, Wasting Potential.

Immediately useful and eager to be useful.

Then there's Post-Crash Curly. And I must stress, your usefulness is not your value as a person. But then again, where would ableism find its footing save for such a sad hierarchy? And let's call a spade a spade, once Curly loses his ability to interact with the world as he once did, his skin literally peeled open to expose the soft inner flesh to the cruelty of the world, his small bit of usefulness as a Captain gone.. Most people on the ship act accordingly. Daisuke and Swansea, their places on the ladder's rung unchanged fairly quickly become enured to Curly's cries of pain. Anya, the closest to the his newfound rung.. Continues to care for him, unable to free him as he was unable to free her. Jimmy is all too happy to grind his boot in Curly's face as many times as he can. Until he feels better.

But he won't. He can't.

The game touches on the haves vs the have-nots a lot as well as the creeping sense of human work becoming obsolete, that body horror in being made useless by your own complicity but where it absolutely shines in Jimmy and Swansea—especially Swansea's final speech—is the messaging about the never-ending demand for more, for greener pastures leaving you hollow and bitter. Curly seemed well-aware of Swansea's thought process and leaves him be but internally agrees and fears that ending if he stays in the Captaincy for too much longer.

And that's where I think Jimmy really thinks it was a win-win for him and Curly. He truly doesn't think of the pain that Curly must find himself in, worsened by the constant beatings and continual medical assault. He doesn't think about it as anything more than Curly being a nuisance. One more way that Curly just didn't trust him not to fuck up his eyes eternally trapped in the cold hate and fear as he watches Jimmy proceed to ruin the one thing he took pride in as the metaphorical man of the house: keeping the crew safe.

Jimmy thinks of himself as the son who stayed faithful, worked himself to the bone, only to receive scraps while his undeserving brother is celebrated and lauded.

Within the hierarchy, the system is only as "good" as who remains on top. And "good" people, blindly faithful and eternally forgiving, aren't ruthless enough to stay up there for long.

Jimmy's not a good person but he's not stupid. And he's very ruthless. While there may have been somewhat of a hierarchical situation before he joined the crew, it's clear from his conversations with Anya, Curly valued a more lateral role system as he felt trapped in Pony Express's all-consuming ladder over Jimmy's rigid rungs of better and worse.

But over and over, he isolated the crew to their sectors. Over and over, he demeaned Anya, insulted her and Curly. Leaned into the insults of Daisuke. Left Swansea alone for the most part.

Anya, as much as it pains me to admit this, could have worked with Swansea earlier. But would that have worked? What about Daisuke—the younger version of Curly's eternal optimistic "I've never seen the dead pixel" attitude? The isolation absolutely worked. There's no imagining a world in which it doesn't work unless you imagine the crew as better than they are.

And that's just one more tragedy we can't rinse out of mouths with mouthwash.

[riaarivic]

HATE 5: Shadow (M) I MYG x F!reader

🌙 Pairings YoongixReader

🌙 Genres Mafia!AU, Smut, Angst, Action, Thriller, Enemies to lovers

🌙 Rating 18+ minors DNI

🌙 Summary  You were an INTERPOL Agent assigned to infiltrate the depths of the most powerful Gang in South Korea: The Seven Moons. Your objective: to impersonate the daughter of one of their leaders and destroy the operation from within. That is, if they don't discover you first.

And Traitors won’t have the mercy of a quick death

🌙 Warnings For this chapter: mentions of death, drugs and vioence, foul language, drug use, yoongi is a tease and I'm putting it as a warning, Explicit sex (yes, finally), oral (female), fingering

🌙 Chapter wordcount 2.7k

🌙 Series Index

1  2 3 4  5 6 7 8 9 10 11

🌙 HATE 5: Shadow 🌙

Mansion of the 7 Moons, outskirts of Seoul, South Korea.

Shadow.

Seventh moon.

Sadist.

Suga.

He had been called so many names throughout his life that sometimes he even forgot his own.

What was it?

Oh right... Yoongi.

No one had called him by his own name since the death of his parents.

He stopped being Min Yoongi the day he became an orphan. One day he was the clan's golden boy and the next morning he belonged to the streets.

And a few years later he belonged to Kim DoHan

Not even the members of The Seven Moons, his brothers, knew his real name.

In the eyes of the rest of the world, Suga was one of the seven children of Kim DoHan. Although his blood did not run through his veins, The Leader was his father.

Although that's not entirely true...

You see, Yoongi's father, Min Jungki, and Kim DoHan had grown up together. Both were the favorites of the previous Clan Head to inherit the business, since they were considered the best warriors.

Legends amongst the streets of Seoul.

While Kim DoHan was known as the devil.

Min Junki was known as the shadow.

One would put a bullet in your head looking into your eyes.

And The other you would never see him coming, until the last thing you felt was a bullet through your head

The young Min Jungki had grown up among the elites of the mafia, being the eldest son of the former Second in Command and surrounded by all the luxuries of the clan’s life. While Kim DoHan had joined the family during his teenage years; he had grown up on the streets and inevitably ended up in a criminal organization.

Deja vu..

It's ironic when history repeats itself. But never the same way twice.

The old Leader did not have sons, but a daughter...

Yoongi's mother.

Whom he had protected with all his power from getting involved in the clan's business. However, with her kindness and beauty she won the hearts of both young gangsters, who tried to win her.

Kim Dohan wanted power.

Min Jungki loved the girl.

Although there wasn't really a fight, Yoongi's parents loved each other from the first moment they met. As expected, the devil didn't like losing.

But Kim Dohan saw Junki as a brother and when he was killed during the clan war, the now Leader did everything possible to protect Yoongi and his mother.

Much more than what he did for his own family.

But the Devil's efforts were in vain.

The triads found Yoongi and his mother at the house where they were hiding outside the city of Daegu.

His mother was killed in front of his eyes.

While Yoongi was hiding behind some bushes in the backyard.

“Go away and don't look back” were the last words his mother said to him. The triads burned down the house with her body inside and not finding him they assumed Yoongi’s body had disintegrated from the flames.

But they were wrong, Yoongi had escaped.

Seven years is too young to become an orphan.

Too young to live on the streets.

Kim DoHan became The Clan’s Head shortly after. Due to the death of his brother and his first love, he would now be the only heir to the clan. The Devil took a few years to find young Yoongi who no longer used that name.

On the streets of Daegu he was known as Suga.

A vandal, street fighter, a professional thief and con artist.

He was only 14 years old and his name was already feared in the city.

He still remembered the face of his brothers the day he arrived with The Leader to the clan. A skinny Child, with dark hair falling over his eyes and some injuries that looked quite recent, it was obvious that he had been fighting for a long time.

He was just a kid, but he was terrifying.

However, Jin looked at him curiously, as if he had never seen someone of low class before. He approached to shake his hand only to stop on his tracks, terrified to see the murderous eyes of the newcomer.

And Namjoon...

He didn't like this Suga at all. What kind of stupid name was that? He was an intruder, an outsider, he would never have a place in his family.

For the present Suga, those ghosts didn't torment him. He truthfully didn't give a shit what his pretentious brothers thought of him.

Fuck them.

But he had other shadows, much darker ones that haunted and tormented him.

And it was at night that it was more difficult for him to escape from them.

That's why he sat on the balcony of his room to try to ease the pain of his past crimes. He smoked the shadows away, trying to forget all the blood on his young hands.

That's what young Yoongi grew up to become, a monster, a murderer who only followed his master's orders, a pawn in a game he had no power in and damn how he hated himself for it.

Weed.

Alcohol.

Pills.

Sometimes mixed them all together so he could numb all the pain away for a few hours at least. They said a good dealer never did his own goods. But, hey, at least he was sure he pushed top notch shit to the streets. But even every ounce of drugs trafficked in his cargo ships could not make his shadows stop tormenting him.

It sounded like a bad joke, a killer with a conscience.

A killer who knew what kind of monster he had become.

He owed his life to his Leader, that was true, but he also knew that he had already paid off his debt with more than enough interest. Hell, he had paid for his debts in his next life. But none of that mattered, he had sworn an oath.

His life belonged to the clan.

That is why that morning, after the clan meeting ended and his father told him to disappear all the bodies of the members they executed.

He couldn’t say No. 

When the Leader also ordered him to make sure their families wouldn’t go looking for them.

He couldn’t say No. 

Yes, he was the one in charge of the traffic operations. But also he was his father's little shadow.

His personal hitman.

And when his father told him to follow a certain newly arrived heiress.

Well… 

He really didn’t want to say no to that one.

When he was going to take another puff on his joint, he heard three shy knocks on his bedroom door.

The fuck?

Everyone knew in that house that his door was always open…

Unless, you know, he was busy.

He was about to ignore them until he heard you.

“Hey, sorry I came to give back your clothes. I'm going to leave them here, on this table is it ok?”  That made him smile. Suga felt like he couldn’t move fast enough to be in front of you.

“Oh Little flower” he called you in his low voice, he didn't expect to see you but God knew how much he wanted to “haven't they told you that it's not appropriate for a lady like you to come knocking on the door of a man like me at this time of night?” 

He loved to see how you flinched every time he called you flower. He couldn’t really help it. You were pretty, you smelled like lilies and you looked like you were hiding a dark secret he wanted to discover. 

It’s been a while since the last time someone made him so intrigued. 

”I came to give back your clothes” you said with that know-it-all tone he really was starting to like  “And I did. So I'm leaving, clearly you're busy”

”Oh, I might not be as refined as the rest of my brothers. But I am a gentleman. For you, I have all the time in the world, flower. You still don’t smoke?”

”No, I don't. I told you”

He wanted to keep you in his room he knew his father had asked him to get information from you and he would be lying if he didn’t admit he also had other selfish reasons to do so. But, earlier today he noticed that holster under your skirt and the way you took down Hobi.

Don’t get him wrong, that was hot, but also suspicious.

Very fucking suspicious. 

And he needed an explanation a very good one that dind't end up with you cooperating with an enemy clan, or worse...

A fucking cop.

That is why he cornered you on his door and put his thumb under your chin to give you the most lustful smile he could.

You didn’t even notice when he took your gun. 

The oldest trick in the book Suga tought thinking it was almost too easy to fool you.

“Oh flower. I don’t kiss and tell. Do you?” 

“I don’t” you answered

“Then tell me why a pretty girl like you is carrying a gun like this”

 

He didn’t finish what he was about to say when he felt your soft lips on his. It was a brief second and then you moved a few centimeters back to look at him, doe eyed “My daddy gave it to me” Suga felt like the gates of hell had opened inside him. 

He now knew you were lying. 

There is no fucking way Mr. Lee had given you a gun.

Oh but that fucking word.

He really wanted to hear it again on your lips. 

But that was for another day, right?

Right, he needed to get his mind out of his pants and concentrate.

A smile tugged on the corner of his lips right before he crashed them against yours again. A hungry kiss charged with a tension none of you wanted to admit. His tongue licked your bottom lip and his hand traveled from your chin to gently hold your neck. Suga wasn’t asking for permission.

He was going to devour you and deal with the consecuences tomorrow.

Fuck the mission.

“Didn’t you say you were a gentleman? But here you are kissing me in the middle of a hallway still holding my gun” You said breathless between kisses "Is that how guys flirt here in Korea?" 

“Oh pretty flower, no one comes to this side of the house unless they have a death wish” He grabbed you by the hips and spun you around so your back was now pressed to the wall next to the very open door “I came… to this side of the house” you bit his lip and he felt his body growing harder “Yes, yes you did little flower. Do you have a death wish?” Suga’s hands were everywhere like he knew deep down that out of all of the sins he had ever committed in his life…

You were the only one he would never regret. 

To the point he was questioning his sanity; It was very much unlike him to be melting for a pair of pretty eyes, that very misterious aura surrounding you and those lips.

Those fucking lips.

If The Leader knew what he was about to do

Suga would be also called a dead man. 

“Yes, I have a death wish” your smile was wicked, like a siren about to eat her prey whole. Suga was so distracted by you, and his own death wish, that he didn’t notice that you intertwined your legs with his to make him fall down to the floor. In a second, he was on his back and you were straddling him.

To be very honest it didn’t really bother him at all, you could kill him right then and there. 

He knew he was on another level of fucked up when he felt himself getting harder the moment he saw you aiming your gun at him “Go on pretty flower. Shoot me. No one is going to hear a gunshot on this side of the house. Believe me, I’ve done it before”

There was something very fucked up in you too when you tossed your gun to kiss him again. Lips crashing and tongues dancing  in a fight for dominance, his hands were on your thighs and you were slowly grinding on him. 

He could fucking feel how wet you were getting trough his pants.

He would die denying it, but in that moment he felt like he was about to come. Like a fucking teenager kissing his crush for the first time. He had to start thinking about taxes and how much the electricity bill has gone up these days to divert his mind from the beautiful vixen that was sucking lilac bruises on his neck.

There was a deep dark realization inside of him. That he would let you get away with every fucking thing you asked for if you kept kissing him like you really meant it. 

He dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt to grab two handfuls of your ass cheeks. The surprised whimper you gave him was the last string keeping him sane. 

The whole fucking clan could march into his room right now and he would not give two flying fucks. 

That was a lie. 

No fucking way Suga would let any of his brothers ever see you like that. 

And that was a fucking promise.

 

He didn't care if he had to take the clan out of Namjoon's manicured hands.

So he could have you all to himself.

For fuck sake, your hips rotating on top of him were driving him to the edge of his sanity.

“Tell me pretty flower, do you taste sweet like lilies?” Suga had turned both of you again so he was on top looking down at you with eyes dark with desire.

“Why don’t you go ahead and taste me, Suga?”

Oh no, his sanity was out of the picture now.

Out, like an awful singer on an even more awful talent show. Out.

Out, like a teenage father who went to buy milk and cigarrets. Out.

Out like... You get the idea right?

Suga smiled at you giving himself time to take in every detail of your face, like he wanted to memorize it “Oh I will, but not on the cold floor. Be a pretty obedient flower and sit on my bed and I'll be right behind you” He moved back to let you get up and sit on top of his dark bedsheets. His eyes never leaving you “Take those pretty panties off” he said.

“I don’t really like being told what to do. If you want them off…  come and take them” 

In that moment Suga knew the Devil himself had sent you, his personal demon, to destroy him.

You would be the death of him.

He wanted to have you for himself and himself only.

Fuck the clan.

Fuck what his father said.

And most importantly.

Fuck Kim Namjoon if he tought he could ever have you.

This was the first time in Suga's life that he wanted to become the clan's heir. So he could have you.

Suga rose from the floor to walk to the edge of his bed, the silver chains around his neck shone in the moolight “I am going to enjoy you begging for me” His moves were calm, like a man who had all the time in the world.

Even if he knew he hadn't

He knelt again between your legs gave you a small peck on your left knee before looking right back at you “And before you say you don’t beg. Pretty flower. I wasn't asking. That was a promise” Suga's gaze was dark the scar that traveled down his left eye made him look intimidating and rough. But his touch on your skin was everything but; hands travelling up your thighs Suga pulled the strings of your panties off and he could smell the sweet scent of your arousal. 

He felt like he was going insane when you opened your legs to let him look at your womanhood. He moved his hand forward to touch you with the tip of his fingers.

Just a brief touch and you were soaking wet.

A little bit of pride flushed through his system.

“You act all high and mighty. But look how wet you are” he pushed his middle fingers inside your opening so slow he felt like he was also torturing himself. He knew no one would hear you moaning and panting so he could enjoy watching you with your head pulled to the back and your eyes closed while he entered you again and again, pushing another finger inside making lewd noises.

Should he had taken off his rings?

Hell no

You looked like you were enjoying the cold feeling of them against your hot skin.

When he was satisfied with his work he brought his fingers to his lips so he could taste you “Sweet like a lilly, my pretty flower” he didn't give you time to process that he called you his, fuck, he didn’t give himself time to process he said it outloud. A heartbeat after he was diving between your legs liking a long slow strip from the bottom to the top of your clit, drinking your sweet juices “Fuck, Suga” you whispered.

That made him stop. 

He didn’t want you to call him that name. 

Not when he was drinking you like a man who just found water in the middle of a desert. 

Not when he was making you make those sinful sounds he wished you could only made for him.

“Yoongi” he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

The name not even his own brothers knew he had.

A name no one had called him in twenty years.

You gave him a puzzled look  “My name is Min Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi when it’s just the two of us” 

“Yoongi” you repeated.

 

And he made you scream his name all night. 

Once with his fingers.

Trice with his tongue.

He was so intoxicated he didn’t want to stop tasting you. He dind’t give a fuck about his own pleasure anymore. He wanted to watch you come undone as many times as he could make you.

 

Until you fell asleep on his bed next to him. 

Exhausted. 

That Night Suga felt like he could be Min Yoongi, at least just for a brief moment. 

And for some reason he wasn't ready to explore, just yet.

When you were in the room. 

His shadows weren’t so dark. 

But Min Yoongi didn't know that night he made two mistakes. 

One was trusting you. 

And the other was leaving his door open. 

Because another Shadow was looking outside his bedroom. 

Watching him betray his father’s trust. 

The Leader's orders.

And his clan's code.

And that was the best thing that very human shadow had seen in a while.

And he relished on all the ways he could use it.

Should he tell his Father or Namjoon first? 

Namjoon would kill Min Yoongi.

His father would probably send him to a deserted Island on the Busan coast right after he castrated him.

And his name.

Min Yoongi.

That was going to be usefull.

That little piece of information gave him Power.

But all on his time.

 

Dangerous games were played inside the Seven Moons Mansion. 

And you were all just pieces on the board.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Hello!! Hi!

Well.... ummm. How are we doing? Are we good?

And YES! This is a Suga POV I really enjoyed writing this chapter for you know... science.

Did you Like today's chapter? Any guesses on who the shadow is?

Tag List @drunkzseok @allamericanuniverse

If you want to join the tag list. You can coment this post or send me an ask!

[noparg]

3000th Duel - Review

In the recent years, there has been a resurgence of metroidvania games; especially following the release of Hollow Knight in 2017. 3000th Duel follows this trend, combining metroidvania with a souls-like aesthetic, inevitably drawing comparisons to the previously mentioned Hollow Knight. It shares its somber tone and several mechanics which will be mentioned later in the review.

Story

3000th Duel doesn’t have much of an active story, opting instead for snippets of lore found around the world usually appearing after boss battles. The gist of it being that the king of an ancient civilization of humans got corrupted by the power he sought to obtain, cursing the land and filling it with monsters. Nothing particularly innovative, but works well enough to give the game cohesion.

This said, the writing of the game is worsened by the faulty translation. Most of the texts include translation errors, sometimes to the point of making said texts sound ridiculous or nonsensical, such a thing happens on the death screen, which declares “YOU BURN” upon appearance or “REDEMPTION FROM THE BRIDE” when a boss is defeated.

Graphics

The graphical part of the game is somewhat lackluster, though not bad, characters have a3D style with plastic-like textures reminiscent of old games. Enemy design is decently unique, even if it loses some charm since most of the enemies tend to be locked to their area, not ever appearing out of it, except those times where a variant appears (generally a re-skin of the model without gameplay changes). Bosses are quite unique as well, sporting styles completely different to those of common monsters, though in some cases their usual humongous size shows the bad quality of the textures.

As for the backgrounds, despite the existence of several beautiful areas, most of the environments tend to be samey, especially on interior areas. There are some landmarks occasionally found, which spice up the backgrounds a bit, but these are few and far between, not counting boss arenas.

Another problem, though only noticeable with brightness set to minimum, is that the colors of some platforms and the backgrounds tend to blend, thus making it more difficult to see the platforms you are supposed to step on.

Sound

The sound design in 3000th duel is well made; both the music and VFX have good volume and quality behind them. The music is quite enjoyable, though it can get repetitive since most tracks only last a few seconds and repeat in a loop, changing only with the area and for boss battles. If you spend a long time in a single area you will most probably end up forgetting the music is there, due to said repetition. Another nice point to mention is that enemies have VFX’ of their own, without repeating for the different types of monsters.

Gameplay

Gameplay is where the meat of 3000th duel lays, as mentioned at the start, this game is a metroidvania combined with the souls-like genre, taking most of the inspiration for its ideas from the second. One of these ideas is, for example, that the main way of healing is an item which refills upon saving called “Violet Scripture”. This item also receives upgrades to the amount of uses it has as the game progresses, generally after defeating a boss or found around the map. Another idea it takes from the souls games (though it reminds more particularly of Hollow Knight) is that upon death, your soul is left behind and you lose all your money, which can be retrieved by defeating said soul once it attacks you.

Combat is the main focus of the gameplay, throwing you onto hordes of enemies to defeat. For this matter, you have three different options of weapons: Greatswords, Broadswords and Lances, each having a different type of attack. The Greatsword is slow but swings for high amounts of damage, the Broadsword is fast though short ranged, and the Lance has long range, but cannot attack enemies above you. Besides these main weapons, there is also a magic system called “Occults”, these are quite powerful but require a special build, having limited uses which refill upon saving. Said builds are made by leveling up; this can be done at the statues designed for this, requiring in-game currency to do so, said currency being called “Karma” and being also used to upgrade your weapons and occults and to purchase consumables. The level cap for the game is 99, the price of each level up increasing every time, and gives a point per level which you can allocate to any of the characteristics, depending on your build. This system appears quite flawed, since allocating points into one characteristic can potentially prevent you from using skills you acquire later on in the game.

There are also items to be found while exploring, though most tend to be lackluster, once you obtain a powerful item, you will most likely spend a long time without seeing anything else worth your while, especially random drops. Anything better than your current equipment tends to be a boss drop, thus making farming equipment unnecessary, which may be a good thing, though it does remove some amount of flavor from the game. Items can also be found in chests by exploring the map and backtracking after obtaining certain movement skills, though this often ends up being a waste of time.

Traversal of the map may just be the worst part of the game, almost every room has only a single entry and exit, forcing you to go through a large amount of rooms whenever you wish to backtrack or in the case you happen to die close to the end of the area, seeing as there tends to be only one save point per area (not counting those which appear in the boss arena once the battle is over).

Conclusion

3000th duel is a good game, it doesn’t particularly shine for its innovation, but what it does, it does well. If you decide to purchase this game you can expect around 20 hours of content, allegedly padded by the lengthy rooms and the hard bosses, thus being around 12/15 hours of actual content.

[vacantgodling]

PARAMOUR

Hyacinthus Shrapnel is the 4th child of the infamous, late (as in dead) and conniving businessman, Clematis Gunn: the crowning result of a scandalous affair between wives. He was raised in a fabricated lap of luxury but was always hidden behind closed doors; a bastard is best if never thought of; let alone seen, heard, or mentioned. Gunn’s untimely but inevitable death, left the fate of Hyacinthus uncertain — however, he was saved from an untimely social death by his eldest sibling, Tagetes. The catch: he is to be wed to The Keeper of Chateau Aux Ailes D’or in a sham of a political marriage, supposedly beneficial for both parties. No one has seen The Keeper outside of their flowing robes and perpetual masquerade masks, and their motivations for marrying Hyacinthus on obviously forged papers is unknown. Nor can Hyacinthus discern the legitimacy of Tagetes’s claims of the "benefits" of this union. Hyacinthus’s only respite from this growing web of treacherous lies is his personal butler, Amon, even if the two bicker more than they exchange pleasantries. As the two of them grow closer, with Amon even donning the veil of Hyacinthus’s paramour, his secrets slowly come to light, in ways that offset everything Hyacinthus thought he knew.

or, in summary:

hyacinthus shrapnel (31, he/him, and our main pov mc), is the illegitimate child of wealthy but super shady biz man clematis gunn. he’s hidden from the public view for most of his childhood/adolescence due to this, and faces imminent “social death” after his father dies bc he’s a bastard tm and has no claims to his father’s estate or $$.

eldest sibling of the gunn bunch, tagetes (and the main inheritor of the estate after their father’s passing— which is what clematis’s second wife belladonna is currently PISSED about), has a way out of this “out of the goodness of their heart” (PLEASE read that with heavy sarcasm): arranging a marriage between hya and The Keeper who is one of the 6 chambers that lord over society and have more power even than the monarchy/government. they’re seen as unchallenged in their authority and The Keeper specifically has the most power of the entire chamber bc they have all the money.

why the FUCK The Keeper would want to marry a bastard like hya is beyond him and hya smells that something is amiss, but he doesn’t really care as long as he has money and a comfortable living where people leave him tf alone. he has no interest in forging a relationship with The Keeper and initially, the feeling is mutual. after the wedding, hya is left to his own devices and is given reign over the staff and general happenings at the chateau while The Keeper does… god knows what. hya doesn’t really care, takes the role on a shallow level… but ends up getting his interest unwillingly piqued by a particular butler who has no qualms shooting barbs with and at him: amon.

the two end up getting closer for a variety of reasons on both of their ends, and after some offhanded advice from tagetes as well as amon continuing to get under his skin, hya takes on amon as his paramour and the two start up a sexual relationship where oops feelings ARE getting involved.

however like mentioned, there’s something weird not just about The Keeper or their marriage to hya, but the chamber in general. and for better or worse hya’s going to have to deal with some of it even if he doesn’t want to LMAO.

anyway have these fucks:

paramour also has 3 spin off series bc i'm obsessed with the mess that is his other siblings and this family in general:

REQUIEM FOR THE MONOCHROME (or just monochrome) — follows the story of hya's younger half-sister lavendula calderon as she navigates learning how to be her own person amid an abusive husband, her mother's expectations, and having the ability to feel all but trained out of her. this wip will also explore the messy situation that is hya's elder brother iberis and his affair with his childhood best friend myrtus who is married to their sister narcissus.

THE PRIM & THE PROVOCATIVE — in the aftermath of however the situation in monochrome solves itself, narcissus, lost and flighty heads to the capital to stay with tagetes and their husband reginae. being fully thrust into the world of high society, narcissus's strive to fit in may just be her downfall.

EMPIRE — with their initial plan to seize the chamber's power shafted by hya's unexpected interference, tagetes decides to take their ambition fully into their own hands. they will lie, cheat, steal, kill — they'll do whatever it takes to get their claws into this land, no matter the cost to claim it.

there is also a prominent au that’s brewing in my mind for this universe and surprise surprise, it’s a role swap au where amon is rich and hya is the butler. all of those will be tagged as “role swap au” until i make a better title.

CHARACTER INTROS: hyacinthus / amon / more coming soon

GUNN SIBLINGS QUIZ: shades of evil!

[makiema]

finally finished writing about how much stormbringer enhances the skk dynamic which was at a nascent stage in Fifteen and anticipates the developments which happen later and culminate in Dead Apple where the faith they have in each other is absolutely remarkable! the fact that i said i’d do this in a few hours yesterday but it took me like 24 hrs to finish i have an attention span of a whole 2 minutes 💀

my favorite thing about stormbringer is that it actually builds up on the concepts/themes introduced in Fifteen so it's a glimpse into what has changed in dazai and dazai & dhuuya after one year of being together. As much as it's about chuuya confronting his past and his identity this is also about dazai’s development from who he was in fifteen. chuuya and rimbaud both left their marks on dazai and in Stormbringer we see him, actually trying to emulate or follow in a sense a way of life, that chuuya and rimbaud represented. Stormbringer is not just about chuuya, abt his test of humanity, or he coming in terms with who or what he is. it's about dazai too. it's about dazai developing or at least attempting to develop what he calls “boyish”/ “ordinary” in Fifteen. its not about chuya having an identity crisis. in fact what we understand from Code 04's last section is that chuuya never considered it as his crisis and neither did dazai. so to dazai “saving chuuya is important, human or not doesn't matter” and when dazai gives chuuya time to think abt what the operation will cost him chuuya doesnt so much as flinch form his purpose. This goes on to show unlike verlaine he doesnt care about memory and certainly doesnt consider it as the only determinant of someone being human. He cares more abt yokohama and his friends and in that, in caring abt his “family”, he is just as human as the next person. whether he’s factually human or not comes secondary to his desire to save people. This is a message that the quality of being human has more to do with embodying human qualities or humanity than having memories and lineage. so yeah stormbringer is essentially about embracing humanity but this happens on 2 levels: both chuuya and dazai embrace humanity. Going back to the boyish or ordinary bit, im talking abt this segment:

here dazai is shocked because he assumed everyone “gangsta” and everyone crazy powerful delighted in homicide, in deliberately indulging in the macabre. but he is proved wrong. He logically concluded that anyone with power more than average and belonging to the underground would kill people and delight in that because it’s a given they lack any kind of moral understanding. To that end, they’d be exalted at the prospect of relentlessly shooting a dead body, mutilating it and dishonoring it. The mafia code (any general mafia code) works in a way where honor and death goes hand in hand. So only the lowest of the low would do that to a dying person, who even when faced with certain death is loyal to his own organisation. This really shows that even within the mafia dazai is the only person whos like the devil incarnate. So yeah dazai at this sate far lower than even a mafia member. But chuuya who actually embodiess the mafia code and is incredibly loyal to his organisation and “family” [ putting family in quotes bc he himself calls his friends family 🥺] ofc kicks the gun away. From dazai’s pov chuuya being as insanely powerful as he is should also do the same. But chuuya comes along and suggests that even enemies should be shown respect where it’s due. And that is what an ordinary person, oblivious to mafia life (mafia life as in waht dazai makes of it) thinks. So in undermining the binary between “ordinary” and “mafia” chuuya proves that being mafia doesnt necessarily mean selling your soul to the devil and giving up the last smidge of humanity. In fact by embodying qualities like compassion and kindness and mutual respect, you can make the mafia a better place for yourself and for the other members. Now in Stormbringer, we see how this affected dazai. here dazai is introduced as someone mercilessly killing to set up the channel. 

Now to expand the channel one would need to keep doing it right? To mercilessly kill ppl and stuff but instead what he does is hand the channel over to chuuya bc he knows chuuya wouldnt handle it like him. im not suggesting that dazai miraculously becomes v good or anything with dazai the key words is “try” or “to some extent” like in Fifteen when Chuuya asks “do u wanna live” he’s like “ not to that extent”. similarly its not to say he doesnt kill people anymore. it is that he tries to lessen the number of casualties by handing over one of the most troublesome channels to chuuya who would manage it in a much more humane way. That dazai draws from his friends/at least tries to is smth we’ll see again later on when he deals with akutagawa. He talks about odasaku and ofc its baffling to him that a mafia member as powerful as him would be taking acre of orphans. and dazai says but he cant afford to be that kind and proceeds to shoot akutagswa but again does so in a calculated way such that he doesnt end up killing him ( im NOT justifying dazai’s abuse not at all im just saying that its hard to believe he coincidentally knew the exact no of bullets that aku could block. and had odasaku’s words and his way of life not been in the back of his mind he could’ve ended up killing aku) coming back to chuuya and dazai we also see him avoiding further conversation on the jewelry channel thing as he says “leave that for now”. He does a similar thing again when mori brings up the concept of double suiciding with chuuya.

 Its a HUGE thing for him to digest that him suiciding would inevitably spell the doom for chuuya. this puts an unimaginable responsibility on him. And he avoids further discussion on this. Now we know dazai is the rambly type. Even in the most dire moments he goe son with his LOONG monologues so really he is the last person who’d avoid a conversation but he deliberately does it in these 2 instances because its hard for him to grasp these things. That he can go against his nature and do a conscientious thing by handing over one of the most grisly channels to chuuya (i dont think dazai’s nature is evil. Or even if it is, its a a social construct keeping in mind the war ravaged times or its mori’s construct because he does exploit dazai to the hilt. but dazai ofc thinks of himself as non-human, devious. perfectly devilish...etc.) And also the fact that someone as suicidal as him is actually responsible for the life of someone else is really too much to take in. a whole 10 seconds pause indicates just how much he was thrown off when mori opened his eyes to the reality of things: if he dies, chuuya inexorably dies as a consequence. also i dont think the “wow” here or the next bit :

is something jokey. if it was like haha double suicide with chuuya is the worst haha wanna do it w pretty lady kind of a deal. that pause would have been unnecessary. dazai’s immediate reaction would’ve been whining and shit. the use of “froze” too implies the gravity of the situation. so ofc what is “wow” is how much meaning his life has for someone else. and for some so much....better than him. and what is unacceptable is this sad, sad truth that his life (to which he ascribes no value) would be so inextricably linked with someone else’s and hold so much meaning to them. it is like when a suicidal person at the brink of suicide understanding his life is not his own. his life and death holds consequences for ppl surrounding him. so both of these are huge things to grasp and at both these times dazai is visibly shaken up so much so that he doesnt want to do his favorite thing- ramble in a condescending tone. smth he does in so many instances. this really is a testimony to the fact that things are changing in him. the redemption process has begun. he’s no longer the kind of maniac he was before he encountered chuuya. when zuko underwent his transition in atla he was so shaken up after one (1) right decision he had a fever. i think this is true for anyone who’s trying to change. change is after all a huge thing for everyone. ofc he’ll be unsettled. so anyways this is proof that he has indeed come a long way from being someone who revelled at the prospect of meaningless bloodshed.

now coming to the concept of love he assumes he’d get sick of love and die:

and that death is the singular goal worth chasing after because it makes you feel more alive/get a fuller picture of what living entails. but here he is erring by supposing love is something that’ll bore him/have no meaning. and it cant provide him that “something” he’s looking for. at this point he hasn’t loved so he doesnt know whether he’ll be sick of it or if it'll have no impact. And yet he’s morose and regretful. this is a kind of self-imposed constraint hes putting on himself. he cancels out the v idea of love because hes convinced it isnt worth it. he hasnt even been in love okay scratch being in love that sounds romantic and i really dont mean love in a romantic sense here...its just love. in general. any form is cool. anyway so dazai is not familiar with any kind of love. He is entirely alien to the concept. he doesnt even know what a friend/partner is so he doesnt know what love is. this is cleared out here when rimbaud confesses he did everything for paul and dazai is unconvinced:

chuuya ofc admonishes him and shuts him up for good, he says dazai has no right lookind down upon smth he doesnt understand. he doesnt understand friendship, love. or loyalty. or how important those feelings are at this point. now this situation is turned on its head in stormbringer. but before we go into that let’s look at the message rimbaud had for both of them. ik he specifically asks for chuuya to “live” but there’s purpose behind including both of them in the frame. it’s a message they should both take to heart. and at the end of it its implied both are changed after hearing it:

and in this message the first bit is for chuuya. what he says is basically memory doesn’t make u human... ”you are you” just a frame or not doesnt matter. and even if hes just a frame, he is still beautiful. beauty actually is a v important concept in literature starting right from Plato to Shakespeare. i’d not bring this here but because bsd is so deeply rooted in literature i feel like the reference to beauty, and later on to soul and even warmth and also the universal tone of this message carries some meaning. so the thing is  both Plato and Shakespeare were endorsed the idea of love as a force awakened in the world by beauty which then leads the soul to perfection. so humans and by extension, all life are beautiful frames that can inspire love. this concept is also there in Romantic poetry like Keats and Wordsworth all of them talked about loving beauty in nature and how that can elevate the body mind and soul. so essentially in telling this to chuuya what ehe basically means is that chuuya just by being him, by being a beautiful framework can inspire love and warmth in others and thats a great purpose! how much chuuya understands of this purpose with his one (1) braincell and his low self esteem is questionable but he gets some sense of belonging. now this is a two way relationship so ofc dazai has to be factored in. he comes in the next part: 

these are from 2 different translation so the disparity im sorry ;-; but anyway,  this last part abt the world being a cold place. then paul. then “warmth” is a message to dazai who’s been introduced to us as cold-hearted and having like no bearings of a human being. this is the reason why its important for both o f them to be there. now going back to chuuya being a beautiful framework, the framework can be beautiful in so far as its beauty is appreciate by someone and inspires warmth and love in someone. this again is the whole beauty/beholder nature/the romantic concept that is there in shakespeare and in Romantic poetry where both are a part of a codependent relationship. so what rimbaud implies here is that dazai can have that kind of a relationship with another person (chuuya) just like rimbaud had with paul which makes him warm and the world doesnt feel cold anymore. rimbaud has no regrets about what he did because. so the idea is that dazai and chuuya can share the same dynamic. also after this, the narrative says that their hearts are now changed and wont return to what they were before....and even their souls are refined in a way. but in Fifteen we dont have a concrete proof of how this happened bc the novel ends at this point. Instead, Stormbringer shows exactly how deep the impact of those words is: 

this is the third instance of dazai showing hesitation and once again this has to do with chuuya. the seed of the dynamic that rimbaud was talking about  is already germinating in him. his reactions, his fidgeting, his hesitancy, in response to chuuya’s situation is such a big contrast to his cocksure self when he’s conversing with adam and verlaine. after this of course we have: 

not only does he clearly express his concern but he gives chuuya 2 whole mins to make a decision and based on that he’s prepared to overturn the operation. the success rate of an alternative plan will ofc be lesser than the og one but that doesnt faze dazai. he’s ready to turn the tide for chuuya’s sake and if this is not development idk what is. just a year ago, he was someone to whom the concept of rimbaud going thru all that trouble for his friend was a lost concept. ironically enough, now he finds himself doing something that is along the same lines. he puts chuuya above his mission. to him, chuuya is more important than getting a satisfactory result. another bit that i wanna talk abt is that one controversial section where dazai says he’ll save chuuya, human or not, and then the justification is: 

i think a lot of people got mad bc of this and honestly at first glance i was peeved too. as a chuuya stan some of the shit dazai has done so far did rub me the wrong way. i love skk obv but still those were moments that kind of left a bad taste in the mouth. i’ll discuss them later on bc stormbringer helps allay that feeling. coming back to the “i wanna see chuuya suffer” part firstly context is important. ofc someone like dazai cant be expected to be upfront about his feelings with ppl (or AI) he barely knows. so what be relays to adam, is only partly true and its actually a kind of a twist in concept. the things is, and this is  smth dazai knows all too well is that ppl suffer simply on account of being human. human suffering is brought on because humans, by virtue of being humans, feel. so when he says he’s willing to acknowledge chuuya as human despite what N and Verlaine said he’s already admitting that chuuya suffers. so there is really nothing “new” to see for him. he knows chuuya suffers already and he does too because they’re both humans trying to make it thru their messed up lives. also chuuya “ceasing to be human” is a p huge concern for him bc he himself is like that. just like with the suicide thing, it bothers dazai when someone else shares his situation/his fate like as long as his life is his own, he has no problem ending it whenever but the situation is complicated when someone else’s life span is determined by that decision. and similarly, as long as he is “no longer human” its not that much of an issue because he’s like resigned to a doomed fate but someone like chuuya ceasing to be human or worse yet never getting to know if hes human or not are pressing matters. so anyways what he actually means here is that in saving chuuya, he saves someone who suffers just like he does and in their case, even the cause of suffering boils down to a shared psychological conflict: what essentially constitutes being human and if im human or not. now this sharing of pain and suffering is the foundation of forming a connection with someone, which makes life a little better. here again, what rimaud imparted to dazai and chuuya is driven home. also dazai’s key anxiety is not finding meaning/anything. this “anything” can be assumed to be something that justifies life. so all his anxiety and frustration stems from the fact that there really is no discernible meaning to be found in the mechanism of life. so it is an empty pursuit because it is true that nothing can explain why feelings of pain and suffering are exponentially heavier than feelings of happiness or why after getting to experience one (1) free day we’re back to square one where life is grueling. these are questions that really dont have an answer so every time dazai like gazes into the abyss and says he didnt  find anything, he is not so much asking if he’ll ever find anything as swallowing the hard truth that there is nothing to be found, no singular entity exists that can magically justify everything. again drawing upon literature or philosophy more specifically, there’s a concept called Absurdism which says the only philosophical truth so to say is this that life is absurd and looking for meaning is futile. instead what we can do is accept that it is absurd and deal with it in the best way possible, by finding little sources and moments of happiness, and strewing them together so we feel somewhat content. even if it is just for a fleeting second. and this happiness/contentment amidst a wretched life (altho temporal) can be found in friendship, in sharing, and even in having fun with people you’re comfortable with! this is actually why dazai wants to save chuuya and now it may seem like im interpreting his words through the shipping lens but thats not so and it can be corroborated by looking into dazai’s words to odasaku. after chuuya, dazai’s next attempt at friendship was odasaku who he found “interesting”. now when odasaku sort of like threw hands and chose death over having to live a life without the orphans, dazai tried to stop him not by saying stuff like life is good. and things will def change for the better. but instead he admits that living is hard and the sense of void is ubiquitous and yet he doesnt want him to  up and die because then he would be sad. because the little comfort that he got from odasaku and something he probably assumed odasaku also got from him would be gone. [how much odasaku considered dazai a source of comfort remains unclear. in fact the reason odasaku gave up and died was because he did not have this. this feeling of sharing in someone else’s suffering and seeking comfort in friends in the real world. instead he was too vested in his ideal world. his over reliance on an entirely idealistic concept is actually what pushed him over the edge. and this would have been the case for dazai too had he not encountered and sought comfort and companionship in chuuya and eventually in odasaku ] so this again goes on to show how rimbaud’s words changed dazai’s heart. and in a way dazai really has been doing this unconsciously form the v beginning like by teasing chuuya continually in Fifteen. you dont expect someone as cold as him to indulge in friendly bickering and taunting so often but he does. that there is significance and even happiness in that is something he learns over time, after rimbaud’s words to him. although these things seem futile on the surface they give a moment’s respite. so although chuuya spinning dazai on a rope in stormbringer might seem weird to everyone, they still serve a purpose:  

what shirase puts forward is particularly relevant here because neither dazai nor chuuya is fully aware of the extent of their feelings (or even what those feelings are like they dont know what label to put. so typical oblivious lovers) for each other or what they stand to gain just by driving each other nuts but there is something intangible but satisfying to be felt. a kind of contentment that helps him continue. one day at a time. there is no one great “thing” that can make him like wake up one day feeling like he doesnt want to die ever again. but again like i said before, the key word for dazai is “extent” so, these little things to some extent contribute to a sense of fulfilment which helps him keep death at bay. thats why he’s bent on saving chuuya bc he knows they can share in their suffering and make life better for each other. its not like he wants chuuya to suffer. chuuya will suffer nonetheless like every other human. but in suffering together there is something to be found so he doesnt want him to cease being human. 

this covers more or less the intertextuality between Stormbringer and Fifteen. i just wanna talk a bit more about a couple other moments in Stormbringer that i feel are p important because they put some things in the series in perspective and also made the dead apple moment 10x more emotional 🥺 one thing that really strikes me is the absolute fanon level of comfort that dazai and chuuya share in Strombringer. its like scenes form k-drama lol. 

so yeah this stuff. compare this with dazai’s reaction @atsushi when he drops im not saying that its not just a joke and that what im saying should be the right way to look at this contrast. its not like that at all. but what this does is give an estimate to the readers just how close and comfortable dazai feels when its chuuya. and this plus everything i rambling on abt for so long also gives us an estimate about the sincerity of dazais feelings. now 2 things always bothered me : the fact that dazai actually left chuuya and the fact that after the fight against lovecraft he actualy deserted him (this again can ofc be construed as just a humorous bit but still it did leave a bad taste in my mouth) dazai leaving the mafia is ofc something he had to do to fulfil oda’s dying wish but it still dint sit right with me that he would abandon chuuya. just like oda levaing is harder on dazai, dazai leaving is harder on chuuya. its always harder on the one left behind. so anyway, these sorts of things sometimes made me doubt dazai’s feelings but now that stormbringer clears it all up i do think there is a larger motif at work here. when mori offers dazai to come back to the mafia in s2 we see him saying that it was mori who kicked him out and that he did so because he was afraid dazai would usurp his position. so he set it up in a way that dazai would be forced to leave but on his own accord. now more than usurpation i believe what mori really did fear is that dazai had no allegiance to the mafia (which is actually true) bc he doesnt have that sense of loyalty and that to him his friends were more important than swearing allegiance to mori. (which again is true). so by getting oda killed, the message that mori seemed to be giving out was if dazai didnt leave he would do it again. and if we consider ango’s betrayal which had already transpired at that point, the one mori would next target to sort of get at dazai would inevitably be chuuya. this is only conjecture but still, i do believe this might as well be true because then it would explain why dazai didnt carry chuuya back to the base after their fight [something he was v comfortable doing in Stormbringer. in fact in the first case he carries chuuya back to the billiards bar and not to the mafia’s base so he could hear albatross’ last words 🥺] its because mori needs to know unlike dazai, chuuya is absolutely loyal to him which regrettably he is. it kinda becomes imperative therefore on part of dazai to make it seem that way to mori. that they really are at each others throats and that dazai is insignificant to chuuya. and that the mafia comes before dazai. (which is not true bc we see chuuya protecting his friend [shirase] while also staying loyal to the mafia in Stormbringer) 

mori also in his own way tries to provoke hostility b/w them like in Dead Dpple when he was all like yeah so dazai is the star and chuuya is merely bait. so it kinda makes sense if dazai left the mafia not only to like do good work but also to protect chuuya from mori. also the fact that chuuya did the same thing— left the Sheep and joined PM to protect Shirase from the mafia makes be believe that my speculation is plausible given all the parallels we find between dazai and chuuya. 

and the last bit is about the brilliant Dead Apple scene and how much added context it gets in light of Stormbringer. 

in this scene dazai first says: “you used Corruption believing in me?” and then the translation is “how beautiful” which is an okay translation but the exact thing dazai said was “nakasetekurerune” which literally is : youre gonna make me cry you know? now my knowledge of japanese is like duolingo level but i do know “nakasete” has to do with crying and “kureru” is used by the receiver to indicate he’s receiving a feeling/object from someone close. so basically chuuya trusting him is something so beautiful that it could almost move him to tears. now lets look at dazai’s intro in Stormbringer:

dazai, being dazai, ofc would be able to tell genuine trust from fealty out of fear so ofc the fact that chuuya has this kind of blind faith in him is overwhelming for him. also stormbringer really expands on the sight effects of Corruption in full detail. its so PAINFUL and to think that chuuya would jump into it right away for dazai’s sake.....no wonder he is so soft when deactivating him. and then he proceeds to flirt for a little bit with the Snow White and the kiss of life reference. but this flirting doesnt seem even a little out of place now. it doesn't feel like smth meaningless or smth that dazai is just saying as a joke. that there is absoluetly no subtext to making a statement like that. instead that kind of flirting feels like smth inspired from a deep, deep familiarity with someone who really shares his heart and soul. when he talks to chuuya abt the problem of not knowing whether he is human or not, it is a problem that is as central to him as it’s to chuuya. not feeling fully reconciled to a human identity is a problem thats fundamental to both of them. I don’t think familiarity gets any deeper than this where you share the exact same psychological problem. so its really wonderful how we can trace the skk development now: what starts out as a crush on part of dazai or not a crush exactly rather, a feeling of perplexed admiration because chuuya is breathtakingly beautiful inside out, eventually gain all these layers and develops into something meaningful where they have so much faith in each other and where they literally help each other live. knowing someone out there shares your exact issue so you’re really not alone in this is perhaps the greatest comfort in the world. also now its clear how both of them would have turned out had they not met each other and had they not taken in rimbaud’s advice. chuuya in his desire to learn about himself and frustration at not being able to do the same would have perhaps spiralled downward and ended up becoming like verlaine. he is his double here after all. and had dazai not seen chuuya up close being the wonderful person he is, he too would have probably ended up developing a god complex and becoming like fyodor. dazai is there to save chuuya literally from dying a monster and chuuya is there to remind him he too can try and mend his ways and embrace his human side. after all chuuya has so much trust him in! (despite him having questionable methods) for both of them, it starts out as an attempt to be more human, then establishing a fruitful partnership, and finally coming in terms with their feelings to some extent. for dazai, he’s comfortable enough to engage in occasional flirting at this point and for chuuya it’s playing along with dazai’s antics (well with the ones he get 💀 pretty boy has half a functional braincell) and openly showing his concern for him. so really by confirming their feelings what strombringer does is enhance the skk development in a way that Dead Apple doesnt seem like fan service anymore. the fact that dazai would casually flirt or be comfortable with chuuya landing on his crotch 💀 all that isnt as ridiculous as it first seemed because stormbringer lays the groundwork and anticipates all the intimate/flirty skk moments that have happened till now and ig will happen again soon. 

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Hey~~ could you write Annie x reader? What I had in mind was towards the end of s1 when Annie was trying to climb up the wall, could she try and take reader with her because they always talked about being together? Kinda like when Ymir took Historia in s2, and I really love your writings 💕 thanks~

TAsdfhjksfadh you didn’t specify whether Annie made it over the wall with the reader or not so uh I just kinda picked one lol hope you don’t mind

Also, sorry this is a little late, I've been feeling just a little sick for the past couple of days.

Prove It

(Annie Leonhart x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: Season 3 spoilers

Category: Mostly angst, little fluff

Summary: When Annie was outed as the Female Titan, she didn’t have a lot of options on where to go. And, as the fight between her and Eren progresses, it becomes clear her best option is to flee. Yet, there’s just one thing she can’t leave without. And it seems the feeling’s mutual.

Words: 3.1K

That wicked laughter.

It rung through the empty streets of Stohess, abandoned specifically for this military operation.

The goal? To lure out the suspected Female Titan, Annie Leonhart. Your girlfriend.

At first, you were violently against participating in the operation. You weren’t going to incriminate her, that would be incredibly faithless. Really, you wanted nothing more than for her to be vindicated, and to prove the the world the the “heartless” Annie Leonhart is a loyal soldier, not the traitorous snake they started to make of her.

It got in your head, most certainly. Within hours of the first discussion, ‘Annie Leonhart’ and ‘Female Titan’ had become synonymous with each other, and you hated every bit of it. You always defended her fiercely, because you could only hear so much distasteful talk towards her before you started to broil over with rage.

So, you agreed. You were going to lure Annie down in to the tunnel and prove once and for all that she wasn’t a monster. You could clear her of suspicion, and the two of you would go back to your ordinary lives with each other.

And oh, if only that was what happened.

But you watched in horror as Annie refused to go down the tunnel. She laughed, laughed, when you pleaded with her to follow you, that all she needed to do was come along with you to be unshackled from the scrutiny and doubt.

But her feet remained planted in her rigid stance of defense.

“Y/n...” She slurred out, laughter finally subsiding. “I’m glad I could be a good person to you.”

The slope of fear seemed to lose it’s steadiness, and the drop-off into the pit of empty horror occurred when she held up her hand to her mouth, preparing herself for the bloodshed to follow.

“You’ve won your bet. But this is where my bet begins...!”

The signal flare fired, and the countless soldiers waiting in ambush jumped from all angles. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as they restrained her and gagged her, like muzzling a dog. But, it was no use. Her ring, the silver ring she never let you touch, sprung up a spike out of it’s side, and a quick slide of her thumb across the tip opened up a bloody gash in her finger.

And then came the lightning.

Mikasa had thrown her arms around you and Armin, dragging you down into the tunnel to get out of harm’s way of the transformation.

You knew she had finished her transformation when the thundering stopped, and chunks of debris rolled to a stop at your feet, stirred dust slowly settling itself back onto the stone ground. For a moment, everything stilled, and only the ragged breaths of Armin and the sheathing of Mikasa’s blades were audible.

And then something moved.

You weren’t sure what it was, until around the corner, the light was consumed by a large shadow, growing closer and closer and absorbing more of the sunlight until it rounded the corner.

A fingertip. Then the finger. Then the hand. An arm—and it was traveling down the hallway, fingers frozen in a pose as if it were trying to grab onto something, something it couldn’t see.

“Shit!” You let out a terrified yelp and took off running, Mikasa hot on your tail and Armin stumbling closely behind.

It sought after the three of you, until a distant thump could be heard. You whipped your head around and stopped running, noticing the hand—ever present, it’s finger stretched desperately in an attempt at grabbing something, but it was no use. You caught a glance of it’s upper arm, flush against the wall of the curve.

She couldn’t reach any farther.

You let out of a sigh of relief, falling to your knees and gazing at it. It’s shaking fingers stopped, finally, and went limp into it’s palm in defeat, before slowly pulling itself out. You had no clue whether it was trying to grab you, or Armin, or Mikasa, or if it was planning on killing you or not. Bottom line, it was unsuccessful.

But then more thunder.

It seems Eren finally got his cue, because the signature yellow hues of transformation shone even into the dark abyss of the wrecked tunnel.

The three of you took a deep breath and shared a collective glance. Before long, the unsaid instructions were followed, and the three of you scurried out of the tunnel to witness the action.

And action it was—the first sight you were greeted with upon exiting was that of Annie delivering a decisive punch to Eren’s jaw, sending him flying backwards into the streets of Stohess.

Eren returned to his feet as fast as he could, and let out a menacing roar as he charged at Annie, arms low like a football player preparing to pounce on something.

He charged, but her feet remained planted, arms bracing for impact.

You watched as the two of them brawled furiously. You didn’t even notice that Mikasa and Armin had left your side—you hadn’t moved. You couldn’t find it in your heart to fight Annie, but neither were you going to fight Eren. No, all you could do was watch, helpless.

The battle continued fiercely, absolutely wrecking the city in the process. Building were destroyed and crumpled, streets of stone completely upended as one or the other got helplessly tossed around.

It came to a head as the fight eventually progressed to a wide, open space of stone, and the two of them were fighting hand to hand, both of them looking worse for wear. You shot your ODM gear into the roof of a nearby building, watching the fight with a slacked jaw. You had no clue how Eren was even standing a chance to Annie, since you yourself had seen how skilled she was in martial arts.

Soon, though, a decisive kick to Annie shin sent debris and rocks flying everywhere. Annie lost her footing, tumbling to the ground with a thump.

And you had been so fixated on Annie in that moment that you failed to notice the debris, and it was headed right towards your face.

Something—rigid and powerful—collided with your head, and you fell to the ground instantly.

Your vision was already fading, and you watched as tiny streams of crimson flowed over the shingles and down the roof—no doubt stemming from the newly opened gash on your scalp.

The distant clinking of the rock as it tumbled down the slope of the roof was the last thing you heard, and the world around you faded to black.

---

Through the darkness, a memory flashed through your mind.

---

It was dark out, of course it was. Shadis would never let you have leisure time at all when the sun was up.

You leaned against an lone oak tree, fingers brushing through the soft grass idly. The air was cold and crisp, and a soft breeze flowed through the air, just barely enough to rustle your soft hair.

Annie sat silently next to you, shoulder brushing up against yours. Slowly, she slinked her hand over yours, hesitantly grasping at your hand. You entwined your fingers with hers, and she looked away shyly.

She often had bouts of insomnia, lying awake at night for hours, unable to get her body to relax. And, the first night she tugged at your nightshirt, waking you up to go outside with her, she fell asleep in your arms due to exhaustion almost immediately.

So, it had become an unspoken ritual from that day on. She couldn’t sleep, she’d wake you up, the two of you would go outside, and talk or busy yourselves until sleep inevitably caught up to her.

But today was different. For whatever reason, something had been keeping her up for a lot longer than usual. You knew something was weighing down on her heavily, but you weren’t going to pry it out of her.

Deciding to break the tense silence, you squeezed her hand gently, getting her attention before you spoke.

“It’s nice out, isn’t it?” You observed. You weren’t talking about the weather per-say, but the thousands of white speckled stars that dotted the sky, and the bright, full moon that illuminated the grass and dirt beneath you.

“It’s cold.” She said bluntly.

You chuckled softly, her bleak attitude was so characteristic of her.

“I guess that’s true.”

More silence.

And then she sighed, bringing your hand into her lap to cusp it in both of her palms, clinging onto it as if it were grounding her.

“What do you plan on doing later in life, Y/n?” She huffed, leaning her head backwards against the back of the tree and gazing up at the sky. “You don’t possibly plan on staying in the military your whole life, do you?”

“No, of course not.” You sighed.

“Then do you have plans afterwards?”

You paused for a minute. She raised a good point, you didn’t really think of anything after the military. Deep down, perhaps you understood that by joining the Cadet Corps you didn’t have much ahead of you. You can only survive so many brushes with death before it’s your turn to go.

“I guess not...” You hesitated, deep in thought. You swallowed a lump in your throat before changing the subject. “Why, do you?”

Even through the darkness, you could feel the shrug of her shoulders against you.

“Not really.” She muttered. “Just... stay with the MPs, make a living wage, retire somewhere in the interior, and... relax. I just wanna... find somewhere to relax.”

She paused for a second. Clearly there’s something tugging at her mind, something she wants to say. So, you sit back and wait for her to find the confidence.

“Do you promise me that... sometime, after a while in the Scouts, that you’ll come back to be with me?”

The future between the two of you was always painted with uncertainty—whether the two of you could ever truly stay together. It would be difficult, between soldiers, to be able to settle down and stay together no matter what, especially from different regiments. But you could always try.

She exhaled shakily, struggling to get the words out of her throat.

“I just can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you. ‘Cause... if anything ever happened to you in the Scouts...” Her voice trailed off near the end, and you assumed she was trying to plan out her next words carefully, until you heard a small sniffle pass her lips.

Surprised, you turned to face her. She was trying to fight off the tears at the corners of her eyes, lip trembling as she struggled not to cry. It wasn’t until now that you realized just how tightly she gripped your hand.

“Annie- Annie it’s alright.” You stumbled, trying to comfort her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was upsetting her—she was scared of living a life without you.

You hooked an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer to you and putting your other hand on the back of her head and guiding her to your shoulder.

“I promise you, no matter what, I’ll live. And one day, we can spend all our time together. I’ll go wherever you go, I swear.” You ran your hand through her hair, undoing the bun she kept it in and evening it out over her shoulders.

“You promise?” Her voice sounded shaky and weak, a vulnerability to it that she rarely showed. “No matter what happens to me, you’ll trust me and stay with me?”

“I promise. Of course I do.”

---

Warmth.

It was the first thing you noticed upon waking up. The second was darkness. You sat up, noticing how wet the surface beneath you was. And how how fleshy.

Your face paled in realization. You were in a titan's mouth.

You raised your arm up, cringing at the trail of saliva that connected you to her tongue.

Immediately, you searched for a way to get out. You didn't plan on leaving her behind, but you'd rather not be stuck in a place as slimy and dark as this either. However, your efforts were pointless, since her jaw was clamped shut, her teeth caging you in and preventing you from escaping. Your heart dropped a little, wondering if she didn't trust you not to run away.

Suddenly, you felt a large thump, the unexpected movement causing you to grab desperately at anything that would keep you grounded in one spot.

But then, another thump. And another, and another. It felt like running, almost, but far too slow. You pondered it for a moment, before you realized what was going on.

She was trying to climb the wall.

But then, the thumping stopped. She wasn't falling, thank god, but all movement has seized.

Hesitantly, her jaw started to open, giving ample space for you to squeeze through. A sudden thought came to you—she needed your help.

With no hesitation, you drew your blades and burst through the skin of her cheek, not even waiting for her to part for lips. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you immediately search for the source of the problem. And you found it in the brute of a soldier, Mikasa Ackerman.

The girl was perched on Annie's nose, staring down at her. A quick glance to your side and you realized, with horror written all over your face, that Mikasa had cut off almost all of Annie's fingers—one more and Annie would easily lose her grip.

You understood, as soon as Mikasa drew her blades towards Annie's hand, you only had one option.

You shot your ODM gear towards her, not even caring when the hook dug into Mikasa's shoulder, causing her to yelp in pain as she turned to you.

She wasn't even given a moment to process as you came hurtling towards her, colliding with her shoulder and sending both of you flying through the air and towards the ground—fast.

Despite the small voice telling you that it would be easier to just ditch Mikasa, to release your ODM gear and let her fall, you shot the other hook into the wall, and your momentum halted to a stop.

She peeled her arms away from their protective guard around her head, processing that the two of you had stopped before looking up to you in surprise. You looked back down at her, an expression of sorrow in your eyes. It hurt you to betray her, and all of your comrades, like this, but you knew as soon as Annie placed her trust in you by opening her mouth that you only had one choice.

"Y/n what are y—!"

"I'm sorry Mikasa!" You yelled, trying to put aside your emotions for the time being. "I can't... I can't leave her, I promised I wouldn't!"

You took a deep breath, positioning on your finger on the trigger, preparing to release Mikasa from your ODM gear's bloody grip in her shoulder. "I'm sorry..." You muttered, before pulling the trigger, watching Mikasa tumbled towards the ground, her betrayed expression still glued helplessly on her face.

You decided that it would only hurt you to look at Mikasa—engraining that image into your head would certainly plague you later on.

You finally turned to look back at Annie, and your heart picked up a couple paces at the sight.

Her head was turned to you, watching—waiting—for you, her hand outstretched in your direction. You smiled, firing your ODM and flying into the palm of her hand, quickly climbing up onto her shoulder to allow her to finish her ascent up the wall.

You turned back one last time, looking over at the destroyed city, and the furious and betrayed faces of your comrades. You sighed, turning back around. That's in the past now, you thought. It doesn't matter. I... made a promise to Annie, I can't betray her. I can't...

---

The line of trees in the distance grew closer and closer as Annie jogged forwards, having made it over the wall and all the way to the forest inside Wall Maria.

She slowed down to a walking pace as she neared the trees, kneeling on the ground before releasing herself from the nape of her titan. Steam flowed from her body as she immediately collapsed forwards, and you instantly lurched forwards to catch her exhausted body in your arms.

"Grab on." You instructed, waiting for her to securely wrap herself around you before you flew through the air and onto a tree branch, making sure you were safely out of the reach of any mindless titans before you let go of her.

She took a deep breath, leaning against the wooden trunk of the tree to recollect her strength. After all, even as a titan, the fight had done numbers to her body.

You sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit, waiting for her to catch her breath while you idly readjusted the straps to your ODM gear.

Finally, she reached over to take your hand, grabbing it in both of hers just like she had during your conversation with her years ago.

"I'm so glad..." She sighed, voice weak and wavering. "I was so scared when I opened my mouth that you would just... run off without me."

Slowly, she shifted, wrapping her arms around your neck and leaning her entire body weight on you. You could feel some of the tension leaving her body as she sighed against you, burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"I was terrified that if you found out my real identity, you would just leave me. I don't know how I would've handled it. I was just..." She took a shaky inhale as she continued, and you felt a few wet tears against your neck. "Scared. So... So scared..."

You set a comforting hand on her back, hugging her tighter in an attempt to sooth her.

"Annie..." You cooed in her ear. "I promised you, remember? I would never leave your side. I'm gonna stay with you for the rest of my life."

Her breathing started to calm against you, your words managing to ease her worries.

"Yeah," She sighed, pulling away from you. "I shouldn't have doubted you, sweetie."

You smiled and placed your hands on her shoulders, bringing her in for a quick kiss before wiping her tears with the back of your hand.

"It's fine. Just remember," You leaned in and hugged her, exuding a warm feeling that made Annie's heart swell with love. "I'll always be on your side, no matter what."

"God, I love you so much, you dork." She muttered, heat rising to her cheeks with a content smile.

You chuckled, "I love you, too."

MAN THIS IS ASS

This is what happens when you force yourself to write with a headache whoops haha

[turquoisebooks]

After finishing Gallant, I felt and I still feel so… touched by it. It definitely left a mark. It's an amazing peculiar YA book with a great gothic atmosphere. It´s got Coraline plus Crimson Peak vibes. Yes, give me all the half-formed ghouls haunting the hallways and the eerie undertone of a huge house called Gallant and a crumbling mansion mirroring the said house, hidden behind a wall with an iron door sealed by blood. Thanks to the fact that we spend most of the time of the book either in the girl´s school and later on in one of the versions of Gallant with Olivia and three other characters the story feels quite intimate. 

I think that Gallant is the kind of story that forces you to look deeper in order to appreciate its message which I am still not sure I fully grasped. Of course, there is a plot full of ghouls, shadows, and a rather terrifying Master of the House, but besides these ominous hauntings, the book deals with the power of belonging. The heroine Olivia is an orphan living in a Preparatory school where her mother left her when she was very young. She is an outcast - the other girls either openly avoid her or bully her - and her loneliness is everpresent. It is dark and gloomy indeed. You can almost breathe in Olivia´s longing for warmth and family. Olivia stubbornly and not exactly wisely (since her mother warned her about the house) yet understandably enough, does not want to leave the place that may turn out to be the only home she will ever know. Interestingly, Olivia doesn’t speak, yet she did not feel like a silent character to me. I think she is pretty vocal even without uttering a single word. Schwab does a great job finding ways for Olivia to express herself without speech.

Furthermore, the book is about accepting two realities at the same time. Life ends as Death is inevitable but at the same time, Death can be banished so life may continue. It is also a story about sacrifices. As we learn more of Olivia’s parents and the ordeal of the Prior family, the weight of what the family has to endure really sets in. Throughout the book, we come across several diary pages with writings and gorgeous illustrations which just enhance the remarkable story inside. Regarding Olivia, her origins, and the diary, Schwab manages to tell the same story, that of Olivia’s parents, repeatedly throughout the book, yet, there is always some new information coming to life, making it interesting enough to keep your attention.

The second half of the book being is more action-packed than the first, but it felt a little bit more… ordinary, which is probably due to understanding what was going on. The mystery simply toned down a little. Speaking of the second half, I was interested in the world beyond the wall and the Master of the House. Honestly, I imagined how it would look like if Olivia followed him to the dark side and for a moment wished it to happen. There is no romantic or sexual connection between them so this is just me wishing once to see a heroine who gets swept by the darkness luring her in.

Regarding the ending, I´ve seen someone complain that when it was done, thinking the story hadn't moved anywhere and pondering ‘what was this all for?’, but I cannot agree with that. I think that´s the point. Not everything has to move forward toward a happy ending. Sometimes, and that's what I think will appeal to those who loved The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue as I feel like both books play the same note, the ending is quite bittersweet.

Overall, If you want a book with a lot of action, this may not be the IT for you, but if you wish to dive into a very atmospheric and thought-provoking story, which is kind of based on opposites, exploring the balance between life & death, good & evil… with a very interesting heroine, Gallant is probably what you are looking for. It slowly nestled itself into the corner of my heart.

Thank you to NetGalley and Titan Books for providing me with this e-ARC.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

heyo friend, I hope you’re doing well 🖤 What about the “You know I hate it when you do that, right? Keep doing it” smut prompt + shigaraki? With a gn!reader?

✧ pairing: tomura shigaraki x gn!reader

✧ warnings: brat taming themes, smut, references to violence, blood mention, handjobs, villain!reader, 18+ minors DNI

✧ word count: 1.5k

✧ a/n: hey mootie! thanks so much for your request. I know you were looking for some brat taming so take my subtle, sleep deprived attempt at some lowkey bratty behavior.

“You idiot, what the hell was that?”

The door slammed hard enough to reverberate through your chest. The momentary shake in your ribs was nothing compared to the adrenaline trembling in your fingers as they flailed in front of you, catching your fall. The bar top was cold and unforgiving in your grip.

Just like the floors under your feet and the roof over your head and all the people uneasily asleep upstairs.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

Tomura Shigaraki cut a menacing figure—and when didn't he?—as he stood cloaked in the darkness of the hideout. You could still feel the ache of his grip on your arm, can feel the dull throb of forming bruises there. He left faint crimson footprints behind when he stepped fully into the dim, overhead lights.

The short, baby curls around his head shone in the glow like some blasphemous halo.

But he is your savior tonight, so the comparison seems a bit less jarring.

“You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, boss,” you tried to sound less winded than you are.

For someone so skinny, Shigaraki had some fucking stamina. Both beaten and well bloodied, the two of you certainly cut a striking image. And while you were panting from your escape—legs on fire after carrying you down innumerable alleyways and feet numb from the slap of the pavement through worn out soles—your boss seemed barely winded.

Untouched by the fight and subsequent flight halfway across the city while tugging you along at his heels.

Though, he also didn’t get his ass straight up hyperdrive blasted into a brick wall. You’d give yourself some credit where it was due.

“I don’t need you taking hits for me,” he snapped, coming nose to nose—well, hand to nose with you.

Every muscle in your body protested as you stood straight and stared him down, feeling how the bruises cut deep through your skin and stained your ego like rotting fruit.

“Really?” you asked, not quite delusional enough to be incredulous, but getting there. “Cause that fucking black eye says differently.”

There was a nasty red and purple mark spreading from the side of his temple that disappeared under the hand that hid most of his face from view. You’d watched him take that kick straight to the side of his head and not even stumble.

He was right.

Shigaraki didn’t lie—that’s why you followed him.

That’s why you couldn’t help the strange, second nature movement of your feet as you had watched one of the dozens that ambushed you wind up to fire a super-powered punch off at Shigs chest. The whole moment existed as a slow motion memory, something you watched from above—a voyeur in your own mind. The way your boss’ eyes went horribly wide, the glow of the man’s fist, the way your body went limp like a rag doll in mid air and slammed against the adjacent wall.

How your assailant was nothing more than a pile of ash only seconds later.

Though you tried not to read too much into that particular detail.

“You know I hate it when you do that right?”

You became peripherally aware that the ache in your chest was being exacerbated by his body weight pressing you back into the polished wood of the bar. As two hands caged you in with their pinkies comically raised to keep you trapped, you felt a familiar rush of defiance in the face of this show of superiority.

“What? When I save your dusty ass?” you tried to smile but his unwavering gaze made it die on your lips.

To be completely fair, you had just watched him take so many hits that should have killed him outright and keep fighting like the inevitably fractured bones were nothing but pinpricks.

You’d always known Shigaraki was intimidating, in his self-assuredness and confidence you knew was not unfounded. But you’d never seen him put his money where his mouth is before, only heard the stories from the rest of the League.

Now you understood.

“When you talk back to me,” he hissed.

He didn’t bother to correct you. He didn’t need to. You both very well knew that if anyone had been saved tonight, it was you as he retreated from the fight, pulling you to safety and not stopping until he—and doors of the bar—were firmly placed between you and feral city streets.

“Oh come on—” you were halfway through an eye roll even Dabi would be proud of when he reached up to grip the hand on his face and pulled it aside.

The smell of formaldehyde dissipated as it landed with a thunk on the bar and Shigaraki stared at you with newly unencumbered intensity.

“Keep doing it.”

You blinked in stunned stupid silence.

“What?”

It was only then that you realized it, and once you saw the subtle flush of his cheeks and the twitch in his fingers, you weren’t sure how it had ever escaped your notice.

Villainy had always been attractive for the rush, alluring in the sense that it afforded you the feeling of being so painfully alive. The adrenaline fueled, full body shaking that flooded you with invincible endorphins—that made your face hot and your blood sing. That was what called to you. That was what had you flinging yourself in front of punches and sprinting down the worn out city streets.

And that was what Shigaraki was feeling now as you held your own against him.

Challenged his authority.

Took what you were given and gave just as well.

You could imagine most people would have given up the smartass act after one too many brushes with a dusty end, but you were a stubborn piece of shit.

In fact, you were a little fucking brat.

And Tomura Shigaraki liked it.

“I won’t tell you twice,” he said, and when exactly did that gravel road rasp in his voice become so spine tingling?

His chest was flush with you now, and the familiar firmness pressing against your thigh only confirmed your revelation.

And only strengthened your resolve.

A grin on your face, you locked eyes with your boss.

“Oh, Shigs,” you mused, shivering at the way he smirked down at you in all his bloody, beaten glory. “I think you absolutely will.”

The bar behind you creaked under his grip and you suddenly missed the power in those deadly hands, pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin. You doubted you’d have to wait much longer for that though, not with the he twitched against your hips as you shifted to press back into him.

“Maybe you’ll listen better with your mouth full.”

One of those long fingers was trailing softly through the gashes in your top, running across your chest and tapping at your lips. He rolled what was undeniable a fucking unfairly large dick against you just so there would be no mistaking the direction this was clearly going in.

And what a hot fucking turn of events it was.

“Now boss, if you want me to keep talking, you’re gonna have to fill up something else.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little proud of yourself at the ability to formulate comebacks even as the hand at your lips slipped down to yours and drew it to the fastenings of his jeans.

“Don’t think I’m going to reward you for being so fucking irresponsible.”

He seemed at once so simultaneously wrecked and completely untouched by you that your head spun. Shigaraki kept his voice even, his face stuck in that same pleased expression. The only thing that gave him away was the raging hard cock you now palmed easily through his underwear and the pink flush that was spreading slowly down his neck and under the low collar of his shirt.

“Bold of you to assume this isn’t a reward,” you muttered, entranced by the way the blush lit around the razor edges of his scars, thin silver lines prominent against the blood rushing under his skin.

Your mouth watered and Shigaraki—Tomura? Should you call him Tomura now that his length was falling free into your palm and leaking across your fingers?—did nothing to stop you from leaning forward and latching onto one of the rough patches of flesh.

Shigs didn’t seem ashamed in the least or try to hide the gasp you yanked out of him with your tongue pressing deeply over the veins in his neck.

However, he also didn’t allow either of you to indulge for long. Seconds later a hand gripped the back of your shirt and the wrist that was currently pumping your boss’ deliciously heavy dick, stopping your movements entirely.

The rational part of your brain was not quick enough to catch the whine that left you when he moved to step away.

Shigaraki’s rare chuckle almost made it worth the embarrassment.

“Yeah,” he was grinning again but it was different this time. Predatory—a beast caught scent of blood, ready for the newest struggle to the death. “That’s what I thought.”

When he finally guided your hand back to his cock, warm with a beautiful red tip that gushed enough to slick your palm, you found it incrementally harder to formulate a response.

But you hadn't quite given up the fight yet.

When you smiled back at him, it was all teeth.

All claws.

Ready and waiting to be tamed.

[casualreader1234]

Reunion

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

An: Part two of the random story idea I had. I think I'm just going to keep the same summary each time because I'm too bad at writing them. I tried to make this gender-neutral, and I don't think I wrote anything that would imply a particular sex, but let me know.

Summary: What if you weren't the hero of the story? What if you were the villain meant to burn the world down?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warning: Morally gray protagonist, violence

Word Count: 2k

[Part 1], [Part 2]

This gif is so funny to me.

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

When you had first arrived in the U.S, you had been intrigued by tales of the infamous Black Widow, a former Russian assassin turned good, that was enough to catch anyone's attention. To satisfy your curiosity, you had tracked her down, wanting to see her for yourself. Watching her from afar, you understood why she was considered one of the best in her field: her movements always flowed into the next like she was performing a dance.

She easily disposed of her targets, strapping her weapons back onto herself. Seeing the completion of her job, you left the ledge of the building you had been standing of before she could see you. Slipping into the shadow, you had to admit that your interests had been piqued by the assassin.

///

You had always known that your girlfriend had been hiding secrets, but this one was far more exciting than you had thought. Never had it crossed your mind that Natasha might also be involve in the assassin industry. For such a planet, what were the chances of two assassins meeting and starting a relationship without either being the wiser. You weren't sure if that made her exceptionally good at her job, or you exceptionally bad at yours.

Asking around to some of your other contacts, you learned more about the KGB and the Red Room program that had trained Natasha, wanting a glimpse into her childhood. Disgust and rage filled you when you learned about the operation. They had hurt her, so you had made sure they all suffered for their crimes. Then, you returned back to America.

It was the reason you had stayed all these years. She was the reason. Though you've known where she's been all this time, you never revealed yourself. Maybe it was out of fear. Maybe it was out of shame.

It hadn't surprised you that Natasha decided to work for SHIELD. You've also known that she had a good heart, but it did make things more complicated.

She was one of the good guys now. If she ever crossed paths with you, she would be forced to face you as an enemy. So, for both of your sakes, you avoided doing things that would get SHIELD attention, carefully selecting jobs that would run under the radar. You had been careful, erasing most of your tracks, yet here you were, chained down to a table in a SHIELD facility.

Natalia-no-Natasha stared down at you. You unconsciously cringed under her intense gaze.

" How are you darling?" You asked, breaking the thick silence and giving her a small smile. "I must say, you look as stunning as always. Did you do something to your hair? It seems to be shorter."

Natasha didn't reply, instead shaking her head angrily. " What the hell, (Y/n). What are you doing in the U.S?"

Her harsh tone almost made you flinch. “ Here to visit my beautiful girlfriend? I've really missed you.” You tried, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your neck. Natasha may not have any powers but damn was this woman scary when she was mad. Flattery wasn't going to work on Nat though, her face stone cold as she looked down at you.

"That doesn't answer the question, milyy (darling)." She replied with a strained smile.

Tony watched the exchange with a slack jaw, eyes looking like they were going to pop out of his sockets from shock. “ I’m sorry? You know this criminal Nat?”

Your head snapped to the man, jaw clenching. “ Nat?" You sputtered at the intimate nickname. "Who gave you permission to call her Nat?” You swiveled back to look at Natasha. “What is your relationship with him?” You asked accusingly.

Natasha rolled her eyes, turning to Tony. “ Don’t call me Nat, Stark. And this idiot here is (Y/N).”

"Yeah, her [girlfriend/boyfriend] ! " You added helpfully.

The look Natasha gave you was deadly enough to silence you again. She turned her attention back to Tony, " Do you want to fill me on what's happening Stark? I return from a mission and hear from Steve that we had caught a mutant, but I wasn't even aware that we were after one." You frowned at the fact that had she referred to you as a mutant, but chose to ignore it.

Tony shrugged, acting like a bratty overgrown child," No, I don't want to." Natasha's jaw clenched and you decided to lend a helping hand.

Tendrils of black suddenly snaked around Tony, pining him hard against the wall behind him. His eyes widened, shooting to the origin of the magic, seeing you now unbounded and smiling widely at him, the handcuff hanging loosely off the table. Standing up, you rubbed at the red marks on your wrist left by the binds.

"Better answer her, Mr. Stark, I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." You threatened, eyes turning pure black for a split second.

Tony desperately looked at Natasha for help, but she stayed steadfast, unmoved and patiently waiting for him to answer. Realizing that no help was coming, he relented. "Fury got tipped off about some assassin that had been piling up bodies all across the U.S and North America. At first we dismissed them as the work of sporadic killers, not linking the deaths together until we got another tip about them being a mutant. We had Wanda examine a few of the bodies and she confirmed that magic was the cause of death. Since then, we've had our eye set on a contracted killer who went by the alias Reaper. A few weeks ago, we got a hit on their last location, and from there, we planned our trap."

Realization dawned onto you, " You put a bounty over yourself!" You exclaimed with a chuckle, thoroughly impressed by their commitment. It was a good plan, one that you hadn't even considered. Of course, if it had been any other week, the plan would've failed.

Every time you used magic, there was a backlash. The magic was deep inside you, a part of your very being, but it didn't stay that way willingly. The black flames were a dark and ancient form of magic, one that could only be wielded by a select few. Long ago, many groups had tried to master the arts, but most failed. The magic was powerful, more than anyone really knew, and only grew more so as it consumed more energy. Magicians didn't as much wield the magic, as they did subjugate it.

Candidates trained for years in preparation for the infusion, getting their body ready to handle massive amount of energy. When they were deemed ready, they would be exposed to a pure form of the magic. The flames would consume them and their screams could be heard for miles. Most people who entered the last trial end up dead, completely consumed by the magic. A few though, came out stronger. Instead of being consumed by the flames, they had somehow consumed the flames, magic now flowing through their veins.

Even then, the magic inside of wielders fought against their vessels, constantly trying to escape. The ring you wore helped you control the magic inside, absorbing some of the power and trapping the rest of the flames within you, where it couldn't escape and grow any stronger. But every time you took off the ring, you unintentionally let the magic grow, and when it finally returns back to you, the fight inside gets a little tougher.

Normally, it didn't affect you much. You had been trained since childhood to control the magic, so you could go hours with continuous magic use without any major repercussion. But the past month, you had really tested your bounds, toeing the limits of your control. This inevitably degraded your mental state, leaving your mind a little hazy. This meant you were a lot more impulsive and less observant, something that played in favor to SHIELD's trap. You knew you shouldn't have taken the hit on Tony, especially due to your exhaustion, but you had let your excitement of possibly seeing Natasha blind you. Nevertheless, the current situation didn't really worry you anyways, although you made a note to deal with a problem later.

"And why wasn't I informed of this?" Natasha pressed on.

"Don't take it personally. You're area of skills weren't required for the job, so you weren't informed. Simple as that." Tony plainly stated, clearly sensing the Russian's agitation.

You had to stifle your laughter at the irony. If Natasha had been assigned to the case earlier, you probably would've been captured much sooner.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, obviously deep in thought as well. " Release him, (Y/N)." She finally said and you happily obliged, but not sliding you ring back on, letting the flames surround you in a hazy aura incase you needed to react to any threats. Tony let out of breathe of relief as your magic retreated, but you could see that he was still a bit shaken up, the effects not fully wearing off.

"Hey are you alright darling?" You asked concernedly, ignoring the wobbling man when you caught Natasha looking a little pale. Walking over to where she was, you reached out a hand to lightly caress her cheek, the flames retreating as it reached her. You hesitated for a split second, unsure of how she would react, but Natasha leaned into your touch. Her eyes met yours. It was the same bright green that you dreamt about, and they looked even more dazzling up close. She smiled up at you and it was like all the years you've spent apart hadn't happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She whispered reassuringly and you smiled too in relief. “ What does Fury want with the (Y/N)?” She asked Tony, but her eyes didn't leave you.

“ The same thing we do to all threats. We either eliminate or imprison them .” He answered, voice indifferent.

Natasha turned to him, much to your dismay, “Why can’t we accept them into SHIELD?” she offered instead.

Tony, who had thought your weird relationship with Natasha was the strangest thing that could happen, couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You want to let an assassin into our ranks? Are you crazy?! Did you already get your hands on the vodka shelf?” He stammered.

Natasha gave him a dark look, one that sent a chill of excitement down your spine, “I was an assassin too Tony.”

Tony didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but he didn’t need to. The door to the room swung opened again, this time a larger blonde man marching in. You recognized him from your intel: Steve Rogers-Captain America. Behind him, you saw several heavily armed agents behind him, their guns trained on you.

Natasha whipped around at the sudden intrusion, surprise flashing across her face. " Steve." She said warningly, noticing the same things you did, but Steve didn't let her finish, already throwing out his shield in attack. The metal was launched at you, cutting through the air faster than the eyes could follow.

You easily caught it, magic stopping it mid-flight.

You sighed at his pathetic attempt, " Mr. Rogers, don't you know it's rude to interrupt? You can't just come in here, guns blazing, and shield flying." You reprimanded, lazily throwing the shield back to the man. Steve tried to catch the shield, but was knocked back by the sheer force of your throw. The men immediately behind him stumbled back in shock as the 6'1 super solider crashed into them. Those who were left standing quickly recovered and upon realizing that their first line of attack had been beaten, prepared to shoot. They found themselves unable to. Fear had crept up on them during the ruckus and now they were unable to move as your magic seeped through them. With a simple wave of your hand, the black flames around you attacked and within seconds, all the agents, including Cap, dropped to the floor.

"What?" Tony gasped in horror, and for the first time, he seemed to truly understand the extent of your power.

"Relax, they're not dead. I just knocked them out for-" You pretended to check your wrist for a watch, " -a while. I don't know, I usually don't wait around for the people I knock out to wake back up."

Natasha was staring in shock at the pile of bodies by the door and you saw something indistinguishable in her eyes. A distinct chime echoed off the walls of the room, drawing your attention to your phone in the corner. You walked over to it, Tony looking like he wanted to stop you but was too terrified to. Picking it up, you read the message silently. Shouting could be heard getting louder, footsteps pounding towards you as alarms blared.

"Looks like that's my cue to leave." You announced to Natasha and Tony. " Sorry to cut our reunion short Talia."

Natasha stepped forward, blinking out of her shock. "(Y/N) wait-!" She began.

"Don't worry, I think I'll be staying a little bit longer in New York. We'll see each other soon my love." You promised, picking up one of the fallen agent's guns and shooting out the lights until you were enveloped in pitch darkness. Then, before the backup agents could arrive, you melted away into the shadows.

///

You emerged from a dark alleyway in some shifty part of the Bronx. Pulling out your phone, you replied to Matt, your associate, declining the new job he had sent over, informing him that you would be taking a vacation for a while.

Seeing Natasha had reminded you of how much you actually missed her, and you didn't want to just leave New York yet, not when you barely had the chance to catch up with your lover.

But first, you had a snitch to catch. Someone had tipped off SHIELD about you. Someone who knew you about your power at that. You couldn't let someone so dangerous live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Powers of Reader [Will be updated as more information is learned about Reader]

-Ability to set fear in opponents

-Ability to melt into shadows (teleportation like: goes into one shadow, pops up somewhere else)

-Magic flames that kill people(?) and knocks them out(?)

-Major simp for Natasha (special skill)

[sanktnikolais]

Dearly Beloved

What’s a mortal man to a powerful Grisha who was now a living saint? Was he still even worthy of her?

He shook the thought away. Zoya chose him—and he chose her. Nothing else was powerful enough to change that. 

How could he make sure it would stay that way?

Or; how Nikolai came up with the plans for Zoya’s gardens and him being in love with her for 5k words.

Word count: 5101

Nikolai stared at the paper. On its surface, in a neat cursive handwriting, was a single line.

          You are the light of my life.

          He shuddered inwardly and crumpled the paper in his fist. The urge to burn it and the ones that came before it was strong. What had he been thinking when he wrote that? It was probably his fifth one, or maybe even his twentieth. Either way, he had already lost count. 

          He sighed, putting a hand to the side of his head as he threw the parchment to the growing pile beside his table. There wasn't a single idea that made sense to him for the past hour, and he considered himself to be a master of his craft. 

          But the thing was, he was never good with poetry. It was the one thing he admitted he didn’t excel at. He thought that he would try and be average on it so he could write something for her, and yet even with days of practice and Tolya’s grudging guidance, Nikolai knew he hadn’t had any improvement. And for her, he wanted it to be perfect. 

          There's no need for it to be perfect, Tamar's voice rang in his head during one late night he spent with the twins to practice his rather unimproved poetry skills. I'm pretty sure Zoya wouldn't mind if it wasn't. 

          But the stubborn part, the bigger part of him, wanted to do otherwise. Zoya deserved far more than what mess he had scrawled down on paper.

          Looking at the ground that had littered pages and notebooks all around, he took out another parchment from the drawer. He reached for his pen and ink, hand poised, ready to start scribbling again.

          Confidence washed over him as the tip of the quill touched the blank page. 

          But his mind couldn't come up with something new.

          “Saints, come on,” muttered Nikolai, moving to put down the pen. But due to his haste and frustrated movements, he knocked down the small bottle of ink to his right. He let out a panicked yelp. The dark liquid instantly drenched the parchment to black, as well as the other notebooks that were within reach. Some of it even dripped onto his rather expensive shirt. 

          But even as the ink soiled more important documents and files on the desk, his hand instantly moved to grab the blue ribbon and put it away from the trickling liquid. He checked the strip of cloth with worried eyes and careful fingers. Relief flooded in his chest when it didn’t have any stain.

          "What a great night,” he mumbled. 

          Nikolai sat back down to his chair, the ribbon still in his hand. The silk fabric felt smooth on his darkened fingers, and it struck him how contrast the colors looked like against his skin. A shade of blue against black. The clear sky behind the storm clouds looming over land. 

          The girl who had the raging seas in her eyes and the boy who kept a beast in his heart. 

          He could still remember the first time he had caught a glimpse of the ribbon, back when they were no one else but a prince and a soldier fighting tooth and nail for Ravka’s last stand in the Fold. 

          It was the day he felt as if he was finally seeing the end of his short life as he plummeted to the ground. The demon had just faded away from gripping his mind, freeing him from the vicious and primal urges to inflict violence on everything. But even when relief flooded through his chest, there were no words to explain the helplessness and fear he felt right after.

          The rush of air on his skin had been strong enough to bring him out of his delirium, and the next thing he could process was the ground closer and closer. It took him a second to realize that he was falling. Most likely to his death. 

          That was the time that fear set in. It wasn't like any other—it was the sudden helplessness that plagued his chest, a deep, hurtful emotion he was so familiar with, and he had vowed to himself that he would do anything to never have to feel it again. 

          And yet as he plummeted to his certain death, he realized that there were things out of his own control. Cruel as it had been, he wished, in the littlest time he had left, that he was able to think of all the people who had given their blood and life onto Ravka’s crumbling grounds, to honor them for continuing to fight for the country that failed them over and over again. 

          But there were so many names, so many lives. There was never enough time to mourn. 

          This country gets you in the end, brother. 

          Dominik's last words echoed in his mind, bitter and cold as the snow that seeped the blood from his wounds. Perhaps his old friend was right, after all. Ravka was never forgiving to anyone, not even to its king. 

          Nikolai was a fool to think that for once he’d be spared for trying to give it his all.

          The ground got closer, his fall going faster. He closed his eyes.

          Good riddance. 

          Then he felt it—the softest flutters of the wind that seemed to envelope his body in a gentle embrace that somehow reminded him of how her mother had used to hold him when he was younger. He almost smiled. Maybe there was a better place for him than where he once was.

          But the bitter part of him was heartless, the voice harsh in his ears as it told him that there was nothing at the end for him; nothing but the endless torment in his own hell, to remind him of the mistakes his forefathers had made, along with his own selfish intentions. 

          Maybe he wasn’t any different from the demons that would greet him at the end. They would welcome him with open arms and unkind sneers, and he would have to live by it. 

          The impact was abrupt. A bruising grip circled around his arm and stopped him from landing hard. The place where he had landed was comforting to say the least, but firm at the same time. It wasn’t the ground, and he was very sure that it wasn’t water either, as there wasn’t any nearby.

          His eyes snapped open. 

          The first thing he thought of was the seas. The relentless, unforgiving seas that had been his home for a few years. He longed for them, and it settled the ache in his chest. But as his mind came about and his eyes adjusted, he realized that he wasn’t dead. 

          He wasn’t dead. 

          A huff shook him out of his train of thoughts. He blinked frantically, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It took him a moment to grasp that he was staring back at a woman’s face, and the seas he thought he was looking at were actually her eyes. They sparked with sharpness that adorned her known ruthless personality, but underneath was a relief that Nikolai didn’t expect.

          Zoya Nazyalensky shook her head in disbelief. “About time you opened your eyes,” she said, her breaths catching in—exhaustion? Relief? He didn’t know. Her arm around his shoulders tightened as a smirk twitched its way to her lips. “Snap out of your daze. You’re alive.”

          For once, Nikolai Lantsov, the man who prided himself of being able to talk his way through everything, was at a loss for words. He only looked back at her, mouth half-agape in bewilderment. 

          You’re alive.

          Did he even deserve to be? She had saved him from the inevitable death that loomed over him just a moment ago. He was still breathing. He was alive. 

          Nikolai let out a breath, and it came out shaky as if he had taken a plunge in an ice-cold water and resurfaced again. “I—” he started, and then shook his head. His mouth opened and closed for a few more times, still trying to find the right words to say. A lot came in at once, and yet amidst the many possibilities that seemed reasonable, only one word breathed to life from him. “Why?”

          The raven-haired woman scoffed. “Can’t have the last member of the Lantsov bloodline dying on all of us now, yes?”

          A beat passed, and then a laugh of disbelief bubbled from his throat. Around them, the smell of gunpowder and blood and death was sharp, brutal enough to cut through the flesh of the reality they were in. And yet behind the unkind reminders of the war, something sweet still wafted through the air, an familiar scent that Nikolai couldn’t quite place. 

          Was it flowers?

          He looked back at the squaller who still had an arm around him. There wasn’t a time he could remember that he had been this close to her. They were of the opposite sides—he among the First Army and she among the Grisha. Even during the few meetings they were in the same room, a distance was always between them, whether it was from across the table or the farthest side of the room. 

          Now up close, Nikolai felt as if he was really seeing her for the first time. 

          Her eyebrows were drawn tight as she stared back at him, eyes narrowing slightly. There was still blood smeared to her cheek, and for a moment, worry twinged at his chest when he thought that it was hers. He let his eyes search her face for anything that would give away she was in pain. But when she merely raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze keen as if to scrutinize him, it was only then he was sure she was fine. 

          A thought clicked in his mind, its suddenness startling him. He looked back at the raven-haired squaller in wonder. Wildflowers, he thought. The scent from before, the one that pushed through the stench of the bloodbath of war, was of wildflowers. 

          Zoya huffed. The grip around his shoulders loosened, and her hand that was wrapped around his wrist let go. Nikolai almost stumbled back from the imbalance, but he braced an arm to the sand and held himself up. His ears burned in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to stare. 

          “If you were going to look at me for a long time, I suppose a few words of gratitude should come with it,” said Zoya in slight annoyance. She looked down at him for a moment, a scowl evident on her face. There was a conflicting expression in her eyes, and Nikolai thought she was going to walk away from him for acting strange. But then she sighed and offered a hand, and relief washed over him. “At least get up to your feet, will you? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want the others to see you this way, considering how egotistical you can be.”

          Despite the disdainful remark from her, Nikolai found himself laughing genuinely, and it surprised both him and the squaller in front of him. He never thought he would see himself do something out of sincerity when he had lived all his life hiding behind multiple masks that hid the scared boy underneath. It was pleasant to be reminded that he didn’t have to always pretend. 

          Bless her poison tongue. 

          With a slight shake of his head, he took Zoya’s hand and allowed her to pull him up to his feet. 

          Almost immediately, the world swayed underneath him. It threatened to tip him over, but the raven-haired squaller was already there to hold him up steady. Another laugh escaped his lips, but this time, it was out of embarrassment for having to rely on her yet again. 

          Nikolai looked up and met her eyes, fiery and bright, like a crackling lighting against the stormy sky. A smile found its own way to his lips as he gave her hand a tight squeeze. 

          “Thank you, dearest extraordinary squaller,” he said, and he had to laugh at the first words that he was finally able to say. “I am eternally grateful to you.”

          Zoya didn’t seem to like the nickname as a scowl was beginning to form on her face, but this only made Nikolai chuckle fondly. She lifted her chin up, her usual sharp look returning. It was only then that he realized that he truly hoped that she never lost her valor, the kind that burned behind her eyes and kept her head up high. 

          “I’m glad you know that to yourself,” she said. 

          This made him laugh once again. “I wouldn’t want to forget lest I want to get struck down by lightning.”

          He didn't know if it was fate that decided to put her in the right place at the right time to save him from his fall. But it was such a silly thought that he found himself shaking his head slightly. Maybe it was, or it wasn’t. There were a lot of possibilities. But out of all that, all he knew was that he was thankful to her for saving his life. 

          Ravka needed more people like her. He needed more people like her. 

          And as her hand clutched back at his to acknowledge him, Nikolai never would have thought that it was the start of the unbreakable bond that they had built throughout the years they worked alongside each other. 

          That, and everything in between that led up to now, with the both of them running as regents, suddenly made him feel as if he didn’t deserve her. 

          Aren't you past that thought? a voice said in his mind. You're together now. 

          He sighed and slumped back down onto his chair, the blue ribbon still clutched in his hand. It was during frustrating times like these that his lingering insecurity resurfaced. The thought was ridiculous itself, considering the current status of their relationship. And yet as true as their reality was now, a small part of him, the terrified boy who didn't want to lose the happiness he finally got, wanted to give her something to prove himself that he was worthy of her. 

          So what should he give to a woman who already had everything? He found that it was difficult to answer. Had he still been a king, he would have offered her plenty, and those words and sweet nothings wouldn't have been empty promises. But he was just Nikolai Lantsov now, barely having anything in his name besides the former royal title and the scars and nightmares he bore. 

          What’s a mortal man to a powerful Grisha who was now a living saint? Was he still even worthy of her?

          He shook the thought away. Zoya chose him—and he chose her. Nothing else was powerful enough to change that. 

          How could he make sure it would stay that way? Then he had a sudden urge to call out to someone, but stopped abruptly when he realized that they weren't there anymore. Nikolai sank back to his seat further, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. 

          Usually, Nikolai’s feet would drag him to the labs, seeing that it was still occupied even at the latest hours of the day. He would always find the Fabrikator there, hunched down and scribbling notes on the notebook at his side. David had never minded Nikolai storming in the labs with his still intact energy, and instead would immediately start talking about another idea that came up to his mind. Then the rest of the hours would be spent trading technical terms about their blueprints and Nikolai telling David to get back to his wife for the night. 

          But more often than not, their conversations shifted to personal ones, with David asking which option was better to pamper Genya with, and Nikolai would watch in amusement as the known quiet Fabrikator was suddenly in a jumbled mess of words and questions, all just to be able to make his wife happy. 

          Nikolai wished he had the man's knack for anything to gift to his beloved so he wouldn't have to be racking his head to come up with anything. 

          He let out a sigh, looking out at the window to his left. Snow fell in soft flutters outside, his windowsill coated with layers of white. A vase near the window caught his eye, the bright yellow color of the flower planted in it wasn't too difficult to notice. A thin sheet of snow had already lined its stem, and it took him a moment to remember that the flower wasn't supposed to be out in the cold. 

          In a rush, Nikolai jumped out of his seat and made a beeline to the window, quickly closing the glass pane. He muttered a few curses as he looked at the plant with careful eyes. 

          "They're called sunflowers for a reason, Lantsov. What are you doing?" he mumbled to himself, dusting the snow off from the flower's petals. He had totally forgotten to move it away from the window when he brought it out this morning. Then with a sigh, he said, "Sorry about that, pretty." 

          At least it didn't look wilted after being exposed too long. The cold was still harsh despite winter almost coming to an end, and he could feel that it wouldn't tone down any time soon. 

          He took the vase back with him to the desk, putting it on the far side and away from the spilled ink. A fond smile made its way to his lips as he touched a finger to one of the sunflower petals. It still was a bit bemusing to him when Zoya had handed it to him one night with the usual frown on her face but also with a faint redness on her cheeks. And for someone who had been used to having all the things he wanted, Nikolai was floored and at loss for words when he took the vase with shaking hands. 

          "I was tending to my garden earlier when I noticed I didn’t have that kind yet. So I figured—well, for a change of scenery in your office. It looks dull in here," Zoya had said in a grumble. Then she dropped her hands to her sides, averted her eyes. If it were still possible, he noticed that the flush in her cheeks only became more evident. "It reminded me of you too." 

          Nikolai couldn't deny the flutter in his chest over her words, his gaze softening as he brought a hand to her face and gently turned her to him. There was doubt pooling behind her eyes, giving away the terrified part of her over something new to her. And if Nikolai were to be honest, he himself was afraid too, with the exhilarating feeling of finally having the happiness and contentment he so longed for finally at reach, he vowed to do anything not to lose it. Not to lose her. 

          So he gave her a tender smile, the kind that he hoped spoke the assurance they both needed. "It's beautiful," he said. Just like you, his mind supplied after a moment, and he felt his ears burn in embarrassment for wanting to say such a cheesy line. Then he gently brushed a thumb to her cheek, lowered his forehead to hers, and whispered, "Thank you." 

          A beat passed, and Nikolai worried for a moment that Zoya might shrink back away from him. But then the doubt faded completely from her eyes, replaced by the softness she never often showed. She let out a relieved sigh and lifted a hand to touch his wrist. Turning her face to his palm, she pressed a light kiss on his skin that sent his chest fluttering again.

          "You're welcome," she whispered back. 

          Tears had stung at his eyes that time; his heart felt so full of her, and had it not been already hers from the start, he was sure that there still wasn't anything he could do if it suddenly decided to give itself to her. 

          Nikolai gave a breathless chuckle, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "Never fancied you to be a romantic," he said. 

          This earned a light laugh from Zoya, and he felt her toe connect to his shin in a playful kick. "Way to ruin the moment, Lantsov." She pulled away to look at him with narrowed eyes. "Just make sure you take care of it. Don't expose it to the cold that much. It prefers summer more than anything." 

          "Of course," said Nikolai, "I think they were called sunflowers for a reason." 

          Another kick to his leg, and he bit back a chuckle. "I'm serious. You can be dumb sometimes."

          "You wound me, dearest." 

          "It was actually my goal from the start." Then she paused, another sigh coming from her lips. "It's actually not an easy task, if I'd be honest. You'd have to tend to it everyday and make sure it's being taken care of properly. Protect it from the harsh cold of winters, and you'll see the wonders of it when it blooms in summer." 

          Ever the practical one. Nikolai chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to keep a close eye on it every day." He winked, and then with a playful grin, he added, "I got to say, I didn't know you can be poetic with your words." 

          A hand was shoved to his face, making him laugh as he took a step back. "Alright, I'm leaving," Zoya declared as she made her way to the door. 

          Nikolai followed her, the grin never leaving his lips. "Should I send you written reports about the plant's progress every morning?" he asked as he opened the door for her. 

          "Saints, you're insufferable," said Zoya exasperatedly, but she was fighting a smile on her lips. She looked up at him with a pointed look. "Make sure you don't forget what I told you. Don't let it get exposed too long in the cold."

          "Of course, dear," replied Nikolai. "Wouldn't want to forget such an important thing." 

          "Idiot." Then, to his surprise, Zoya stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. He blinked, feeling his ears burn. She gave him one of her rare, soft smiles, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. "Good night, Nikolai." And she was off. 

          Nikolai smiled fondly at the memory, his fingers brushing at the petals of the sunflower. He'd always known that Zoya wasn't the type to show affections through words; she showed them through actions instead, and whenever she did, it always left him floored and his heart fluttering. It sounded silly—he was acting like a lovesick fool. But perhaps he really was one, and he would always try to show his love for her in his own way as well. 

          This reminded him of his still nonexistent idea of what to give to her, and he slumped back down to his chair. He stared absentmindedly at the sunflower in front of him. What should he give to her? Jewelries, maybe? A necklace? A ring? Nikolai scratched the thought. It didn't sound too ideal to give her the usual kind of gifts. He wanted it to be meaningful, something like the sunflower she gave him. It was a part of her, a token that came from her heart. So what should—

          What if the winter is just too long and hard? What if it can’t bloom again?

          Zoya's former distressed question echoed in his ears, and Nikolai blinked. Then slowly, an idea started forming in his mind. He smiled softly. 

          She had given him a part of her heart, so he would give back a part of his. 

          Nikolai hurriedly cleaned up the table before scrambling to get a fresh new parchment from the drawers. All the possible layouts for his idea flowed continuously in his mind and he tried his best to remember it all as he let the quill in his hand glide easily on paper. 

          He worked nonstop for hours. He worried that it would stop his momentum if he took even a short break. Besides, once his mind focused on doing something, he wouldn't stop at anything until he finished it. 

          Eventually, the blueprints he had working for were done. It was only when he finally dropped his quill to the side did he feel the numbness starting to creep up at his hand and to his arm. But he didn't seem to mind as he looked proudly at the finished plans. They were probably the best ones he had for a while, and he'd make sure that they came to life once Zoya gives him the approval. 

          With a new burst of energy, Nikolai stood up and began rolling the plans one by one. He checked the pocket watch on his table, seeing that it was already half past the fourth hour in the morning. The last thing he remembered was it was only the tenth hour of the night, and he was sure he hadn't been sitting by his table that long. He shrugged the thought away. Not that it mattered to him, anyway. 

          Nikolai then carefully wrapped the plans with the blue velvet ribbon, holding the prints securely into place. A contented smile escaped his lips. He couldn't wait for Zoya to see them. But a thought occurred to him, and he clutched the papers in his arm. Perhaps he should leave it by her door so she'd see it the first thing in the morning. 

          It's already late, you idiot, a voice in his mind said. 

          But I'm just gonna leave it by her door, he reasoned out. 

          He decided to follow his impulse, and the next thing he knew, he was already making his way through the corridors of the Palace and towards Zoya's chambers. The hall narrowed to a familiar turn. Her door was already on sight, the insignia of the double eagle emblazoned on the surface. Nikolai stopped in front of it, looking down to the blueprints in his hand. A soft smile twitched at his lips. He hoped she'd like them. 

          But as he was just about to leave the papers by the threshold, he noticed that the door was left ajar, allowing a glimpse of the dim interiors of her chambers. He raised an eyebrow and pushed the door open. Zoya wasn't the type to leave it unlocked, even when there were royal guards patrolling nearby. She also wasn't the type to forget that easily, either.  Well, that's if she's exhausted to the point of not caring about anything so she could rest straight away. 

          When he stepped inside her chambers, the first thing he noticed was the still burning lamp on her desk at the opposite side of the room. The pile of papers didn't escape his eyes as well, and he was surprised to see that there were still documents left. Zoya had always been punctual with her work, doing it nonstop until she finished. It was both their bad habit they often reprimanded each other with, but as the stubborn people that they were, they couldn't seem to stop working themselves to the point of exhaustion. 

          Nikolai spotted her at the right side of the main room, sleeping soundly at the couch with a paper still clutched in her hand. A mug sat by the carpet near the furniture's foot, and it was most likely an unfinished serving of coffee. He let out a light chuckle as he approached her, careful not to make a sound to wake her up. She was still dressed in her kefta underclothes and even her boots were on. Had she gone through the paperworks right after her training with the Second Army? Nikolai’s eyebrows furrowed in worry. At this rate, she was going to get sick with fatigue. And as much as he appreciated her determination in finishing the task, he couldn't afford her brushing off her physical state just to get the paperworks done. 

          With a quiet sigh, he put the plans on the table and proceeded to unlace Zoya's boots. It was a bit of a challenge, considering how she was a light sleeper. She grumbled at some point and turned to her back, a tight scowl suddenly on her face. Nikolai stopped for a moment, but she didn’t move any further, and even started snoring softly. He couldn't help but chuckle. A sleeping Zoya was just as scary as instructor Zoya. He figured that he wouldn't want to have her wrath unleashed at him because he disturbed her sleep. 

          After another minute, he was finally able to remove her boots and he set them at the foot of the couch. Then he took the paper out of her hands, setting it on the table on top of yet another pile. Perhaps he'd take some of the workload off her shoulders, as he didn't have much on his plate. At least she wouldn't have to work late again. 

          Zoya shivered in her place before curling up into a fetal position, her arms coming to wrap them around her. Nikolai immediately got up and walked towards her bedroom to fetch some blankets, which he then draped over her shoulders, tucking them tightly around her. She sighed in relief and nuzzled further under the covers, yet the scowl remained on her face. 

          Nikolai looked at her fondly, brushing a stray hair off her forehead. He'd never know what he had done to deserve her, but he would always be grateful that their paths wove together at the end. Loving her was the best thing he ever did in his life. 

          Leaning down to her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his touch featherlight. "Rest well, my love," he whispered. 

          He reached for the blueprints from the small table and walked towards her desk to put them there. Then he took a note out of his pocket, placing it on top of the parchment. The words on it sounded cheesy, but it was the first thing he came up with and he was sure it's more romantic than anything he could think of. He considered himself a romantic, anyway. 

          Stealing one last glimpse of the still sleeping Zoya, Nikolai left her chambers with a smile on his face. 

          As he walked back to his own rooms, his mind reminded him of the words he had written on the note.

          I will always seek to make it summer for you. 

          And he would for her, always. 

*****

A/N: yeah it is i, and i came back to life and wrote a bit again ;-; 

After this mess of a fic, I just want to share my appreciation of this ficitional character that is Nikolai Lantsov. (Sort of tw: mentions of anxiety and depression)

It was during Crooked Kingdom when Sturmhond was introduced and I would have to admit that he already gave me a good first impression. And funny as it may sound, he reminded me of myself—the can’t seem to shut up kind of person, and I really thought “lmao is this me”. And even though his page time was really short, along with Zoya and Genya that I also absolutely loved instantly, I already appreciated his character so much.

By that time I was already starting a Tumblr account. I was going through the tags (bc I have literally low patience not to look for spoilers) and saw that Sturmhond was Nikolai Lantsov from the very first Gv book series.

So I read the remaining books of the Grishaverse, and became completely attached to its characters. But I knew Nikolai would be my fave. Honestly, I didn't find him rather very explosive in Shadow and Bone series than I did in their short appearance in Crooked Kingdom. All though I absolutely loved most of his annoying lines and bad jokes, there was no denying that he was a total ass in the first series.

And yet as King of Scars was released, I still wanted to read more abt this annoying dude. KoS have been dragging for most part, but knowing Nikolai, as well as Zoya, deeper really didn't disappoint. It was the book where I realized, "Ah, my kin" with the backstory he had.

The people pleaser. The lonely, ignored child who only wanted to make his parents proud. The kid who can't sit still. The annoying and talkative and insufferable person in the group. The person who would still try to smile through the pain. They were the ones I saw in him that I knew I had in me. That was why he became a personal fave, despite all the flaws he had.

Writing this fic again really helped a lot, as I was really spiraling down back to my depression for the past week. I've almost forgotten this one when I started it a month ago and the burnout really hit hard at that time. I lost the passion to write, and for someone who uses it to keep from relapsing, it had become really frustrating when I couldn't find my old self who had written so much.

So it was like a breath of fresh air to be able to write again, being able these overwhelming thoughts and anxiety attacks I've trying to fight off down to words, and writing about my fave character going through the same dilemma is something that can be personal. As much as it didn't mean that much to others, I really appreciate and love this ficitional character, and he'd be my very fave.

tl;dr I'm totally a Nik, and he'd be my forever fave character.

P.S.

To all who are going through tough times right now, whether it's sadness or burnout or stress over a lot of things, I hope you find your peace of mind soon.

To the ones that lost their passion in doing the things they used to love, may you have the inspiration and urge to do them again. No matter how slow your progress would be, no matter how much time it would take to get back, I hope you find the happiness you've felt in doing those things once again.

And to the ones who feel lost and exhausted and weary, I hope you find your desired path once again.

It was never going to be easy to push through it, but hey, you'd been there before and you got through. I know you'll be able to do it again because you're stronger than what you give yourself credit for. Never forget that.

Stay safe and healthy, always. 🥰

[jaegckerman]

Notes in Constellations

~ This fic was inspired by the song of the same name by Chiodos ~ Description: Eren wasn't as oblivious as everyone thought - Mikasa's feelings for him were perfectly clear to him. However, it seemed that everyone around him was very oblivious to how he felt about his best friend... even if he could never let her know. Set in canonverse, leading to a slightly different way more smutty version of Chapter 123, but don't expect a happy ending. Tagging: @kirsteiiins because she's awesome. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.6K CW: : Smut, I guess?; Angst; Mentions of death and violence; Manga spoilers! Link to AO3

I see her smile in her sleep I know that she's a dreamer I follow every move she makes

If you asked anyone in the Survey Corps, and even before that in the Scouts Regiment, everyone would have told you that Mikasa Ackerman was hopelessly in love with Eren Jaeger… which was too bad, since the boy seemed to have nothing but killing titans on his mind. He was constantly barking at her, taking her kindness for Mikasa simply being annoyingly overbearing, and didn’t shy away from snapping at her for it. Eventually, Armin tentatively came up to him one night and suggested he have a conversation with the girl to let her know that her affections were misplaced. Gently, Armin emphasized, knowing how much it would hurt her and how tactless his best friend tended to be. It made Eren blush furiously; he did run hotter than a normal human being due to his Titan powers, but he could have sworn his whole head was on fire. He was just glad that it was dark outside and his best friend’s keen eye couldn’t make out the color of his cheeks as Eren just hummed noncommittally during Armin’s speech, then scoffed at his words. He stammered something about how Mikasa only saw him as a brother, and changed the subject, with no intention of adhering to the blonde’s advice in any way, shape or form. Neither of them was sure who he was trying to convince.

I know that this is the last thing on your mind, Eren, but what you’re doing is unkind to her and Mikasa deserves better, Eren recalled Armin’s voice as he watched the girl in question, holding back a smile. Levi’s squad was traveling from Trost to the port, and with the railway still a few months away from being completed, they had to go by horse and camp out for the night in a cabin that belonged to Flegel Reeves. They were currently setting the table for dinner, and she was humming absentmindedly before she abruptly stopped and scurried off to the other side of the room… only to return with a bundle of flowers she had picked off the side of the forest path they had traversed early that morning – she was probably the only human on Earth who wasn’t scared of angering Levi; she just hopped off her horse, crouched down, and started plucking flowers from the ground while he snarked at her to stop “farting around” and get going, and Eren had to suppress a chuckle at the scene. He had almost forgotten about his own task of hunting down enough plates and mugs for the entire squad until she looked up at him, probably because she felt him staring. He hurriedly averted his eyes and turned his body back towards the stupidly high cabinet to hide his blush, stretching as he felt around the wooden boards and grabbing what felt like ceramic. With a triumphant little “hah!”, he pulled down a stack of plates and turned around only to find Mikasa watching him; he wondered for a second if he should maybe listen to Armin after all. She quickly shifted her own gaze, her usual stoic mask on, but he had still caught the look on her face just before that, and it was nothing short of… Adoring didn’t do it justice, but his vocabulary was limited when it came to matters of the heart. He suddenly realized just how domestic the scene was, and what that must be doing to her. While she may be as skilled as a hundred soldiers, and damn good at pretty much anything she did, he knew this was a piece of the kind of life she craved the most. Maybe he really was being a selfish, unkind monster in more ways than one.

Because as observant as they were when it came to Mikasa’s feelings for him, what Levi’s Squad never seemed to notice was the way his own heartbeat would pick up whenever she entered the room. They never noticed how his face flushed when her hands brushed his whenever she took pails of water or wooden boards or whatever else he carried from him to alleviate his burden in any way she could. They had no idea that he snapped at her, not because he was annoyed or still jealous of her abilities, but out of concern, since she was always so busy taking care of him and everyone else, she never took proper care of herself. None of them ever seemed to catch his longing stares and, thankfully, no one ever caught him in the dead of night, when his mind was consumed with the fantasies the sight of Mikasa provoked, and he convinced himself it was her hand or her tongue stroking his aching length.

Eren had taken over watch duties with Armin while she fell asleep next to the fire they had built, her need to be close to him overwhelming even her desire for a comfortable resting place. When she didn’t follow Sasha to the cabin and instead shut her eyes right where she was sitting, she had said she wanted to stay because she was cold and didn’t want to leave the heat of the flames. Of course, she never said it was because she wanted to stay with him, because she knew that he would inevitably argue with her, but Eren knew and decided to stay silent. He was so painfully aware that he would not have many more opportunities to see her look peaceful as he snuck glances at her sleeping form while Armin babbled on about something Onyankopon had told him about his home country’s landscape – he didn’t register a word his best friend was saying, and he felt bad, because he was sure it was as interesting and smart as anything Armin has ever said. However, all he could think about was how Mikasa’s sleeping position looked uncomfortable, so he bundled up his coat and made a makeshift bed on the ground for her. She squirmed and her eyes fluttered open for a second when he tried to lay her down gently, but she quickly fell back asleep, with a small smile on her face.

And no one knew just how much his heart ached at the sight, wishing he could give her everything she had always dreamed of, could always give her comfort, and peace and stability and, most importantly, all the love that was threatening to make his heart burst out of his chest. No one knew that he never openly and decisively rejected her, not because he really didn’t believe that she loved him like that, as he always argued when confronted, but because he could not bear the thought of her looking at another man the way she looked at him. He could not, for the life of him, reconcile with the idea that Mikasa, his Mikasa, would shed the mask and be soft and loving and devoted to someone else.

Well, when he turned to look back at Armin, his best friend gave him a smug smile, and maybe one person did know. But still, Armin had no idea how right he had been about Eren being unkind and undeserving… and yet, he couldn’t find it within himself to forgo his selfish desires completely. Not yet.

It's been a long, long night Say you're mine, say you're mine Can I keep you tonight?

He had no idea what had gotten into him. He had never planned on doing this – well, to be fair, he had definitely thought about it, or more like fantasized about how she would tell him that she wanted him, how he would crash his lips against hers, what they would taste like, what she would feel like in his arms, pressed against him…

But he had never planned on the words actually leaving his lips, hoping for an answer that would allow him to cross that line and leave everything behind once and for all. He was so, so tired already, and the fight hadn’t even started yet. And then Mikasa had come to him with her ice cream cone, her eyes shining like they used to when they would play-pretend being Armin’s mom and dad when they were children, and he had tasted the sweet treat that had just been in her mouth, and she had looked so lovely and soft and relaxed for once and… he knew, he could not leave her behind without exploring the possibility, without making completely sure whether his fantasies could actually become reality or not. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would have the resolve to do what needed to be done with no regrets.

So when she came to find him, crying at the knowledge of what he had to do as he stared at the low light emitting from the refugee camp, knowledge that had been plaguing him for three years, feeling weak and exhausted beyond words, he couldn’t stop the awkward question from tumbling from his lips.

“What am I to you?”

As she blushed and her grey eyes started to shimmer despite the lack of light, he wondered if his own betrayed how much he wanted her to say he was… her everything, her most beloved, wanted her to ask him to follow her to the ends of the world, just the two of them. That she was his, and his alone. And in turn, he would take her hand and lead her away, away from all the war and death and show her that he had always been hers.

We dance around just like constellations You keep my body warm And we dance around just like constellations You're keeping me awake at night You make my body warm

Eren had known earlier that, had they not been interrupted, Mikasa might have elaborated on her answer. She might even have corrected herself, retracted the dreaded f-word that had left her lips, might have told him what he wanted to hear. Maybe she would have added that by “family”, she meant the type of family that husbands and wives made up. Or maybe he would have found the guts and the selfishness to fess up in spite of her answer. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be, and it seemed the path he was on was truly the only one available to him.

He would take what he could get before he began the hardest and last journey of his life, though. He indulged in one last night of fun with his friends and the refugees… The kindest strangers he had ever met, willingly sharing their limited supplies with them, and he knew he would crush them under his feet in just a few months. Thankfully, the liquor they were served helped a great deal in repressing that knowledge, at least for tonight.

And when his teal eyes blinked open sluggishly as he awoke from his drunken slumber, he indulged in the warm feeling of Mikasa pressed close to him. Her alcohol-addled breath came out in hot and steady puffs as it fanned across his cheek. When he turned his face to look at her, her lips were so close to his, and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard at the pain that the sight instilled in his racing heart. He clenched his fists against the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes once again, and an unbidden hiccup spilled from his lips, startling the black-haired beauty beside him awake. Silently, he cursed the lightness of her sleep before he twisted his head away from her.

“Eren…?” she murmured, her hand leaving his lapel to rub at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, Mikasa…” he murmured, surprised and perturbed at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“We should go back to our beds. This isn’t good for your back.”

Her warmth from beside him disappeared as she gracefully stood up. He took a deep breath, willing the tears away, and took her outstretched hand to help him to his feet. The moment their hands touched, he felt something like an electric current pass through him, and by the quiet gasp she emitted, he was sure she must have felt it too. He looked down at her face, his eyes boring into hers, feeling and conveying an intensity of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since that fateful medal ceremony. Mikasa simply stared back, the silence between them growing heavier, until he broke it with a soft, “c’mon, then,” and led her outside, never letting go of her hand.

And I fall for her, like snow from the sky Gracefully I land in her arms

They arrived in front of the room Kiyomi had organized for Mikasa. They all had plush, comfortable beds, but when she opened the door and turned on the electric lights, he saw the woman had decided to splurge on Mikasa specifically. Her bed was twice as big as his, and the décor looked both cozy and pricey, not almost bare like his room.

“Eren… would you come in for a second?” She looked down at the floor when she asked the question, shuffling her feet nervously. They still hadn’t let go of each other. Ignoring his, once again, racing heartbeat, he nodded and pulled her inside with him. They both sat on the bed and finally disentangled their hands.

“Eren, I’ve noticed, uhm…” She was nervous, and Eren really couldn’t blame her. He had never been the most pleasant person to have serious conversations with, and judging by her behavior, this was definitely going to be a serious conversation. He mentally steeled himself for all the lies he would probably have to tell her.

“What, Mikasa?” His tone was supposed to be harsh, but it came out soft, almost alluring, and seemed to encourage her to continue.

“I’ve noticed how… depressed you’ve been all day. And then, you asked me those questions and… are you sure you’re okay?”

Inhale slowly. Exhale even more slowly. Dig your nails into your palms until you bleed. Hurt yourself, just don’t hurt her, he reminded himself, because really, all he wanted to do was curl up in her lap and cry about how much he just wanted to stop existing, to find a way to escape all the pressure. He wanted to wail and scream about how unfair everything was. Instead, what he said was, “Of course I’m okay, Mikasa.”

He had never been good at repressing his emotions, but over the last three years, he had learned a lot.

“Why did you ask me those questions, though? It was so… unlike you.” She had started fiddling with her fingers, and he could see her cheeks had turned red again. He didn’t answer as he studied her delicate features, because he had no good one; he thought – hoped, really – the interruption would have been it, and she would pretend it never happened.

Suddenly, she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes, and despite the blush still staining her face, determination shone in those onyx irises. “Were you hoping for a different answer? Because I think you know –“

He hushed her with his lips before she could say anything else. He had no idea what came over him, but with the electric current running down his spine once more, with the gasp she emitted, the way she grasped at his shoulders and with how his hands automatically found the sides of her face, tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, taste her sweetness even more intensely, he couldn’t regret it or overthink it.

Just one more piece of heaven before he had to throw himself into hell. Was that too much to ask?

Mikasa suddenly pulled away, her lips swollen and eyes glazed over. “Eren, what – why – I…”

He put a finger to her mouth. “Just for tonight… can’t we just… be?” His eyes were the clearest green, with specks of blue intermingling, a glimmer of hope he thought he had lost forever reflected in them. Mikasa herself studied him with that special look reserved just for him, making his chest swell, and nodded.

So when he leaned in to kiss her once more, they silently decided talking could wait for the next day. Her hands wandered to his hair, longer than she had ever seen it, and pulled a little. A gasp escaped Eren’s lips and she took the opportunity to slide their tongues together, both of them moaning at the sensation. His fingers flew down to her waist to pull her closer as heat began to pool in his abdomen.

Their tongues danced as they fought for dominance, Mikasa’s intoxicating taste overwhelming Eren’s senses. Her hands wandered down from where they were still entangled in his hair to grapple at the buttons of his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and throwing it… somewhere, neither of them cared. She caressed up and down his back, feeling the muscle ripple below the fabric of his thin shirt. Eren pulled Mikasa’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it lightly, and when a moan wandered from her mouth into his, another spark ran down his spine. He felt himself growing stiffer by the second, and without even thinking about it, he started playing with the buttons on Mikasa’s soft pink shirt, slowly working his way up as he opened them to reveal more of her skin.

“Eren…” she whispered against his mouth, causing him to pull back. Please don’t reject me now, he prayed silently, I need you so much, although what came out of his mouth was, “sorry, I never – is this okay? We can stop anytime…”

Her grey eyes were hooded, and she was almost on top of him, with how much closer he had pulled her, and she was a beautiful sight to behold, her upper body only clad in the pink shirt that had caught at her elbows and her bra, her chest heaving and her skin already flushed. She shook her head. “No, I…”

Suddenly, she was straddling his waist and pushed him down on the bed, shrugging out of her shirt and letting it fall to the floor behind them. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…” She took his hand, which he only now noticed was trembling, and ran it up her defined abs to her covered breast. Her voice was breathy, but her tone determined, when she continued. “Take me.”

Something inside of Eren snapped. With a growl, he pulled her down on top of him and, arms wrapped tightly around her, flipped them over so he was pressing her into the mattress with his entire weight. Their mouths clashed together, all initial insecurity replaced with hunger as they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, licked into each other’s mouths, exploring every millimeter they could reach. Eren’s clothed hips rutted against hers, and the only coherent thought in his mind was more, he needed more.His lips traveled to her neck, and he bit down experimentally, relishing in the moan Mikasa gifted him with.

“Do that again,” she whined, and he was happy to oblige, suckling and biting and eliciting the same response a few more times. He was painfully hard by now, and he moved on instinct when he made his way down her torso, continuing his ministrations. He pulled one of her breasts out of the confines of her bra, and licked over the pebbled, pink nipple.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her back lifting at the new sensation.

“Oh, you like that?” Eren grinned against her sternum as he made his way over to the other side, but her hand against his head stopped him.

“Wait-“ She forced him back on his knees as she sat up and reached behind her back. Eren was confused for a moment, until she pulled her arms free of the bra straps and let the garment join her shirt and his jacket. He was so busy staring at her beautiful chest, wondering if he should resist or succumb to the urge to bury his face in it, he barely registered when she murmured, “You too,” copying his movements from earlier as she unbuttoned his shirt, although she was doing it considerably faster than him. She stared at his newly exposed skin just as unabashedly as he had been looking at her, an expression of pure want etched onto her face.

The sight made Eren unfreeze from his position, pushing Mikasa to lay back down and letting his fingers graze over the soft mounds, not wasting a lot of time before he let his mouth join in. He squeezed and licked and sucked, alternating between each tit and catching the hard nubs between his teeth. He did his best to ignore the way his cock was throbbing, to ignore how badly he just wanted to bury and lose himself inside the gorgeous woman beneath him, how much he wanted to know which sounds of pleasure he could coax from her beautiful, moaning mouth when she was filled with him. Because more than that, he wanted her to enjoy herself. He couldn’t help feeling that, if he could just watch and listen to her come undone, he wouldn’t mind if he never found his own release.

With that thought, he trekked further south, the tip of his tongue tracing the dip in her abs until he reached the waistband of her skirt. He looked up at her for any sign she was uncomfortable after all, but all she did was smile and nod once more. “I said take me, and I meant it,” she panted, and without further ado, Eren pulled down both her skirt and underwear in one swift motion. He kept his eyes on her face, lest he lose all composure, as he rid himself of his own pants and boxers so there would be no more interruptions, no more barriers to overcome. Only then did he allow his eyes to wander.

The sight of strong, collected Mikasa laid bare in front of him did something to him. It wasn’t even just the way she took in his own naked body with so much desire, pupils dilating when they reached his throbbing length like she was starving for him – the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever seen her this vulnerable, the only one she trusted so much she would give herself over to him without a second thought, made him feel like he was on top of the world. It made his eyes sting, and his own appetite reached new heights. He found himself salivating as he pulled her legs over his shoulders and his head dived down to bury his face in the crease of her inner thigh. He peppered kisses up and down and back up before he became overwhelmed with holding back and let the flat of his tongue run up her slit. Her thighs tensed and she cried out, hands flying into his hair much like earlier, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. He licked back down, to where she was dripping, and hardened the tip of his tongue to thrust it inside, pushing and licking in and out of her, relishing in her taste. Mikasa pulled on his hair as another whine left her lips, and he couldn’t hold back the groan escaping his own throat. His cock was literally aching for some friction, but he was sure he wouldn’t last once he was inside her if he touched himself now, so he ignored the urge to stroke himself. Instead, he moved his lips and tongue up a little to lick and suck on the little bundle of nerves above her entrance and let his fingers join in, circling her before he pushed one in slowly. It slipped in easily, her wet heat wrapped around the digit, and his length twitched between his legs, begging to replace it.

“Eren…!” she gasped, her hips starting to move in time with his finger and tongue. “More, please…”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he teased breathlessly and added another finger, thrusting them in and out of her while he continued to lick and periodically suck on her clit. Her sweet smell and taste and the way she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders, her legs clenching around him, was slowly chipping away at any semblance of self-control he was hoping to maintain.

“I’m – ah – not – Eren! Oh my God, Eren, I –“ She cried out, her hips lifting and her grip on his shoulders and around his fingers tightening as all the muscles in her body tensed. Eren continued to lick and finger her through her release, until she slumped back down, and her breathing started to slow. He pulled his fingers out of her and locked eyes with her as he lapped them clean off her juices, watching her flush deepen at the lewd action. He moved his body back up, caging her between his elbows and trapping her beneath him once more, and pushed his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself.

“I assume that was good?” he asked in between kisses.

“Unbelievable, but… I still want more,” she confessed, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. Her calloused hand reached down between them and found his cock, giving it a couple of experimental pumps.

“Don’t,” Eren gasped into her mouth. “I won’t last…”

“That’s okay…” Mikasa started, but Eren didn’t let her finish, ripping her hand off himself and slamming it into the mattress beside her head. He did the same thing with her other hand that sought to replace the touch, and held them there, interlacing their fingers.

“No, it’s not,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. He pressed his forehead against hers, and, with a softer voice, continued, “I want this to be perfect for you.” Their lips locked once again as he rubbed his length over her folds until it caught on her entrance, and he finally pushed inside of her. Green eyes clenched shut at the feeling of Mikasa’s silky warmth enveloping the head of his cock, and her fingers squeezed his hands at the intrusion. She broke their kiss with a drawn-out moan of Eren’s name.

With every ounce of self-restraint that he had left, Eren forced himself to slow down instead of just sinking into her completely in one hard motion, like he so desperately wanted to. He felt the way she sucked him in, inch by inch, to his bones, making him shudder and bury his face in her neck to muffle the pathetic whine he couldn’t hold back. His hips stilled when he finally bottomed out.

“Feels so good,” he choked out. “God, Mika, you’re so tight…”

Mikasa placed a kiss behind his ear and wrapped her legs around his waist. Next thing he knew, she thrust her hips up, making his cock move in her, and making Eren gasp again.

“Fuck me,” she breathed against the shell. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

Something feral awakened in Eren at her words, and much like earlier, he found himself growling as he pulled almost all the way out and thrust himself back in hard. Mikasa cried out and Eren felt her head turn away from him to the other side. “Like that?” he hissed, repeating the motion again and again and pushing her hands and forearms harder into the mattress. He pulled his head up to look at her and their eyes met, hers almost black with desire.

“Yes – yes – make me yours,” she sobbed. He swooped down to catch her lips in a kiss and began fucking into her fast and hard, letting his animalistic side take over. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest, and he felt her hardened nipples brush against his as he moved inside her wet, silky heat, her walls embracing him like she never wanted to let him go. With every push inside, Mikasa cried out against his open, panting mouth, and he used the sounds he ripped from her throat as fuel to hold on just a little longer, to keep that coil in his abdomen from bursting, knowing that after tonight, he might never get the chance to bring her pleasure ever again. If there had ever been a time to show he had perseverance, he thought, it was now.

Her legs fell from his waist, and Eren took the opportunity to take a hold of the left one and hook it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but when he was suddenly even deeper inside Mikasa and the woman positively screamed beneath him at the new angle, he knew it had been a good idea. He hooked her other leg over his other shoulder and let his strokes become long and deep, putting as much force behind them as he could.

“Oh God, Eren, yes! Right there, just like that, yes!”

Mikasa was writhing under him, eyes screwed shut and throwing her head from side to side as a string of her sobs and screams tumbled from her lips, echoing through the room. Her breasts were jiggling with every one of Eren’s thrusts, and her hands flew to his chest, nails digging in and scratching down his torso. Tears started to leak from the corners of her eyes as she forced them open to lock with his. Eren was bathed in sweat by this point, both from the exertion of the act and holding back. Just a tiny bit longer, he told himself, even as the heat in his lower body threatened to burn him up from the inside. He let go of one of her legs and let his thumb rub over the bundle of nerves, slick with the same desire that was coating his length.

“Oh, fuck… Eren – Eren!” Mikasa chanted and suddenly, she became even tighter, her walls clenching around him as she wailed his name over and over, sucking him in even deeper, and the dam inside him burst. He shuddered and his skin broke out in goosebumps. Letting his body fall on top of hers, his hips twitched once, twice as he released himself and painted her insides white with his cum, her name like a prayer on his lips.

Mikasa reached up with a trembling hand to stroke his hair. He turned to face her fully and caught her lips with his own. When they broke apart for air, a smile blossomed on her beautiful face. The brightness of it put the rays of sunshine beginning to permeate through the curtains to shame, and he couldn’t help but return it with his own.

They didn’t exchange any words as they reveled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, nor when they got up to get cleaned up. They remained silent, afraid to break the spell, as they climbed back into bed, Eren wrapping Mikasa up in his arms and drawing random patterns into whatever part of her skin he could reach. Eventually, her breathing slowed down, and Eren thought she had succumbed to the exhaustion, until he heard her whisper “I love you” into his skin so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. And as much as he ached to return the sentiment…

It was easier to pretend he hadn’t.

But I melted away like snow into the ground I told her I've gotta go, I've gotta go

Eren had no idea how he would find the strength to go through with leaving Mikasa behind after last night. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber after their… activities, a flush still on her face and continuing down all the way to her cleavage. Eren, on the other hand, remained restless. He went over everything again in his head – how she had blinked at him lazily, a blissful smile he had never seen from her before curving her mouth upwards, the same mouth that had been singing him praises in the shape of sweet sighs and wanton moans just minutes before, the same mouth from which his name had spilled over and over again in soft cries and literal screams as she came undone beneath him. He pulled her closer, his chest against her back, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her scent and the feel of her skin against his to his jumbled memory, just in case, but… He couldn’t go.

So now, Eren was hoping against hope that the conference today would go differently from what he had seen. He would not steal away after what Mikasa and he had just shared; how was he supposed to break her heart like that? How would he find the strength to deny both her and himself? How could he accept that he would never have her like this again? Not just her body, but her heart and soul laid bare for him? How could he leave and accept that one day, she might show the same vulnerability to another man? Might gift her heart to someone else? As he stroked over her bare arm, Eren was aware his thoughts were in the very least unfair and selfish, bordering on possessive, and in some ways even sexist, and he would never voice them out loud, but he couldn’t help feeling this way in his weak moments, when his guard was down. Armin was like a brother to him, and he could not stomach the thought of losing him. It was Armin’s dream that inspired him to venture outside the walls in the first place. But Mikasa – no matter what life threw at him, he knew that as long as she was with him, he could survive anything. She was the reason he continued to move forward.

If you want to save Mikasa, and Armin… and everyone else… you have to complete your mission.

The words rang clearly in his ears, like Kruger had just said them to him instead of his father decades ago. It was an unpleasant reminder, and Eren had to restrain himself from yelling back at no one, why me? I just want to be with her. Let me be with her!

Mikasa stirred in his grip and groaned quietly. She jumped slightly at the sight of a tan arm wrapped around her waist, but quickly regained her composure when she remembered what happened last night, and another one of those blissful smiles stretched her cheeks as she turned around in Eren’s strong hold and looked up at him lovingly.

“Good morning,” she whispered and pecked the corner of his mouth. Eren couldn’t hold back the grin blooming on his own face.

“A very good morning indeed.” His hand reached up to stroke over the scar on her cheek, like he could remove the mark if he poured enough love into his touch. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

“Do you think the others are back yet?” Her fingers traced random patterns against his chest and abdomen. Eren couldn’t suppress the shiver her touch elicited.

“It’s still early, and they were really drunk…” He pushed her on her back and rolled on top of her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as if on autopilot, and her eyes were heavy-lidded not with sleep, but lust. For him, and only him. The thought went both to his head and his hardening length, and he grinded against her. His mouth found her neck, tracing soft kisses up the sensitive area until it reached her ear. “We have time…” he murmured. One of his hands wandered down the expanse of her torso, stopping shortly to squeeze her soft breast and rub at the hardened nub before continuing his trek down south. This time, it was him who coaxed a shiver and a moan from her.

“Eren… Please…” she whined, and the sound sent a pang to his gut. Eren’s long, slender fingers found her folds, already slick with her desire, and he groaned.

“So wet already… Is that what I do to you, princess?” His voice was deep and gravelly. Two of his fingers easily slipped into her, looking for the spot from last night while he rubbed against the swollen nub above her entrance with his palm. Mikasa gasped and started moving her hips in rhythm with his movements. He took in the expression on her face, her furrowed brow, her luscious pink lips slightly open as she panted softly; her cute nose, and the blush spreading over her milky skin; her beautiful eyes, silver with unshed tears…

“More, please…” She begged. “Want you inside me again, please…” Eren’s quip about how he was technically inside her died on his tongue at the desperate look in those glittering irises. It was almost like she knew, he thought as he pulled his fingers out. He felt the same desperation take a hold of him, a different kind of desperation than the hunger they’d already succumbed to. This was about making every second they could steal together count. Just in case, his mind repeated, just in case this was the last time.

His mouth captured hers and he licked at the seam of her lips, begging for entrance, morning breath be damned. Mikasa seemed to think the same thing, tangling her tongue with his in a passionate dance and rutting her hips up against his pelvis in an attempt to get some friction. Never breaking their embrace, she rolled them to their sides, her legs still wrapped around him. Her hand took a hold of his cock and, bringing her hips closer to his, she guided it to her entrance and thrust down until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

They moaned against each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss. Their lips remained touching as they opened their eyes. Eren’s emerald irises locked with Mikasa’s silver ones, and he began to move, thrusting languidly and watching even the tiniest twitch in her facial muscles as a symphony of her moans broke through the silence of the room, accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

Remembering the effect from last night, Eren moved his hand down to the leg he could reach, and hiked it up a little. It seemed to do the trick as Mikasa’s lids screwed shut and she threw her head back with a cry. He took in the way her long, thick eyelashes rested against her cheeks, and his arm wrapped around her back to bring her even closer, crushing her against him. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin, every knob on her spine as he caressed it, her wetness spreading over his pelvis as she rubbed against it with every push. Despite the desperation they both felt, they were unhurried, taking their time to savor each touch. And he committed all to his memory, certain that even after he died, the memories and the feeling of it wouldn’t.

When she came in his arms, it wasn’t with the same screams as last night – this time, she cried out his name softly, her face buried in his neck as she tensed up, her walls milking his own release from him once again, making him groan and shudder in turn before they gradually relaxed in each other’s hold. She leaned in for a short, sweet kiss before they continued to just stare at each other, drinking each other in. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, and she nuzzled into it, giving it a peck, eliciting an adoring smile from the green-eyed man.

Suddenly, they heard voices pass by Mikasa’s room and a knock on her door.

“Mikasa? Are you in there?” It was Hange. Eren hid his face in Mikasa’s neck and groaned quietly, this time out of frustration. Then, he had an idea, and with a smirk, he began to give the skin little kitten licks, making the girl squirm and giggle.

“Yes, Hange,” she called back, trying to sound normal, “but please don’t come in right now, I just got out of the shower and I’m not decent.”

The doorhandle was halfway down already, the door almost creaking open, but at Mikasa’s request, Hange let go and left it closed.

“Alright, just… meet us in the kitchen in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” Mikasa called back.

“You too, Eren!” With that, they heard Hange’s footsteps retreat.

The pair looked at each other with wide eyes. Maybe 15 minutes would have been enough to enjoy each other’s closeness some more, maybe even go for another round, but with the knowledge that Hange somehow knew, they scrambled up to clean themselves up and get dressed as quickly as possible. Mikasa left a couple of minutes ahead of Eren, so as not to make anyone else suspicious, and when Eren joined the squad a few minutes later, no one seemed to give them any strange looks or made any comments. It seemed like, thankfully, Hange hadn’t told anyone, and they made sure to keep some distance between them so as not to rouse any suspicions. Mikasa sat next to a groaning Sasha for breakfast, who was grabbing her head but still shoving copious amounts food into her mouth, and he sat with Levi and Armin as they went over his security for today’s outing.

When they arrived at the lecture hall later, they still left a couple of spaces between them. As Eren listened to a man’s impassioned speech about Eldian rights, which explicitly excluded him and his “island devil” friends, he was both glad for the distance and felt hollow at the same time.

But somehow, he had always known that the kind of life he wanted for Mikasa and himself, the life she had been dreaming about since they were naïve children, was never meant to be. Maybe that was why he had been dragging his feet and had never confessed to her how he felt. Maybe he wasn’t even supposed to have last night or this morning. But he could use it to strengthen his resolve – because, his strongest and perhaps most selfish desire, was for Mikasa to live a long and happy life, regardless of what role he got to play in it.

And so, he fought the magnetic pull begging him to stay by her side, and quietly left to fulfill the mission he had been given long before he was even born.

It's been a long, long night You said you were mine I felt so bad but I had to go No she never wanted me to leave her behind No she never wanted me to leave her

“I want to share your burden.”

Mikasa’s voice echoed in his head. Even after telling her she was a slave and that he had hated her forever, beating up Armin, not to mention the people he killed in Liberio, Sasha… And now, he was literally trying to kill every living being in the world besides the residents of Paradise.

He thought that maybe, at least that night they had shared, and his subsequent disappearance, might have stirred up some resentment in her. The war wasn’t personal, so he could see how she might be able to justify his actions, but that… had been deeply personal. He had basically taken her heart and stomped on it until it was dust, just like the titans under his control were flattening the earth. He tried to make her believe he had only used her body, and that the only passion he had for her was anger and disgust, his own heart threatening to pound out of its cage with how loudly it was screaming at him for the obvious lie. But her devotion to him… her love for him knew no bounds. It transcended time and space and circumstance. It was the only constant he had left, the only thing that still made sense to his muddled mind. It was as certain as the rise of the moon and the sun and the stars, as the ebb and flow of the sea.

Just as certain as his untimely demise.

Here she was, still offering her unwavering support. She acknowledged all the worst parts of him, all the cruelty and the stench of death, and still loved him. After everything, still, still, all she dreamed of was a quiet, peaceful life by his side, and if she couldn’t get the quiet and peaceful part, she would settle for him simply being there. And although every fiber of his being was screaming at him that he wanted the same, it was too late, and he had to let her go. He had to make her let him go.

But would it be so bad to make her happy one last time before he did? This was literally his last chance to be honest with her. And was it so bad that he wanted to defy his cruel fate and feel happy, be free at least one more time, before he succumbed to it?

Eren looked to the side at the small blonde girl, and she nodded, allowing him to use her powers to give into his selfishness before his final moments.

Suddenly, he was transported back to that night, to their conversation in the dim lights of the refugee camp, and he let them live in the reality of what might have been had her answer been slightly different, had there been no interruptions, had he finally taken her hand and just given in and followed her into her dream.

So long, so long, And we dance around just like constellations We dance around just like constellations We dance around, we dance around, You make my body warm, You make my body warm.

[tossawary]

Chapter 26 “ What You Want” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Oh, this got so long, though. I was like, “An opportunity to wax poetic about Moshang dynamics and characterization? An opportunity to talk about why my interpretations of Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are Like That? SIGN ME UP.” 

-

【Beginning next mission stage.】

【Death of the Author - Part 2: The Secret Basement of Shang Qinghua.】  

【Mission objective: place the Weeper’s Eye on the pedestal.】

Shang Qinghua slowly sits up on his sofa. He stares at the pop-up window for however long it takes his brain to roll over completely.

“I don’t have a fucking basement?” he says finally.

- 

AN: I have been waiting to use “I don’t have a fucking basement?” for months. Also, it’s been years for him, so Shang Qinghua is a little oblivious, BUT I would like to point readers all the way back to some paragraphs from Chapter 2. 

Excerpt from Chapter 2: “A Horseshoe Nail”:  

Shang Qinghua considers the point loss. What are his excuses character motivations here? Why is his unmerciful System not completely skewering him for this?

He is the servant of a demon lord, Mobei-Jun, the future Northern King, so he has a greater investment than most cultivators in the future of the Demon Realm, so it’s not unreasonable for him to seek out any bastards of Tianlang-Jun without handing the demon baby over to a righteous sect. He’s also a Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, so it’s not unreasonable for him to be interested in any rumors of the whereabouts of Su Xiyan or what happened to her, for political leverage or whatever. The character of Shang Qinghua originally was and still is a spy - on top of being a shameless coward willing to cling to anyone’s thighs and then stab them in the back, in order to stay alive or advance himself.

There are plenty of magical artifacts in this world that might give a power-grubbing weakling like Shang Qinghua an insight into the future. As Peak Lord of An Ding, Shang Qinghua is, in fact, in a pretty good place to get his greedy hands on one of these magical artifacts. Isn’t that what a good spy and overall ambitious snake would do?

 Especially a spy serving a demon lord extremely likely to get fed up with him and kill him at some point? While also serving a righteous cultivation sect extremely likely to execute him for eventually betraying them? Of course Shang Qinghua would obviously want to know how to save his own ass from these ticking time-bombs! And how better to save his own ass than shamelessly clinging to the golden thighs of the protagonist, who will one day conquer every other demon lord and all righteous sects?

Following Luo Binghe means being on the endgame winning team!

Shang Qinghua looks over the pop-up window’s numbers over again, in regards to the loss of points. True, how exactly he tracked down Su Xiyan’s half-demon baby when the Huan Hua Palace Master failed is a bit of a plot-hole, but the rest can be easily explained away with a bit of creativity!

Oh, the rest of the cultivation world didn’t know Su Xiyan was pregnant? Well, Shang Qinghua is a slimy, sneaky spy, who would of course guess that a female cultivator might suddenly disappear like that for months-on-end due to a secret pregnancy! And given that Su Xiyan’s reputation had been linked to a passionately self-destructive Tianlang-Jun… Okay, he can feel the anti-fan rage at that mildly sexist line of thinking, but it stands! It stands!

Now, Shang Qinghua just has to… actually decide… whether or not he wants to take the point loss, in order to save the life of his protagonist son’s adoptive mother, Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua, my darling fool of an Author God, your System is listening to the things you say and think. 

I have been WORKING here to foreshadow where I’m going with this story. I’m pretty sure that every single endgame plot point has shown up and is now in play in PINTWILF. Shang Qinghua, due to situational awareness, is dealing with too much in-world shit to narrow things down easily, but it’s all there! It will hopefully not seem as though I’m pulling things out of nowhere in the next and final part (Part 4) of this fic. 

-

“This makes me look crazy, bro,” Shang Qinghua  complains to the System. “It really does. I already have to be careful about talking to the secret, world-controlling system that lives in my head and this? This is not making me look any more stable! Where did this come from? Where the fuck did I even get it?! ”

Oh, things are coming together in Shang Qinghua’s head and he doesn’t know if he really likes the picture. On one hand, it’s always nice to actually have someone or something to blame for things beyond the fucking System. On the other hand, he really doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to sleep at night with a full-length, polished silver mirror with an ornate golden frame under his house. 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua, have you noticed that you’ve stopped losing points for continuity errors and plot holes? Shang Qinghua, you know that the people in your life have noticed that you know too much. They’ve just decided not to question you about it because you always look like you’re going to faint when they do, then you laugh and change the subject. 

But now Shen Qingqiu is on to you and he’s not so easy to shake. 

(Plus Shen Yuan! They’re terriers, SQH!) 

- 

He turns away from the mirror, only for a second System window to pop up in front of him. Only… the design of this one is different. Familiar, though! It takes Shang Qinghua a second to place it as Peerless Cucumber- as Shen Yuan’s Transmigration System.

 【 Users cannot be injured, killed, or trapped inside the looking-glass! The user will not be able to touch or be touched by anything inside the looking-glass! The user will be returned from the looking-glass within thirty minutes, unharmed! A substantial point reward is attached to this bonus mission. 】

“Right,” Shang Qinghua says.

This second pop-up window then shifts colors and is ruthlessly closed before his eyes. Ah, wow, Shang Qinghua kind of feels like he just saw someone get murdered here.

“...How many points?” he asks finally, reluctantly curious.

- 

AN: Having the Systems fight is so much fun. My setup here in PINTWILF has it so that there’s a main Worldbuilding System that does its best to maintain the world, then each transmigrator has their own personal Transmigration System managing their case. 

This is so the Worldbuilding System can maintain the world without the presence of transmigrators, and so the personal Systems can potentially follow their transmigrators into another world. All the Systems interact with each other in order to try to manage things and there are... issues.  

Look, the thing about simulated (or managed) realities for me is... someone coded the thing (or did some equivalent of coding the thing), and whether or not this thing in question is the world or just the System, if there are multiple entities trying to manage things, there’s going to be fuck-ups. You can’t have two cooks in the kitchen without points where the two cooks get in each other’s way at least a little bit. If there are multiple Systems, then you’re going to have friction, and that friction can be funny. 

Inspired by me trying to run two heavy art programs on my computer at once and being like, “Oh, boy, please don’t burst into flames while duking it out in there. Oh, man, you two were NOT made to operate together, huh?” 

- 

He knows he’s right when he walks away from some kind of important-looking procession, stepping into the next room at the same time as someone else, who looks directly at him and doesn’t look away. Shang Qinghua freezes in the doorway and doesn’t let himself stare so much as he can’t stop himself.

 “Oh, no,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

There’s a man standing in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, with an ageless youth, but a sharp gaze and no youthful roundness to his features. His curly black hair has been cursorily held back from his face by a golden ornament, but is otherwise loose, and he wears his ornate red and black robes well and correctly, but like a man with a hundred more.

The man flicks a strong hand at the doors behind Shang Qinghua, which slam shut with a bang, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

He smiles unkindly. “Shang-Shishu,” he says, like he’s tasting the title, considering tearing it apart with his teeth. “So it's true. How curious.”

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen this face before, but he’s never seen it like this. The man looks like an emperor. He looks like a god. The red mark of the Heavenly Demons burns like a crown in the middle of his forehead.

Shang Qinghua takes an unwilling step back.

“What are you afraid of?” the original Luo Binghe says, still smiling. “We’re only talking.”

- 

AN: I tried to make this meeting mirror Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe’s first scene in Part 3 of the fic, in which we finally meet the Luo Binghe (Shang Qinghua’s nephew) who is going to interact with the PIDW plot. 

Excerpt from Chapter 18: “The Inevitable Plot”: 

The restaurant is closed when Shang Qinghua lets himself in. The tables in the dining room are still packed up, lit by dim light through shuttered windows, and the only sign of another person are the chopping sounds coming from the brightness of the kitchen. Shang Qinghua stops in the doorway and lets himself stare.

There’s a young teenage boy standing at the counter, thirteen going on fourteen, still not yet near his adult height (taller than Shang Qinghua, a fact he's still not prepared to face), still carrying a youthful roundness to his features. Shang Qinghua has seen him like this a hundred times before: curly black hair tied back, a kerchief covering his head to keep it out of his eyes, a slightly yellowed matching apron neatly tied just the way his mother taught him, and intent on the work in front of him. His hands are quick, the knife sharp and sure, and the movements of food preparation work slide right into each other like he’s done this a thousand times before.

When did the boy get so big? It didn’t happen all at once; it snuck up on them, hiding dastardly in plain sight! Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew barely came up to his waist. Fuck, Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew couldn’t walk. What is this? Who allowed time to pass like this?

Luo Binghe scrapes the chopped vegetables off the board and into the basket beside him, before putting down the knife and turning around. He smiles.

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen that before.

“Uncle,” the protagonist says fondly. “You’re here.”

- 

“Let’s talk,” Luo Binghe calls out, cajoling now. “Stop running and speak to me and perhaps old hurts can be forgiven. All that condonation and betrayal is so far in the past now. This lord can be merciful, Shang Qinghua. Just speak: how many things have you been hiding...?”

- 

AN: This is PIDW Luo Binghe, by the way. 

Once I realized I was going to have a room full of fortune-telling devices, I was like... “Ooh! Bing-Ge scene! I should have a Bing-Ge scene!” Because, like, that’s the curse of SVSSS transmigrator protagonists who trip into caring about Luo Binghe, baby! 

- 

Shang Qinghua takes some deep breaths to calm his poor, weak heart, and nearly falls to the floor anyway! But he catches himself!

And then a large, cold hand wraps around his arm to steady him. It’s the cold that keeps him from lashing out and probably breaking his own hand. Instead, he looks up, heart still pounding in his ears, into the frowning face of Mobei-Jun.

“Oh, you have the worst timing,” Shang Qinghua breathes.

Mobei-Jun’s expression twitches and he lets go.

“No!” Shang Qinghua chases the hand with his own, catching it before the man can get too far. “My king, I’m so glad to see you! Thank you for finally coming! I have so much to say,” he says quickly. “I-”

Before he realizes that he’s essentially holding Mobei-Jun’s hand for no reason now - ah, now that’s something he never would have dared to do like twenty years ago - and carefully drops it. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the panic still racing through his veins. And then promptly realizes that Mobei-Jun is here. The demon lord is here in this secret basement.

- 

AN: Moshang in this fic is... hmmm... a little weird sometimes, because a lot of it has been happening in the background. A lot of it has been unspoken until Shang Qinghua’s breakdown and until now. 

Shang Qinghua isn’t actually as scared of Mobei-Jun in this fic as he is in SVSSS, and I hope that comes across. When he had his breakdown, part of it was fear, but a large part of it was also actually anger. Shang Qinghua was afraid of how the System had changed his life, but he was also angry about this loss of control. Yes, he was terrified of Mobei-Jun because he didn’t know if it was still his Mobei-Jun, which brought lots of old memories and old anger to the surface, in which Shang Qinghua was kind of like, “How dare you think you get to freely touch me after the things you did and never apologized for?” 

BUT the status quo in this world, before the World Update, is one in which Mobei-Jun touches Shang Qinghua’s hip without SQH flinching. It’s one in which SQH and MBJ drink and relax together. It’s one in which SQH isn’t afraid to reach out and grab MBJ’s hand, because he misses MBJ. 

They’re so close, they just need to actually talk it out. 

- 

Shang Qinghua glances at the ladder and the open hole in the floor. “Ah, my king, did you… climb down here looking for me?”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun answers, looking around with sharp eyes. He doesn’t seem to be very impressed with what he’s seeing. “...What is this place?”

“My, ah, my basement,” Shang Qinghua answers, leaving out the part where he didn’t even know he had one until about an hour ago. The System is determined to make him look like a bit of a madman, huh? “It’s just… just some artifacts and tools. I don’t… I don’t really come down here a lot…”

Mobei-Jun finishes studying the room, then stares at him again, his gaze more piercing than ever.

“The future concerns you this much?” he says.

Shang Qinghua is totally prepared to deny everything, but the phrasing of that cuts off every story he might try to tell. He glances around the room, full of these broken, desperate, stolen things. It’s… reflecting.

“...Yes,” he admits, hoarsely. Then coughs. “I… my king, we should… talk.”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun agrees.

“But, ah, not here? I don’t… like it here.”

“Yes.”

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is one of the people who has noticed that Shang Qinghua knows more than he should. And now, thanks to this secret basement, Mobei-Jun has an explanation for why Shang Qinghua knows more than he should! 

If you don’t know about the System element, then this basement is actually pretty in-character for the new Shang Qinghua of PINTWILF. 

He is so scared of the future. He’s invested in the story now. 

- 

Shang Qinghua isn’t surprised at all when the special item speaks again as soon as it’s back in his hand.

Why would it shut up now, after all?

 “He has no name but the position he has been promised to, which he may not live to see,” the Weeper’s Eye says, which pulls Shang Qinghua’s gaze back to the demon lord waiting for him. “His father uses him as a tool. His mother is long departed. His uncle wants him dead. He has long known that these broken promises cannot be undone… but he knows new promises may yet be made.”

Mobei-Jun is frowning at the crystal eye in Shang Qinghua’s hand, looking between it and Shang Qinghua’s own eyes.

He’s not dressed-up the same way he was the last time Shang Qinghua saw him - no especially fancy robes or ornaments or jewelry. He looks like himself this time.  

 “If these ones are not kept, there will be nothing for the nameless man who will be king.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t move.

- 

AN: I mentioned exploring Mobei-Jun not having a name in the commentary on the previous chapter. I guess that’s my take on PIDW Mobei-Jun... that the man doesn’t really have anything outside of his position. He’s a king, in service to a tyrant, and he’s never going to let anyone in. He’s just... cold... the whole way through. PIDW Mobei-Jun has an icy throne and nothing else. 

PINTWILF (and SVSSS) Mobei-Jun has the Airplane version of Shang Qinghua. When Airplane saved MBJ’s life, the System wasn’t making him do it, he made that choice for himself. The System was willing to let MBJ die (and, in my headcanon, be replaced by some ice demon cousin or LGJ). So, MBJ turns around and chooses Shang Qinghua for himself. 

Shang Qinghua was like, “No! This character can’t be replaced! You can’t just dress someone else up as Mobei-Jun! You can’t just let the character die! It has to be this man in that role! No one else!” 

When Mobei-Jun is coming to talk to Shang Qinghua in this fic, in this moment, he is making this choice for himself, the nameless man who has been promised a position he might not live to see. That’s what the Weeper’s Eye is getting at. If Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to hear the promises Mobei-Jun is will to make him, there might as well not be anything in Mobei-Jun’s future to make him an individual, more than a cold figure acting out a part. 

- 

“...Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says finally. “I will not hurt you.”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze snaps from the crystal eye in his hand, back to the demon lord standing by the exit to this secret basement.

“We will speak,” Mobei-Jun says solemnly, slowly, like someone repeating the lines of a script. “I wish to be understood by you. I have not known how. Yet I must try now… in my own words… and you must listen.”

Shang Qinghua swallows.

The anger - the frustration - breaking through at the end there sounds more like the man he knows. He’s pretty sure that’s meant to be a request, but it sounds like an order.

-

AN: After their last conversation, Mobei-Jun had a lot of soul-searching to do, and one of the conclusions he came to is that he can’t take anything for granted. He has to made explicitly clear, using words, which is apparently what matters with humans and with this human in particular, everything he feels. He can’t take the risk of continuing to hurt Shang Qinghua by letting the man think that he doesn’t regret hurting him or may hurt him again someday. 

-

He puts the Weeper’s Eye down.

He’s really sick of this thing. He doesn't want to carry it around all the time.

It only tells him things he knows, anyway.

- 

AN: We’ll get into the Weeper’s Eye in future chapters, but it’s... it’s not really a mind-reading device. It kind of is. It is a little bit. But part of the reason it’s so informative here is that Shang Qinghua is holding it and Shang Qinghua actually knows a lot about his characters and the people in his life. 

Even the original characters, like Fanli, he knows well. She’s his family. He’s privy to Fanli’s problems through Jiahui and Liu Qingge if nothing else. 

With Shen Yuan, he doesn’t know the kid well yet, but his fellow transmigrator isn’t that difficult to read and he’s been where Shen Yuan is. 

Shang Qinghua putting the Weeper’s Eye down here is a show of trust of sorts. It’s a way of telling himself to get out of his own head, away from character roles and exaggerated panic, and put himself in the moment with someone he knows and... well... trusts and wants to trust even more. 

- 

Shang Qinghua follows Mobei-Jun out of the basement, removing the spiritual seal from the wall, which makes the creepy basement entrance disappear, then replacing the flower that covered it. He hesitantly follows the demon lord back to the main room of his Leisure House. He has no idea how to stand, suddenly, or where to stand.

Mobei-Jun looks very determined.

“So, ah, should we… sit?”

“No,” Mobei-Jun replies, then abruptly says, “Shang Qinghua, you do not have to fear me. I do not wish to cause you any pain. Now or in the future.”

Shang Qinghua stares, wide-eyed.

That’s not… something he ever expected to hear explicitly.

Good! It's good, though! Very good.

It's great, really.

“...Thank you,” he says, stunned. “I don’t want to cause you pain either?”

“You have shown as much. Many times.”

This is probably not the time for an “Yes, I did tell you so” in any form!

Instead, trying to remember all the speeches he prepared while waiting, Shang Qinghua says, “You have too! In your own way! I just… my king, last time you visited was a… it was a very bad day for me. I apologize for my behavior! I was speaking from a place of-”

“Fear,” Mobei-Jun interrupts darkly. “Well-deserved.”

“Ah, well…”

“You believed that I would hurt you, in your state,” Mobei-Jun says.

“I was… it was very a bad and confused state, my king.”

“...You do not trust me.”

Shang Qinghua’s voice dries up on him. He wouldn’t put it that way, exactly! That sounds pretty terrible when said in such a blunt way. They’ve moved past that, haven’t they? It’s more that he trusts different people with different things! He trusts Luo Jiahui to be Luo Jiahui, and Liu Qingge to be Liu Qingge, and Mobei-Jun… to be Mobei-Jun.

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun got really far without explicitly talking about things, but at some point that stopped cutting it. 

- 

“I have hurt you before,” Mobei-Jun says, looking at him directly. “From a place of fear… of anger… of… misunderstanding. I am… sorry for this. I will not do so again. I was wrong to treat you in such a way.”

Shang Qinghua takes in a deep breath… and out again.

Fuck, it feels like his eyes are burning.

“You have my respect,” Mobei-Jun says quietly, urgently, not letting up on getting all of these words out into the open. “You have my regard. You have my trust. Yet I have not shown this in a way that you have understood, so you could not share this. I have demanded your loyalty without being deserving of it.”

“My king,” Shang Qinghua protests, taking a step forward. “I was- I should have said-”

“You did. Many times. In many ways. I did not understand.”

“I wasn’t very clear either-”

“It was my responsibility to be clear. I must be clear now.”

“You’re being very clear now,” Shang Qinghua agrees quickly. If things get any clearer here, if any more of the things they’ve left unspoken get said, his heart won’t be able to take it. “Thank you, my king. It means- thank you."

Mobei-Jun nods. He looks relieved.

-

AN: I wanted to write a version of Moshang that felt... a little more mature? Shang Qinghua has developed a lot in this fic. He has grown as a person. And Mobei-Jun has seen this growth over the years. 

Mobei-Jun has also been able to see into this Shang Qinghua in a way that wasn’t available in SVSSS canon. I think that SVSSS Shang Qinghua was locked the fuck down. I think he was almost completely inaccessible and offered very, very few openings for connection. 

But in this universe, Mobei-Jun actually knows a lot more about Shang Qinghua. He knows what motivates Shang Qinghua. He knows that Shang Qinghua is a doting uncle and a doting older brother. He knows that Shang Qinghua has come to care for his sect. He knows that Shang Qinghua is intelligent and resourceful and funny. They drink together and talk politics! Mobei-Jun knows that Shang Qinghua is loyal and tired and trustworthy. 

So... there was an opening here that didn’t exist in SVSSS canon. 

And Mobei-Jun took it. 

- 

Shang Qinghua knows that cultural differences are a hell of a thing here, but everything being understandable in hindsight didn't make it not fucking hurt. It still hurts, even finally having the apology he never thought he'd get.

"...We’ve been pretty bad at understanding each other, huh?”

“It has often seemed as though we were not meant to meet,” the demon lord says softly.

Shang Qinghua, who can't imagine getting through his transmigration experience without meeting this man, thinks over all the unknowing irony in that statement.

"...Maybe."

“The differences are… significant.”

Shang Qinghua laughs, almost disbelieving. “That’s a word for it!”

"But not impassable."

"Ah… I… hope not."

- 

AN: I’ll probably make a separate post for this, but I love Moshang transmigrator reveals. Bingqiu transmigrator reveals are mostly about the Abyss, which is great, because that needs clearing up. MOSHANG transmigrator reveals are like, “My weak human husband is a god???” 

Also love it when MBJ is like, “Yes, this makes sense.” 

- 

“I have never known what you have wanted from me,” Mobei-Jun says next, like a confession. “Your life, you have said, time and time again. Though I am only alive by your grace. You demand none of what you deserve of me.”

“...I don’t think ‘deserve’ is a good word for this,” Shang Qinghua says, which probably isn’t the right thing to say, but he’s really too stunned to come up with anything better. He really didn’t prepare for the right conversation here. “Aha, sorry, my king. It’s just… I don’t think I like to think about it in terms of ‘owing’ anymore. Between us. At least… not like some sort of strict balance? I do something nice for you, you owe me. You do something bad to me, I get to hurt you. Not… not like that.”

Mobei-Jun thinks about it.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying-”

“You are deserving of better than what I have given you,” Mobei-Jun insists, determinedly. “I do not understand you. I have never understood you.”

Shang Qinghua feels the same way.

“But I would like to,” Mobei-Jun says next. “I would if you would allow it.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is only alive because Shang Qinghua saved him and he knows it! And Shang Qinghua has never made the demands he should have made, having that kind of leverage over Mobei-Jun! 

I’ve always wondered if this is deeply romantic by demon standards. Like, not inherently romantic. But I would bet that Mobei-Jun really likes the idea of a relationship where no one is keeping score... no one is granting favors to use like a leash of obligation... no one owes the other things they don’t want to give. I would bet that Mobei-Jun really, really likes the idea of a relationship where affection is freely given because the people in it want to give it. 

He does feel as though he owes Shang Qinghua, but I think Mobei-Jun likes the idea that his favor is his to give just because he wants to give it. 

-

Mobei-Jun lifts a hand, slowly, and holds it out.

Shang Qinghua thinks about it.

He thinks about it again.

He reaches back and puts his hand in Mobei-Jun’s own, which is as cool to the touch as always, and moves over his skin carefully. His hold is so light that Shang Qinghua could break it without any issue at all.

They stay there, like that, looking at each other.

Looking at their hands, holding without hurting, after everything. It's such a small gesture.

It feels kind of like a miracle.

-

AN: I am... a huge fucking sucker for Mobei-Jun holding Shang Qinghua waaaaay too lightly because he won’t risk hurting Shang Qinghua again. Like, this man is going to take it from the top. No more assumptions. 

- 

“What do you want, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun says, voice turning up at the end, in the closest thing that the man might ever come to helplessness. “What do you want from this?”

“I…” Shang Qinghua wipes at his burning eyes with his free hand. This is kind of pitiful. “Fuck.”

Mobei-Jun lifts his free hand and uses his own sleeve to wipe at Shang Qinghua’s tears, like his robes aren’t important to him at all. “Ask,” the man says, in the tone of a promise. “You do not have to fear the future. Anything I have to give is yours.”

Shang Qinghua gives up on trying to speak and just moves forward to bury his face in Mobei-Jun’s chest. Fuck it. The demon lord who was supposed to kill his character lets him do it. Mobei-Jun holds on to him, arms heavy but still so careful, the man’s chest moving in a sigh that sounds like relief.

This really was too many unspoken things to finally say aloud all at once.

- 

AN: So, yeah! That’s what I’m been building up to with the Jiahui/Qingge marriage and the Qijiu fights and makeup, getting Shang Qinghua to think about what he wants from his relationship with Mobei-Jun. Luo Jiahui and Shen Qingqiu have basically been throwing the question at him repeatedly: “What do you want from this life, Shang Qinghua?” 

Because it can’t all be plot! You’ve taken your family for yourself, but you can have more than that! You’ve made so many choices already... you can take this last step and make this choice too. Let Mobei-Jun in. 

A lot of Moshang plots end up being “Shang Qinghua’s inability to communicate versus Mobei-Jun’s inability to communicate”. Which is great! That’s Moshang! And some external issue (a rival demon lord, Linguang-Jun, etc.) will end up being the secondary plot which acts as a scenario pusher for the primary plot of the Moshang relationship. Again, great stuff! 

But since the romance isn’t the focus of this fic, I decided it would be fun to have a more “Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun versus the problem” take. (Which also shows up in lots of Moshang fics! Definitely not exclusive to this fic at all!) I’m looking forward to having Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun actually try and tackle problems together, as a couple, inside the main “Family of Choice” plot. 

Which isn’t to say that Moshang have totally worked out their relationship here. They have only just gotten together. Mobei-Jun still has issues. Shang Qinghua still has many issues. They’ve got a lot to work out together. They’ve never been in a relationship like this before and there’s a lot of people out there who would object to their relationship! Their relationship is going to continue to grow as the fic continues. They’re going to have a few bumps in the road. 

But I really like the idea of Mobei-Jun being Shang Qinghua’s rock in this fic. This man has been so stressed. He needs a hug from his ice demon boyfriend who can soothe headaches with a hand. 

-

When Shang Qinghua feels like he has himself more under control, he draws back just far enough to say, “My king, will you kiss me?”

Mobei-Jun’s expression is already soft, at least by his standards. His gaze turns hooded before he leans down as Shang Qinghua leans up. Shang Qinghua takes the man’s face between his hands to kiss him. It feels nice, if uncertain, with the hunger of something a long time coming at the end of it. There's years worth of wanting in this.

It has been so fucking long since Shang Qinghua kissed anyone.

He breaks the kiss and has to stifle laughter, clinging to the front of Mobei-Jun’s robes, which the man never closes properly, so now Shang Qinghua is never going to be able to not thinking about touching it. It’s a very nice chest to touch. He knew it would be.

Mobei-Jun’s brow furrows slightly, his hands staying on Shang Qinghua’s hips.

“What?”

Ah, sorry! Sorry, my king! It’s just- this is such a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but your lips are kind of cold? I’ve, ah, I’ve always kind of wondered,” Shang Qinghua confesses quietly, without really meaning to actually say it. Holy shit, he’s going to blame saying something like this after that on the fact that he’s had a very long and very weird day. “Sorry. I'm really tired. It's fine. It's good.”

Mobei-Jun snorts and kisses him again, as if to say, “Deal with it.”

- 

AN: Cute! Mobei-Jun likes it when Shang Qinghua laughs. I stand by this.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

[thatweeboverthereisthirsty]

Mistletoe Headcanons

So all the boys except Siver and Sebek are in here. I wanted to post them last night but my power went out. Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, kissing, possibly oc characters

Heartslabyul:

Riddle Rosehearts:

Not sure how to react

On one hand he would like to take the head of whoever put it up

On the other hand he has to follow the rules and the rules with mistletoe are that you have to kiss who you meet underneath the hanging kiss trap

Oh look you’re the one he has to kiss

He’s gone beet red by now 

Rules are rules though

Steel’s himself and shuts his eyes

The kiss is quick and somewhat off since he couldn’t see what he was doing

“Ahem, excuse me”

Your shocked as Riddle runs into the next room

Trey Clover:

Somewhat annoyed by the mistletoe

But only because he knows he’s gonna have to deal with Riddle later when the dorm head finds out

What he isn’t annoyed by is your cute, stunned face staring up at it

Taking his chance he moves in and pecks you gently on the lips

Your shocked gaze meets his and he smiles before moving around you

Wait. What just happened?

Cater Diamond: 

Don’t tell Riddle but he knew the mistletoe was going to be there

Tells you he wants to take a selfie with you in this doorway because it has ‘good lighting’

“Oh look mistletoe. You know what that means.”

Steals a kiss before you can even react

He pulls back with a wink

“If you wanna take another selfie here later let me know.”

Ace Trapolla:

Highkey he’s the one that put it there

Literally only thought that other people were gonna get caught 

Spends quite a bit of time lingering near the doorway and laughing into his cup when people realize what they walked into

It’s not until you’ve attempted to drag him to the other room through the doorway that he realize that he’s screwed

Cater sneakily points it out to you

You grab him excitedly and kiss him on the lips 

“Oh...ok. Thanks”

Walks away stunned and redder than Riddle’s hair

Deuce Spade:

Oh no

He forgot this was going to be here

The two of you have been standing in this doorway for about 3 minutes and you haven’t seemed to notice

Unfortunately he knows that he can’t walk away now that he’s been caught

Takes a deep breath and kisses you

Not understanding what happened you pull back shocked

“Oh my god I’m so sorry-” 

You see the mistletoe and kiss him again

Smiling shyly you pull back and walk away

“Wow I kissed someone”

Ace is snorting in the background

Savanaclaw:

Leona Kingscholar:

Deeply annoyed by this situation

His tail swishes irattably behind him

Whoever did this was going to get eaten

More upset that he was foolish enough to get caught by it

Realizing that you’re staring at it curiously he sighs and puts his fingers on the bridge of his nose

Here goes nothing

He growls and grabs your chin, tilting it towards him

He kisses you harshly and growls again in distaste that he had to be coerced into this by a damn plant

Pulling away he only takes a second to admire your flushed face and dazed look before grunting “African mistletoe” and stalking away

Pointedly ignores any stares he gets and growls under his breath

Would deny it to his death but he enjoyed the brief kiss

Would also deny that he wants to do it again

Ruggie Bucchi:

Snickers at the face you make when you realize you guys are underneath a mistletoe hanging

Greatly appreciates the blush that decorates your cheeks

He honestly doesn’t care all that much about the mistletoe

It’s just a kiss

He leans forward and pecks you on the lips before pulling back and snickering again

“You should see your face y/n” 

Stunned you mumbled and walked away

He wished he had taken the chance to kiss you again

Jack Howl:

Oh boy

Tsundere wolf blushes like a madman

He’s pretty much in denial that mistletoe exists

You noticed that the two of you had crossed underneath it and pulled him back to the doorway

“Rules are rules”

He didn’t appreciate you saying that

Sighing he moves in to kiss your cheek

You turn at the last second and place your lips together 

He’s in complete shock and his face makes you giggle

Will deny to the end of his life that his tail wagged like crazy afterwards

Octavinelle:

Azul Ashengrotto:

Isn’t the type to let his fluster show at first

Will casually gesture to the mistletoe and ask you how you feel about the tradition

Unconsciously strikes up a conversation about it to prolong the inevitable

At some point you realize what he’s doing and reach to kiss him

He makes a noise of surprise but quickly contains himself to kiss you back gently

You pull away and continue to talk about christmas traditions as if nothing happened

No there isn’t a blush on his face (he’s just developed a fever that’s all)

Jade Leech:

Sneaky eel 

This man probably conspired to put it there in the first place

Also meant to get you underneath it with him

He takes a moment to watch you shift uneasily as he eyes you like you’re prey

Taller then you so he leans down and places a hand underneath your chin

Kisses you slowly and teases you a but by nibbling on your lip

When you think he’s going to deepen it he pulls back with a smile

“Darling if you wanted to kiss me you should have just said so. No need to use traditions as an excuse.”

Yes that was his way of flustering you further while also slyly mentioning that he didn’t just kiss you because of the mistletoe

Floyd Leech:

Not a fan of the mistletoe game

He’s aware of it and makes a point not to get caught underneath it

He’s not a kisser 

He’s a hugger

If he ever did meet someone under the mistletoe he would pretend to be oblivious to the proper tradition and squeeze them instead

With you however he is very excited to be caught

Picks you up with a squeal and squeezes you tightly

His inner sadist loves how you squirm and gasp for breath

Also loves the redness of your face when you see the mistletoe

“Come here Shrimpy~ You owe me a squeeze~”

Thinking he wasn’t going to kiss you, you brace yourself for a squeeze

He does squeeze you but he kisses you too

Also bites your cheek lightly 

“There. Now everyone knows that Shrimpy is my mistletoe buddy, hehe”

Scarabia:

Kalim Al Asim:

Mistletoe everywhere

Literally is obsessed with hugging his friends and it gives him an excellent excuse to do so

He just didn’t count on you being there 

Not that he minds

Holds your face in his hands and peppers you with kisses

His brilliant smile is blinding afterwards

“Y/n! Y/n! Let’s go find some more mistletoe, kay?”

Jamil Viper:

Lowkey aware of the Mistletoe he just hasn’t had the chance to move Kalim away from it

Of course he has to chase Kalim through one of the doorways

Bumps into you

You’re surprised and go to move when you see the mistletoe

Flushes a deep red and has to take a moment to collect himself

Calmly he leans closer to you 

Kisses passionately but also nervously

Beet red when he pulls back and hides his face with his hood for the rest of the night

Pomefiore:

Vil Schoenheit: 

Will absolutely not kiss you with his lipstick on

Honey never

You can kiss his hand of course but that’s about it

What you don’t expect is that he will pay up later when he’s removed his lip makeup

Probably called you to his room after the day was done and pecked you on the lips

“There now I have fulfilled the tradition and don’t owe you anything

Also put chapstick on you beforehand

“That flavor suits you. Keep it.”

Rook Hunt:

Due to his hunter instincts and excellent observation skills he knows where every piece of mistletoe is hung

Likely guided you right underneath it without your knowledge

If you’re extra careful about them then he might just shoot another one up

“Did you put that there?” “Shhh, ma chérie."

Will kiss your cheeks, nose, and lips in that order

Calls you beautiful and asks you to spend some more time with him

Highkey Rook is the only one at NRC that knows what he’s doing with the ladies

Epel Felmier:

Epel has literally never kissed anyone in his life

There are rarely any people his age in his hometown either so he has little experience with dating or even dealing with anyone he’s interested

Finding himself under mistletoe with anyone would be terrifying nonetheless you

You!

You’re cute and sweet and kind and a lot of things

But most importantly you’re someone who he wants to kiss

Which means that you and him can not kiss under any circumstances

But here you are and here he is under the mistletoe

And know you have to kiss

The kiss was short and barely existent but it was sweet and when he pulled back his face was equal parts red and pale

You giggled and kissed his cheek

Ignihyde:

Idia Shroud:

Ok Idia is really shy

So it’s super unlikely he’s gonna end up anywhere with an actual mistletoe 

But Ortho dragged him out of his room so here he is

And now he’s under the mistletoe

With you…

And regretting all of his life choices

But he forgets all of that once your lips touch

He’s not cold like you thought he would be

He’s actually very hot

The kiss only lasts for a second because you were cut off by his hair turning red and flaming up

Ortho drags him back to his room where he resets enough to remember where he is

Once he figures out what happened he’s gonna flare up again

Poor Ortho has to spray the whole room with the fire extinguisher

Ortho Shroud (platonic):

Ortho is delighted at all the cool traditions and decorations that are strewn about the place

He spends Christmas with Idia of course but he finally managed to get him out of his room long enough to have a look around

There are some things that he doesn’t recognize like the dangling plant clippings that people are kissing under

When he finds himself under one with you he points to it and asks about it

You giggle and tell him before quickly kissing his cheek

The younger Shroud tells Idia afterwards and laughs at his older brother’s face

Idia is at least fond of your friendship with Ortho 

He thinks it’s fine that you told him about mistletoe as long as Ortho remembers to avoid it at all costs for the rest of his active life

Diasomnia:

Malleus Draconia:

Has no clue what mistletoe is

“Child of man what is this thing here?”

You flush and start to stammer about mistletoe

Cue Lilia popping in with a thorough explanation about of how mistletoe works and pays special attention to the fact that Malleus has to kiss you

The vampiric man takes his leave and smirks knowingly when you glare daggers into his back

Malleus stays silent for a moment before leaning down and kissing you

He is a surprisingly good kisser and you are too shocked to do anything

“Well then, I hope that the tradition was to your liking child of man.”

Would never admit that he is blushing and walks away quickly

Oh Malleus the tradition was very much to your liking

Lilia Vanrouge:

This man has been waiting for you to show up 

Highkey pops in just as you walk underneath the mistletoe

“Hello there”

Your mini heart attack means little to him as he giggles and points up

“Look mistletoe”

Then he kisses you

Experienced kisser and leaves you breathless

“We should do this again but right now I have to go deal with one of the, ahem, children” (Sebek)

Stunned you stand there for a moment before wondering what happened

“Um ok later then”

Yes he did here you and will take that as permission to kiss you again

Hi there if you are looking for Sebek and/or Silver I am very sorry to say that I don’t write for them just yet because I don’t know them all too well. Very sorry and hope the other headcanons were to your liking. Happy holidays!

[blossom-hwa]

hi! i really liked your sungyoon fanfiction, light the pyres—apocalypse aus are great. very nervous to ask for your 4th anniv event but could i perhaps get kang yeosang + the title "3 of hearts?" (if anyone reading here knows what show it's from ily!)

hi love! light the pyres is actually one of the works I'm most proud of so it makes me so happy to hear that you liked it! thank you for your request - I'm not sure what 3 of hearts it from lol (maybe one of my followers does), but I hope you still enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

I guess this could be seen as a sort of spinoff of Kingdom (read the series here) - I haven’t posted the next parts yet, but this takes place in the Queendom of Hearts, which is where Checkmate is set :D like Kingdom, it’s heavily inspired by Marissa Meyer’s book “Heartless” - the story of a queen who went mad over love >:)

Uh so TXT Yeonjun is technically here but please don’t take my characterization of him as anything even close to who he is irl.... just think of it as me taking just his name and slapping it on a character I made I’m sorry

~

Title: Three of Hearts

Pairing: Yeosang x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Triggers: mentions of blood and death (semi-graphic)

~

They said you were born under the three of hearts, a spell of kind fortune, a card of good omen. "Your child will be beautiful," the diviner said when she placed you in your mother's arms. "They will love deeply, and in return, they will be loved greatly."

It was a blessed birth for the Kingdom of Hearts, whose rulers, though loved, had not been able to secure an heir for many years. Already the conception of a child was a miracle - to have you born under such an auspicious card only heightened the excitement, cast even more light on a day already filled with laughter and joy. Your parents showered you with love, and as the years passed, you grew in blissful happiness, surrounded by those who adored you. And truly, it seemed you were the three of hearts personified - for with you were two boys, Yeosang and Yeonjun, your best friends, who followed you everywhere you went. 

It was inevitable, then, people whispered, that at least two of you would fall in love. 

At the age of six, seven, ten, even twelve, you could ignore this. You could play the innocent card that came so easily to those born under the three of hearts, bat your eyes and cock your head and ask “What do you mean?” in reply to the questions people asked - do you have a crush? I’m sure you do. It must be on one of the boys you’re always running around with, yes? But as you grew older and the question of to whom you would extend your hand in marriage became increasingly important, your eyes began to fixate on soft blond hair and warm brown eyes, smile widening in the presence of a deep, gentle voice accompanied by the loveliest sparkle in his eyes. 

The traits of a certain best friend and heir to the Kang family fortune. 

He offers a courtship under the flowering wisteria tree just under your window, pale cheeks tinted with blush as he stutters his way through a short confession. Your heart warms, lifts, bursts with joy as you accept with a smiling nod, rejoicing that you have found a match who will love you as much as you love him. Three of hearts, you think giddily - I will be loved as much as I give it.

The stages of courtship seem to pass by all too slowly and at the same time, all too quickly. Caught up in a whirl of fine clothes and presents and ceremonies, you fall asleep every night eager to wake at dawn, if only to see Yeosang’s face the next day. Every moment with him seems too short, and every moment with him feels too long. 

One afternoon under the wisteria tree, you complain of this. Yeosang laughs at your indignation, though when you go to hit his shoulder, he catches your fingers with soft, warm hands, before kissing your forehead gently. “It will be all right,” he murmurs, pulling away just enough for you to see the sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll have a lifetime together, after this.”

A lifetime. Born under the three of hearts, destined for a life of love and happiness, you believed it. 

So much, in fact, that you forget to watch out for the second best friend at your side. 

It never occurred to you to take caution with Yeonjun. He was your best friend. Even upon the announcement of your engagement, he only ever smiled and congratulated the two of you, knocking your heads together teasingly when you got too mushy for his taste. Yeosang even asked him to be one of the groomsmen when the wedding date was set. 

So you never notice the way Yeonjun’s gaze always lingers on you a little too long, the way his eyes darken whenever you place a chaste kiss on Yeosang’s lips. You do notice that he spends more and more time away from you, away from Yeosang as the wedding approaches, but it’s easy to put it down to affairs of the Choi family that you simply aren’t privy to. Perhaps something has gone wrong. Yeonjun would tell you about it in due time, wouldn’t he?

On the night before your wedding, you and Yeosang dance together under a sea of sparkling stars, white engagement outfits shimmering under the night sky. The people cheer. Your parents wipe away tears. You almost cry, too, wrapped in the warmth of Yeosang’s arms around your waist, his eyes smiling into yours. 

You part ways with promises of tomorrow and a lifetime hanging on your lips. When you finally fall asleep, it is to dreams of a beautiful future, complete with Yeosang by your side. 

Instead, you wake up in a world where he is dead.

They say the servant who found the body went mad afterward. You don’t blame them. When you saw the body covered in its rips and stains of red, it felt like a part of your mind simply disappeared. Scrambled. Something. All you could see was the body splashed with blood, unseeing eyes wide open and glassed with the sheen of death. 

And there’s no time to grieve, either, because the next day, the Choi family storms the castle with shouts of a coup and rebellion on their lips. 

All you can do is stare into Yeonjun’s stony expression as he orders the execution of your parents right before your eyes. 

He finds you in your rooms a week later, a beautiful prison of silk and satin that they took away so you wouldn’t hang yourself before he came. His eyes soften upon seeing you, but when he reaches out a hand, you slap it away. 

Only one word leaves your lips. “Why?”

Love, he says. Love for you. Love that burned fierce, hot, so unlike the soft warmth of Yeosang’s hand, love that burned so bright it couldn’t stand to fall second to the gentleness of Yeosang’s smile. His heart burned for you, beat for you, enough to plan all of this, enough to ask, even now - 

“Will you marry me?”

The wisteria tree outside your window is in full bloom under a bright, cloudless sky. A mockery of the day Yeosang asked for your hand and you gave him your heart. 

In the absence of blades and bullets, no one should underestimate the power that fingernails can do to raw skin and bone.

“You worthless, worthless human being,” you snarl, even as guards drag you back from Yeonjun’s bleeding face. “Worthless - worthless - I will never marry you -”

“You will,” Yeonjun snarls back, now a safe distance away from the blood caking your nails. “You will or you will die.”

You don’t die. You almost do, jamming the lock on your door and smashing the fortified window with a superhuman strength you believe Yeosang and your parents have lent you for one night, just one night before leaping into the branches of the wisteria tree, crashing to the ground in a heap of branches and flowers and glass. They nearly catch you - an arrow pierces your shoulder and another streaks so close it almost cuts off your ear - but you escape. And hide. For days, weeks, months...

Until you return with a sword and murder in your eyes, slashing through every guard on your way into the castle until you come across Yeonjun sitting upon your father’s throne, the crown of your family on his head. 

“Would you?” he whispers, the tip of your sword positioned over his heart. “Would you, truly?”

A blank smile curves your lips. “Of course,” you whisper. “Just the same way you would.”

They crown you queen with triumph in their eyes, songs of a royal who avenger their lover’s death when a jealous suitor got in the way. You listen to it with stony eyes and teeth gritted behind your lips, especially when they speak of the three of hearts, blessed above all, destined for a life of love -

There is no love left in your heart that wasn’t taken away with the death of Yeosang and your family.

You execute the Chois. You execute their allies. You root through the kingdom, imprisoning those with even a semblance of a relationship to the man who killed your love, who took the blessing of your card away. The songs die away, replaced by whispers of a queen gone mad with the loss of their love. Triumphant shouts of a blessed three of hearts turn into murmurs of a curse, a new meaning to your card - perhaps not one destined for love, but one whose life will end in tragedy. Pain. Suffering.

They are wrong. Your life was full of love, love that you gave on your own and love that was given by those around you. It was the cause of your happiness and the reason for your suffering - love killed Yeosang and your family, just as it killed the last bit of humanity in you. 

The words of the diviner mock your grief. 

“Your child will be beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as he ever was. 

“They will love deeply.”

Where did that get you? 

“And in return, they will be loved greatly.”

Where did that get him?

No longer do they speak of the three of hearts as a blessing, as a sign of blissful omen. Instead, they speak of it as a curse, a curse of love, a curse of madness, a curse of tragedy to follow at every bend. 

Good. They’re right.

The love that the heavens wrought never brought anything more than pain, anyway.