#responding to it now will only remind the other person how unforgivably long this has taken me

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: all they keep asking me is if I'm gonna be your bride

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin in his feels asf

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: EEEEEP the plot is finally plottingggggggg

May 19, 1816 – By now, it’s fairly obvious that the esteemed Mr. Colin Bridergton and Lady Y/N Montclair have, to put it lightly, an intense dislike for one another. How this contention began, this author does not know. However, Lady Montclair has yet to dance with Mr. Colin Bridgerton at any ball this season, despite dancing with Benedict and even older brother Anthony Bridgerton. This, coupled with the endless glares between the two and Lady Montclair’s perpetual frown around Mr. Bridgerton, indicates a less-than-friendly relationship. 

Luckily, this rivalry is not of any particular consequence to our heroine, since Lord Arthur Barlow seems on the cusp of a proposal. After a month-long courtship, it could be mere days before the Duke asks Lord Philippe Montclair for Lady Montclair’s hand in marriage. Although certainly a controversial choice from her parents to delay Y/N’s season, the wait would certainly pay off if she marries a Duke. This union, with the Duke of Monmouth’s title and the Montclair family’s extensive land ownership, would be one of the most advantageous Mayfair has seen since Charlotte Bexley, who just so happens to be Y/N’s sister, and her union to the Duke of Somerset. Shall we expect a public announcement soon? This author is certain that both families are itching for official confirmation.

Benedict thanked the bartender, sipping his brandy as he looked around at the gentlemen around him. Though Benedict and Colin had come to White’s together, the younger Bridgerton had gotten caught up in conversation with Lord Fife, leaving Benedict alone and slightly bored.

However, Louis Montclair’s appearance quickly piqued Benedict’s interest. It was the first time Benedict had seen Louis at the gentleman’s club, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to find out more about your unusual relationship with Colin. It was no secret that you and Colin couldn’t stand one another, but Benedict was far too absent at social functions to piece together what had happened by himself, and he thought Louis would be the perfect person to provide some clarity.

“Louis! I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking properly,” Benedict clapped him on the back as he approached him. 

Louis turned around, grinning once he saw the Bridgerton. 

“Ah, Benedict, of course. Every time my mother successfully forces me to attend a ball, you seem to be absent! One would think you’ve been avoiding me,” he said jovially.

Benedict laughed and shook his head. “Since my painting was placed in the national gallery, Mother hasn’t been too insistent on my appearance at social functions,” he explained. Then, with a cheeky smile, he added, “I believe the rivalry between our families starts and ends with Colin and Y/N.”

Louis rolled his eyes, annoyed at the reminder of your hatred toward Colin. “Lord knows what the two have against each other. Even just thinking about having to listen to my sister complain about Colin after tomorrow’s ball is giving me a headache.”

“Then a drink is in order, to be sure!” Benedict called over the bartender and asked for another glass of brandy for your brother. “Though I wouldn’t fret too much about your sister; I’m certain Colin must have done something unforgivable to elicit such a response,” he said, only half joking.

“Well, I’m sure he has. I do not doubt that,” responded Louis, grabbing his drink and thanking the bartender. 

“Oh?” prompted Benedict, surprised by Louis’ affirmative response. He led your brother to a table in the back corner, sitting down across from him. 

Taking a sip, Louis explained, “My sister might be the most irritating person I know, but she rarely holds anyone in her bad graces unless she has a good reason.”

Benedict just stared at your brother, eyebrows raised and waiting for further explanation. Had Colin acted out of line with you? He was supposed to be the sweetheart of London high society, but perhaps his brother had changed during his travels. 

Louis paused, frowned thoughtfully, and continued. “Oddly enough, I haven’t a clue why she dislikes Colin. Usually, one cannot possibly get her to stop talking about why someone vexes her, but she has evaded speaking about the subject directly thus far.” 

Spotting Colin walking toward the pair, Louis quickly stood up to greet the younger Bridgerton.

“Colin! Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

“The devil? Your sister hasn’t rubbed off on you, I hope,” answered Colin, not entirely amused as he shook your brother’s hand and sat down next to Benedict. 

“Not at all, Bridgerton,” Louis laughed, dissipating the tension easily. “And I hope your hatred toward her is not extended toward me, too.” 

“Is it that obvious?” asked Colin, slightly cringing that his ungentlemanly behavior was public knowledge. 

Benedict snorted. “It is now that Lady Whistledown has reported on it. I don’t know how you could have possibly been so rude as to end up as the subject of the ton’s gossip sheet, but I fear for you once Mother gets her hands on today’s column.”

Colin sank in his seat in shame, embarrassed that his perfect reputation was crumbling because of you, of all people. He was supposed to be charming and easygoing, and he feared what would become of him if people started to dislike his character. 

On the other hand, your little rivalry with him would barely have any effect on you. You were strikingly beautiful and exceptionally smart, not to mention exceedingly worldly. And even if you didn’t have all those things in your favor, your dowry was large enough that any man would be stupid not to at least consider you for marriage. 

“Not to worry,” assured Louis. “I am sure your rivalry will be coming to a close sooner rather than later. It’s only a matter of time before Barlow proposes and she’ll be out of your hair. And mine.” 

Colin tensed. “Pardon?”

“Y/N is about three seconds away from being married off, so she won’t have nearly as much time to dedicate to your rivalry,” explained Louis. 

“Oh,” Colin cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Why do you say that? Has she said anything?”

Benedict set his drink down, shooting Colin a curious look. “She probably hasn’t had to. They’ve been courting for a month. If anything, it would be out of the ordinary if he didn’t propose.”

Louis nodded in agreement, blissfully oblivious to Colin’s mounting panic. 

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” conceded Colin. “I just thought–”

He paused. After a beat, he shook his head. “But, really? Marriage? It seems so sudden,” Colin said, stumbling over his words, a growing panic in his voice slowly turning to inexplicable anger.

 “I don’t know if I would use the word sudden… Why? Did you want to marry her?” teased Louis, laughing at what seemed to be an outlandish suggestion. Then, spotting his brother-in-law, Edward Bexley, by the door, he downed his drink and stood up. “A pleasure speaking with you gentlemen, but I must greet Bexley.”

The Bridgerton boys said goodbye, but before Colin had the chance to get away, Benedict turned to his brother accusingly.

“I know Louis was joking, but do you actually want to marry her?” he asked, concerned. “You’ve been acting all out of sorts.”

“What? No,” scoffed Colin. “Not in a million years.” Then, realizing he had to explain his outrage at the prospect of you getting married, he added, “I’m just surprised anyone would consider marrying her, is all.”

“Colin,” scolded Benedict. “Have some decorum. Even if that were true, you are still a Bridgerton. Please behave like one.”

Colin’s face turned hot in shame. “You’re right; I apologize. I think I need some air,” he finally strangled out, standing up and practically sprinting toward the courtyard, his practically full drink long forgotten.

Once Colin felt the fresh air on his face, he let out a deep sigh and unclenched his fists. You getting married was supposed to be a good thing. The only person in the ton who didn’t like him would finally be gone and he could return to being the best-liked among his siblings. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know you would end up marrying someone else. It was basically the only reason you had come to England. Besides, he saw you with Arthur at every event you attended. Why was he so upset now? Why was he surprised at all?

Rubbing his temples, Colin started pacing in the courtyard. It must have been lingering resentment toward you, he reasoned. There was no other explanation. Colin couldn’t shake the way you and the duke so easily fell into flirtatious banter while he received only cold stares and snippy comments. It was infuriating that you took Lord Barlow and his intent to marry you so seriously while you barely spared Colin a second glance when he asked you to dance for the first time.

He still remembered watching you in Hyde Park the first time you spoke with Arthur, all giggly and flirtatious while you promenaded. Exactly the opposite of how you had been with him. What would it have taken for you to look at Colin with even a fraction of the fondness with which you looked at Lord Barlow?

Then, Colin was struck by a sobering thought. Perhaps you knew that, deep down, he lacked any substance. Perhaps you were not fooled by his charismatic front and could see that he could offer you nothing. 

As a third son, Colin could scarcely boast the same riches or claim to land as the duke. But he could have loved you. And he would have taken care of you. If only he had made more of an effort with you, he chastised himself. Then he might find himself in the position of doing something of actual importance for the first time in his life.

But his need for approval had gotten in the way. And what good that had done him. You were about to get everything you wanted and marry a duke, and he was left with nothing but a bruised ego.

---

As soon as Charlotte saw Colin entering the ballroom she sighed and rolled her eyes. Now that she was the oldest Montclair sibling left in England, she was in charge of making sure you and Colin didn’t make a scene at every single event you attended. 

Usually, it was Louis who needed scolding, mischievous as he was. Charlotte had no idea why you decided to be the difficult one this season. All she knew was that Colin had the unique ability to work you up until you were engaged in a yelling match, and it was her job to mitigate this to the best of her abilities. 

Charlotte, already facing you, leaned in close to your ear. “Sois gentille, s’il te plaît. T’es une dame es tu dois te comporter comme telle,” she murmured (Be nice, please. You're a lady, and you should act like one).

Immediately realizing that Colin had arrived, you crossed your arms. “Mais Charlotte, il est trop désagréable. Il me soûle tellement !” you whined softly (But Charlotte, he’s so unpleasant. He gets on my nerves so much!).

Charlotte scoffed in disbelief at your childish demeanor. “Et toi ? Tu penses que t’es plus agréable ? Vraiment ?” (And you? You think you’re more pleasant? Really?)

You knew she had a point, but you couldn’t help the annoyed huff that escaped your lips before you turned around, choosing to face the dance floor instead. 

Violet Bridgerton was hosting a ball tonight, and it seemed like every member of the ton had made an appearance. Your mother had nearly killed you when you told her you had a throbbing headache, not accepting any excuses for missing the most important ball of the season. 

Eventually, you compromised and promised to stay for a dance with Lord Barlow and a quick greeting to the Bridgertons. You were already eyeing the exit longingly, itching to retreat to your blissfully dark and quiet room. Just a quick turn around the ballroom and you would be free, you lamented. 

Your stomach churned with a mixture of anticipation and dread as you thought of seeing Lord Barlow. While the prospect of a proposal from him should have filled you with excitement, a throbbing headache dampened your spirits and left you feeling less than enthusiastic about the impending moment. 

A proposal from a titled gentleman was what you had been working toward your whole life, and you would have liked to feel well for it. Though you liked Arthur, and the two of you got along well, you could only hope that he wasn’t planning on proposing tonight. 

You heard footsteps coming in your direction, and you turned to see Eloise, Benedict, and Colin walking over to you and your sister. 

“Y/N! And Charlotte!” Eloise exclaimed loudly upon seeing you. 

You grimaced; the pain caused by her voice overpowering the joy you felt upon seeing her. 

“Hello Eloise!" your sister greeted warmly. "Y/N has a headache, so she's only staying for a short while," she explained.

“Hello, El,” you grinned, rubbing your temples with one hand and squeezing Eloise’s arm with the other. 

“And Benedict, what a surprise!” you exclaimed, turning to greet the older Bridgerton. 

“Y/N! A good surprise, I hope. It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?” responded Benedict, smiling at you and squeezing your arm.

Your gaze shifted to Colin, who was standing next to his brother, and you tensed, already dreading the argument–or four–you would inevitably have with him tonight. You barely had the energy to stand straight tonight; you couldn’t fathom having to hold your own against Colin Bridgerton.

Eloise, sensing the mounting hostility, sighed deeply. “It’s best to leave them to it for a bit and let them get it out of their system,” she said, guiding Charlotte and Benedict away from you. 

Before Charlotte turned around, she looked back at you suspiciously. She decided you were already suffering enough from your headache and chose to leave you be, but not before raising her eyebrows at you in warning.

Clearing his throat, Colin nodded in your direction, “Lady Montclair.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you nodded back, much too tired to throw the first verbal punch of the night.

But as always, Colin seemed to have the unending desire to vex you. Seeing the Duke walking up to you from across the room and feeling the anger rise in his chest, he looked you up and down, searching for anything to lash out about. 

“Lovely necklace you’re wearing. It completely washes out the color of your eyes,” he commented quietly, careful that no one else would hear. 

Colin preferred to keep your quarrels private, especially after he knew Lady Whistledown had taken note of the tension between you. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want the rest of the ton knowing that you didn’t like him – it was too late for that, he reminded himself. These moments between you, although they often resulted in hurled insults and verbal attacks, felt oddly intimate to him. Despite the animosity, they were your private interludes, and he didn’t want to share them with anyone else.

You, oblivious to Lord Barlow, or anyone else for that matter, clutched your necklace, slightly embarrassed that he had noticed. It was true: the jewels did not match your eyes, and the neckpiece was so flashy that you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was making your headache worse. But your mother had insisted you wear it tonight anyway.

“I’m surprised you can look up from my neck long enough to notice the necklace’s effect on my eyes,” you countered.

Colin turned slightly red, clasping his hands in front of him. He was surprised too, to be honest. But you didn’t need to know that.

Before Colin could respond, the Duke walked up to you to greet you by placing a hand on your arm. 

“Good evening, Y/N." 

“Good evening, Arthur,” you smiled at him, headache momentarily forgotten.

Colin balked. You were on a first-name basis with the Duke already? He felt utterly foolish for not realizing that you were, as Lady Whistledown had said, only days away from receiving a proposal.

“I see you’re wearing the necklace I got you,” Lord Barlow commented, pleased. “It does wonders for your complexion.”

“Oh, yes,” you said weakly. “My sincerest gratitude for the gift.” 

You could practically feel Colin smirking next to you, and you bit your lip to keep from snapping at him. You felt an unpleasant mixture of anger at Colin’s triumph and embarrassment that he knew that the unflattering necklace had been a gift from your suitor.

Lord Barlow brushed off your thanks. “A dance, my Lady?” he offered his hand.

“I’d be delighted,” you said gratefully, placing your hand in his. Anything to get away from Colin right now. 

You had danced with Arthur enough times that you were comfortable with him, and you found yourself enjoying moving to the music as Lord Barlow held you close.

As he spun you around, he leaned down close to your ear, causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps.

“You look particularly fetching tonight, Y/N. Perhaps we might retreat to the gardens later tonight to speak some more,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened. Was he asking you to go outside for… unladylike reasons? Or was he implying he was going to propose? Perhaps both? Whatever the reason, tonight was not the night.

“I’m afraid not, Arthur,” you lamented. “I’ve got a splitting headache and will be heading home soon after our dance.” 

 “Very well,” he said with a clipped tone, leading you away from the dance floor now that the music had stopped. “Another time, then.”

“Certainly,” you replied, nervous that you had upset him.

Kissing the back of your hand dutifully, he smiled. “I hope tomorrow you will be in better spirits. I will be at the races, and it would be a shame not to see you there.”

Before you could respond, he had turned around and disappeared into the crowd.  

Exactly twenty minutes later, Colin watched as you said goodbye to his mother, hugging her tightly. He felt his heart clench. You really were the picture of grace when you weren’t around him. But it was far too late to dwell on that. 

He turned around to leave the ballroom in search of a strong drink as soon as he saw you leave through the main entrance. Now that you were gone, he saw no reason to stay. He didn’t particularly enjoy balls, even if this one was being hosted in his home, and he knew he would only grow bored now that you weren’t present to trade insults with.

Ever the dutiful son, Colin walked up to Violet Bridgerton to excuse himself before he left.

“Leaving so soon? I thought you might be more likely to stay now that Y/N is gone,” she teased. 

Colin laughed and shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“It’s a shame you don’t care for her,” she tsked. 

Eyes widening, Colin cleared his throat and tried to seem casual. “Why do you say that?” 

Had you said something just now? Were you having second thoughts about the Duke?

“Because I’d love to have the Montclairs as part of the family, of course. Unfortunately, Y/N is as good as married. Perhaps we can try again with Louis,” she mused. “Eloise is bound to come around to marriage at some point.”

Colin laughed weakly, not trusting himself to say anything, and gave his mother one last squeeze as he headed out to the hallway.

Finally out of the ballroom, Colin headed to the Bridgertons’ private courtyard so he could gaze at the stars, a habit he developed during his travels to guide him through rough waters that he couldn’t seem to shake even now that he was home. 

He could have taken a more direct route, but he wanted to avoid any mingling party-goers, already exhausted from the night. Colin was quite enjoying the feeling of navigating through his familiar home, realizing that he hadn't spent more than a few months in England in years.

Finally, after a few minutes of solitude, he reached the door farthest from the ballroom that led to the courtyard,

However, when he was halfway to the exit, he spotted two figures there already, partially obscured by the curtain in front of the door. He could barely make out two voices and a very flirtatious giggle. Rolling his eyes, Colin started backing away, not wanting to interrupt what he assumed to be Benedict and some very unlucky lady having an intimate moment. 

It was certainly a bold choice on Benedict’s part. The courtyard was not so private that it was hidden away from view completely, and anyone in the ballroom could have seen them. But Colin was not in the business of getting involved in his brother’s affairs. 

As he turned away, Colin heard a muffled, “Ah, I see you like to play coy…”

Well, that was certainly not Benedict. In fact, it sounded quite a bit like…Arthur Barlow?

It couldn’t be, Colin shook his head aggressively. It couldn’t.

Colin felt anger rising in his chest, his lips turned down into a deep frown. He started back toward the courtyard.

Arthur was courting you. And he had just seen you go home. He couldn’t possibly be outside with someone else, could he?

Could he?

Upon hearing a squeal, Colin reached out and pulled back the curtains slightly, only to be met with the sight of the duke’s lips on Miss Barrington’s.

Colin dropped his hand in shock, letting the curtain obscure his view once again. He could barely believe what he was seeing. Your suitor was kissing another woman. Her hands were in his hair and he was tugging at the front of her dress, rushing to untie the bows on her gown.

Colin was frozen in shock. Is this something the duke did regularly? Did this mean that you and Lord Barlow kissed? An unpleasant image appeared in Colin’s mind, but he shook it away. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

He had caught your almost-future-husband with someone else on the balcony, and you most likely had no clue. The duke’s actions had the potential to ruin multiple futures, and Colin felt his breathing quicken as he thought of how this could affect you.

Peeking through the window once more to ensure that he really was seeing the Duke and Miss Barrington, Colin frowned deeply. He shifted his gaze to the window looking into the ballroom across the courtyard, and was satisfied when he didn’t see anyone spying on the couple. At least there was that.

Rushing back through the twisting hallways, Colin ran to speak with his mother before anyone else could catch a glimpse of what was going on outside the Bridgerton home. 

Winded as he reached his mother, Colin grabbed her by the elbow and led her outside into the hallway. 

“Need… to… speak,” he panted out.

“Colin? What on earth–? I thought you had left the ball,” came Violet’s shocked response as she placed a concerned hand on her son’s shoulder. 

Colin nodded aggressively. “Lord Barlow… with Miss Barrington… on the balcony kissing,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Oh!” Violet gasped, horrified. “Are you certain?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Mother. What do I do? Should I go stop them? I thought he was going to propose to Lady Montclair. But Miss Barrington will be ruined if anyone finds out.”

His mother thought for a moment. “Has anyone seen them yet?”

Colin shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“That is the best we can hope for in this situation. I will go and stop them at once; hopefully, no one will have noticed their absence,” indicated Violet, annoyed that people felt the need to act like this at her ball in her home.

“And what of Lady Montclair?” pressed Colin. Surely you were the most important person in this situation, no?

"We ought to inform her in private, let her decide her course," she suggested, her voice low with a hint of disdain. 

Colin frowned, frustrated that the duke’s careless actions could result in you losing a suitor. 

Violet continued, "There's no need to create a spectacle, after all. A scandal of a duke’s infidelity won't bode well for anyone involved. With any luck, it went unnoticed, and Y/N can deliberate in peace. I highly doubt Lord Barlow will be forthcoming with the truth." 

Just then, the Bridgertons heard the ballroom door slam open as a chorus of giggles and whispers filled the hallway.

Colin cast a wary glance towards the departing crowd. "I fear discretion is no longer an option."

The whispers seemed to echo, disturbingly audible.

"Lord Barlow? The Duke?"

"I had heard he was set on Lady Montclair..."

"Such a shame. They appeared quite suited. What will become of her now that she's lost a Duke? I couldn't bear the humiliation."

"And Miss Barrington?"

"It seems the Duke's actions have ruined more than one woman this evening…”

—

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[susiecarter]

Hi Susie! I love your writing :D Just thought I would check how you operate in terms of interacting in fandom in discussion about your work? I get the sense you don't answer many asks on here but you do engage enthusiastically in the comments on your Ao3 postings. What personally do you get most excited about when someone wants to reach out somehow?

/o\ :DDDDD That's very kind of you, anon! And rest assured I am very excited about ANY way anyone would like to reach out to me, but I am definitely the best (like, relatively speaking :'D but) at keeping up with comments, for sure—if you'd like a response within a reasonable timeframe, that's your best bet! I love and appreciate asks enormously, but it often takes me a while to round up enough time to really sit down and think through my responses ... and I also have a huge backlog to work through :'D though I'm going to be trying to set up a schedule for myself that will help me answer them more consistently going forward. pray for me

Anyway! If you don't have an AO3 account or would like to remain anon, I always leave anon comments turned on over there, and you definitely shouldn't feel any obligation to comment on the content of a specific story first—if you just want to leave me a note or ask a general question, feel free to pick any fic and go for it! BUT I also do have a Dreamwidth with a pinned post where you can leave anon comments, if you like (I haven't used that account for much except very slowly storing backdated asks and my answers, in case Tumblr ever kicks the bucket! But I'll get an email alert about any comments over there). And if you've got anything you want to talk to me about in a space more private than the comment section on the AO3/a public DW post, by all means send me an email (susie.c.carter (at) gmail.com) or DM me on Discord (susie#1557, and I have friending open over there, so you don't need to share any servers with me or anything to send me a friend request). Whatever works the best for you is great!

But yeah, AO3 comments are the one thing I swore to myself I'd try not to let slide, even when I'm too busy or too tired to message people/chat/get my brain in order to compose an email or write up an answer to an ask, so—I will be equally thrilled to hear from you no matter how you'd like to get in touch, but I'm the most reliable about AO3! (... Which, again, this is on a scale from "none reliable, godawful flake" to "pretty good about sticking to a week or less most of the time", not to "genuinely good and dependable". For the record. /o\)

[browniefox]

Lost in the Snow

Or, a short and kinda incomplete (it has a beginning and ending, just not like, as much middle as I could've done) fic expanding on this post by @skitter-kitteruwu

oOo

At first, he wanders around the snowy land, shivering, as wrapped up in his coat as possible, calling for Emmet. He doesn't have his pokemon on him. He's alone. The snow is deep, and every step seems to take more and more effort. He can't feel his feet, his legs, his hands, his face.

"Emmet!"

He falls into the snow, and thinks that's the end.

oOo

He wakes up in a cave, warmed by tens of little furry pokemon who have blanketed him. He does his best not to upset them, moving just enough to look at them. Sneasel. Sneasel with odd markings, but sneasel not the less. His small shifting is enough to rowse a couple, who blink blearly at him, and then excitedly, making little chirpling sounds.

There's a louder, deeper chirp that responds. A sneasel that is far too big, too long, to actually be a sneasel steps into view. A new evolution, perhaps? She regards him, and he can't do anything but stare back, because there are still sneasel on him, keeping him warm, but also keeping him trapped, in a way. If he hadn't wanted to disturb the little pokemon before, he knows he would regret dong so now. They stare at each other for a long while. Then, the big sneasel makes another sound, and the entire pack of sneasel are waking up, shifting ot get off of him. He sits up, and finds there's a small pile of fruit set out for him.

"Haver you seen another man who looked like me? His name is Emmet." Ingo says.

The large sneasel makes an almost humming sound, but that's not really an answer.

oOo

There are many large cliffs in the area. His job as a Subway Master had been busy, but certaintly not hing compared to trying to scale a rock face with only his hands. The large sneasel seems to try and teach him, and the small pack that follow her around scamper the rocks like they were born doing so. They probably were. His hands are soft, though, and the rock face rough and unforgiving.

His coat becomes ripped, but he keeps it. It's not as if he has any other clothes to wear. And perhaps somebody will see it and recognize him.

oOo

He dreams of trains.

He's been living in the same cave he was found in, and every night the sneasel curl up around and on top of him so they can all share what warmth is available on the cold mountain.

He dreams of the roaring of a train as it passes by, the rocking of it liek a ship at sea. The thrill of stepping onto the back and feeling how the wind slides by.

A train, long and snaking like a servine, and that, that...

the feel of a train remains in the dreams, but when he tries to look at it, it's form begins to abstract, begins to become impossible to comprehend.

When he wakes, he searches for the food that is so precious on the mountain, and tries not to worry about what a train looks like.

oOo

He finds a little gligar with a large grin on his face. THe little thing is freezer in the cold, and Ingo bundles him up in his coat and carries him back to the cave. The cave he tells himself doesn't feel like home.

The grin reminds him of-

Ingo freezes at the cave entrance.

Reminds him of who?

Of another smile, of white like snow, of battles done in pairs. The most important person to him. But what is the name of that person?

His heart his pounding loudly in his ears.

That is when he knows he's in trouble.

oOo

"Ingo," he says out loud. That's his name. If he cannot remember the name of the man in white who is so important, then at least he can try and remember his own name.

That morning, he takes a rock and tries to carve his name into the stone of the cave. It's not right, not perfect, and his hands shakes as he writes, but it's there all the same. He nods. Ingo, Ingo, Ingo. That is his name.

When he comes back in the evening, the sneasel have clawed at the wall. A game to them, it was a game, and they chirp a greeting and pull him over to show off their scratches in the rock wall. Ingo breaths a sigh of relief when he can still find his name among the mess, though it is nearly obscured.

oOo

The big sneasel is often gone.

He gets the distinct feeling she's more of a solitary pokemon, but who is also mother to the other sneasel, and so comes back to dote on them, but still needs her time alone. She also has not forced him out of the nest yet. When she returns from her wanderings with food, there's a portion clearly set aside for him and that he thanks her for.

There's also a sound she makes, a little odd chirp, whenever she's trying to get his attention. Not anyone's attention, because the other sneasel ignore it. Only his attention. The other sneasel have learned the chirp, and they make the sound when he returns.

It's not his name, though.

He needs to remember that the chirping sound is not his name.

He looks at the rock wall and thinks Ingo, Ingo, Ingo.

He's not sure if he's even looking in the right spot in the hundreds of scratches anymore.

Ingo, Ingo, Ingo.

oOo

The pokemon are dangerous.

He knows this, but he's careful.

Not careful enough.

The snow is turning red as all the warmth literally bleeds out of Ingo.

There's crunching of snow, and he looks up to see big sneasel there, looking down at him, chirping the familiar sound.

"I-" He says, voice rough and raspy. Big sneasel turns and leaves.

He bows his head. This is how it goes, sometimes. Nature is nature, the world is the world. He will die in the snow, and a pokemon will come by and pick his bones clean. His only worry is that Gligar had been left behind in the cave. The sneasel seem to mostly tolerate the pressence of the other pokemon. He hopes they will continue to tolerate each other.

Crunching of snow.

Big sneasel is back, this time with some kind of large basket. She picks him up from the snow and, careful with her poisonous claws, deposits him into the basket. He gasps in pain, and she purrs at him.

oOo

"Good, you've finally woken up."

He has, hasn't he?

He's somewhere warm, but not warm because of the other small bodies around him. There's something thick on top of him, like his coat but not as threadbare. A blanket, of course, he was under a blanket.

His head lolls to the side, towards the voice that had spoken words.

A young woman stands there. She is no pokemon. How odd, how strange. Ingo had almost thought he was the only human on the entire mountain, on the entire world. He knew that wasn't true, but the reality of it had seemed right.

"Well, who are you?" The woman - no, girl, she is just a girl - demands.

He opens his mouth, and there's a faint little chirping sound that comes out, as best as he can manage. The girl's brow furrows.

"Do you need water?"

She pushes a cup in front of him, and he drinks from it, thinking where he went wrong. He almost chokes on the water as he recalls, almost spits it out.

"Ingo." He says, and the shape of it is sweet on his tongue.

"What?"

"My name is Ingo." Ingo, Ingo, Ingo.

And that is all he is.

[greenygreenland]

Dream A Little Dream Of Me: Norman x Reader

-MANGA SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! 

-NOTE: YOU’RE BOTH AGED UP SO DON’T START TELLING ME FBI’S GONNA COME TO MY DOOR 😂😂

-THE TIMELINE IS A BIT MESSED UP SO JUST IGNORE IT COMPLETELY AND DON'T ASK ME LOL

-also, is it just me or do thick eyebrows look really cute??? Norman has pretty thick brows compared everyone else and I think they're cute 

WARNINGS: Kissing lol

Summary: You finally see Norman again.

Life had to be the scariest thing you'd ever faced. It threw the bad, the good, the everything your way until you could barely stand. Until you were left broken and mangled and shattered. Life was scary. It was cruel. Yet somehow, today was different.

You thought it was a dream. After all, how could it be reality when the boy in front of you died a year and some months ago? He had been shipped out, left for dead because it was a part of his stupid escape plan.

So how was it he stood before you? Breathing? Smiling? Living?

The office door closed behind you with a soft click. It bathed the room in silence, as if for a moment, the world decided to give you a second to breathe. A second to take in the wonderous sight before you.

The boy's name stuck in your throat. He had changed, not only in height, but stature and appearance. Norman was older, and he grew up to be more handsome than any runway model could ever be.

"(Y/n)," he gently said. "I'm glad you're well."

That was all it took. One sentence and you tackled him in the tightest hug your trembling arms could muster. "Norman...!" To have his arms around you, to hear the beating of his heart--it was a relief. A miracle sent by the gods. "You’re so stupid!"

No, he was more than stupid. He had to be the dumbest boy alive to think that it was okay to sacrifice himself for the sake of your family. You all were supposed to escape together just like Emma said. No one was supposed to be left behind, yet Norman--bless his heart--acted on his own.

You hugged him as if he would disappear if you let go. "We were all supposed to leave together. But you--I thought you--shipped out--and then--!" You chocked on your words. What more could you say anyway?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. The muffled sob that ripped through your throat was more than Norman could handle. His knees went weak and you both slowly sunk to the floor in a heap. 

"I'm here." he gently said. "I'm not going anywhere (Y/n)."

Despite the steadiness in Norman's voice, his shoulders hitched, and he sniffled. "I'm here." he repeated. "I-I'm here." It sounded like he were reassuring himself that he wouldn't leave you so soon, as if he were scared too. Not for the way you sobbed and sobbed, but for the ache in his heart that seemed to beat in sync with yours.

Slowly, your sobs turned to quiet sniffles, which then silenced into nothing but tiny hiccups. You basked in Norman's warm embrace. He didn't hold you too tightly, as if he were afraid it would shatter you to pieces. Instead, he pulled you close to his side and leaned on his desk behind.

You rested your head on his chest, taking the time to memorise his scent. Parchment, the woods, and old books. You liked that, it was comforting to know he still smelled the same. On the other hand, his voice wasn’t as smooth or rounded as it once was. It was icy. No one seemed to notice that tiny sharpness that hit the end of each note he spoke. You wondered what could've made his kind heart harden.

Sure, Norman was still the same Norman you remembered, but something about the way he acted seemed off. He was clingy, much more than he ever was. Maybe he just missed you? No, that couldn't be right. Norman acted as if he were running out of time. He held you close and gently, as if these would be the last moments you'd see each other again. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

You slowly pulled away to get a good look at Norman's face. His chin was slightly pointier, his cheeks less chubby and full. His lips twitched upwards into a comforting smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes because he looked so overwhelmingly tired. Your poor boy probably worked day and night to keep the hideout on its feet. It must be hard on him, you thought. Especially since he was revered as a god.

Norman's brows raised. "What's wrong?"

You took his thin hands in your own and gave them a good squeeze. "It's nothing. What about you?"

Ah yes, small talk. The perfect way to avoid any question thrown your way. Norman knew you well, sometimes even more than himself. When you asked simple questions such as these, that meant your mind laid elsewhere in a land he could never reach. Norman took that as a hint to drop the subject.

For now.

He wondered what invisible weight laid on your shoulders. Was it something as heavy as his? Perhaps your weight was worse and it ate away at you. Norman wished he could take that weight away and relieve you of that pain. He'd carry it all if he could, and it didn't matter to him if he'd die trying. This was you he was thinking about. He'd do anything for you.

"I've been okay," Norman vaguely responded. "But I have been busy, so I find it difficult to sleep sometimes.”

Norman liked to be honest, but you knew it was because that helped him figure out what was wrong with you. It was a game of tag. In this case being 'it' meant figuring out each others' worries through a back-and-forth match.

"You haven't been sleeping enough?" Your voice came out rather quiet as you traced invisible circles over the back of his hands. "Is that because you have so much work? Or do you refuse to get help?" Norman sat in a still silence and you sighed.

Of course. 

This was your Norman after all. He always shouldered a burden too big for his shoulders to carry. It was always something so heavy, so terribly hard to balance by himself. If that burden grew any bigger, it would collapse, and that would be his downfall. But you wouldn't let that happen to your Norman. No, no, no. You'd take that burden from him, steal it if you had to, and be his crutch.

"What have you been doing here?" you quickly added. "As 'William Minerva', I mean?"

Norman looked unbearably uncomfortable. That little frown tugging at the edge of his lips was a tell-tale sign. “I’ve been getting a lot done." he carefully said. "In fact, I’ve figured out a way to end this. Once and for all.” 

Norman began by explaining the first phase of his plan. The first phase had long been in motion. It started with the indiscriminate burning of cattle facilities, then the gathering of information, and continued on to pave the way for all the other phases you didn’t care to hear about.

The first few steps weren't too bad, but the final act in Norman's plan made your skin crawl. You half-wished you hadn’t asked him anything to begin with. Maybe it would have spared your appetite. Your grip on his thin hands loosened and loosened until your hands rested on your lap.

Norman wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up just a bit, but not in the way you wished to see. How could he think of something so cold-hearted and cruel? The extermination of all demons in Neverland was an act of genocide. If you re-called correctly, it was also considered a war crime.

Norman was smarter than that. He understood the consequence he'd have to face if that were the path he walked right? He understood that there were still other options right? Maybe you heard him wrong.

No.

You had to have heard him wrong. Norman wasn't ruthless like that. He was a ball of sunshine that made you smile whenever you were together.

"I see..." You tightly smiled. "So that's your plan on freeing everyone?" Norman nodded with a seriousness that took you back to the time he left everything to you and Ray and Emma. 

You weren't mistaken then. Norman truly meant everything he said.

"Yes, that is my plan. It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion. I've decided to officially start tomorrow."

Tomorrow? 

Your breath hitched. "Don't you think that's a bit hasty? What if...what if something goes wrong?" Norman smiled. It was hollow and wry and everything that he wasn't. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want." You didn't return the smile, and you didn't want to say why.

Norman was quick to catch on. But of course he would catch on so quickly, this was Norman. Your Norman.

"Do you have a problem with my plan?" he inquired. You shook your head. "No, it's...it's not that." Yes, it was that. Your plan is dangerous even if it is good, you thought. Innocent lives wouldn't be spared, and that would spell an unfair fate for the demons who ate to survive.

You wanted to tell Norman why his plan was wrong, and why he didn't have to be so unforgiving about it. But then what? Why would he listen when you didn't have any better ideas? He seemed to have his mind set anyway, so no half-baked ideas would make a difference. And besides, he was the smartest person you knew. Maybe that was the only way out of the terrible fate all you cattle children faced.

"If you're okay with my plan," Norman said, "then what's bothering you (Y/n)?"

"It's still a lot for me to take in," you admitted with a plastic smile. "I guess I'm just shocked that you're, well, here." Norman smiled, this time with a genuine warmth. "I understand." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you at dinner."

Your cheeks burned. How bold of him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you at dinner." Norman let out a cute little chuckle that made your heart beat a little louder than it was supposed to. You hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the door. Norman followed.

You flashed him a nervous smile, one that mixed in with your muddled worry and anxiousness. You glanced at his bright eyes. For a moment, they seemed to dim like the setting sun. It reminded you of Mama. When no one looked at her, she didn’t smile. She always looked so sad when she sat by herself, and maybe that was because she was. 

"(Y/n)?"

Your fingers brushed against the doorknob. “Hm?”

"I want nothing more than to protect you and our family. I know you don't fully agree with me," his expression darkened. "But this is the way--the only way we can save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood."

For a moment, you forgot who you were speaking to. This wasn't the same boy you begged to run away with before he got shipped out. This wasn't the same boy who gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sweetly complimented you. This boy--did you truly still know him? Was he still the Norman you grew up with and fell head-over-heels for?

You blinked and that dark look washed itself off his face. He strode up to you and placed a hand on your cheek--just like the day he was supposed to be harvested. Norman’s eyes were soft, softer than any blanket, and his lips pursed into a gentle frown. With his thumb, he wiped a stray tear away. 

Why were you crying?

"Norman..." You couldn’t find the right words. There were none that could explain the suffering you endured in silence. You worried, not only for Norman, but your family and all those other people in the world you didn’t know about. Norman’s plan--oh how stupid it was--had it changed him? Had it forced him to guard his heart to keep a still mind? 

You wondered what he endured while you went on your crazy adventures. At least you had your family, and Yuugo, Lucas, and all your friends. But Norman? He didn’t have anyone but himself. He carried the whole world. Alone. Had he been scared? Worried? Angry that no one came for him? Your heart clenched at the thought. 

"Smile,” Norman said. “It’s okay, I promise. I'm here." He gathered you in his arms and you didn’t have the heart to protest. “How?” you whispered. “How were you able to do all this on your own?” Norman helplessly shrugged. “You could say I have connections, either that or I’m just lucky.”

“What will you do after this is all over?”

Norman went still again, as if he couldn’t answer your question. You heaved in a shaky breath. If Norman wasn’t going to give you a straight answer, then you’d squeeze it out of him. “Did anything else happen to you? I’m sure there’s a catch, isn’t there?” 

It was like someone flipped a switch. One moment, you were a mess of tears, sorrow, and anguish. Now, something menacing laid in your voice. It was almost threatening, as if you were indirectly telling Norman to dare avoid the question. “I don’t want you dying trying to be everything at once,” you said. “Here you’re revered as a god, and if I know you, then it’s plain that you set yourself up like that. Don’t tell me you plan to die on us again.”

He stiffened.

“I know you Norman, don’t forget that. And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again, but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.” You pulled away and took his hands in yours. A small smile of reassurance made its way up your lips, but Norman didn’t return it. 

No, he couldn’t. And despite all he did, he couldn’t lie straight to your face. Not like this.

Dinner cheered you up. The smiles and laughter that your family shared with Norman made you feel just a little bit better. But how long would it last? And how long would those smiles stay present? All the questions swarming in your mind made you feel sick to your stomach. There was too much to think about, and too little time to answer them.

You forced down the last of your food with a sigh and brought the plate to its respectful place. Everyone was too busy chatting and catching up to notice, but that was fine. It was better that way. 

You made your way to a secluded walkway. It was in one of the calmer areas of the hideout that overlooked the lower levels. It was quiet, save for the distant chatter of Hayato and his friends. He let out a bright laugh that echoed through the vacant walkways. What a shame it would be to hear that disappear.

“So this is where you went.” 

“I told you she’d be here.”

You whipped around in alarm. “Ray, Emma!” 

Ray sharply looked you up and down. He raised a brow and you squirmed under his gaze. He gently bumped shoulders with you. “What’s wrong with you?” 

You absentmindedly shrugged. “Nothing.” 

“That’s what someone who’s not okay would say.” Emma noted. She settled by your side on the railing and flashed a bright smile. “You were so quiet at dinner today.” 

You shook your head. Que another absentminded shrug and plastic smile. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.” 

Ray sighed. “Everyone but you?” He leaned against the railing next to you. “Did you and Norman talk at all?”

You froze. ‘Yes’, was what you wanted to say, but no sound came out. The image of Norman’s matured face, the way his his soft lips hit your own, and his stupidly tall build crossed your mind. 

Emma let out a gasp and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ah!” she cried. “You’re all red!” You covered your hands with your face, ignoring Ray’s curious stare.

“What did you two talk about in his office anyway? Or should I say, do?” The glint in Ray’s eyes had subtext you didn’t want to recite out loud. “Rayyyyy,” you grumbled, “shut up.” He sent you a teasing grin as Emma frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Yeah, it’s grown up stuff.”

You ignored the warmth spreading to your cheeks and elbowed Ray. “Don’t say it like ‘that’! Now you make it sound like something else!” 

He daringly raised a brow. “Like what?” You ran a hand over your scorching face. It was a miracle you weren’t on fire. “No, no, I’m not answering you!” 

You shared a good laugh and a comfortable silence began to settle, blanketing your shoulders in a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while. 

Emma softly smiled. “I’m glad we found you.” she admitted. “You looked really sad all by yourself out here.” Ray nodded with a small snort. “Yeah, talk about depressing. But seriously though, did something..?”

Of course these two would see through your façade. Of course they’d understand something was wrong. They were your family, and they didn’t deserve your silence. Your smile shattered. “I don’t know if Norman told you about his plan yet, but it’s...it’s bad. Sure, the demons have done some terrible things to us, but that doesn’t mean all of them are guilty. I want to stop him, but I don’t know how.” 

Emma nodded in agreement. “He told us earlier and I don’t like it either.” she firmly said. “Ray and I talked it over and we have a plan, but it’s risky. Like, really risky. It has to do with the Seven Walls and...” 

You held on to every word Emma and Ray spoke. Risky was your middle name. Well, not actually, but it was something that became your friend. You and your family looked death in the face too many times to count. What would be another?

By the end of it, you were sure this new plan would change Norman’s mind, or at least convince him to give up the whole ‘genocide’ thing. It was decided by Ray that tomorrow, you’d all talk to Norman. Things seemed to be looking up. No, they had to be.

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

The halls were empty and you were alone. How was it you got lost in the first place? You made sure to have every twist and turn memorised, so why did you end up in the wrong corridor twice? Ray would surely tease you for getting lost. What an absolute--

You slammed into someone’s chest. A yelp escaped your throat as the person in question lost his footing. He sucked in a sharp breath and went tumbling straight into you. Your back hit the ground as the boy threw out his arms on either side of your head to brace himself. You didn’t need a name to know who you had tumbled into. Light hair, soft eyes, fancy waistcoat and suit. 

“Norman?”

He hovered over you with wide eyes. His lips were inches from yours and he was just so, so close. 

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was so gosh dang loud. Could he hear it? Could he see the way your face burned red? 

“Uhm--I--I--uh--” 

Why wasn’t he moving? Why weren’t you moving? Why was it so hard to look him in the eyes? A nervous smile broke out across Norman’s lips. He pushed himself off of you and offered out a hand. You gingerly took it.

“Sorry.” Norman said, helping you to your feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” Your gaze darted from his lips to his dazzling eyes and then to his cheeks dusted in red. Your heart wouldn’t stop slamming against your chest. It kept going, and going until you felt like you were about to burst. 

“Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted. “I’m not the one who--you know...gets sick all the time.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or why that made Norman smile so cutely, but he was smiling. That made your heart flutter. You glanced around the corridor a few times, and somehow, you kept finding focus on his lips. 

What was wrong with you?

Norman caught on fast--like he always did. “Oh I see,” he said with a low chuckle. You swallowed. His voice really did deepen (but you kind of liked it). For a moment, you thought he caught onto your staring, but instead of commenting on it, he intertwined his hand with yours and led you through the winding halls. 

“Don’t tell Ray I got lost.” you muttered. Norman laughed and it was like the sound of happiness itself. “I won’t.” 

The halls all looked the exact same: cream coloured paint, nature-like decorations, and numbered wooden doors. You forgot what number your room was, so that was probably why you got lost. Norman took a sharp left where you recalled should be a right instead. “Wait isn’t it that way?”

“I have something to give you, so we’re going to make a quick detour.” Norman’s cheeks dusted pink and he looked the slightest bit nervous. “What is it you want to show me?” He flashed you a contagious smile. “It’s a surprise.” 

“What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s why it’s called a surprise.”

When you got to his office, you were nervous. Surprises were fun, yes, but in a world where nearly getting eaten by wild demons fell into the category of ‘surprise’, you learned not to like them very much.

Norman closed the door behind you and it softly clicked shut. Okay, you thought. So he was locking the door and making his way over to his desk. Okay, that’s fine. Norman shuffled through a cabinet, that nervous look still on his face. Okay, okay, nothing wrong here. He gently shut the drawer, and as he walked out from behind his desk, you took note of the small little box he fiddled with. 

Okay. Okay. Box. Nervous. Locked door. Did he not want anyone to interrupt whatever he was about to do? 

Norman heaved in a deep breath. A really, really, really deep breath. “(Y/n), I have never met anyone else like you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and kind.” He sunk to one knee and opened the little box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

---------

You jolted awake with a start. 

“Sorry,” Norman said. He scribbled a few words down in his notebook. “Did I wake you?” 

Ah, that’s right. After you talked with Emma and Ray, you all met up with Norman and hung out for a bit. But when had you gotten to his office? Much less, fallen asleep? You rubbed your eyes with a shake of your head. Judging by the tired look on Norman’s face, it was way past bedtime.

The heavy cloak around your shoulders offered a welcoming warmth. It smelled like books. It smelled like parchment and ink. It smelled like Norman and it was comforting. 

He glanced up from his notebook and curiously met your gaze. “What are you smiling at?” The dream popped up in your mind and your smile grew. “I had a good dream.” 

“What was it about?” he inquired without looking up.

“You.” 

The scratch of the pencil froze and he met your gaze. “You had a dream about me?” Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and you proposed.” Norman’s back went rigid and he turned as red as an apple. “I-I pro--proposed to you?” he stammered. You snickered, a smug smile tugging on your lips. “It was really sweet. And if you’re wondering, I said yes. I was going to kiss you, but then I woke up.” You stood up with a sigh. “It was disappointing, but that’s okay.” 

You let out a small laugh and neatly folded Norman’s cloak. You left it on the couch and made your way across the room. “That’s a nice notebook.” you said. “What’re you writing about?”

Norman stilled and closed the book with a smile. “It’s nothing special.” He put the pencil down ever so quietly and stood. “Do you seek my affections?” he inquired. You settled on the wall. “Don’t you have work to do?” Norman looked down at you. His fringe brushed across his eyelashes, and he loosened his tie. Slowly.

Your heart steadily drummed against your chest. “What are you doing?” The false innocence in your voice caused Norman to chuckle lowly. He caressed your cheek with a feather-light touch. “Well, you did say you were disappointed right? Why don’t I make it up to you?” 

He rested an arm on the wall with a sly smirk. Your lips connected and it made your stomach flip-flop. The kiss was slow, it was sweet. You found yourself pulling him closer, running your hands through his hair and yanking him over. "Norman?" He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Yes (N/n)?"

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

He smirked and it was hot. The fact that he kept his arm braced against the wall didn’t help either. "Why?" he lowly inquired. "Do you like it?" Your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself wanting more. 

Knock, knock!

Norman didn't look too happy about that. He ran a hand over your cheek and gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, that half-lidded look of his melting into warmth and love. He made his way to the door, tightening his tie and smoothing out his hair with a quick touch.

"Hello--?" Norman fell short mid-sentence. As soon as your gaze locked with the person on the other side, you understood why. Ray stood in the threshold, just as red-faced as you and Norman, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll come back later.” he muttered. 

Oh great. Had he been eavesdropping? You glanced at Norman and he glanced at you, then Ray, and back to you. Ray sucked his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t have too much fun.” he said, a smirk twitching onto his lips.

You made your way to the threshold with a groan. “Rayyyy!” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” he coolly replied. “Do whatever, I didn’t see anything.”

PART 2 <--- READ PART 2

NOTE: I spent a WHOLE WEEK writing this. Please reblog so I know you guys like it :)

TIP JAR

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 1 - Bound

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Isolation, mentions of IV/needles

---

It’s been hours since Dick’s woken up… here.

“Here” is hard to describe, yet incredibly easy. He can say for sure that at least within the 180 degrees ahead of him, it’s all white. White walls that, if arranged in a mirrored-image behind him, might make a hexagon. The ceiling above him is bright and unforgiving, LED lights dotting the space above him like freckles on Barbara’s cheeks and shoulders. He can’t see any sign of a door ahead of him, and the gray-speckled white tiles that make the floor aren’t particularly enjoyable to look at.

Yeah, describing what he can see about the room is the easy part. The hard part is that behind him? It’s all guess-work. For all he knew, there could be nothing behind him, or a cliff, or… or something ridiculous. There could be a whole manner of things behind him, but it’s impossible for him to get a look because his head is strapped to the cushioned chair he’s forced to sit on.

He hates this. It’s been hours. The chair, while cushioned, isn’t even that comfortable. The way his arms lay on the armrests and his feet come together near the end of the chair suggests a dentist’s chair and a therapist’s sofa had an evil love-child who was into bondage, considering how many straps were buckled in to keep him trapped down.

He’s going to lose his mind. Did he really just make a bondage joke about a chair?!

Anyway, he’s stuck here, his arms pinned down by the wrists, elbows, and under his armpits. Two heavy straps run over each shoulder and cross in the middle of his chest to connect back to the chair near his hips. And speaking of hips, there’s another strap around them too like an old Volkswagen seat belt. More straps around his thighs, knees, and ankles keep his legs locked together and down. That’s not even mentioning the binds that lock around his neck or the one around his forehead that’s fitted to the headrest that seems designed to not let him even attempt to rotate his chin to the side.

It’s horrible, and awful, and cruel, and unusual, and he’s not even that sure why he’s here. All he can tell is that he has a massive headache, his Nightwing mask is on but his suit is gone—replaced by some sort of nightgown that definitely doesn’t seem friendly, and whenever he tenses his arm he can feel a tug in his wrist.

Must be an IV of some sort? It’s strange though, from what he can see he can’t see any medical equipment hanging around him. But it has to be an IV. With his night job, he’s become familiar with the way his lips go dry and how his fingers tremble when the damn needle gets put in his arm.

But… if it is an IV, it must need changing by now, surely. It’s been hours, and those things don’t last that long.

Hours. Sitting here with the feeling of a needle in his arm, not sure where he is or what he’s doing here, nothing to look at besides those Barbara Gordon freckles on the ceiling and those gray speckles on the tile.

He tugs on the restraints for what must be the thousandth time, and growls when nothing happens, as unsurprising it is. All his attempts to slip out of or break the restraints have left him with nothing but bruising and irritated skin. However, he feels so restless and bored out of his mind that tugging on the belts seems to be the only productive thing his brain can think of to do.

He tugs again, and nothing happens. He sighs. Relaxes back. And… tries to think of how he got into this mess.

It’s just as successful as breaking the straps.

-o-o-o-o-

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls out to nothing. His eyes hurt, he’s exhausted, he needs to pee and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with. “What do you want from me, eh?”

Silence. His hands bunch in angry fists and he pulls against the straps hard enough for him to feel the edge bite into his skin.

“Batman’s identity?” He tries, because it’s always about Batman’s Identity (TM). When there isn’t any answer, he continues. “Police secrets?” Nothing. “Superman’s identity?”

Nothing. He growls and glares at the empty walls ahead of him.

-o-o-o-o-

He’s using the pain in his wrists, focusing on the warmth running down the cuts the straps have finally created, instead of the pressure in his bladder.

It only lasts so long.

Great, so now he’s bored out of his mind, stuck, and the room smells horrible. Or, the room smells horrible until whatever unseen vent takes away the reek and the chair dries, leaving him being the only one who’s smelling.

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He jerks against every restraint and snarls in impatience and restlessness. He can feel the cuts tear more, but he’s close to not caring, he longs to move.

If his snarling eventually fades into howls, then he’s almost positive no one is around to hear it other than himself.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce’s cape settles around his feet as he lands, launching droplets of questionable sewage water up to his knees. Damian lands beside him, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in fierce determination.

It’s been nothing but a series of long hours since the Riddler kidnapped Dick with the clues to his whereabouts left carved into the pavement with abandoned Wing-Dings. During Bruce’s search, a few things became apparent: Dick was trapped, alone, and Bruce had until Dick died from malnourishment once the crude IV he was apparently attached to ran out. Riddler is already behind bars, has been for several hours, but interrogation wont get him to give up his games, and Bruce may be a vigilante and “above the law”, but he wont stoop so low as to torture.

At least, not until things get desperate and Damian’s not around to see. Dick would never forgive Bruce, and will probably never talk to him even in any kind of afterlife.

But it hasn’t come to that, Tim solved the riddle through emails delivered from wherever he’s located with his Young Justice friends. They’re always changing spots, and even if Tim were to come home and solve the riddles in person, it would probably be too late.

It isn’t too late, he reminds himself as Damian takes off down the sewers. They know Dick’s exact coordinates. Bruce almost kicked himself when Tim revealed them, because of course lead to Gotham’s abandoned sewage system.

The way to Dick’s location is a tough one, one riddled (as Dick would say) with traps. But they’re nothing compared to a worried father and a determined brother. They find the door nudged neatly behind a section of brick, and when Bruce opens it he’s almost blinded by the night vision in his lenses adjusting to the sudden attacks of bright lights.

Bruce sees before he hears. His eyes were always one of his favorite senses, which is probably why Damian—a boy who’s had to hear to save his life many times—ran to the chair in the middle of the hexagon-shaped room before him. White walls, white tile, white LED’s to sit in a white ceiling. The back of a padded chair in the center of the room faces him, revealing nothing of what it contains.

And then Bruce hears the screaming. Weak, clawing screaming that sounds like what sandpaper would feel on dry skin. He knows this scream, the tones to it, and within moments he’s running to the front side of the chair with Damian.

Dick’s there… writhing. Blood stains skin and cloth around almost every strap holding him down from struggling that must have been continuing for hours. As Damian tears an IV—the tube feeding him nutrients disappears within the chair; there must be some sort of mechanism keeping it working within its structure—Dick’s struggles like he doesn’t notice the change. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears drip down his cheeks, and his screams are so so hard to listen to. Does he even know they’re here?

“Dick,” Bruce says, knowing there’s no one to hear him with Riddler behind bars and his goons scattered. Dick doesn’t respond, just continues to yowl like a wounded stray cat. Already, Bruce can see the symptoms of prolonged use of an IV and of exhaustion. Has Dick slept at all since being kidnapped?

Damian begins work on one of the straps around Dick’s jerking wrists. Bruce follows suit, quickly, desperately wanting to get his eldest out of here, but he’s forced to abandon his task when the loosened strap on Damian’s side allows Dick to tug his wrist free and move to hit the boy. Bruce catches his hand before the hit can be met.

“LET ME GO!” Dick screeches.

“Dick, we’re helping you,” Bruce shouts back wearily, but Dick doesn’t listen as he begins to babble all kinds of demands similar to let me go. Bruce gives Damian a look. “He’s exhausted and most likely delusional. Our best course of action would be for me to hold him down, and you undo the rest of the straps. Maybe we can get to him without having to risk drugging him once he’s no longer restrained.”

Damian looks all parts of his age as he takes a second to give a shockingly vulnerable stare Dick’s way. The vulnerability only lasts a moment before Damian’s nodding. “Got it.”

The next several minutes are filled with events that will reveal themselves in bruises with the coming days, even through the kevlar. It’s tough work keeping a Dick Grayson down, especially when it’s a Dick Grayson who absolutely refuses to be kept down in the first place. However, eventually they release the last strap around Dick’s other wrist and soon enough, both Bruce and Damian are jumping back and Dick launches himself out of the chair, stumbling to the floor and then falling to his ass when his knees give out. Dick looks pitiful, trapped between wanting to curl up and cry or stand up and run, yet curling up seems to win out as Dick must have no energy to lift himself back up.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again when Dick’s hoarse breathing calms, and this time, hope flutters into his belly when Dick’s shoulder’s tense in response.

“… B…?” comes a horribly weak response, but a response nonetheless. Bruce rushes around the damned chair to where his eldest still sits, curled up and shaking. He reaches out unconsciously, kneeling down to scoop Dick up in an embrace, but stops when Dick violently flinches away.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, “just- I don’t- I couldn’t move-” he breaks into sobs.

Bruce is almost considering returning to Arkham and breaking a few bones. Instead, he lowers his voice and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I understand. But we have to get you back home. Just your arm around my shoulder, and I’ll support you while you walk. Can you do that?”

It’s proof of just how shaken Dick is when it takes a few moments to get a hesitant nod.

Bruce does his best to ignore Dick’s flinching and twitching while, with permission, Bruce helps Dick up and wraps his arm exactly where Bruce said he would. Damian stands a few paces off, looking torn. Bruce tells him to run ahead and bring the bat-mobile closer to the sewer opening while Dick blinks owlishly and gulps like a fish… doing his best to keep down what must be a pending panic attack. Damian thankfully leaves without much argument, and Bruce is left to help his eldest, hyperactive, always moving, always smiling, always stimming in some way or another son out the blasted room and towards freedom with as much control given over to Dick as possible.

“I scared Dami,” Dick whispers through clenched teeth, halfway through the sewage tunnels.

Bruce hums and resists tightening his grip on Dick’s arm. “It’s not your fault. He will not hold it against you.”

“I scared you.”

“… I was scared for you. But right now the only thing that matters is getting you home. Then everything can return to normal”

Dick nods his head, his voice choking in what must be another sob. “Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

And Bruce silently vows to punch Riddler a little harder the next time he sees him.

But right now, the only thing he cares about is that Dick’s alive, and Bruce is bringing him home.

[whitexwingedxdoves]

(a not so) happy ending | request

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Prompt: “All I wanted was a happy ending!” – requested by Anon. Warnings: Language, Angst A\N: Not me listening to My Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne over and over while writing this. Sorry if it sucks but I TRIED.  Tags: @browneyes528 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jodiereedus22 @witch-of-letters​  @fantaziescapade​

When the world came to an end you’d never thought you’d find love in it. You met Daryl not long after the outbreak, It was Merle who found you in fact, you were alone in the middle of the road surrounded by abandoned cars, trying your very best to free yourself from the grips of the dead when the older Dixon came to your rescue. He brought you back to his brother in the middle of the forest and since that day, you and Daryl had been inseparable. He taught you how to use a knife and how to hunt though your skills bore no comparison to his. You not long found a group of people to camp and do run’s into the city with a lot of them would often asked how someone like you got mixed up with the Dixon’s and your reply was always the same “They act tough on the outside but real deep inside, they’re just a bunch of sweethearts'' not that anyone believed you.

The day that Merle didn’t come back was a dark day for the younger brother, he was out teaching you how to track and hunt when Merle went into the city with a few of the others from the group and neither of you thought he’d be the one who wouldn’t return. Merle was one tough son of a bitch, you often played a game of ‘things that could kill Merle Dixon’ with Daryl and the only answer the two of you could ever come up with was Merle Dixon.

Daryl had gone to find his brother on the rooftop where the new guy, Rick had handcuffed Merle and came back empty handed and even more defeated. That was a dark day for everyone. A small group of the dead had made it to camp that night and unfortunately people were lost, it was decided that everyone would move out, try and find somewhere safer in the morning. That night you scrambled to pull yours and the brothers belongings together, not that you had many but the Dixon’s were so messy you knew it would probably take you all night to sort through the rubbish. Just in earshot you heard T-Dog approach Daryl, he felt guilty about what happened to Merle and was trying to offer some form of sympathy. “Least you still got Y/N!” the words that spilled from his lips caused you to smile to yourself as you folded dirty clothes up and stuffed them into a bag. The archer would simply hum in response to the words not really allowing for much more of a conversation, not that it stopped T-Dog from trying. “You’re real lucky, finding a girl in all this!”

“She ain’t ma girl!” Daryl quickly snapped at the man with a growl. You were frozen in place at the sudden realisation that you possibly didn’t mean as much to Daryl as he did you. Your heart seemed to drop into your stomach and a lump in your throat began to form, getting bigger and bigger as his words replayed in your head. You could barely believe it, you had shared your most intimate thoughts and moments with him and most nights even shared a cot. It felt like your heart had been exposed to an angry fire and in a flash was engulfed in unforgiving flames.

-

You stayed close to your tent, not even bothering to pack up much more; it was like all the energy you had was sucked out by Daryl’s careless words. You barely noticed Daryl’s return to the tent, he was moaning about how it was bullshit that we take orders from the new guy and Shane and how we should stay put and wait for Merle. When you didn’t respond to him he only shifted closer to you and nudged you slightly with his elbow. “’sup with you?” his voice was much more calm now as he tried to catch your gaze but you made a great effort to avoid it. You let out a small laugh and shook your head a little

“Heard what you said to T-Dog'' you responded quickly, your lips forming a thin line as you tried to build up the courage to be honest with him, the archer didn’t respond to you, he didn’t know how “you know when I first met you, I thought maybe the end of the world aint so bad after all, ya know. Life hasn’t exactly been the kindest to me and honestly you were the first person who actually made me happy.” Your honesty took Daryl back a little, he rested his arms on his knees and let his head drop a little “I thought that maybe you were gonna be my happy ending, like in the stories my granny told me when I was a kid where the girl kisses a frog and he turns into some prince” a breathy laugh escaped your lips as you were reminded of the times you shared with your grandmother. “Turns out you were just another frog” you sounded so defeated and it wasn’t lost on the Dixon brother, he bit down on his lip not really sure what he could say, He’d never been good with his own feelings let alone others. You let another breathy laugh pass your lips before gaining courage to finally meet his stare. “I guess I’m just an idiot. Picking up on signals that clearly aren’t there, all I wanted was a happy ending” though your words were bitter you offered the southerner a soft smile.

You waited for him to say something, anything but it never came which only confirmed your concerns. You let a defeated sigh pass your lips before you brushed the dust that had gathered on your hands before pushing yourself from the ground. As you turned to leave you felt Daryl’s rough hands wrap around your wrist stopping you from going any further. He managed to pull himself to his feet in the time it took you to turn back to face him. His eyes seemed to be clouded with tears and a sorry look was plastered all over his face. “M sorry” he whispered, letting his hand fall from your wrist into your palm, he fiddled with your hand a little so that it was now entangled with his. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest as you watched his thumb tremble over the back of your hand suppressing the urge to whimper. “Ya ma girl. A was just-“ Daryl choked on his words not being able to finish his sentence. You squeezed his hand and offered him a genuine smile before nodding, he was scared and you knew the feeling all too much. A lot has happened since the end of the world and adding Love to the mix only seemed to make things scarier

 “Me too”

[duuhrayliegh]

Fuck Misogyny

request: Bucky uses his newly gained knowledge of feminism to squash misogynistic interview questions. @ptrs-prkrs

warnings: language, creepy men, feminist!bucky

a/n: hey babes!! i hope this lived up to what you wanted! i couldn’t find the exact video you were referencing but i know what you’re talking about, so i drew inspiration from a few others.

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

full m.list

The set up was simple. A long row of fold out tables covered in black fabric, microphones in front of each seat. Black papers were taped to the backs of the microphones with each team member's name. Bucky had told Evie that he wasn’t going to be able to work out with her today because of this so it better be worth it. The PR manager for the team, Amanda, had set everything up. Hired the mediator, notified the press, everything. Ever since they announced that they were going to be hosting an Avenger’s Q&A Panel, the internet quite literally broke.

Of course Bucky had been doing lives on TikTok with the group of five for the past couple of weeks now, so he was becoming quite comfortable in this format. He’s become increasingly active on his social media accounts, gaining more and more followers everyday. Granted, there were still haters, as Freddie called them, but Bucky ignored them for the most part.

Bucky was actually excited for this press meeting. He was finally gaining traction in the media and he knew how to correctly answer their questions. As Amanda had explained, there was going to be several questions from the mediator, tons from the press that they had invited, and then some fan questions as well. They apparently were going to be live streaming the conference on YouTube allowing them to read the comments and questions as it went on.

“Okay, everyone. You have two minutes until we start.” The team was in an empty board room in the Hilton hotel. Tony didn’t want everyone on the compound’s grass because he just had it fixed. Bucky scanned his fellow teammates. It was impossible for everyone to dress for the same event. Steve was wearing a shirt that was almost bursting at the seams with a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Tony was wearing a lovely Tom Ford, three piece, two-button, of course. Natasha and Wanda were wearing ripped jeans and casual tops. Vision was wearing a sweater vest and slacks, Bruce was clad in slacks as well a jacket covering his shoulders. Sam was wearing a button-up shirt and pressed jeans and he couldn’t find Clint anywhere, probably hiding in the rafters again.

Bucky had his iconic leather jacket donning his shoulders, a pair of slightly ripped jeans. His outfit was picked out by Cassie and Penny. “You need to look like you care but like you don’t at the same time.” Is what they said, the phrase made Bucky shake his head. His hair had finally started growing back and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

He had gotten help from Evie before he left Cassie’s apartment. She had pulled back the top half, braiding back two sections into the bun at the back of his head. There were pieces dangling in front of his eyes, “to accentuate the facial features, trust me they’ll love it.” Was Evie’s explanation as they pushed him out of the apartment, so he wouldn’t be late.

“Alright guys! They’re calling your names!” The team filed out of the board room and into a large ballroom. Bottles of water were placed beside each placemat. Tony went out first, followed by Steve, then Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Sam and ending with Bucky. They all settled into their seats, Bucky peeled his jacket off himself, placing it on the back of his chair. His black short sleeved shirt highlighted the gold inlays of his vibranium arm.

“Oh, I see we’re showing some muscle today huh, Buck?” Sam teased as Bucky took his seat next to him. Bucky groaned in realization, covering his microphone so it didn’t pick up what he planned to say.

“Good God, is this what it’s going to be like the entire panel? You just bugging the shit outta me?” They shared a laugh making the rest of the members look at the pair. The audience clapped as they were introduced and continued clapping as they assembled before them.

“Thank you. We would like to welcome everyone to the first, of hopefully many, Avenger’s Q&A Panel.” The female mediator, Stacey, read the assigned lines off the sheet on her podium. “We are going to start with questions we curated for the team and then open it up to the members of the press. After that we will turn to our live stream and answer some viewer questions.” The press rustled in their seats, pulling out pens and journals as well as their phones to record. “Okay, starting off with a question directed at the Avengers in general. How are you feeling about coming before the media in this type of format?” Glances were exchanged between the members, not sure on who was going to start.

“I feel that this is a great way for the general public to learn a little bit more about each individual team member.” Vision was the first to respond and Steve added on.

“Yeah, I definitely think that there’s a common misconception that we don’t want to engage with the media or the general public. We do, unfortunately due to the amount of research and training that we are doing behind the scenes, it just goes to the back of our minds.”

“Right. So Tony and Bruce, we all know that you two are geniuses. What are your feelings on expanding the teachings of STEM courses to not only high school, but as far back as elementary school or even kindergarten?” The pair thought about the question before answering.

“Well, I definitely think that offering STEM-based classes at a younger age would be beneficial, especially if we were to allow the kids to continue to switch what they want to focus on.” Bruce started. “It’s incredibly anxiety-inducing for teenagers to have to decide what they’re going to do with their life right before they are thrust into an unforgiving world.”

“Yeah, I’ll never understand why we do that to our future leaders, it’s honestly baffling. Why do American schools wait until high school to require our children to learn foriegn languages, they aren’t going to retain that information. The same applies for such comprehensive courses like STEM-based ones. If you wait until their brains are already developed so far, then they’ve already decided what they think is interesting and if they don’t find those courses interesting then they aren’t going to pay attention.” Tony finished Bruce's thought before nodding to each other smugly, obviously proud of themselves for answering the question so well.

“Interesting that you see it that way. This last one goes out to everyone and then we’ll open it up to the reporters. How do you deal with the stress and anxiety that comes with being an Avenger? Do you feel a certain amount of pressure to always do the right thing?” Stacey shuffled her papers, tapping them twice on the podium.

“We all have our own routines and ways that we decompress after missions so that really just depends on the person. Like I think that Bruce listens to opera music, and Wanda mediatates, Tony tinkers. It depends on the person.” Natasha answered concisely, making Bucky nod his head. He could recall all of those things to be true.

“Oh definitely, and it doesn’t hurt that we have a former VA Trauma Counselor on board to help us work through the harder stuff.” Steve added a gesture of his head to Sam.

“Speaking of that Sam, just a quick question before we open it up. How difficult was it for you to transition from regular Air Force missions to Avenger level missions?” Sam made a face at Stacey before answering.

“Um, I mean, it’s not that different. You’re always fighting one of the Big Three-- aliens, androids, or wizards, no matter what department you’re working with. The only transition I had to deal with was the Tony Stark-erized suits. Now that I think of it, Tony, can we make it tighter?” Sam quipped making the room laugh with ease.

“Alright, well now we’re going to open it up to the reporters. Starting with this gentleman in the front and then if we could also give a microphone to someone on that side of the room. Okay, thank you.” The first reporter stood up, holding the microphone in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hello. John from Huffington Post. The Avengers inspire almost everyone around the world, so we would like to know who inspires you? Who do you look up to in terms of your idols?” He sat back down as the team contemplated their answers.

“Gandhi.” Bruce said, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him then added. “Pepper, she’s so amazing.” Steve looked down to Bucky, who shrugged.

“I would probably have to say that my sister, Sarah, inspires me. She raised her two sons, Cas and AJ, by herself after the Blip and was able to keep the family business going.” Sam’s answer made Bucky smile. Sam had brought him to their house in Delacroix, he remembered waking up to Cas and AJ playing in the kitchen, happy giggles filtering through reminding him of his time in Wakanda. By the time that Bucky had refocused on the conversation they had moved on without his answer. Several different questions went by, all directed to the team at large, until Chad.

“Hi, I’m Chad for the Daily Mail. My question is for Wanda and Natasha.” The pair of women perked up, excited to have a specific question. “Do you find that your equipment hinders you in doing your job as well as your male counterparts?” Stunned expressions settled over the womens faces, then annoyance. Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline, appalled that someone had the balls to ask that. Wanda and Natasha handled the question with grace and much more restraint than Bucky would have.

“Well for me, I am able to move things with my mind so I can throw things randomly at people even if I’m not in the room. I’ve been very fortunate to work with Natasha who has Widow training, so my hand to hand combat is improving immensely. And being able to work with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to learn how to fully control my powers. It’s an ever evolving process that I’m always excited to take on.” Bucky nodded and turned his attention to Natasha.

“My favorite thing is training with either Steve or Bucky because they push me to do my best. We all have our specialties here and it’s nice to learn new skills or improve old ones with people who support you.” Natasha sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes at Chad in the audience, waiting for him to say something else. Chad stood again, yelling so he could be heard over the crowd’s commotion.

“That’s great, ladies, but forgive me, you didn’t answer the question I asked.” Bucky pushed forward in his seat, leaning into his microphone.

“I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood what you asked them then. I would like for you to clarify what you mean by equipment.” Chad balked, not expecting a male’s voice to respond.

“You know what’s implied by equipment, sir.” Bucky’s jaw clenched at the man.

“Did you just ask two of the most capable women that I’ve ever known, if their equipment, which I’m assuming you’re referring their breasts, made it to where they couldn’t do their job as good as the rest of their male counterparts. Just to be clear, that’s what you’re asking?” Chad stuttered as he answered yes.

“Right, well first off that’s disgusting. Just a bit of background for you, Wanda is the strongest Avenger here, plain and simple. As for Natasha, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she can take down every single male here.” Bucky took a breath before continuing. “So, what I think you really want to know is how they encourage their teammates to keep up with them.” He dropped his head to look at the two women down the line.

“Don’t worry Chad, I’ll ask them the right question, since you can’t quite seem to understand how to respect women.” The team was holding back snickers at Chad’s reaction. “Wanda, Natasha. Chad wants to know how the hell you push your male teammates to be just as good as you are. What are your strategies to keep us on our toes while training?” Claps sounded from the women press members and Bucky awaited the pair's response. The next press member stood and asked a question.

“Hi, I’m Chloe from Vanity Fair. This question goes to everyone on the panel.” Bucky settled in for another question that didn’t matter. “How do you continue to be aware of things happening in our society today? Do you keep up-to-date through new channels, or social media?” The answers were rather generic from the team, all of them rather uncomfortable from the tension that Bucky and Chad had created. Stacey interrupted after Chloe’s question.

“Okay, we’re going to open it up to viewer questions from our live stream.” An iPad was placed on the podium in front of Stacey and her eyebrows rose. “Okay, there’s quite a variety here. Here’s one for Steve and Bucky.” Bucky perked up, nervous to answer because his adrenaline had worn off.

“One viewer asks, ‘Steve and Bucky, being from the 40’s, women were treated like second thoughts and were talked about like objects. Now, you’re in the 21st century, not much has changed. What have you been doing to support feminist causes?’”

“I just want to say that everyone should be answering this. It’s true that during the 40’s women were not treated the right way, and they still aren’t today. An 18 year old can’t walk down the street at nine o’clock at night without being catcalled. I am a proud feminist, as everyone should be. I think that as a team we are doing pretty well in that department. As far as what I’m doing to support feminist causes, I’m doing as much as I can. I actually recently enrolled in online classes to expand my knowledge on many subjects, seeing as how I am from the 40’s and all.” The crowd laughed along with Bucky.

“Almost all of my classes have to do with either psychology or gender studies, it’s a fascinatingly haunting subject. One book that I’m reading right now was suggested to me by my friend Cassie, it’s called Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women that a Movement Forgot. The author doesn’t let up and I’m only halfway through it. Look, I’m still educating myself, but I’m a strong believer in doing what is right for everyone, so I’m trying. Thankfully I have a few people keeping me in check as far as my actions.” Bucky thought his response was well thought out for being an on the fly question. He was new to the concept of feminism but that didn’t change the fact that it made total sense.

“I’m with Bucky on this. The 40’s were a rough time. I remember the first time I met Peggy Carter, I was astonished that a woman could be in such a powerful position. One of the first things she did after I met her was punch out someone who made a sexual comment to her. I’ve been supporting feminist causes ever since working with Peggy.” Steve added, a sad smile spreading on his face reminiscing Peggy.

“This one says, ‘As a total fan of all of you, I love seeing what you post on your social media accounts. When are the rest of the Avengers going to follow Bucky’s lead and download TikTok?’” Bucky’s head flew back into a full body laugh. Tony shifted forward in his seat, pointing his finger at the laughing man down the table.

“I would just like to say he didn’t get that approved before doing it. However, it did go over really well, so we’ll consider it.” Wanda’s mouth rolled inwards, stifling her laughter.

“We’ll consider it, you’re such an old man. Most of us have TikTok already, we just don’t make content on it like Barnes over here.” Sam said, tossing his head in Bucky’s direction.

“I’ve got like three videos on there!” Bucky and Sam began bantering back and forth.

“Yeah and one of them is dancing to a Cardi B song! Who even showed you that? I thought you only like 40’s music?” Bucky made a face at the man.

“Uh, just because I didn’t like your suggestions for music doesn’t mean I don’t have taste. My Spotify playlist is filling out quite nicely, Wilson.” Bucky and Sam didn’t quit fighting from then on, just little jabs at each other under the table.

“Here’s a good one,” Stacey had a smile on her face, “Are you allies of the LGBTQ+ community?” Bucky responded quickly with no hesitation.

“Yes, many of my friends are members of the Alphabet Mafia. Why wouldn’t we be?” Wanda nodded at his question, laughing at his use of the phrase Alphabet Mafia.

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m dating a fucking android, I’d be pretty hypocrictal if I wasn’t an ally. Nat, Clint what about you?” Clint bobbed his head in response.

“Oh yeah. We all are, even the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” Steve’s shoulders shook with laughter at Clint’s nickname for him. The team broke out into laughter, joining Steve. Stacey cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room again.

“Alright, everybody! That’s it for today.” She glanced down at her papers. “We would like to thank everyone for coming out today and joining the Avengers Q&A Panel. At this time we are unaware, if we will be conducting another one of these, but the odds look good based on the response.” The team filed out of the ballroom and into the empty boardroom. Bucky was the last to get into the room and he was approached by Natasha and Wanda immediately. Wanda wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“That was so sick, Bucky!” She stepped back and Natasha offered him a side hug as well. “Where’d you learn all that? And since when are you taking online classes?”

“That guy was being an asshole, he needed to be put in his place. I hope you guys didn’t feel like I overstepped or anything.” Bucky hung his arm over Wanda’s shoulder, leaning his weight on her. “And I started about two months ago. They’re going really well, I’m learning a lot and enjoying it surprisingly. It’s a good thing to do in my free time since I’m not always on missions.”

“I’m proud of you James, that was impressive.” Natasha complimented him, she wasn’t usually a woman of many words so that was a lot. Bucky smiled at her, nodding his head. His phone began buzzing in his back pocket, so he excused himself from their conversation. His screen displayed one of Evie’s senior pictures, signalling that she was calling him. He pushed the green button and brought the phone to his ear to answer her call.

“Hello?” She ignored his greeting with a squeal.

“Check your Twitter! Bucky, you’re trending! Here I’m putting you on speaker, we’re all here Buck!” Shuffling noises were heard through the speaker as Evie began reading the tweets to Bucky. Laughs from Cassie, Freddie and Penny could be heard behind Evie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh Eve! Just let the man get back to what he was doing!” Freddie yelled at an excited Evie, who retaliated with a scoff.

“Okay, okay! Just remember we have a movie night tomorrow! It’s Penny’s turn to pick so we don’t know what to expect.” Evie mumbled the last part into her phone speaker. Bucky heard the impact of a pillow hit Evie, causing her to grunt in pain. “Okay! We’ll talk to you later, Buck! See you soon!” She hung up the phone before he could get a word in edgewise. Bucky shook his head as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Amanda approached Bucky asking to speak with him privately.

“So we’re getting a flood of interview requests from networks and papers. We would like to start running with this. We’ll have to go over everything with our PR guy, Ryan, but it should work out. As long as you’re comfortable with all of this.” Bucky smiled and nodded, following after Amanda as she continued explaining what would happen going forward.

He was nervous, of course, but he could tell these nerves were coming from a place of excitement instead of fear, which was a new sensation for the man. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was the same as when he first started hanging out with Cassie, Penny, Freddie and Evie. It was the same when he went on his first mission with the team. Bucky was ready to tackle this next adventure, whatever it would entail.

[criminalmutantsins]

Top 10 Favorite Young Justice Characters

10. Jaime Reyes/Blue Beetle

Starting off the list is Blue Beetle. Young Justice introduced me to him, and I was hooked. He’s probably the most mellow and calming voice. His arc and relationship with Bart (friendship or not) were my favorite aspects of S2. They bounced off each other in every scene. I was very disappointed when Jaime and Bart were sidelined so much, and hope S4 changes this (particularly with Bart).

Jaime in the number 10 spot since he doesn’t really have much of a memorable personality. Still love him to bits though.

        9. Will Harper/Red Arrow

Funny enough, I did not like Will. He was an asshole in S1; S2 kind of changed my mind about him but not enough since he didn’t appear as much. What really changed my mind was the episode “Private Security” (S3 Ep.4). I started looking back into Will’s storylines and, I have to admit, his is probably one of the best character development.

The first season had him unwillingly living a lie and betraying the people he cared for. In season 2 he was so consumed into finding the original Roy for five years, not even caring or focusing about his own life. I felt really bad for Will because he was probably going through an identity crisis and thought he couldn’t live his life without finding Arsenal. Probably felt guilty.

Seeing him living his own life and being happy with his daughter was so heartwarming. I smiled every time Will appeared in the latest season (totally ignoring the Will x Artemis fiasco), especially with Lian. I’m very proud of him.

I feel bad for putting him so low, yet I adore the next characters more.

 8. Garfield Logan/Beast Boy

I have been a massive Beast Boy fan since Teen Titans so you probably can imagine how excited to see him. His origin story was unique and his brother-sister bond with M’gann was very sweet. It was pretty weird seeing how much younger Gar was than Dick, but I got used to it. I was bummed that Gar wasn’t in S2 as much; however, S3 truly made up for it. 

After watching Beast Boy being a great leader in S5 of Teen Titans, I wanted a leader-like and more mature version of him. Young Justice truly delivered with Gar being the leader of the Outsiders. It’s nice to see him treated with respect rather than as a joke because that was my biggest gripe with Teen Titans. Though it was weird seeing him not crack a joke at all.

Gar’s story with his mom was heartbreaking to see. I literally cried seeing his reaction to revisiting his trauma in S2 and S3; I just wanted to hug and tell him how awesome he is. My only complaint with Gar in S3 was that the Outsiders weren’t established until near the end of the season.

His voice actor being Greg Cipes also gives him extra points (He’s a chill guy and radiates BB energy).

 7. Dick Grayson/Nightwing/ Robin I 

Sorry to all the hardcore Nightwing fans.

I love Dick (don’t get any ideas), but he doesn’t get enough development in the spotlight. One of the things I really wanted to see from him is his growth as a main leader, and his journey to becoming Nightwing. I was really bummed when these happened between the first two seasons.

To be honest, I don’t have as much to say about him other than straightforward qualities I enjoy about him.

1.His Voice (it’s so soothing)

2.His Personality (very charismatic)

3.Very Handsome (Probably in the top 3 my most handsome YJ Men list)

I put him higher than the others since he made a lot of contribution to the story and his new words (gotta love that aster!)

6. Megan Morse/M’gann M’orzz/Miss Martian 

If I made this list during S1, M’gann would have probably been in my top 3 (maybe even No. 1), but S2 didn’t give her any brownie points.

I really liked S1 Miss Martian because of her kind heart, awkward girl next door personality. Her trouble fitting in the beginning reminded me of when I was going through a time in high school; seeing her having trouble as well helped me feel not so lonely. M’gann powers were (still are) my favorite since I am a big fan of mind-like powers. I would feel so powerful. Watching her identity crisis(?) arc was great too. I’ve had trouble feeling comfortable in my own skin as well as my social anxiety (I’m a mess) and I could understand how scared Megan was of her friends’ thoughts on her true form. 

Oh boy. Season 2 basically ruined her. Learning what she would do to enemies was terrifying to see and left me wondering what happened to Miss Martian that made her step this far. What she almost did to Superboy was almost unforgivable. You do not try to manipulate with your boyfriend’s mind when you guys have an argument! Shame on you M’gann. If Superboy hadn’t forgiven you then I wouldn’t have either.

Good thing S3 somewhat redeemed her. Her kind heart was noticeable again and she refused to do that mind trick again (thank god). Very excited for the Superboy and Miss Martian wedding! Please creators, I beg of you to not skip over it. I want to cry my eyes out in happiness!

 5. Kaldur’ahm/Aquaman/Aqualad 

Now we’re in the top 5 with Aqualad (*ahem* Aquaman) starting it off.

Creating Kaldur was the best decision the creators ever did. I love him with all my heart!

He added diversity to the original team and was a great leader. S1 was not his breakout season, though the second season definitely was.

Kladur played the villain so well that he deserves an automatic Oscar. I never doubted that he was with the heroes, but he didn’t disappoint. My favorite part about Aqualad’s performance was when he rose from the ocean slowly like a cliché villain (he made it work), and the line he said right after he “killed” Artemis; it sent me chills. Love it! 

Pretty disappointed that he didn’t appear as much in S3. Very happy that he is a part of the LGBTQ+ community and is in a happy relationship. I’m a part of the community and loved that there was finally some representation in one of my favorite shows. Even so, I have to criticize how rushed and sidelined it was. I hope Kaldur and Wyynde’s relationship gets development.

 4. Kon-El/Conner Kent/Superboy

Like Will, I did not like Superboy at first. Mainly angry and volatile characters were never really my cup of tea. I do understand why he was upset and felt bad for him; I just handle anger the direct opposite as him. My love for Conner started growing around the end of S1. He was very sweet towards Miss Martian (bless him for not caring about her appearance) and his anger was in control.

Season 2 pretty much switched my opinions on him and M’gann. It was awful what M’gann almost did to him. That scene with him being so sad that what she did ruined that special bond they had almost made me cry. I wanted to give him a hug. He grew so much too since I don’t think he would have handled the whole M’gann drama as well in S1. A lot of furniture would’ve been broken.

I gotta admit something. I almost put Conner near the bottom (maybe no. 7). A comment in a poll in Amino changed my mind. I wrote a poll asking other fans who did they prefer SB or MM. At that point I said SB, though I didn’t think much of it. Someone (specifically yjfangirl) responded “Superboy has the best development in the show.” This had me thinking about how far SB has gone. In the beginning, Conner was an angry guy who felt alone and rejected by the person who he was meant to emulate. Now he is happier and living for himself rather than to be the next Superman. He’s getting married people! A little detail I noticed when rewatching S3 was Superboy mentioning to new characters that they weren’t obligated to be a hero because of their abilities. I adored this! The main reason why Superboy was created to be Superman if the original ever died, and another one of Luthor’s puppets. But he strayed from that pressuring path and is doing his own thing. Conner doesn’t want other people to feel like he did. What an absolute pure soul.

Also, yjfangirl, first I want to say Hi (*waves*)! Then say thanks for writing that comment. It made me really think about the bigger picture with SB and my love for him as grown exponentially. You probably didn’t mean to do that, but I still want to thank you. 😊

 3.Wally West/Kid Flash

We’re in the elites now.

I don’t know how to explain it, I just love Wally. He makes me laugh, and his character growth was great. At first, Wally was this cocky flirt who didn’t take the hero work as seriously. That changed in “Cold-hearted,” one of my favorite episodes in the series. This was when I really started seeing more of Wally than being this dumb flirt. It was great seeing him actually caring about helping people since I believed for a long time that he wanted to be a superhero to just have powers rather than actually protect others. The regret in his eyes when he thought his impulsive behavior killed Perdita helped me see who he really was- this somewhat arrogant speedster who had a kind heart. Episodes that can make me change my perspective on characters are truly special.

I was very upset that he wasn’t in S2 a lot. I understand why since he gave up the life, but I was still bummed. Seeing him being so loving and protective towards Artemis was amazing. Spitfire is my favorite ship and I will not give up on them. All I want is a happy ending! The penultimate episode of S3 was a hint that it will happen. Watching the S2 finale was heartbreaking, I cried watching him disappear, his love for Artemis being the last things he said. Artemis’ reaction did not(I just wanted to hug her). 

I have more to say, though I’m leaving it for another post. 😉

 2.Bart Allen/Kid Flash II/Impulse

Picking between Bart and Wally for second place was tough. Took me a while to decide; I’ll talk about it later on.

The moment Bart made his appearance, I absolutely adored him. He is amazing and I live for his hyper, fun attitude. His arc and relationship with Jaime were my favorite aspects of S2. What can I say, their chemistry is great to see.

That scene when he was meeting the Flash family was so adorable. His excitement was infectious and spoiling his dad and aunt’s births was hilarious! I watch it occasionally whenever I need a good laugh or reason to smile.

Unlike most time travelers- at least the ones I’ve seen- Bart was very involved with what was going on and befriended his biggest enemy- evil and weirdly huge future Blue Beetle. He was pretty careful about disclosing very important information and took things very seriously. You never know if disclosing everything was the thing that brought the world to chaos.

What I found interesting was his choice on how to interact with everyone. He seemed pretty gloomy in the future, but decided to portray this cheerful, devil-may-care attitude to be more likable. I understood (still kind of do). I had terrible mental health issues and I pretended to be happy in front of loved ones because I thought they wouldn’t care about me anymore. Bart got some brownie points for that.

I was dissatisfied when his role was greatly reduced. I wanted the creators to go further with Bart by revealing his past and how it affected him. He was pretty much comedy relief. You couldn’t imagine how disappointed I was, especially with it involving my second favorite character. Season 4 better change that.

I know that you shouldn’t assume a character’s sexuality, yet I really hope Bart is gay. There needs to be more clear representation and Bart can be one of them. I’m also a Bluepulse and Bartuado shipper (fine with either one as long as Bart’s bond with each of them stays strong).

Anyway, I mentioned that I would explain why I chose Bart for 2nd place over Wally. It mostly stems from wishful thinking. I really want S4 to have Bart as a main character since I believe the future will be strong plot point in the season. Development could surely happen such as Bart opening up more about what he went through. Let all those feelings go.

I’m going to write an article on my hopes for S4 when a release date is announced. Bart and Wally will most definitely be talked about.

 …..

We are finally near the end!

And my No. 1 favorite character is…

Drumroll please!

…

..

.

1.Artemis Crock/Tigress/Artemis

That’s right people!

Artemis Crock, original member of the Team and daughter of villains!

She is such an inspiration to anyone who wants to go their own past without their parents’ support.

It’s hard to describe how much I love Artemis. She’s brave, strong-willed, and a kind person. It’s crazy how great of a person she is after all the terrible things that happened to her. I look up to her because I don’t have a healthy relationship with my parents (verbal and mental abuse) and there are times I don’t feel strong enough to stand on my own. I want to carry the amount of strength Artemis has as my own.

After all that happened in S2, it was amazing to see Artemis come back to the team and train the new generation. It must have been hard to walk away from a safe, comfortable life for a chaotic, dangerous life. I admire that in everyone, but I hold more respect for Artemis since “the life” “killed” Wally. I wanted to hug her so bad.

She’s also one of the kindest people in the show, the events in S3 being the best example. When Zatanna was crying about her dad, Artemis was there to comfort her. It was so sweet! Roy and her also took in Halo and Terra like they were a part of the family; the archer treated them like the best big sister. That rainstorm scene was heartwarming to the core.

Wouldn’t Artemis be an amazing mother? Lian and her have a strong bond like a mother and daughter; I loved it, and Lian is in good hands with Roy and Artemis. Though Jade deserves a chance to be a mother. Artemis also seemed to enjoy taking care of those kids in that S1 episode. Wally too. You guys know what I’m guys insinuating. 😉

Get ready for some fanfics on that someday.

My favorite Artemis-centered episode was the second to last episode of S3. I was waiting for this episode centering around Artemis missing Wally and learning to move on. It was great yet heartbreaking. Nothing bad happened. That Will and Artemis kiss never happened. Everyone makes a mistake. No matter how terrible it was.

Anyway, seeing Artemis and Wally living their lives and having a baby gave me life, even if it was fake. It was a vision of the future. I will believe this until there is confirmation that Wally will not come back.

Did anyone else cry when Artemis was so desperate to, but Wally wouldn’t let that happen (the real Wally would do that)? They are a great example of a healthy relationship with all the love and support they have for each other. I want that.

[valdomarx]

With your username, I have to ask this: Geralt being nice to Valdo Marx to mess with Jaskier, or Geralt despising Valdo Marx out of loyalty to *his* bard.

Geralt despises Valdo Marx (once he gets to know him)

–

They’re at a party in Cidaris, some fancy banquet for the king’s court which Geralt has barely been paying attention to, when a figure approaches and he notes Jaskier stiffen beside him.

The stranger saunters up and gives them an overly elaborate bow.

Jaskier’s eyes narrow. “Valdo.”

“So good to see you, Julian.” The man’s gaze sweeps over Jaskier, pausing at his frayed collar and the spot on his doublet where a button is missing. “You’re fresh from the road, I see. How rustic. Tell me, how is your life of adventure? I hear they sing your songs in taverns and whorehouses across the continent.”

Valdo is smiling serenely, and Jaskier looks like he’s about to explode.

“At least people have heard my songs,” Jaskier snaps. “Tell me, does anyone outside of Oxenfurt even know your name?”

“Perhaps not. But some of us search for a higher form of appreciation than mere renown.” Jaskier opens his mouth to argue and Valdo ignores it and continues. “Still, it’s nice that the common folk have music too. We can’t all be artists, hmm? The world needs its entertainers as well.”

Jaskier’s jaw drops and he launches himself bodily at Valdo, stopped only by Geralt grabbing him by the neck of his doublet. “You take that back!” he yells, trying to claw his way out of Geralt’s grasp. “I’m twice the artist you’ll ever be!”

Valdo turns his serene, syrupy smile on Geralt. “Glad to see someone has him under control,” he says, ignoring Jaskier’s hisses. “You must be the famous White Wolf.”

Geralt, unsure how to respond, inclines his head.

“Ooo.” Valdo shows his teeth. “The strong and silent type, hmm?” He returns his attention to Jaskier, who is still struggling. “I can see why you take so much pleasure in traveling with him. He seems most… inspiring.”

Geralt watches impassively as they snipe at each other, reminded more than anything of two feral cats yowling over a dead mouse.

“Perhaps I should take a leaf from your book, Julian. Find myself a traveling companion as a muse.” His eyes flick back to Geralt, hungry and beady. “Maybe I could entertain your White Wolf, hmm? Take him on some adventures  of my own while you take some much needed time to rest and practice.”

“I’ll scratch your fucking eyes out if you try!” Jaskier yells, eyes wild and teeth sharp.

“My my, Julian. Such a temper. I see age hasn’t improved your sense of decorum.”

“I’ll kill you myself, you shit-guzzling son of a whore!”

Valdo laughs, deep and throaty, like he’s delighted by Jaskier’s performance. “How charming you are. One can always count on you to liven up a party.”

Valdo steps closer to Jaskier, all of the warmth dropped from his manner to reveal cold, hard malice beneath. “Let’s see how spirited you are when the king of Cidaris claps you in irons, shall we? You shouldn’t forget, I have powerful friends.”

Jaskier’s face falls, and Geralt decides enough is enough. He pushes Jaskier aside and steps right into Valdo’s personal space.

“If you or anyone from this court lay so much as a finger on him,” he warns, close enough to Valdo to whisper in his ear, “You’ll see what kind of powerful friends he has. Because I’ll deal with you myself, and however long they search, they’ll never find all the pieces of your body.”

Valdo blinks. He steps back and takes Geralt in, notes the unforgiving set of his jaw, the aura of barely contained violence which Geralt usually tries to keep under wraps.

He goes pale. “Understood, my good sirs,” he says in a hurry. “Now if you will excuse me, my attention is required elsewhere -”

He turns and leaves at a brisk pace just short of a run. Jaskier finally stops clawing at Geralt’s hand and relaxes.

“So that’s the man you wished dead, is it?”

Jaskier pouts. “Now you understand.”

“I do,” Geralt agrees. “Melitele above, what an ass.”

[mrsgiovanna]

Redemption (Don Giorno x Fem! reader)

For all intents and purposes this was meant to be sad and angsty, but my basic bish ass couldn't, so here we are ❤️💭🥺

I listened to this song while thinking this scenario up, it somehow just added gravity to my thoughts.

Word count: 2865

“Finally” you mused to yourself as you peeked outside from your apartment window. The sun was out in all its golden splendor after days and days of dreary, rainy grey skies. You could appreciate chilly, stormy weather but even you had a limit, and it was awfully cold and lonely when all you had hold on to was a spare pillow. No. No more wallowing, the sun was out and you’d be late for work if you didn’t get on the go. So you put on your prettiest little sundress and walked to your office, a day like this couldn’t be wasted.

Smiling into the sky, absorbing all the sunshine you could, you made a mental to-do list for your day. Life was slowly starting to look up for you, you landed a new job that you loved, you finally went back to studying towards your passion, and you finally started feeling like yourself again. The sparkle had returned to your eyes, and that gentle smile had found your face again. To everyone around you, you were positively radiant. Little did you know, that your glow was also being observed by someone you locked away carefully in the dark recesses of your past…

Giorno wasn’t intentionally watching you, he just happened to be sitting at the Café you both usually went to on your way back from your morning run. You always fussed that you wouldn’t lose any weight if you immediately ate the calories you exercised away, to which he always responded that you were perfect, earning a shy smile from you. A winsome expression occupied his handsome face as he recalled the memories of you… he had to remind himself that they were just memories though, and that chapter of his life had ended, rather softly, just over a year ago. However, the ripples of that awful conversation still remained with him, disturbing the still waters of his heart.

He looked at you until you disappeared around the corner, contemplating if it would be wise to go after you, ultimately deciding against it. If fate would afford him another opportunity to see you, then he would act on that, knowing full well that you were well within your rights to never want to see him again… but so much has changed since then, if you could just give him another chance, he would prove that he’s become the man you deserve.

“Giogio, sorry I’m late, oh I thought Mista would be here already… why are we here anyway?” asked Fugo as he rushed in in a huff.

“Oh good morning, Fugo, Mista is otherwise engaged, he won’t be joining us. There’s no particular reason, its just a beautiful day, I thought a change of scenery would be nice, the coffee is delicious here as well,”

“And you just might run into her again…” interrupted Fugo, “it’s been, what? A year now? Don’t you feel it’s time to move on? I’m sure she’s moved on by now as well,”

“She hasn’t, I know she hasn’t just yet I’m sure of it. Look, I’ve tried, it’s not going to be fair to anyone involved if I just go off with a random person again, I’ll always be looking for her, it’s not fair to them or myself,” replied Giorno, his tone being slightly harsher than he intended.

Fugo grimaced at the bite in Giorno’s voice, “I’m just looking out for you,”

“I know, I’m sorry, I saw her this morning, she looked well. I’ve decided I’m not going to pursue anyone else now, I want her back, so that’s what I’m going to do. Anyway, I just wanted to touch bases since I haven’t seen anyone since flying back. Everything is still under control I presume?” asked Giorno, wanting to change the subject.

“Just think about this carefully Giorno, it’s your decision at the end of day. Well, everything is fine here, everyone is behaving as they should. Your hard work over the years is paying off now,”

“Good, if we can maintain this, then it would have all been worth it, we’ve sacrificed so much to get this far,” there was an edge to Giorno’s voice, a sliver of the resolve he displayed years ago when he was still a soldato, peeking through. There was very little, if anything at all, that Giorno couldn’t get if he set his mind to it.

Your work day was going well, you were busy from the time you set foot in the office, so you were thankful to step out of the office for an hour when your lunch break rolled around. Deciding you weren’t really hungry, you just ordered your favorite mocha frappe and decided to use the time to catch up on your reading for class.

It was still sunny and warm outside, so you decided to sit at a park bench and take advantage of the lovely atmosphere. You took in your surroundings for a few minutes before whipping out your tablet and finding the journal articles you wanted to go over.

Giorno had just ended off his last appointment and was being driven home when he saw you sitting on the bench, quietly drinking your frappe, absorbed by whatever it was you were reading. Asking the driver to pull over, he took a few moments to gaze at you, you were just so beautiful, even more so now. It was his moment, taking a deep breath and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in his clothes, he made his way towards you, summoning up his confidence with each step he took.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, would you….” You had to look twice to make sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

“Are you well, cara? It’s been so long,” Giorno cringed at his choice of words but there was no going back now.

“Giorno… hi… wait, what are you doing here?” There was so much more you wanted to ask him, but those were the only words you managed to string together.

“I was on my way home when I saw you here, I just wanted to say hello. It’s been an eternity since I’ve seen you. It’s entirely up to you if you want to talk, or if you want me to leave now, I can, I just couldn’t ignore you after seeing you,” Giorno explained, thinking about how awkward he sounded. He played this moment out in his mind a thousand times, never once imagining that he would come off sounding so inept.

The nervous giggle you spoke through as you answered him further eroded away at his makeshift confidence. Who was he trying to fool, he thought to himself. He still adored you, clearly you still held all the power in this situation, but you were too virtuous to realise it.

That was one of your best traits, but also your worst, you were an idealist, often becoming disenchanted when things didn’t work out the way you planned. Giorno on the other hand was a realist, yes, he had many dreams, but he held no illusions about how to reach them or the sacrifices that would ultimately need to be made. This difference in world views resulted in many an argument, until finally you decided that you couldn’t keep fighting with this man, who only seemed to drift further and further away from you despite how much you loved him. To him you came off as arrogant and ungrateful, unwilling to see how certain decisions, however impossible, had to be made and it filled him with misery to do so, and to you, he came off as cold and unforgiving, willing to cast away precious bits of his humanity, and for what? He never explained anything to you.

Feeling uncomfortable with the silence after you spoke, Giorno tried to keep the conversation going.

“Your hair, you’ve let it grow out, it’s beautiful…” he said gazing dreamily at you.

“Oh, yeah, it’s due mostly to laziness, but it worked, so I just went with it, but thank you, you look very good too, life’s been treating you well,” you said with a bright smile. In your heart of hearts you knew a part of you would always love Giorno and would want him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. You were trying not to stare at him too much, but it was incredibly difficult not to, with his long golden curls and chiseled, handsome face that smiled so softly, you really couldn’t look away for very long.

“I’d really like to continue this catch up, I can tell you have somewhere else to be though… would you like to meet me for dinner tonight? Nothing fancy, just a couple of friends catching up,” he asked earnestly, his eyes searching your face for any hint of what might be going on in your mind.

Your heart fluttered against your will, you wanted to decline his offer but against your better judgment you agreed. It was just one dinner, a catchup between friends, could you even call each other that though? No matter, numbers had been exchanged and you had to dash back to your office to carry on with your work. No sooner had you sat down at your desk, did Giorno text you the time and place to meet him.

The rest of your day flew by, although you wished it would have dragged, and before you knew it, it was time for you to go home and freshen up before meeting Giorno. Staring at your reflection in what must have been your fourth outfit change, you scolded yourself for over thinking everything. You hurriedly retouched your hair and makeup and left for the restaurant, knowing you were running a bit late. Walking up the stairs to reach the entrance brought back a rush of memories with each step you took. Recollections of fun dates, precious friends and balmy nights like this bombarded your senses, almost as if you were transported to that very time. You walked in and saw the place empty, except for a table near the balcony. Some things never changed you mused… although you couldn’t blame this on Giorno’s tendency to go over the top this time, booking out entire establishments was less about asserting his clout or showing off, but more about protecting himself from potential threats.

The clicking of your heels on the expensive tiles caught Giorno’s attention, and his senses feasted on the way you were illuminated by the muted lighting, the soft lilt of your voice as you greeted him with a smile and the pretty floral scent you wore- his favorite scent on you.

Giorno stood up to greet you, pulling out your chair for you with all the grace of a nobleman. You noticed he was a lot more relaxed, even abandoning his open chested suits for more casual attire, and wearing his hair completely unbound. He politely waited for you to adjust yourself in your seat before taking his own again. His manners were always impeccable, you thought, even when he fought with you, he was never disrespectful, choosing rather to rely on other means to get his point across.

“Thanks once again for joining me cara, I appreciate you sacrificing your time for me, I hope you don’t mind, I’ve already picked out the wine and appetizers for us. Forgive me but I’m starving,”

“It’s okay, I should be the one to apologize, I arrived late, I’m sorry,” you offer with a sheepish smile.

“It’s alright Bella, it’s a small price to pay for such lovely company,”

Giorno’s words caught you off guard, roping you in with the silken threads of his voice.

“Giorno, what’s going on? Out of nowhere we find ourselves here, in this romantic setting, behaving like a couple. Earlier on you said we’re meeting as friends, although I doubt you dole out such complements to Fugo and Mista,”

“I could, you don’t know that…”

You burst out laughing, perhaps a bit too loudly, at his remark, which earned a soft chuckle from him as well.

“I’m sorry, I guess the mafia has really changed you.”

“Well maybe, but also not that much. In quiet, private moments like these, I’ll always be Gio, your Gio. Well I’m lying there, I guess when I’m with you, I’m just Haruno. You’re the only one who knows me, the real me… I miss this, I miss us,” mumbled Giorno as he spoke in the middle of a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Something about how sad his voice sounded combined with that chaste kiss, picked open a wound you didn’t even know you had, sending to the surface everything you buried deep within your soul, for fear of hurting this man whom you loved so deeply.

“You have no right to look that way, to so unashamedly say these things without thinking about what those words and actions do to me. For years all I’ve ever been doing is running after you, staring at your back, wondering if you’ll ever turn around and truly see me for who I am. When we were in school you just disappeared one day and returned as… this mafia boss. Still, I accepted everything and wanted to build your dream alongside you but again, you never allowed me to stand beside you, and I overlooked that, and so many other things to try and make you happy. And now, after a year, you waltz back into my life as if you were just on vacation. Don’t think I don’t know about the numerous escapades you’ve had, I’m not upset though, you’re a free man, and I’m the one who ended things after all… its just… I don’t even know what I’m doing here, this was a mistake, please excuse me” You stood up to leave when Giorno blocked your way, gripping your wrist tightly enough to restrain you, but not enough to hurt you.

“Please… I’d like for us to talk, there’s so much I need to say. I know I’m being selfish, but please, humor me one last time. If by the end of this evening you want me to leave and never cross your path again, I’ll abide by those wishes” implored Giorno.

Reluctantly, you retake your seat, noticing that even the staff had become invisible.

You looked at the man sitting opposite you , encouraging him to speak.

“Cara, I… I’ve done some questionable things. Many of which I’m not proud of at all. I’ve hurt people, I’ve tried to manipulate you into coming back to me, all of which backfired ending up in me hurting myself and the people around me. But you just kept thriving, I couldn’t stand it. I still can’t stand it. The ugly truth is that you don’t need me, but I need you… you’re my one constant. Make no mistake, amore, you don’t have to do anything to make me happy, you just do, and for that reason I didn’t want to involve you in anything that posed a danger to you. I know it’s not ideal , but I don’t know how else to be,”

Silence cloaked the room after Giorno spoke, you searched his face for the slightest hint that he could be lying, but found none. Unable to hold your gaze any longer, he looked away dejectedly. It’s been years since you’ve seen him expose so much of himself, and it hurt you to know he was still silently fighting his personal battles.

“Thank you Gio, that couldn’t have been easy to say, so I appreciate your candor. You know a large part of me will always love you,”

“but” he interjected, sadness dripping from his voice.

“but getting over you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. I can’t do that again,”

Taking a lock of your hair in his hand, enjoying the intimacy of the act, he replies “what if you didn’t have to do that again? I’m determined to make this work. If you give us another chance, I’ll do things differently. You’ll come to realize that I’ve changed,”

You were scared of going down that path again, but, there was something different in his demeanor this time, something you felt you could trust, so you went with your gut instinct and wordlessly decided you’d give this one last chance, gently grasping the hand that Giorno held your hair with.

“We’ll take things slow bella, from the beginning, I want you to get to know me as I am right now,”

“I’d like that Gio,” you say with a kind smile.

The rest of the long evening was spent wining and dining and engaging in silly conversations about a multitude of things. When it came time for you both to go home, Giorno insisted on taking you home and making sure you were safely inside your apartment before heading home himself. You were hopeful for what the future might hold. That night you fell asleep with a smile after reading the sweet goodnight message from Giorno, thinking that finally the sun came out to shine on you again.

[deja-you]

Hey! Could you do a Drabble where like Thomas cheats on the reader and (kinda like Eliza) y/n takes him back but things just aren’t quite the way they were and it’s bothering both of them

yep! this one is 967 words

Your presence floods the room.

When the two of you were younger and newer to the whole idea of love and forever, you would flood the room with light. Golden, shimmering light that warmed the room from the inside out. He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You still fill the room with your presence; up to its full capacity. Now it's a flood.

You flood the apartment, the water damage seeping into the ground. Contractors say the damage is irreparable. But maybe it's not so.

Thomas can't remember the last time you've said his name. He misses the way it sounds on your tongue, but he understands this isn't something he deserves.

The bed is cold and empty while two people lay next to each other.

He reaches his hand toward you before pulling back. He knows better. Thomas misses you, but reaching out is what he wants, not you. He's made enough selfish decisions lately to last him a lifetime. He's afraid they will last him a lifetime.

If he's being honest, sometimes he thinks his life would be better if he had never told you. It was one mistake. One awful, unforgiving mistake that had destroyed everything good in his life. If Thomas had kept his mouth shut, everything could've remained unimpaired and beautiful. But nothing good can grow out of lies, and the very least you deserved was the truth.

That didn't make the admission any easier. The way you looked away from him when he had told you about her. If you were angry with him, if you had yelled or thrown something, he would've understood. Thomas, to some degree, had suspected this behavior. Maybe that's partly why it hurts more when you speak to him softly.

You are gentle to him in a way he doesn't deserve. It's not forgiveness, and it breaks his heart even further when he realizes it's shame. On your part. Somehow his actions have made you feel less than adequate, and this hurts him the most.

“Twenty years.” He remembers you saying after his confession. “I have loved you for twenty years.”

Your voice was quiet when you spoke, and he thinks it was so he wouldn’t be able to hear all the cracks and factures in your words.

“I have loved you and only you. I only know how to love you. I only know how to love you. Do you know that? I so desperately want to hate you for this!”

And Thomas responded with something like: “you deserve to hate me.”

“I know that. But I can’t. I can only love you, which leaves me to carry the blame of your infidelity myself. What could I have done to make you love me more?”

Thomas was stunned and shocked into silence.

You can’t help your voice from breaking on your next words. “You are the only person I will ever love. Why am I not enough for you?”

Those words haunt Thomas when he closes his eyes. And when he wakes up. And when he goes to work. And when he takes a shower. And when he makes dinner. There is no point in his life where those words don’t ring in the back of his mind like chains anchoring him to his crimes. Why am I not enough for you?

The two of you are lying in bed now, the both of you being as still as possible, hoping your presence doesn’t take up too much space. After a brief lapse into weakness, you have shut off your emotions, becoming a shell of the person you once were. Thomas misses your laugh and your anger and your raised eyebrows when he does something stupid and the way you used to kiss him because it brought you an endless amount of joy. There is nothing left, save for the pain and sorrow he has inflicted upon you.

Nights like these, the two of you can hear the entire city of New York. On the street below, a group of young girls climb into a taxi for a wild night out. In the apartment across the way, a musician is practicing for opening night at the city orchestra. Across the hall, a single mother tries to rock her baby to sleep while she talks to her sister on the phone. Brown-blue water washing against the riverbank a few blocks down.

There is so much going on outside, it reminds Thomas that there is more than just this moment lying next to you. There was the day he had first met you, sitting across from you in elementary and sharing crayons. There was your wedding day, when Thomas swore you were some sort of ethereal being. There was the day after he cheated on you, waking up with a pool of regret in his stomach. There were all these past moments in time that existed out of his reach, and there was every future moment he could spend loving you.

All these future moments with you could only exist if Thomas made a decision now. Gathering any remaining courage, he reaches out across the sheets that had become a vast ocean in the void between the two of you. You tense at the feeling of his fingers on your skin, but after a long moment, you allow yourself to sink into his embrace.

Thomas feels a warmth surge in his chest at your silent acceptance, and delicately – because this might all fall apart if he isn’t careful – he pulls you closer to him. He presses his lips against your back like they could take away the pain his actions had inflicted. It’s not okay, and nothing will ever be the same, but the both of you are learning to love each other in new ways.

[delicioussshame]

Sugar daddy AU: new chapter. That’s it, that’s the fic.

The world has never stopped spinning for Shen Yuan before, so why would it now?

He’s sure Luo Binghe is thrilled with his current situation. If he really wanted to create a perfect bubble where he would be the center of Shen Yuan’s universe, he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He’s been all Shen Yuan has been able to think about. The moral conundrum of considering whether you’re attracted to your former student, and if so, whether you can and should accept his affection, has been dominating his every moment. Each time he thinks that yes, he could see himself allowing this, allowing Luo Binghe the more he has so visibly been craving, he falters. In a way, it seems like a culmination of all his failures; a failed career he’s a disgrace to and a return to values he’d sworn to leave behind with his family.

But maybe, just maybe, Binghe would be worth it. Shen Yuan thinks if anyone could make those concerns seem ridiculous with only the power of their presence by his side, it would be Luo Binghe.

All his hesitations don’t stop his heart from freezing in his chest where the school sends an email regarding his teaching plan for the upcoming term.

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to ride the wave of anxiety that returning to the beat of regular employment brings. He hasn’t looked forward to returning to class for years, but after those sweet weeks spent doing nothing but relaxing? Facing coworkers that were at best indifferent, at worst downright abusive for the sake of disinterested students is such an unappealing prospect that it almost gives him nausea.

He’s been too spoiled. Shen Yuan normally spends the summer working part-time jobs to make ends meet. This year, Luo Binghe had swiped all those worries away. One of the first things he’d done was tell Shen Yuan that he’d be paying his rent for now, like he would be providing for all his other needs. Shen Yuan had protested, but he’d known it was pointless. How was he supposed to stop Luo Binghe from sending money to his landlord?

Without those preoccupations, Shen Yuan had permitted himself freedom from work in general. He had spared not a thought to that most unpleasant matter. His romantic life, if it could be called that, had demanded all his attention.

Now, enough was enough. This had been fun, but Shen Yuan had a job to do. No matter how much he dreads it, he has to review his lesson plan.

Such is life.

_________________

It takes Luo Binghe only one cursory look at Shen Yuan to notice something went very, very wrong. His dear teacher is tense, hunched over his desk, hand on his forehead as if he’s trying to hold a headache at bay. Shen Yuan hasn’t appeared this stressed since he set foot inside Luo Binghe’s home. He radiates distress like he did that day, when Luo Binghe went to visit him and found him on the verge of collapse.

Back then, all he wanted was to stop that collapse.

That conviction has never faltered.

Gently, Luo Binghe taps Shen Yuan’s shoulder. “Laoshi?”

Shen Yuan doesn’t turn. “Binghe, not now. I’m busy.”

Luo Binghe glances at the document he’s worked on, and swears inwardly. Is all it took to reverse all the progress they made a reminder of that dreaded job?

Shen Yuan isn’t going back, and that’s final. “Why is Laoshi wasting his valuable time on this? Doesn’t he trust his Binghe?”

Shen Yuan turns toward him, annoyance visible on his face. “What does trust have to do with this?”

He stays firm. “I told Laoshi all I wanted was for him to be happy and healthy. I promised I would do anything for this to happen. His job doesn’t make him happy. Why would he return to it? He still has a few days to send his notice in time. He can leave the school behind and stay with me instead.”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “Binghe, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I see no reason why Laoshi should go back when he doesn’t need to work.”

“I do need to work. I can’t rely on Binghe’s good will for the rest of my life. Sooner or later, he’ll get tired of paying for an old man and will look to buy a younger, sweeter companion.”

There is so much wrong with this sentence Luo Binghe is struck silent. Shen Yuan knows better than this. He’s just in too fool a mood to act like it.

He regains control of himself. “First, Laoshi must never talk of himself like he’s a passing fancy I feel like throwing money at. It’s insulting both to yourself and to my love for you. Second, he can rely on me however he wants to. If he’s not secure with his current position, that can be dealt with. I will happily pay whatever lawyer he chooses to draft any arrangement he deems agreeable. I can transfer him a set amount of money each week that he can manage at his discretion. I can also give him a lump sum, significant enough that if something were to happen, he could live by himself, though he’s already my will’s sole beneficiary. Work is unnecessary.”

At this, Shen Yuan shakes. “I’m sorry? Did you just say that in the event of your death, you’re leaving me everything? Me?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t know why Shen Yuan is so surprised. “Who else? Laoshi knows I have no family. I have no plan to die before Laoshi, but if it were to happen, that’s no reason not to keep my promise.” It won’t, of course. Luo Binghe won’t allow it.

“Are you serious? That’s something you do for a spouse, not a dumb childhood crush.”

He genuinely thought they were over this. “Laoshi isn’t a crush. He’s someone I’ve been in love with for since I was a teenager. Didn’t I say I wanted him by my side at all times? I planned consequently.” If Shen Yuan wants children, modifications will be made to the will, but this won’t be happening anytime soon. For now, Luo Binghe wants him all to himself.

“I… We’re not even a couple yet! Binghe is being reckless! If he’s this open, what’s stopping me from fleecing him for all he’s got and leaving him destitute!”

Luo Binghe laughs, encouraged by the “yet”. “Laoshi would never. He’s too good a man to do such a thing.”

“I could! Binghe thinks he knows me so well, but the truth is he doesn’t. He’s got this image of me as a saint, as a person without flaws nor desires, but he’s wrong. Every day, I take advantage of Binghe’s kindness.”

Shen Yuan is the one who doesn’t know himself. “Taking what’s freely offered is not taking advantage.”

“It is when no sane person would make the offer!”

“Does Laoshi think me insane, then?”

“Well, no. I know Binghe is very smart.”

“Then why not trust I know what I’m doing?”

“Because you don’t!”

This is going nowhere. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m making Laoshi happy by keeping him from a job that is killing him.” He sighs. “If Laoshi absolutely feels like he needs to earn his own income, I will support him until he finds a decent job, or will pay for his continued education so that he can find something better, but I would much, much prefer he doesn’t bother. It’s stress he doesn’t need, for no reason. I just cannot accept his return to a school that has only one good point: him. It’s not good for him. As I said earlier, whatever he needs as collateral to feel safe, I’m willing to provide, as long as he does what’s best for himself.”

Shen Yuan looks speechless.

Luo Binghe doesn’t flinch.

“Every time I think Binghe must be fooling himself, or fooling me, he goes and does something like this, something that no one else would do, as if to prove his honesty. He makes me feel like an idiot.”

“That must be novel. I imagine someone as wonderful as Laoshi doesn’t feel that way often.”

“Just most days of my life.”

“Then his life must change. Laoshi should only feel good.” Which is something Luo Binghe would gladly help with, no matter when and where.

He takes Shen Yuan’s hand in his; presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “Please. Don’t go.”

Silence rests heavy on his shoulders for a while, until Shen Yuan breaks. “I’ll consider it.”

Luo Binghe embraces him and decides to wait.

_________________

The notice is sent two days later.

_________________

One moment Luo Binghe is preparing to go to bed, the next Shen Yuan, still damp from the shower, sits on his lap and kisses him.

It takes Luo Binghe negative one second to respond in kind, to open his mouth and to kiss back, his arms snaking around Shen Yuan’s waist to pull him closer and keep him there. Laoshi is the one who initiated! Luo Binghe can’t allow him to take it back.

Not that it seems like he will. Shen Yuan doesn’t struggle at all as Luo Binghe deepens the kiss, as his hands find the buttons of Shen Yuan’s sleeping shirt and open a trail he follows with his mouth. His laoshi’s breath fastens as Luo Binghe acquaints himself with his chest, fingers dancing over his ribs and down the gentle curve of his back.

Such good behavior has to be rewarded.

He does lift his eyes to Shen Yuan’s before removing his pants.

His beloved doesn’t say a word as he turns his gaze away demurely, but the caress in Luo Binghe’s hair speaks volumes, as does the seductive way he opens his thighs. If Shen Yuan has finally accepted his advances, how could Luo Binghe refuse him?

There are so many things Luo Binghe dreamed of doing to his Laoshi. He wants to spend hours worshipping him, keeping him in a state of unforgiving arousal until he begs for release. He wants to prepare him carefully and take him gently, painlessly, until all of Shen Yuan’s stress has left him and he’s barely conscious. He wants to fuck him until he screams. He wants to ride him languorously, for hours on end, until his body has taken the shape of Shen Yuan and no one else’s. He wants to be tied to the bed and used until he’s crying for mercy, and then be denied that mercy. He wants to go to work wearing the mark of Shen Yuan’s teeth high on his neck proudly, knowing his laoshi is wearing the exact same mark at home. He wants to fill him up with a remote-controlled toy and bring him to ecstasy during those interminable board meetings that would at least have a purpose, for once.

But for now, all he wants is to get to know all of Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan startles when Luo Binghe presses a kiss to his rapidly filling length, but he doesn’t protest. Good for him, because Luo Binghe isn’t sure he could have stopped. Not when he finally gets to find out how he tastes, how he sounds, how beautiful he looks when he flushes from pleasure.

He moans around him when Shen Yuan’s fingers twist into his hair. Shen Yuan could fuck his throat anytime, if he wanted to. Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind choking for him.

Maybe he could overcome that reflex with practice.

He would love to try.

It takes little time for Shen Yuan to groan and try to pull him off, which is a futile endeavor. Like Luo Binghe is going to waste any gift of Shen Yuan.

He greedily swallows it all down when Shen Yuan bites back his student’s name and digs his nails into Luo Binghe’s scalp.

Luo Binghe has never been this hard. “Laoshi, Shen Yuan, please.” He’d take anything. He’d rut against his leg if Shen Yuan would allow him to. “Please.”

Shen Yuan is bright red when his beautiful hand wraps around Luo Binghe’s cock, pulling and stroking in an awkward, unexperienced hold that Luo Binghe knows he’ll never get enough of. Just the sight of those white fingers on his feverish skin is enough to enthrall him. How is he going to last when they grow skilled? He’ll embarrass himself like the teenager he isn’t anymore! Even now, it takes all he has to last a few minutes.

He thought no sight could be fairer than Shen Yuan in pleasure, but the view of his fingers and chest covered in Luo Binghe’s come is so overwhelming Luo Binghe wishes his love was the type to allow for recording. If it were his face despoiled so… Luo Binghe would probably not soften at all.

Hopefully Shen Yuan will let him.

Another time. While Luo Binghe himself could easily keep on going for the rest of the night and the day after, what has happened tonight was probably a lot to ask of shy, proper Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe tries to soothe his exaltation, instead exploding in praises and endearments for his visibly embarrassed lover.

Luo Binghe ignores his attempts at distancing himself, instead holding him in his arm until Shen Yuan quiets and closes his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

_________________

Well, that happened.

It wasn’t… It was fine.

Okay, it was more than fine. One can only lie to themselves for so long. Luo Binghe is devastatingly handsome and convinced he loves Shen Yuan, for some reason. He’s not immune to that much charm!

He was kind. Shen Yuan had been as mentally prepared as he could be to find himself pushed on his back and taken, but Luo Binghe had waited.

Shen Yuan fully expects it will happen sooner or later. He’ll deal then. It will be hard on him, because quite honestly, he’s not sure anyone on Earth is built the right way to accommodate Luo Binghe, but he’ll do it. Binghe deserves it.

If he’s that serious about providing for Shen Yuan, he should get his money’s worth. Shen Yuan couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

[mintseesaw]

Aurora | 2

aurora - n. dawn Pairing: general!jungkook x princess!reader Genre: angst, smut, historical au, joseon dynasty au, established relationship au, secret love affair au Word count: 7.9k Warnings: smut, outdoor sex, rough sex, details of struggles due to war, manifestation and mentions of hallucinations, lewd dreams, manifestation of character dynamic Summary:  A story that centers on a forbidden love affair amidst the centuries-long war of greed and power. Rating: explicit mature content Disclaimer: based on King Sejong’s time, yet is fictional and not historically accurate note: uhm,,, I’m sorry?? yfasksksdkh song recs for this chapter: still with you (jungkook) and through the night (IU)

With your back facing the front lawn of the house kneeling as you lay the fresh mint leaves onto the fabric covered bamboo mat, you scramble in your feet when you hear the distinct sound of the wicket opening to reveal the person you have been expecting home for an hour ago. That was what Jungkook had caught you up in, drying some greens for his daily dose of tea he has grown fond of over the course of months of your marriage.

“Jungkook, you’re back. What did the king want from you?” You asked, expectantly. Of course, he had anticipated your curiosity when the king, whom you have no contact with since your marriage, suddenly summoned him. Your husband. Jungkook did not respond as he greets you with an embrace and a soft peck on top of your head. “Seobang-nim,” you call, however, Jungkook has other intentions rather than entertain your curiosity. “I miss you, wife.” He mumbles against your temple. Your mouth slowly curves into a smile. His sweet, little remarks always win a reaction from you. “You saw me before you went to the palace.” “Still…” Jungkook trails, proceeding with his very intention through the tiny prurient squeezes of his palms on your hips. Adamant to know more about his itinerary, you lightly pull back to peer at your indifferent husband. His grip intentionally loosens, but not enough to let you go. Yet, it was an opportunity for you to increase your proximity. “Tell me, what was the purpose of your visit? Why would His Majesty suddenly summon you?” With your tilted head and focused, expectant eyes, waiting for him to supply you an answer, he draws a heavy sigh. “He wants me back in the service. Did it answer your curiosity, wife? Now, can I indulge my breakfast? I did not have a proper meal last night, wife.” He sentiments, with a trickle of provocative tone in his whisper. He sees you peeking from your eyelashes, giving him a glare, as if silently scolding him for obnoxiously lying through his teeth. However, before you could accuse him of anything, a small yelp instead broke out from your throat as Jungkook lunges forward, using his obvious advantage to make his lewd thoughts a reality. Given your unsuspecting mind and feeble-like strength due to last night’s steamy activities, Jungkook is well aware you had not regain your stamina just yet to oppose his advances. With the evidence of his arousal pressing deliciously against your stomach, your protests were swallowed as he devours your mouth whole. His hands on your nape controlling his ministration and on the small of your back maneuvering your length right against his towering built. Contentious with his early carnal needs, you try to keep your heavy-lidded eyes open as the warmth of his mouth spreads so heavenly on the length of your neck.

“Jungkook,” He hears you mewl. His mouth twitched, just by your weakening grip onto the fabric of his robe and your soft, breathless call of his name tell him your supposed defiance is slowly disappearing into bubbles of vapor. As his constricting arousal longs for your tight, warm sheath, he wasted no more time, hoisting you up in his embrace and strutted effortlessly towards the terrace. Carefully, he laid you flat against the timber-made floor, then swiftly hovers your body in between your thighs with his arms supporting his weight above you. With urgency, he shuffles through the multi-layered articles of your skirt, lifting them up until your undergarments are visible enough for him to be able to pull the strings to remove the tiny piece of fabric hiding his hidden gem. In other times, he would show you just how much he loves worshipping every inch of your body through his mouth and fingers without losing the momentum, if not inflaming his desire more. But right now, he just needs to fill you up good, fast and hard. As he proceeds to open his robe, pulling the strings of his baji to free his length, he felt the warm squeeze of your hand in his arm. His dark, lustful eyes squinted to yours. “Jungkook, someone might come in.” You attempted to argue in between your rapid intake of breaths. With an arch of his eyebrow, he manage to make a point to ease your worry, “We have not had a visitor since our marriage, Jagi. Do not worry about it. Have you not seen me locked the door when I arrived?” You shook your head, not trusting your voice. But as he releases his aroused member, he caught your pellucid eyes as hunger slowly replaces your supposed hesitation. Knowing he has gained all your focus now, specifically in his bare lower region, Jungkook pumps his sleek length. Your loose grip in his arm gradually closes tightly, your teeth piercing through the suppleness of your lip. He couldn’t wait any moment longer, he nudges his head on the curve of your neck to counter the tremors of lust coursing through his body, giving you a second more before he loses it all. With his skillful fingers, he uncovers your dripping core. His awaiting steel hard cock coming in contact on your warm, fully aroused center as his sensitive head pokes in your warm entrance. “Forgive me for taking you this way my love, I just need to be inside you now.” And just as he utters those words, he jerks his hips against your pelvis so forcefully that his balls slam right at your other hole from the impact, as his tip touching the undiscovered depths in your sheath. “J-Jungkook!” Your screams pierced through your throat uncontrollably as he builds an incredibly unforgiving pace. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, jagi.” He promises in between pleasurable groans. The tightness of your hot walls around his thickness indicates his intrusion must be painful for you—a stark contrast to the blissful grip of your tight pussy around his shaft. But the way you cling onto him, the way you meet his powerful thrusts halfway through, and the way your back arches when he rams so deep inside, indicate a different story. “Do you like it, my love? Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel, Jagi.” He demands, wanting to wring something from you just to validate the endless strings of pleasure trailing in his lower region. “It feels good, Jungkook please… Don’t stop, don’t—” another cry rips through you as your walls spasm involuntarily at the intense surge of sparks spreading from your core. He knows, you’re close just as he is. In most instances, he would prolong his pleasure, delivering you to the end several times, yet not chasing his own, and only reaching for his orgasm only when you’re too exhausted to take him yet again. However, this moment is not among those cases. Right now, he wouldn't deprive himself from chasing his release as it becomes too powerful, too addicting to prolong. “Yes, yes. Fuck!” He hisses onto your neck, endlessly pummeling through you. And just about another inch of moment where he reaches the seventh heaven, he feels his shoulder shook. With a flick of a finger, his world came in a painful halt. Then everything turns black, and into evanescence, he arduously returns into the real world. Particularly, in the depths of the woods where he'd wasted himself in the dead of the night along with his subordinates. As his smoky vision briefly skims through his surroundings, he immediately concluded his fate last night. He failed to make it inside his tent, and the only thing he could blame it for is the alcohol his subordinates had provided the night prior. He was too intoxicated, and the spirit of alcohol still lingers in his head as he felt it faintly pounds. At least he had the decency to sleep against a tree. The army had camped here to rest for the night, but the intended rest turned into a chaotic, wasted moment of their lives.

He lifted his death glare to whoever dared cut off his dream, ready to slice their head off of their shoulders. Jungkook was met with an anguish looking soldier. “My lord, forgive me for disturbing your rest but our comrades— they are trying to kill each other. One of them is already severely wounded.” The soldier exclaimed frighteningly, his face is covered with beads of sweat. Why did these soldiers even partook the army only to be such wimps dealing with their violent comrades? The commotion could be heard from his spot, the clashing sounds of sword against sword could be heard through the peaceful silence in the forest. Dismayed, Jungkook collected himself. He dismisses the soldier through a wave in his hand then disgruntledly rub his palms on his face to wear off his hazy vision and stood, bracing himself for another long day of journey. He must remind his subordinates who is in-charge of this army. However, with his head lowered, he notices the effect his dream had caused a mere second before he had recognized the pain. There it was, a tent of his own arousal. Groaning, he deliberately bumps his head against the uneven surface of the trunk of the indigenous tree he had slept against at. Dozing off in the oddest, most incoherent positions and places is not something foreign for him, for the soldiers. At some point, they had to spend nights stuck inside manholes in the middle of the forest to catch the rebels— who like them, have manmade caves to keep their tracks untraceable.

The ache in his back and neck he undoubtedly obtained from spending the night leaning against the hard bark of the tree in is nothing compared to the constricting pain in the expanse of his lower region. His lewd dreams had frequented in his nights these past few months—years even. They not only consist of his dirty little fantasies with you, but figments of how he'd imagine his future to be. They are almost real, and a story on their own. He‘s certain he’s gone crazy by the manner his dreams are able to create the images his heart had coveted, how his thoughts hone his dreams and stir something feral from his body, his impure needs. Perhaps, that’s how he had cope with your absence. Time had passed by a blur, but his feelings had not. It’s not so surprising to ponder over it for you are his other half, the soulmate the gods have bestowed upon him. He only needs to fulfill his mission, and it won’t be too long until he completes it. He misses you just as his soul longs to hear your delicate voice, your sweet laughter. He covets to be blessed upon your elegant beauty, and your bright smiles.

He had considered writing letters for you to ease the longingness in his bereft heart. However, the risks are too high for him to act upon his wish. Being an enemy in the unclaimed territory, foreign rebels would not think twice of hurting someone on his behalf. And that includes you. The adversity the two of you had caused four years ago left an ugly wound on your reputation, that was what he had gathered from his messenger. Despite the hierarchy of your status, noble families in the capital refuse to offer their unmarried sons to the princess for fear of being inflicted with misfortune tailing from the sin you had committed. The thought of you having to endure the pain from the gratuitous judgement of the people became his nightmare. No. It used to be his nightmare, as convinced by his selfish instincts. A blessing in disguise. In the midst of the predicament both of you have endured for years, your situation had only amplified his hope and eagerness to survive the uncertainty living in the  battlefield. If no one would want to have your untouched, pure soul, he will gladly have you in his arms. With the military power he had acquired, the significant impact the army under his leadership had contributed over the years, and the loyalty of the army to him, the king would not refuse to his bidding. Even with a promised prince at your disposal. Still, the fear of losing you for someone else had cogently crossed his mind. Rare is when he dwells into solitude. And it is fortunate to be the case for him as he would not have to deal with the overwhelming plethora of emotions his heart carries every sane second of his life in the north. Mayhaps, his traitor mind chooses to play fool of him through an endless series of dreams. Of you. With you. It was a tricky game that he willingly succumbs himself into. Through the years, he had lost count how many lives he had ended, how much enemies had his sword touched their blood in order to survive the truculent situation in the borders. He knows, despite having his foot buried deep in the ground, he would survive in the death trap alive or, at least, breathing. But he realized, the longer he endures the uncertainty in the north, the higher the possibility of him losing in another battle. That, or he’d have to have you as soon as he arrives in the capital. That was his final consolation before he proceeds to slice through the disturbing sound of commotion, cheers of encouragement rather than peace. It was not only him who had gone insane from the years worth of ordeal they had braved through, it seems. The mere sight of a brawl now entertain his army. If these pieces of shit do not stop killing each other off just by the presence of their general, Jungkook might as well do the job, himself.

Since the deployment of the extensive military presence at the borders of Joseon, neighboring empires have adopted similar strategy to protect their own lands from possible foreign invasions. In Joseon empire, threats of rebellion were already ceased some months ago. But the war didn’t dissipate in Joseon. Now bearing enemies inside the territory. Among the endless reasons why the king had out of nowhere summoned one of his trusted allies, is to seek perspective over these matters from someone as wise as he is. Perhaps, wiser than he could have ever been. Since his ascension to the throne, his brother had completely extended his loyalty to him. With his brother on his side, he was able to see the situations on the outside palace. Corrupt officials from isolated states are seized, stripped off their positions, and arrested for the rest of their lifetime. The only thing they have not agreed so far is the forthcoming marriage of the princess with a Ming royalty. The former prince considers it an unwise judgment to arrange the princess’ marriage with a foreign ally, arguing foreign empires, an ally or not, will inevitably shift partisan as the need arises. If war stirs between them in the future, the princess may be used as a token of weakness against the Joseon empire. “Rumor has it that Councillor Kang is plotting to stir a commotion regarding the first born son’s title, Your Majesty.” He supplies to the King before taking a graceful sip from his tea cup. Perhaps, if there is one thing he misses in his previous life, it’s the refreshment teas and the sumptuous serving of meals in the palace that are exclusively served for the royal family. His resources are now limited, despite the constant help the Queen Dowager sends in his behalf, he cannot rely on anyone for his survival. King Namjoon made a sound of agreement, deeply in thought of his current predicament. “I have anticipated that even before Consort Li gave birth to my son. The opposition will always find a way to seek for my weakness.” “They cannot use the prince against you or the queen. The customs favor your wife in this matter. For a concubine’s son to qualify as the crown prince, he must be taken under the care of the queen. But in this case, no existing law would support the Southern Party’s agenda if the queen is already carrying the next king.” King Namjoon heaves a long sigh, viisibly relaxing, despite the creases present on his forehead. He had thought the same thing. “You are right. Clearly, they have nowhere to go but to follow the process. However, something portent tells me this does not conclude their plan to destroy our family. I need to gather enough proof of their misdeeds before they come chasing for my dethronement.” Namjoon discloses the last remnants of his worries. Yoongi’s lips curve into a dark smug, disgusted by the audacity of those greedy snakes to even attempt to disrespect the throne of the monarch with their lousy lives. "You mean, you are thinking of the possibility that they may attempt to challenge your throne, Your Majesty?” Yoongi echoes. As the thought crosses his mind, he agrees with the king. There is a possibility. However, would the favored faction risk their positions over a poorly, indecisive move?

As if the monarch heard his thoughts, King Namjoon proceeds to speak, "The Southern Party will not dare lose their only chance to be in government. They know of my capabilities. I could turn and replace the government if they insist against my will. This is why I need your help, Hyung-nim. I need to know what the people think of my first born son. They might consider using my people for their selfish interests.” Yoongi studies the king’s face for a moment, recognizing something he only ever had witnessed once when their father had succumbed to his illness, vulnerability. “Of course, Your Majesty. Expect my letters in the coming days. I will envoy a different messenger to avoid raising suspicions from the state council.” He immediately bid a farewell to the monarch, before leaving the royal quarters of the study. Discreetly, he saunters across the length of the endless maze-like hallways in the royal residence. No one must have recognized him for even the court ladies who run into his way did not stop to pay respect to the king’s brother. It did not matter to him, because his unrecognizable identity allowed him to live peacefully outside the palace. As he scurries past the series of familiar quarters, his mind wanders back to the discussion he had exchanged with the king.

Yoongi did not willingly lose his title, in favor of his younger brother just for the throne to be snatched away by these corrupt officials. He knew. He already had the realization at a young age that the throne, his birthright, was not for him. It was not his right, not only because he despises the tremendous responsibility that the title carries but he perceives his skills are not equally meant to rule the nation his father had cherished all his life. Despite inherently having the highest title a prince could acquire, he believed the third born prince, his prodigy brother, deserved to be the next in line in the throne. With this in mind, he did the simplest form of deviation, committing ungracious and inappropriate acts inside the court. His misbehavior acts lasted for months until the state council had had enough of it. Yoongi succeeded, he was stripped off his title. But he paid the lasting price of his deviance. Being banished in the palace as the court perceives his presence as a threat to the next heir.

It was an ironic thought. He deliberately lose his title only to be seen as a threat to the throne. Following this predicament, frightened by ascending to the highest title of a prince, the second born prince abandoned his title in pursuit of his dreams.

The assumption of crown prince was then passed to the third born prince. His feet continued to take him to the right paths. Never relenting, mindlessly scanning the nostalgic, extravagant constructions in the royal residence. Not until he heard a familiar feminine voice that he abruptly stops and peers behind his back. Catching a glimpse of his sister, his stoic expression slowly softens. You quickly strutted forward without losing the grace you had mastered from being taught since you were tiny when the top of your head barely reached his hips. Excitement bubbled up inside you at the sight of your eldest brother. You lower your head, and instead of hearing a proper greeting from your brother, he scolds you just like the old times. "Stop the formalities, Princess. I am no longer of title.” Your eyebrows form a line while a smile ghosts on your expression. “But you are still a Grand Prince for me.” He leans closer and ruffles the side of your perfectly braided hair, to which earns a protest from you. His smile widens, revealing the sets of his pearly white teeth. “I have missed you. It’s been a while since you’ve showed up here. What brings you here? Have you visited mother? What about the King?” He bursts into series of soft chuckles. “Slow down, little flower. No one is chasing you down here, is there?” Your face stretches in a frown, "You seemed to be already going out of the palace, Orabeoni. Do you not wish to see us before you go?” "I apologize, Your Highness, I have matters to attend to. I will come back to visit you and Her Majesty in the future." You sigh, but nod in understanding of the situation. His life now revolves outside the palace, you realized. "I hope you have been living well?" “You don’t have to worry about me. Perhaps, it would not be wise to tell you in detail the beautiful things I have witnessed during my travels.” He regards, meaningfully. You understood what he meant.

The bright smile your face adorns slowly fading, “You have heard, haven’t you? That was a long time ago...” The least for him to do to fill the void of the loss of his family is through gathering news about them. It was the safest means for him to remain knowledgable of his family’s matters rather than exchanging letters with them. Despite losing his royal status, living outside has given him the wholly overview of the nation. He had learned a lot of things for his survival and for his scholarly works. With his brother’s permission to delve into the records in the Bureau of State Records for his scholarly works, he stumbled upon the history of his ancestors, and the untold secrets of the old royal families. Even the undiscovered edicts, one of which would soon reverberate through the empty halls of the palace.

“I always know what goes on in here even when I’m not around.” A small smile rests on the corner of his lips in the hopes of lessening your sudden uneasiness. Somehow, it did. “What about Prince Hoseok? Have you heard of him? Since his disappearance, the queen dowager and Prince Taehyung refused to talk about his whereabouts.” “Do not worry about Hoseok. He is, like I am, in the best condition of his life.” He prompts with collected patience. Living far from the extravagant lifestyle was difficult to get used to. But as the beauty of life slowly unravels for his eyes to admire on, he realizes he had no regrets giving up everything his previous life had offered before him. For you to navigate the same onerous path he took to endure the new, yet simple living, he’d rather have you revolved your life around the good side of the world, somewhere where nobility surrounds you. Life outside the palace is cruel and filled with misfortunes and unsaid miseries. “I’m relieved to hear that. Please take this before you go,” You say, reaching out to your braided hair, unclasping the gold pin and placing it in his unwilling palm. He arches an eyebrow, questioningly. "It’s the only thing I have right now—“ “I should take my leave now, Your Highness.” “Right, then please accept my gift, brother. I believe it carries luck as well as my prayers… for your security.” Yoongi draws a long breath, closing his palm around the metallic piece of accessory, wondering what he would it use for. Crouching forward, he places an affectionate kiss on the top of your head, dropping a promise, “I will come see you when you get married.” Your brother swiftly pulls back and turns away without sparing a single glance from your direction, heading off towards the secret passage that only you and your siblings knew. The same path you crossed when you took off years ago. His sudden disappearance made your apprehension profound, and at the mention of a forthcoming marriage, it left a disturbing, unwarranted feeling at the pit of your stomach. You have been faithfully loyal to your promise, despite the uncertainty. You tirelessly waited for his return. But, it does not mean you would only vain while you remain unmarried. You have aged a couple years since he left the capital. While you age more, your royal duty becomes inescapable. Years without him have not been forgiving, but there was nothing you could hope for as you remained out of the attention of the government, avoiding an inevitable marriage— something that should have happened several years ago. As much as the queen dowager worries for your future, the situation seems to be more a blessing than curse for you. You have no power to control an arrangement that only the queen and the king have, and the only way for you to stay unmarried is to avoid the marriage itself. However, you know, as time ticks off, the life of a lighted candle decreases. So are your chances. You wish to see him, at least, at the break of dawn.

On the east side of the grand palace, unbeknownst to the rest of the royal family, the queen had met with the queen dowager in the garden of Huwon, at the similar period of time while the king and his brother were at the royal residence. A couple of servants and royal guards were awaiting on behalf on the foot of the pavilion. More than a year ago, the queen dowager had descended from the throne when the first ranking lady in the Selection whose father governs a remote state in a distant province assumed the highest position a female of title can acquire. From then on, the king's mother had learned to trust the queen for her genuine efforts in regulating the palace women's affairs. With her faith on the queen's fair judgement to the matters in the inner court, she bestowed her blessing to arrange the princess' marriage with a suitable man of nobility. It was the purpose of their vigilant meeting in the secluded royal garden of the East Palace. But the profound carefulness in addressing the matter had soon reached the prying ears of the government officials through their scattered watchful spies disguised as servants inside the grand palace. Rumors of your betrothal rapidly spread through the halls of the palaces and into the capital. Your forthcoming marriage had been expected years ago, but as you had remained unmarried for a long time, the society had already concluded your future. Being a lonely maiden for lifetime, as your punishment for painting damages to your virtue and disobeying the gods’ laws. When the news reaches Yoongi, he immediately decided to return to the capital.

Several days later, half of the army from the northern border had finally returned to the capital, and into the East Palace’s throne hall, they had paid a respect to the king of the nation. The couple hundreds of soldiers in a full view from the king's throne, it was a display of the king’s military power from the watchful eyes of the prospective enemies. While the army stood outside, across the king’s throne hall, General Jeon entered the royal throne to present himself as the leader’s army which he had led for the past four years. His left arm holds his head armor, the other hand securing two scrolls as he takes long powerful strides across the length of the hall towards the awaiting monarch on the throne. With his head high, he stopped in front of the throne, before he crouches on his bended knee, and lowered his head in front of the King. It was not long before he rose back from his feet. The authoritative voice of the contented king resonates inside the throne hall. “I am glad you have survived the war, Jeon. I have not missed a reading on all your accomplishments. Although your army have lost a great amount of soldiers in the past four years, I am immensely impressed by your skills and leadership for you have not only captured the rebel leaders but also conquered parts of the outside north.” King Namjoon could perhaps be in an ephemeral peace. With the influence and loyalty of the army the general has come to acquire, General Jeon would make a great ally for his empire. He needs to keep it that way. “It is the only way I see fit to end the war against the rebels. If we have not conquered the North, they will not surrender on their own.” General Jeon proceeds, with the boldness of him to return the stare of the king. King Namjoon did not mind, in fact, the fearlessness that the General emits through his mere stature impresses him. The same general couldn’t even risk lifting a gaze in front of the ruler a few years ago. But the young general before is nowhere near recognizable from the man standing in front of him. The battlefield had honed the general into a real soldier. Tracing his stubble on his jaw, he continues to praise the general, “I commend you, Jeon. I must say, you are wiser than the late general. What have you brought for your king in your return, May I ask?” Jungkook didn’t waste any second longer, handing out one of the scrolls to the king’s eunuch. He waited until the eunuch places it on the king’s table before concluding the content of the scroll. “That record accounts for the extension of the lands outside the northern border. The peasants and commoners who reside in these areas now recognize you as their king. With this piece of record, no other ruling monarch would question your ownership to the conquered lands. Unless, they want to seek war against your kingdom.” “I am beyond impressed, Jeon.” King Namjoon asserted, clearly showing his utter astonishment. As he skims over the sloppy, almost unillegible calligraphy, Jungkook decides to prompt another matter, a significant one. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you have heard that the Ming empire had sent an ally troop for us in the north.” Showing too little interest over the subject, King Namjoon's attention stills on the scroll’s content. “I am aware, General Jeon. What matters with it?” “Commander Park, the leader of the Ming army, is the 13th prince of the Ming empire, full blooded brother of Emperor Kim. One of his brothers had warned him about the traitors in the Joseon court. It is Councilor Kang who attempted to seek alliance with the Ming princes against your ascension, Your Majesty.” At the mere mention of the Southern Party's leader, the attention of the king immediately shifted to the general. Perplexed, the heat of anger rushes in him. If this is the truth, he would make the Southern Party receive an unforgiving punishment for threatening his throne. “You don’t say…” The king dangerously trails, “Do you understand what your allegation could mean if it bears no truth?” King Namjoon couldn’t seem to perceive the credibility of his claim. There was nothing he could read from the general. Nothing but the dead in his eyes. “I am merely relaying the words of Commander Park to you, Your Majesty. It is not an accusation from me but a warning not to trust Kang’s pretense intent of peace.” With the dark grin ghosting on the general's face, King Namjoon scrutinized his expression. What is his motive? “You are not telling me this out of concern for my throne, Jeon.” He warily prompts, testing the waters. He has no doubts of his loyalty. If there is one thing the king is certain, Jungkook honors his words. But with the sudden shift of the discussion, King Namjoon is suddenly holed up with utter confusion. The slight curve of Jungkook’s lips twitches more as his eyes remain black. Empty. “You are right, Your Majesty.” Jungkook has been keeping it long enough, after fulfilling his duty and his unspoken promise to his father, it’s about time to fulfill the most important one in his lifetime. “What is it that you wish in exchange for this giving me this information?” “I have not yet told you that Commander Park and Prince Jimin are the same person. It is the same prince you have arranged betrothal with Princess ______, is it not Your Majesty?” His eyes narrowed. So this is about the princess all along? “That matter is not of your concern, Jeon Jungkook. You must know where your position would account for your regard. I would not wish for you to be among my enemies, Jeon. Stay away from the princess.” admonishes the monarch. “I do not wish to start a war against you, Your Majesty. I am merely seeking for your blessing to grant me this decree.” Jungkook raises the scroll before holding it forward towards the Eunuch’s reach. He spoke no more and waited for the King to read the decree. Once King Namjoon got hold of it, he urgently opened the scroll, eyes eagerly skimming over the texts written in familiar calligraphy. Jungkook watches the shock slowly uncovers from the face of the King. The control and power crumbling into pieces as the riffles his eyes through him pellucidly, throwing the scroll on his table. Whatever it is that was in the decree has discomfited the king as the darkness of his eyes now matches the general's lifeless eyes.

“This couldn’t be possible…” He calmly concluded amidst the fury his expression is giving away. Did he think he had outsmarted me? King Namjoon silently thought. He turns to his side, the glower in his face effortlessly made his Eunuch tremble in fear. “Call the Chief Secretary!” He ordered. Despite the king's anger, Jungkook remains passive, anticipating the worst that may blew up by revealing the undisclosed edict. If this is the his ploy in order to have the king capitulated on his terms, he has to pay for the inexorable price of his crime, a military official or not.

On the other side of the capital, there you were in the market, enjoying your time outside the palace. This day is one of the few instances you are allowed to wander off in the capital. The Queen has reasonably permitted for your gratuitous trips. You are grateful for she did not perceive your royal status as a threat to her ascension for you want to sustain a peaceful relationship with the royal family. Years ago when Jungkook brought you in this particular shop, you have frequented here since. The lady merchant has grown a liking to you for you have always been one among her generous customers. The pieces of accessories they sell, you have learned, were crafted by individuals of no noble descents. Your fondness of buying illegally published literally books was replaced by adding up pieces by pieces of jewelry and hair accessories to your collection. After a moment of eclectic selection, you finally have made up your mind which pieces you would purchase this time. Instead of making your way back to the palace after purchasing these items, you decided to stay a little longer, absentmindedly surveying the variety of inexpensive goods aside from the luxurious pieces the shop sell.

A few feet away from your stance, a rugged looking man of seemingly from a noble trace with the dark, elegant shade of his robe approaches the same merchant. And even without a gay atop his head, the rarity of his robe’s colors colors could already be speaking of power. This man is not just one among those government officials that commoners frequently see in the daylight.

The eager shop owner beams, noticing the indifference of the noble man’s eyes as they bore over the pool of jewelry pieces and accessories. Perhaps, another prospected customer who is merely buying for their lover, “My Lord, do you wish to buy something for your wife?” It was then the lips stretch in an endearing smile, “Yes, I’d like to purchase something for my lady. Do you have something to recommend for me?”

The shop owner surveys the official for a brief moment, before an idea pops into her mind. “Oh, I have been keeping this one of a kind piece for a long time, now. If you are interested, My Lord, I’ll show it to you.” The shop owner regards in a mysterious, lingering tone, as if to pique his curiosity. Why did she not offer you this piece? You pondered, without lifting your gaze upon them. “Go on.” He encourages. The seller holds out a small intricately designed box, opening it in front of him to reveal a pair of plain yet immaculately crafted gold rings. "This was brought to a temple for five days in order to bring good fate for lovers. The shaman said to sell this to lovers who are willing to pay generously in exchange for a good future.” In a heartbeat, the man curtly nodded. "Consider it sold.” He says in a certain tone. The shop owner’s eyes widened in surprise, immediately collecting the box, allowing no opportunity for the man seemingly in a high-ranking position to afford such to change his mind. “Your lover is lucky to have you, My Lord.” The lady dreamily remarked. He only smiled and didn’t speak further as he hands out a generous amount of currency in exchange of the content of the small box.

You were there all along, listening closely to the interaction. The strange man caught your unsolicited attention with his mere voice. That’s what it seems. You're as puzzled as overwhelmed from unintentionally hearing the interaction. But you’re certain, he’s not the one you think he is. The man only sounded like him. Too late, for your heart already started pounding loudly on its own accord. Your state frozen, seemingly lost in your thoughts to have your body move as you wish. It was not your nerves but your doubts that is stopping you from looking at him to rest your judgment. It took you a while. And you regret not taking the chance when you had it because before you could gather your pittance of a strength to gaze upon the man, he was already out of sight. In desperation, your eyes eagerly search through the sea of people, mentally sifting through the layers and layers of passers-by as if your eyes will magically blur everything else to locate his figure. He was already gone. This has happened before. For several instances. Your mind always creates an imagery of him whenever he crosses your mind, wherever you are— seeing someone bearing his familiarity. But every time you do, you’re always unable to see their actual face. It was not him. That’s what you’re sure of.

He couldn’t be omniscient in nature, he couldn’t be in the north while grazing your presence here every now and then. He just couldn’t be here.

This is just one of them. Would your heart not mind if you see his home, at least, for the last time? Would it matter more to you to see his lifeless household, or would it just a waste of time and a heartache?

With your lurking mind, you scurried the path where your heart is taking you.

You didn’t really noticed the long, arduous walk you had gone through. The sun is about to set when you arrived. Your feet like a mind of their own, stopping in front of the wooden barricade. His mother has lived with his relatives in a distant town somewhere after Jungkook left.

There’s nothing else to see other than the barnished wooden gate. You cannot even open it for your own perusal. But you kept on coming back here for it was the only thing in the present that connects you with that memory, reliving them in the present. He spent his last moments here with you. But however beautiful your memories here had been, the contrited pieces always linger elsewhere in your mind as you relinquish the past. Fate is a mere imaginary force, perhaps, created by entities living in this world, as fictitious as happiness, as treacherous as love. While hope brings you a strong faith of anticipation to the uncertain, the endless cycle of waiting only gives you the bittersweet acceptance in return. There was no regret behind the years of your wasted youth amidst the inescapable obligation of being an object of possession under a political truce— the truth that you have to live from the guise of a royal birth. You kept your promise, and until time and your royal duty comes in between, you will stay faithful to your words. Your fingers quickly shed the moisture threatening to spill from your eyes. And as you emotionally gather yourself up, you turn away in bereft. Not knowing that someone from behind is going towards the opposite direction. With your occupied mind and your sudden move, it was too late for the stranger to step sideways to avoid your approaching figure. The impact left you immobile for a second, losing your balance as your legs gave away. However, they caught you just in time.

Ambivalently speechless, you were unable to scramble off to your feet away from them and utter words of apologies to the stranger you have caused a burden of. When you have recovered, you softly gasp in embarrassment, mumbling series of apologies without prying your bashful eyes up towards them. Scared that they will lash out at your carelessness. Not until you hear the voice of the stranger. “_______?” Your rapid breaths stutter, you felt like everything else around you stops but the loud thumping of your heart. Was it your mind one again creating a hallucination of him? Slowly, you lift your head up. But you swallowed the urge to gasp as your eyes eagerly rake through the rugged looking man in front of you. It was your first time to see their face, to see him fully. The face your mind has created for years. Unfortunately, nothing resembles him of Jungkook but his eyes. And his voice. Stupid of you to think he’s real. You immediately turn away, gathering the strength to go as far away as you can. “______ wait!” You hear them call, your mind is pretty adamant, because the farther you walk, the louder his voice gets to you. It was not long when they had caught up with you as you felt the force in your arm, yanking you back around to face him. “What are you doing here?” He asks the same question he uttered to you years ago when he saw you in front of his house. You clenched your eyes shut, disturbed with your evil mind’s tricks to play with your heart dangerously. How could it possible for him to be here, coincidentally when you’re mourning, when you had just imagined him at the capital? As much as you‘re convinced he’s not real, the warmth from his hands seeping through the fabric covering your arms as they keep you locked on their hold tell you the person isn’t just a figment or your imagination. He’s real? “Jungkook?” It took him a second before he realizes the tone of your affirmation. “You didn’t recognize me, Jagi? It’s me.” Lips quivering, you clasp his face in between your palms with your collected strength, silently wishing none of this is a part of your imagination like it has been in the past years. “Is it really you? Am I not just dreaming?” You whisper in grief, as your sorrowful eyes pierces through his soul. Something twists in his gut, catching your efforts as you control the faint sobs threatening to break out from you throat.

It was too late for you to swallow them as tears pooled out of your eyes. The calloused pads of his thumbs feather lightly brush against your tear stained cheeks.your efforts to control the faint sobs.

“I’m here. I came back for you. Haven’t I promised you that?” He wants to prove it to you, just so you would believe it is real. That he’s here before your eyes. His face was mere inches to yours, but he stilled, almost losing his control if not reminded by the fact that the two of you are out for the world to see. You blinked, hiding the dejection when he steps back just as you were anticipating something else. With a heavy heart, you prodded. “When did you come back?” Jungkook deliberately didn’t answer. You have all the time to ask him later. Right now, he needs you. Swallowing a big lump in his throat, his fingers entwine tightly with yours, gently tugging you forward.

“Come with me.” He says. “Jungkook, what...“ Your voice faltered, panting from the distance you had walked through. Your curious eyes follow his free hand as it swiftly unlocked the hidden bar of the wicket.

Just as he has pulled you inside the vicinity of his household, he pushed the door shut along with your body, pressing you flat against the hard surface. Jungkook cages you in between with his hands glued on the sides of your head. He used to dream about this happening. With you, in an arm’s reach. He stays still for a while, savoring the moment. His leering eyes quietly memorizing every detail on your face. You have not aged a year older. Jungkook thinks he was looking at your younger self. Except for your hollowed cheeks, and dulled pair of orbs, you still look mesmerizingly breathtaking, beautiful, pure and only his. He inches closer, invading your mouth with much controlled passion. The faint sting of his stubble as it made contact against your skin creates another foreign sensation, sparking desire within you as tremors run down your spine.

“Gods, I miss you.” He groans against your mouth. For a moment, you were stiff, shocked by the boldness of his advances. Jungkook had kissed you before, you had felt the wetness of his lips pressing against yours before, as he expressed his affection for you.

But not like this, not with the way he was lewdly nipping your lips, not with the way his tongue is chasing your own. Not with the way his hands are exploring the untouched parts of your body.

Jungkook nudges his head south, on the crook of your neck. He moves closer, flushing his huge body against yours. Your eyes clenched shut at the feel of his need on his lower region pressing on your clothed stomach. A soft cry resonates through the quietness of the household at the feel of his teeth and stubble piercing simultaneously through your skin. Bound speechless under your clouded mind, unable to discern the right and wrong when Jungkook plotted the hole that you have willingly allowed yourself to be buried into its depths.

As he captures your lips once more, your fingers corded beneath his long knotted hair. There was no turning back now. He will have you one way or another.

a/n: what do you guys think? im curious to know what your thoughts are pls share them with me :(( it’s rushed i know and as expected this is unedited so forgive me for grammar issues and typos

mintseesaw ©️ 2020

credits to the rightful owner (Jeesung Kim) of the image edited as a banner

[jaskicr]

geraskier childhood friends au with fae jaskier

summary:

Geralt had a best friend, once. Julian had been the first person to choose Geralt - he’d been Geralt’s first friend, his first love, but Geralt had hurt him unforgivably.

Now, when Jaskier chatters at him, smiling at him without a hint of fear in his scent, Geralt tries not to think about how Jaskier reminds him too much of Julian. They have the same crooked smile, the same ringing laugh, and they both touch Geralt in the same way, gentle and caring.

But then comes the dragon hunt - and Geralt hates that he always does this. When people care about him, and when he cares about them in return, he inevitably pushes them away. Julian and Jaskier had both chosen him, but all Geralt ever does is hurt. When will he learn that destruction is all that he’s capable of?

Or: Geralt and Jaskier meet in a forest near Kaer Morhen when they’re children. They grow up together as best friends, then as lovers, but when Geralt leaves for the Path, it tears them apart.

Decades later, in a tavern in Posada, they find each other again.

----

When he finally walks back up to Kaer Morhen, steps slow and laboured, Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever felt so heavy, his grief and guilt weighing down every step. After enduring Geralt pushing him away twice, Jaskier has finally decided to step back from their friendship, has finally decided to leave, and it hurts, even though Geralt knows that he deserves it.

Jaskier’s farewell is an ache deep in his bones, an empty hollow in his heart, and it’s horrible, and Geralt can’t lose him. The memory of Jaskier’s sad eyes as he bids Geralt a final farewell lingers in Geralt’s mind, sends waves of utter devastation coursing through him, and Geralt can’t lose him.

He can’t live without Jaskier, not again, and he can’t bear the thought of never seeing Jaskier again, never seeing his bright smile and his kind eyes, never hearing his musical voice and his joyous laughter, never feeling his gentle touches and warm embraces. Jaskier is his best friend, his everything, and Geralt needs him, and he resolves to do anything and everything to prove to Jaskier that he means it, that he wants their friendship back and won’t hurt him ever again.

He’d lost Jaskier twice, both times due to his own stupidity and foolishness. He won’t let that happen a third time. 

As Geralt lays in his bed that night, replaying the memory of Jaskier’s farewell over and over, a plan grows in his mind. Jaskier won’t seek him out, not after how they’d parted, but Jaskier has always known whenever Geralt shows up in the clearing, or even in the forest. If Jaskier is somehow aware of his presence, maybe… maybe Geralt can prove his dedication if he stays there. It’s not much, certainly not as grand of a gesture as Geralt would like, but it’s the only thing he can do if Jaskier stays away.

He’s desperate to do anything, anything, that would give him a chance of getting Jaskier back, and he has no idea what he’s going to do beyond staying in the clearing, but it’s something. 

The next morning, Geralt greets his brothers, who are readying themselves to head back out onto the Path, as he walks over to Vesemir.

“I, uh, I think I’m going to stay here for a while this year,” Geralt says sheepishly.

Vesemir gives him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to head back out on the Path just yet,” Geralt explains, wringing his hands. “I think… I want to rest for some time.”

It's not the reason why he’s staying, but Vesemir seems to buy it, his face softening, and he pats Geralt on the shoulder. “Well, feel free to stay as long as you’d like. I know you’ve been through a lot, and you deserve a break.”

“I’ll be back on the Path once I can,” Geralt promises. He’ll stay for as long as it takes.

“Of course,” Vesemir agrees, and sends him a small smile. “Just don’t wreck the keep. I’ll put you through extra training next winter if you ruin anything.”

Geralt chuckles softly. “I won’t, Vesemir. Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself,” Vesemir responds, heading over to where Lambert and Eskel are fiddling with their packs.

Geralt bids farewell to his family, watching as they disappear down the trail before he heads back into his room. He packs his belongings, bringing things that he normally wouldn’t take on the Path, things like a warm blanket and a thicker, more comfortable bedroll. Jaskier’s key is tucked under his clothes, and he wraps his fingers around it and pulls it out, displaying it proudly on his chest for everyone to see.

He heads to the stables and slings his pack on Roach, who bumps her head against him, and Geralt smiles sadly. She’d been irritable ever since he’d left Jaskier on that mountain, likely missing Jaskier’s quiet affection and the sugar cubes he would sneak to her while Geralt would pretend not to know. 

“You miss him too, huh?” he murmurs, stroking her mane, and she bucks against his hand. “Well, let’s go get him back, shall we?”

He leads Roach into the forest, through familiar trees until he emerges in the clearing. It’s empty, devoid of light and laughter without Jaskier’s presence, and it’s wrong - it’s not supposed to be so hollow, so bleak. 

Geralt resolves to change that.

He clears a spot on the ground, setting up a small camp. He’ll be here for a while.

link to read more on ao3 in reblog!

[vivvyinvienna]

the night we met (draco malfoy)

A/N: heyo! this is my first fic so pls be nice :) i hope you guys enjoy it! xoxo 

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Draco is haunted by the memories of his dead lover. Post-Battle of Hogwarts. Inspired by the Lord Huron song “The Night We Met.”

Warnings: alcohol, cursing, depression, angst, violence, blood, major character death

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

  Draco languidly twirled the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He watched as the amber liquid clung desperately to the sides before unfailingly slipping back. His drunken mind and hazy thoughts found amusement in it. They found amusement in a lot of things now. Like how he sat in front of the fireplace in a grand leather chair downing firewhiskey by the bottle every night; being every bit of the rich, spoiled Malfoy heir he was. Y/N would have told him that he was trying too hard to mourn in an aesthetic. And she would have been right. 

The thought of her lifted him from his reverie. The glass of liquor stopped turning in his hand, instead it was brought to his lips, quickly downed in hopes of expelling her from his mind. In hopes of keeping out all the feelings that came alongside memories of her. It was why he drank in the first place, why he sat drunk and unrefined with his hair messed, shirt untucked, and suit rumpled.

But it didn’t work. It never really worked. Not even the strongest liquor from his father’s collection could rid his mind of her. Her lips, her touch, her soft breath on his shoulder from their last embrace was all tattooed on his soul. He didn’t really mind those. But it was the memories of her death, watching her body crumble and blood pour from her wounds, that made him want to obliviate himself. They stained his mind, weakened his body and ate at his soul. 

After losing her at the Battle of Hogwarts, he constantly felt like he was a wandering traveler who’s path had run out. He was riddled with these feelings of guilt, sorrow, longing, and depression. There was always this painful feeling in his chest, like someone had a vice grip around his lungs and heart. While he was with Y/N there was always a nagging feeling that he was in debt to her. She had taught him the invaluable, that he could love and be loved. She had saved him in every manner a person could be saved. The feelings, thoughts, and pain he now faced was unrelenting, incessant, and unforgiving. He supposed it was a method of repaying his debt. 

Looking towards the fireplace that was softly raging, he put down his glass. Chasing away the memories never worked, he didn’t know why he bothered trying every night. And with that, he resigned to his thoughts of her.

 I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  Draco was laying on her bed in her Hufflepuff dorm. The windows facing the rolling hills were drawn up, letting in the warm glow of sunset. It bathed the room in this honey tint that made him feel warm and blissful. Laying on his side, he stared at the Y/H/C haired girl at the desk who was intensely focused on her books and notes. 

“Angel?”

Your quill paused and you turned to let your Y/E/C eyes meet his. He thought your eyes were the most beautiful thing, they held the beauty and intensity of a thousand stars in his mind. He found everything beautiful about you really. The way your hair framed your face. Your delicate fingers whenever they entangled with his. The way your rosy lips tilted into a smile when you looked up at him. 

“Yes, Draco?”

You had a slight smile and an extra twinkle in your eye as you answered him because you knew exactly what he was going to ask next. 

As predicted, the blonde boy strewn across your bed softly, adoringly, and a tinge whiningly said, “Come lay with me for a bit.”

Looking back and forth between him and the DADA homework on your desk, you pouted while responding “I still have so much of Umbridge’s work to do though.”

Draco let out a dramatic groan and flipped onto his back before answering, “ You’re killing me, Y/N. What do I need to do to convince you?” 

The truth was Draco didn’t need to do anything to persuade you, you were sick of Umbridge’s busy work. And after feeling his gaze caress you all afternoon, you craved his touch. But you decided to have a bit of fun.

“It’s killed meh. It’s killed meh.” You mocked.

You never let him live down that accident from third year. He covered his eyes and laughed in embarrassment before retaliating, “At least I didn’t get sent to the hospital wing because of a plant. You’re supposed to be good at herbology, badger.”

You feigned offense, “That’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t put on an entire theatrical performance like you felt the need to.” And with that, you started to walk towards the Slytherin boy on your bed. He pulled the covers back for you to join him when he noticed your approach. 

“Ok, ok, fine. Just get in already, I’m getting cold.” 

Once you settled into his arms, he watched as you snuggled deeper into his chest. With your guys legs intertwined and his arms encasing you, his heart felt content and at peace. He had everything he needed and wanted right in his arms. 

You tilted your face up, and while looking adoringly at Draco you whispered,  “I love you, you know?” 

He gave you a soft smile that made the cold ice of his eyes melt. Putting his forehead against yours, he gently nudged your nose with his. 

“I know. And I love you...” he paused, refocusing his gaze into your eyes, “more than anything.”

You smiled as he captured your lips in a kiss.

 I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

 Back in his leather chair in the cold drawing room of the Manor, he barely noticed the silent tears that escaped from his eyes. Tears seemed to be a constant now. The beautiful memories of her angelic voice and soft kisses and honey tints were once things that bewitched him. Now, they only served as an agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He craved, he so utterly craved for her tender caress. He could feel his own desperation causing aches from his chest all the way to his finger tips. What he would give to feel her presence wrapped around him one more time. 

With his head hung forward and his hands tugging at his hair, convulsive yet inaudible sobs wracked his beaten frame. He wanted her back. He wanted to hold her hand as they walked in the garden. He wanted to pepper her face with kisses until she playfully pushed him away. He wanted to hear her gleeful shouts as they rode his broom together. He wanted to meet her again for the first time and relive their time together. Merlin he just wanted her back. 

All he could do now was reminisce of his memories of them together. He was faced with a constant inner battle. Reliving their memories eased the hurt for a little while. But when he came back to his senses and his reality, it brought a raging pain of its own. 

Some nights he couldn’t help himself. He drank until his vision blurred and then walked around the Manor looking for signs of her, to spark memories that he watched like movies. Tonight would be one of those nights he realized after stumbling onto a very specific patio. It was the patio where they met. 

 When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Your family had been invited to the Malfoy Summer Solstice Ball, as were all the other notable pureblood wizarding families. You had your mother’s penchant for fashion, choosing to wear a champagne colored satin gown from one of your favorite designers. You quite enjoyed the dressing up and the excessive extravagance, but it was the company that was pitiful. The lavishly decorated ball room was filled with witches and wizards either trying to produce marriage arrangements or devise business contracts. Despite being freshly 14 and only going into your fourth year at Hogwarts, you were approached with multiple horrendous proposals. 

Sometime during the night after Rowle Sr. suggested your hand for his 22 year old son, you slipped out of the ballroom in search of some quiet. What you found however, was Draco Malfoy on a patio. As awful as his reputation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. It almost felt sacrilegious being so encaptured by the chisel of his cheekbones and the subtle arch of his brows. But he had the type of beauty that got into your bones and the moonlight only made him more enthralling.

Draco’s gaze settled on you a couple seconds after you had walked in. He recognized you, you were in the same herbology class. He’d never admit it but he always found the way your eyes flicked up from your paper to the person you were talking to, to be so subtly alluring. 

Skipping over a normal greeting, his first word to you was merely, “Hufflepuff.” He had meant for it to be a question, but it came out a bit rougher than he anticipated. At least he hadn’t sneered. 

True to your house’s values, you responded good naturedly, “Yes...and you’re in Slytherin.”

 He nodded, pausing for a second as if contemplating whether to continue the conversation before asking, “Why are you out here?”

“Got tired of talking to old British men.” You answered honestly. “What about you? Why’d you come out here?”

He walked closer to where you were standing. 

“Trying to get away from the witches,” he said as he leaned against the terrace railing. 

You laughed lightly before jokingly asking, “The mothers? Or the girls?” 

“Both,” he fiddled with his cufflinks. “Were the old British men trying to get you to marry their sons?”

“They were. None of them were very convincing though.” 

“I hope my father didn’t try.”

“Would it be so terrible to be married to me?” 

You could see a quick eyebrow raise from him, pleasantly surprised. 

“I’m just concerned that our home decorating styles won’t match.” His voice lacked his usual bite and his face was without his habitual sneer. 

“You know most people don’t choose their life partners based on interior design styles.” 

Your comment elicited an amused huff from the blonde boy. “I wish my mother did, then I wouldn’t have to live in this ghastly manor.”

He was right, filled with antiques and dark artifacts, the manor was downright depressing. “It’s...” you struggled to find a non offensive description. “It has its own charm. You just have to romanticize it a bit.” You were unconvincing.

“This is why the sorting hat put you in Hufflepuff.”

“Better than Slytherin,” you retorted. 

He wanted to laugh, even the idea of you in Slytherin was amusing. “You’d get eaten alive by our first-years.” 

He was right, but that didn’t mean you let up, “Funny. Have you made anyone cry yet today?”

“No, but luckily it’s only 9 o’clock.” 

The two of you talked long into the night. As he listened to your stories, random literary interpretations, and takes on the world he found himself more and more enamored. He was enamored with the little shrug you seemed to always end your rants in. Enamored with your laughs that always came at the right time when he talked. Enamored with the strange feeling in his gut he didn’t quite know how to identify when your hand briefly grazed his thigh. 

Draco found your company to be tantalizingly novel. Sitting on adirondack chairs, sharing nothing but stories with you felt weirdly intimate. It felt like friendship, a word woefully foreign on his tongue. Perhaps it was because he met you in a setting outside of Hogwarts, a place where he didn’t have to puff his chest and wear his Slytherin crown. But for the first time in maybe his entire life, it felt like he made a friend. And it wouldn’t be until later when he realized that Y/N was also the love of his life. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

Draco sat in the same adirondack chair he had the night he met you, looking at the empty chair to his right. A sullen expression was permanently etched on his face as he ran through the same thought over and over and over. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. I wish she was here. Lost in a trance, he didn’t notice his mother enter the patio until her shoes were in his line of sight. 

Narcissa’s heart ached to see her son this way. So lost and so resigned. Every ounce of spirit and hope seemed to have vanquished as he processed Y/N’s death. She remembered the struggle of tearing him away from her dead body and bringing him back to the manor. 

As the battle was in its final moments, Narcissa knew that her family needed to leave to avoid Azkaban. But Draco hadn’t wanted to leave her yet, he wasn’t ready to let go. Her and Lucius were forced to physically rip them a part. With Lucius holding him down and Narcissa prying her from his grasp. He pleaded and begged and cried and screamed. The raw pain and desperation in his screams as Y/N finally slipped from his grasp was something Narcissa would never forget. Once the three of them were apparated into the manor’s drawing room, Draco had collapsed in her arms choking on sobs and violent words cursing them. He was inconsolable, Narcissa tried. She held him, comforted him, but she knew it wasn’t her arms he needed. There was only one person who could rid his pain, but no amount of money in their Gringotts vault could bring back the dead. 

Back on the patio, she quietly approached him. 

“Draco?” 

He looked up. Behind the sorrow in his eyes there was the slightest bit of resentment. He still hadn’t found it in himself to fully forgive her. It was even worse with his father. He couldn’t look at Lucius without turning breathless with anger. 

“Draco,” she placed a hand gently on his shoulder, “it’s late. We should get you to bed.”

He merely blinked away, looking back at the empty chair instead. Narcissa noticed that he did that often, looking at the empty spaces next to him. Spaces that she was supposed to be in. He did it at the dining table on the rare occasions he’d join her for meals. He did it in the library, riveted by the black couch they frequented. And he did it while laying in his bed, always slightly off center, as if leaving room for someone. 

It took a bit more coaxing from Narcissa to get Draco to his room. After he was settled in his bed, he closed his eyes succumbing to the nightmares that would undoubtedly come. 

 I had all and then most of you 

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

  “Dra...Dray. Dray, ho..hold me. Please.”

He knew the end was nearing, white hot panic flooded him. Blood surrounded you, coating the dirty cement floor and his hands. He lifted you gingerly into his arms, scared to hurt you even more. 

“Ok. Ok. Of course, Angel. I’m right here. I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna be ok.” He was rambling now.

His hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. Rocking back and forth, he looked into your eyes and studied your face. 

“Angel, don’t do this to me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You brought your hand up, grabbing onto his wrist. You were too weak to respond at that point, you were too far gone. You both knew. But a small smile ghosted your features as you looked at your love. Your love, your love, your love. You kept looking at him as you felt yourself slip farther and farther away. It was just like sleeping.

Draco’s silver hair fell into his face as looked down at the girl in his arms with an ocean between his lashes. He watched as she gave him that last little smile, with his hand still cupping her cheek. First, her hand’s grip loosened on his wrist. Then, her face went expressionless. And too sudden and far too soon, the light in her eyes were gone. 

Y/N Y/L/N was dead. 

A guttural, visceral sob erupted from the silver haired boy. He cried out, cursing the gods above and cursing fate for taking her from him so soon. His screams were strained with an indescribable and insurmountable amount of pain. He clawed at his chest, hoping he could somehow rip out the searing feeling that riddled his shattered heart.  

He pressed his face in to the crook of her neck, sobbing thickly, muttering desperate pleas of help. But it was pitiful and it was nonsense, for death was unforgiving and death was final. Her arms, which once were used to caress and comfort him, now hung limp at her sides. There was a fiery anguish in his chest that was so colossal he could feel it radiate all through his body. Draco clung onto her dead body with as much strength as he could muster, as if sheer willpower could revive her somehow. The blood from her fatal wound covered Draco’s hands and clothes. It was a gruesomely harrowing scene: a forever broken boy clinging to a dead girl. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, kneeling on his knees while clutching his dead lover. The battle raged on around him as he remained in his penitent posture, praying to every deity, God, and powerful being he could think of to bring her back. When he finally found the strength to lift his head from the crook of her neck, the sight of her clouded eyes and paling skin sent another volley of shards into his chest. With an unsteady hand, he shut her eyes.

Draco gently pulled her into his lap, moving with the same amount of attentiveness as if she was still alive. His hands, still trembling, carefully smoothed her hair. He drank her face in more fervently than ever before, for this would be the last time he saw her. This would be the last time he could hold her. His angel, his beautiful angel was dead and soon he would be forced to let her go. He pressed his lips on hers as he’s done a thousand times before, but when her lips remained unmoving and were cold against his, a new set of sobs wracked his body. 

The grieving boy sat in the midst of a battlefield, uncaring that he was defenseless. Draco sat there, silently hoping that someone would take mercy on him. Silently praying that someone would see him wandless and alone, and slay him. He knew this pain was carved into his heart and engraved in his soul. He knew that he would only be relieved of it when death came for him too. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Dear Y/N,

You’re dead, you won’t ever read this. I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s a plea of help, maybe it’s how I’ll heal. Either way, it makes me feel like I’m talking to you, like I haven’t lost everything. But I’m just deluding myself. 

It hurts to live without you. Time keeps ticking forward, the world moving with it, but all I can think about is when I was last with you. Every night I slip into dreams of you. Sometimes, rarely, they’re good ones. But I wake up and you’re not there. Most nights, I’m watching you bleed and die in my arms. That dream never fails in hurting me. But what really breaks me, is after I drag myself awake, I realize I’m already living my worst fear. You’re already dead. It’s not a nightmare, it’s a memory. 

Everything died with you, Y/N. I thought that once the war was over, my life could truly start. I’d finally be free from that world. I didn’t realize that the end of the war meant the end of us too. Every single plan we made for the future is gone. All my someday’s and one day’s died with you. I no longer have anyone to marry, to have children with, to grow old with. I feel robbed. I was supposed to have a whole life with you, not just a few measly school years. Even a lifetime wouldn’t have been enough for me. I want every lifetime with you, on this earth or the next. 

I’m still holding you tight in my mind, it’s strange you’re not here with me. My heaven was here on earth with you. But ever since you’ve gone, the days have been getting darker and darker. I love you, I miss you. 

Yours Forever,

Draco

[arvandus]

The Todoroki Family Arc: Dabi and Representation for Abuse Victims

Something I’d like to address regarding all of this Todoroki family discourse is the importance of representation for abuse victims, specifically when it comes to the topic of forgiveness.  Many of us who are victims of abuse aren’t willing to forgive our abusers, and there is nothing wrong with taking that stance.  The concept of forgiveness of abuse is an especially hard pill to swallow when that forgiveness is for the sake of the abuser and not the victim (i.e., in this case, forgiveness for the sake of Enji’s redemption arc).  So this makes the current Todoroki family/Endeavor redemption arc so incredibly difficult to read, as all of the ‘good’ Todorokis are either already willing to forgive (or on their way to forgiving) Enji's long-term, narcissistic abuse.

It’s true that in canon Enji has explicitly stated that he’s not asking for forgiveness and that his family members don’t have to forgive him.  Whether or not he truly understands what that means is up for debate (I’ve got a lot to say on Enji’s redemption arc, but that’ll be for another post).  But for the sake of this post, let’s state that he genuinely means it, which would be great as it shows an awareness on his part of how unforgivable his actions are.  This great and all, except the words lose their weight/significance when every single ‘normal’ family member is on track to forgive him.  It would hold much more weight to show he doesn’t get forgiven by everyone, which will require him to at least to some extent, live with the consequences of his actions (e.g., being alone/ostracized from some family members).

So, let’s go through the Todoroki family members who are in the process of forgiving, have already forgiven, or are on their way to forgiving Enji, and how I personally respond to their forgiveness. Of course, all of this will be heavily influenced by my personal opinions and personal experiences, however I think that’s fair – as a person who’s endured long-term childhood abuse from a parent, I’d hope that my opinions (and others like me) will have some weight in the conversation surrounding domestic violence, even within the context of fiction.

Rei:

Rei has shown signs of starting to forgive Endeavor as evidenced by defending him to her children.

I do appreciate that she states that she’s still too scared to see her husband, and that the doctor states it’s not a good idea.  That all makes perfect sense.  But the idea that she’s willing to give him a chance to redeem himself because he sends her flowers?  I absolutely cannot identify with this in any which way.  Her marriage was forced by Endeavor, her sole purpose to bear him cold/hot quirk children.  She may have later grown to love him, who knows; we do know she was willing at least have Fuyumi with him, since she suggested it… (although there is a lot to unpack around that too, which I’ll also save for a different post). Even if she did love Enji (and a part of her may still love him, as some of us may feel towards our abusers) she went through YEARS of abuse to the point that she had a psychotic break and had to be institutionalized.  To suggest that she’s willing to begin the road of forgiveness because he sends her flowers is just completely unrealistic, and I personally can’t identify with her at all (also, as a sidenote: if my abuser and the cause of my psychosis, who I’m too afraid to see, is sending me gifts, the last thing I would want would be to see those gifts displayed in my room as a constant reminder of them).

 Fuyumi:

It’s clear that Fuyumi is well on her way to forgiving her father (if she hasn’t done so already).

Fuyumi wants nothing more than to piece her family back together, which is entirely fine if that’s what she wants.  What bothers me however, is that she’s willing to do so by sweeping the family drama under the rug in an attempt at keeping the illusion of a healthy, loving family (i.e., one that’s not broken by abuse). Why can’t she have this happy family with her brothers and her mother?  Why does she feel the need to have Enji in that family picture, considering all he’s done to them?  Her whole “it would make your sister happy” is, in my opinion, guilt-tripping and selfish. I don’t think she’s a mean person, and she may not be aware that her behavior could be damaging.  But her motivations are clearly self-focused, as she’s not willing to address her family’s issues in a way that validates everyone’s feelings. She just wants everyone to ‘play nice.’

It’s this dismissive behavior, a willingness to overlook the harm of the abuser for the sake of trying to keep a semblance of normalcy when things clearly aren’t normal, that has me label her as an abuse apologist. It’s not intended to be malicious of course; I do think she believes she means well.  But how does ignoring the abuse her family endured help anyone?  Will this ever get addressed by Horikoshi?  TBH, I doubt it, but we’ll just have to wait and see.  But one thing is for sure, she’s definitely the most forgiving out of all of her siblings.

 Natsuo:

I love this guy.  Truly.  So far, he’s probably the MOST relatable for me…

Look at that.  Beautiful.  I love it. It’s everything I want.  He’s unforgiving, holding his long-time abusive father accountable (regardless of how good of a hero he is), while still being a good person (lookin’ at you, Dabi…) all in one breath.

SO… why am I including him in this? Natsuo so far seems to be holding out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Horikoshi writes him in the direction of forgiveness, especially after this Dabi/Touya reveal. I feel like there’s already been hints at it, and it’s just a matter of time before he inevitably gets written as forgiving his father as well.

Here, you see his mother’s words getting into his head; he’s thinking heavily about what she’s said to him.  He doesn’t like the idea of his father looking for redemption, and holds his own disbelief around his father “trying to make sense of it all.”  But clearly he values his mother’s opinion on the matter, which will have an impact on his own views/beliefs.  Plus, the added pressure of seeing his other family members forgive his father will also have an impact on his stance, either by making him dig his heels in further in resistance, or by accepting their stance on it and as such be one step closer to forgiving Enji himself.

Here, he’s hearing Enji’s words and recalling Midoriya talking to Shouto earlier in the evening. He’s drawing a parallel between what it means to be a kind person and what it means to forgive. It’s followed up by his father’s confession of atonement, which clearly has an impact on Natsuo.  His experience here is visceral and entirely relatable; while Enji’s words may sound nice and genuine, it does little to assuage Natsuo of the painful memories he harbors and the damage that his father has caused over the years.

He’s still holding stubbornly onto his anger, unwilling to forgive… but the way it’s playing out, it’ll only be a matter of time. Maybe it’ll be yet another near-death experience for Endeavor, this time by Touya’s hand.  Or maybe he’ll feel that deep cut of betrayal from Touya/Dabi that makes him let go of his own anger/darkness in his heart out of a fear of letting it consume him the way it did his older brother.  Either way, I see it ending up there.  We don’t know for certain yet, of course… but my money is on Natsuo forgiving his father by the end, so I’m holding back on getting too attached.

 Shouto:

Shouto also seems to be becoming more open to forgiveness, despite all he’s gone through (and witnessed his mother go through). There’s a lot surrounding why this may be… perhaps it was watching the near-death experience of Enji in the battle with High-End… (which, hey, watching someone you care about nearly die, even if that person is your abuser, would be rough to watch).

Or watching his father be a badass hero (because let’s face it, Enji is an excellent fighter) that the public looks to for hope. Keep in mind, this happened after Enji had told Shouto he wanted to be worthy of the #1 position and  of being Shouto’s father; so Enji has just shown to Shouto that he’s (at least by Hero Society’s standards) worthy of being #1, and now he’s trying to make amends with his family (mm, check out that need for validation…).

 Clearly, Shouto is giving his father a chance to redeem himself.

And, of course, we have this page as well, which draws the comparison of being a kind person also being a forgiving person (which, quite frankly, isn’t true - you can definitely be a kind person and still not forgive someone who’s done long-term harm to you).  Regardless, it’s clearly being shown that Shouto is obviously heading into forgiveness.  Once again, the forgiveness itself isn’t bad… it’s how it’s being portrayed.  As someone who’s been abused by someone who’s supposed to take care of them and love them, I can say with certainty that you don’t really care that much about how good that person is at their job. It shouldn’t matter that Enji is a great hero; he’s always been a great hero (that’s why he was second only to All Might). What matters is how Enji is as a father, and it’s well established that he’s failed his entire family, by choice, for years. Shouto states as such to him, saying he’ll watch to see what kind of father he becomes.  But this follows immediately after the battle with High-End, which implies that Shouto is basing his willingness to forgive his father off of Enji’s heroics and public acceptance as the symbol of hope.  Why this would sway Shouto’s view of his father enough to consider forgiveness for years of physical and psychological damage escapes me.

Now, let’s be clear that forgiveness of an abuser isn’t impossible, but it’s certainly not an easy task.  Additionally, the decision to forgive hinges on a lot of things, including whether or not the abuser is worthy of forgiveness (i.e., are the crimes he’s committed against his family redeemable?  Is he truly genuinely feeling guilty about what he’s done? Does he understand the magnitude of what he’s done?  Is he acting selflessly, or is his quest for redemption rooted in selfishness (e.g., need for acceptance, a way to hold onto one’s power/importance within the family dynamic, etc.)?).   In many cases, especially cases where the abuse is long-term as it’s portrayed as being for the Todoroki family, and as mine was growing up, forgiveness isn’t really on the victim’s mind.  The damage done by the abuser is so long lasting, leaving a permanent imprint on how we think, act, and behave.  It shapes us, especially when it occurs in the formative years of childhood, affecting how we connect with others and how we view ourselves.

So, sharing a few contrite moments with the abuser (in this case, Enji) and seeing some positive situations (e.g., watching him kick ass on TV, be kind to his kids, etc.) do little to persuade me into forgiveness of a man who willingly, repeatedly, chose to abuse his family for at least a decade.  His abuse was physical, mental, and emotional.  Even if his desire for redemption is genuine, the quickness with which the good characters here begin to forgive him feels slightly forced for the sake of his redemption arc, and is therefore unrelatable.  And that is the crux of the issue.  Enji’s redemption should be just as much about the healing of his victims as it should be about him (if not more so).  However, that doesn’t seem to be the case.  So, what we get is a family portrayal that is in favor of the abuser.

So, all of the ‘good’ Todorokis are working toward forgiveness of their abuser.  Great. So, where does that leave those of us who aren’t on board with forgiveness? Those of us who see our own abuse, our own history, within this story and are not (and will not) ever forgive our abuser for entirely reasonable and justifiable reasons? Where is our representation in a story that, for all intents and purposes, is meant to be about the ramifications of abuse (and by proxy, victims of abuse)?

Our only remaining choice?  Dabi, of course... the psychopath who’s bent on destroying his abuser’s life and the hero society that’s, in some ways, created and supported him.

I think a major reason Dabi is so loved by some of us is that we can identify with that anger, that need for retribution/justice.  Are all of us entirely on board with how Dabi has decided to go about this retribution by doing whatever it takes no matter who it hurts or what innocent lives are lost? No, of course not.  But in a story where we’re looking for a sense of justice, where the long-term serial abuser DOESN’T get to walk away free with his abused family still by his side/supporting him, what other options do we have?  He’s the ONLY ONE who seems to be willing to hold Enji accountable for what he’s done and who sees the hypocrisy in his position as a symbol of hope in contrast to who he has been behind closed doors with his family.  So THAT is what we’re defending when we defend Dabi.   We’re NOT defending his murders, or him attempting to kill his brother, or ANY of that.  We might understand where that darkness is coming from/what’s caused it and empathize with it, but we don’t EXCUSE it.

Now, obviously the story isn’t finished yet, so there’s no way to know for sure where Horikoshi will take this redemption arc. We don’t know if all of the family members really will forgive Endeavor or not, and if Enji will ever be fully welcomed into the family fold.  The airing of the Todoroki family’s dirty laundry and its impacts on shining a light on the cracks in hero society give me hope. Also, the diversity across the Todoroki family of how each person copes that that abuse is also well done. That’s why I’m still invested in this story, that’s why I’m still reading it. But we only have what we’ve been shown to go on, and at the moment, there are major aspects of this story that are lacking.  The diversity in how each family member handles their abuse and their relationship with their abuser starts to lose its impact when that diversity is gradually washed out in favor of universal forgiveness. 

Also, where the manga is currently at gives me concern about the kind of message this story is sending to its readers.  I often see others say: “it’s just fiction, relax.”  Yes, it is fiction.  And when we read fiction, we all search for a piece of ourselves within the story.  You can’t have a story that centers around domestic abuse and not have abuse victims gravitate towards it, hoping for accurate representation.  And most importantly, even though this is ‘just a story,’ what message is it sending when the only person not willing to excuse/forgive Enji is a psychopath who’s been driven insane by his father’s abuse (and possible by his family’s inability/unwillingness to address said abuse)?  What message does it send to abuse victims? What message does it send to those who have never experienced abuse and are learning about it through this fictional representation? To say that this isn’t relevant in a real-world way is inaccurate at best and damaging at worst; and even if it may not hold relevance for some within a real-world setting, for many of us it does and as such the implications and impacts of it should be respected, even if you may not agree with it.  In short, for some of us, this is personal.

Now, do I think that every family member should curse Enji into the sun?  No, as satisfying as that would be for me.  I’d be perfectly happy if some family members forgive and some don’t.  Why?  Because it’s realistic.  It makes sense, because it depends on each character’s unique, personal experiences. Some will forgive, some won’t, and some will continue to defend and provide excuses for said abuser – all of these positions within the abused family dynamic are real and exist.  I just wish BNHA would also allow a space for us abuse victims who aren’t willing to forgive – a space that isn’t villainized.