#while he has to sit in a foreign city where women want him so bad 😔

[mint-ty]

Jere dropping poledance teasers while Bojan at this very moment is trying to record Šta Bih Ja….

"I'm just waiting and craving The moment when you'll call To tell you that my heart cries, grieves and suffers And trembles when it hears your voice"

^ this part is kinda getting a new layer 🥴 Bojan sure be trembling by the time he hears Jere's voice in the evening...

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 9.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of forceful behaviour towards women, bad family dynamics

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n has no idea what is happening. Currently, there are two elder women around her who undressed her, redressed her and now are pulling her hair and painting her face. And by painting her face, it must be clarified that they don't put pretty delicate makeup on her but that they draw bright red lines on her face, arms, and legs. It looks like full-body war paint, y/n thinks.

Also, y/n is not convinced by the outfit they put her in. It's a two-piece. A loose neck holder top ends only a few inches under her boobs. She's also wearing a floor-length skirt. However, she's not sure if the word 'skirt' fits the piece of clothing around her hips. Two long pieces of fabric are strung in multiple hold chains that sit tightly around her hips. One piece covers her backside, the other the front side.

The squishy part of her tummy and her belly button, as well as her arms and legs, remain uncovered. Y/n usually feels comfortable in her body but it's a bit too revealing. At least for this weather. Also, she's a bit scared her butt cheeks can be seen when she's walking.

She tries not to think about it too hard since the two women working on her hair are wearing similar clothes. It seems as if this is normal for women around here, even if they are a gazillion years old.

The women don't speak to her. Also, they don't speak to each other.

When Katsuki left her alone with them, y/n felt a bit relieved since this was the first female company she had in a long while. But now she just feels awkward.

The women braid her hair and pin it up in a lavish updo which y/n finds very pretty. When they're done, they decorate her hair with golden hairpins and put necklaces around her neck that look similar to Katsuki's. They also want to put earrings on her but y/n doesn't have her ears pierced so they leave them as they are.

Absently, y/n massages her earlobes. She wonders if they'd like to pierce them. They have multiple piercings and also Katsuki wears earrings. She's also positive that she saw men with piercings in their noses and other places in their faces yesterday.

She shudders. It's against the beliefs of her people. Her people believe that one is born by nature's divine design and altering your body by piercinging or tattooing it, is a heavy insult to the great being of things. Some even refuse makeup and say it's not how nature wants them to look. Y/n isn't so strict about that but also wouldn't usually wear any form of paint on her body.

All of this feels so very foreign to y/n. Of course, she knew that Katsuki must live a different way of life but when being with him, that rarely became apparent. This outfit makes it painfully aware of just how different their cultures are.

Somewhen, Katsuki reenters the tent again. He wears a similar body paint as her. He lost the cape and more necklaces than usually hang around his neck. He also wears a bunch of bracelets, he usually doesn't wear.

When the ladies are done with y/n, they present her to him. Y/n gets up from where she is seated and gives him an unsure smile.

His eyes run up and down her figure. He has a stern look on his face the entire time, but he gives her an approving nod. Then he steps closer to her and pulls a delicate chain from his pocket. Carefully, he places it on her head.

Immediately, the women step closer and pin it into place. Y/n touches it carefully. The chain is thin with strings of golden beads. In the middle of her forehead dangles a drop-shaped pendant in a rubyred shade.

Katsuki puts a hand on her shoulder. The weight from his arm grounds her. She didn't notice how shaky her breath was.

The funny thing is, she doesn't even know what this is all about or what will happen when they leave the tent. Based on the outfits and Katsuki's grim expression, it must be something meaningful, something big.

She wonders if he drags her down an aisle. Figuratively speaking, because her people don't marry in churches where you would have to walk down an aisle. Her people marry in lakes and rivers or creeks. They believe all life comes from water and therefore they tie their lives together in it.

Y/n is pretty sure, she would refuse to step in a lake around here. It's just too cold for swimming on the tip of a mountain. She wonders if she'd walk down an aisle with Katsukin if that's what is going to happen today.

Anxiety chews at the sides of her stomach. Truth is, she doesn't want to get married. She wants to be with Katsuki, yes, but again in her culture that doesn't mean one just immediately marries. Y/n thinks that a challenge or crisis must be overcome first before two people can truly know that they belong together. That hasn't happened so far.

She needs more time and she doesn't know if Katsuki or his people are going to give her more time.

The two women leave the tent and Katsuki and y/n remain alone. Katsuki steps a bit closer and carefully puts his hand on the side of her head. He leans closer and puts his forehead against hers. The pendant presses into the skin of y/n's head and it doesn't feel as reassuring as it probably should feel.

Y/n swallows hard.

Katsuki leans back and stares into her eyes. The red of his eyes looks particularly hard today.

Meanwhile, Katsuki can see the fear in y/n's eyes. He wants to explain to her what they will do today but he knows he can't. It makes him angry he's never been taught the common tongue. His mother was traditional like that.

He is racking his brain for any words or sentences he picked up. Unfortunately, most of the things he learned, he picked up in battle or from captives or the women they took. He doubts however that things like "die", "you bastards" or "please, no" will be reassuring to y/n.

"Okay?", he tries, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. He holds out his hand to her. Y/n stares at his hand, then at him. She takes a deep breath. "Okay", she whispers and takes his hand.

*~*~*~*~

Katsuki takes her to the bonfire square. It's where his mother, her ladies-in-waiting, and the rest of his people wait for them.

He's as anxious as y/n looks like. He has to admit that while y/n looks absolutely stunning in his tribe's clothes and paint, she also looks smaller and weaker than ever. He tells himself that things will be alright. That even if his mother doesn't approve, he can take her on as his mate anyway. He's chief, he makes the decisions.

But deep down, every child wants to please their parents. And Katsuki looks up to his mother. She's fierce, she's strong and the only reason he's chief to begin with is only because she stepped down after the plague. Some people blamed her for it even though everybody knows that it's not something a human being can control. Maybe that is why she feels so strongly about Katsuki taking on a good mate that will produce lots of offspring.

Katsuki shudders even though he's not cold. He looks at y/n who is also shivering. He holds her hand a bit tighter. Y/n looks up to him and gives him a small smile.

At least she doesn't despise me and comes along willingly, he thinks.

The past few presentations since the plague have been anything than pretty and joyful. After raids, men brought women from other places. Women that didn't want to be there. It was either impossible to make them look presentable due to them fighting it or the paint on their faces was ruined by the time they stepped in front of Katsuki.

Usually, his men have to present their future mates in front of the chief and he has to decide whether they are acceptable or not. Since he's chief, it's his mother who will do the presentation. In contrast to Katsuki's decision, his mother's is completely representative and meaningless. He's chief after all. And still, he feels like he needs his mother's approval. Maybe part of him is afraid that his people won't respect him or his mate when she doesn't approve of her.

They approach the square. His people are lined up at the side desperate to get a view of the woman Katsuki brings along. His mother and her ladies-in-waiting are sitting at the other end of the square.

Katsuki can feel y/n stiffen at his side. He gives her a glance and can see how her face is pale beneath the red paint on her face. She's not shaking anymore but her muscles are tightened to a point where they will probably ache tomorrow.

He links her arms with his and proudly struts along the square. He tries not to walk too fast so that she doesn't stumble over her feet. He's seen women stumble and fall on their presentation and it was always humiliating for her and the man. Of course worse are the cases where they have to be dragged or carried into the square while crying and loudly protesting.

Quickly, he tries to shut out these thoughts. This is different, y/n's different. She's coming willingly, she's looking more than just presentable, things will be fine.

He steps in front of his mother who looks at him with a hard stare. She doesn't even spare y/n a glance.

„Mother, I present to you the woman I have chosen as my mate.“, he tells her. His voice sounds hard and determined.

His mother sits up more straightly. Her eyes shift from him to y/n. Katsuki doesn't dare to look at y/n. He just hopes she holds eye contact with his mother. His mother, Mistuki, looks y/n up and down.

Then she stands up and walks up to the couple. Gently, Katsuki lets go off y/n's arm and takes a step to the side.

His mother circles y/n while examining the woman infront of her. She lifts y/n's skirt a bit and peers under it. She touches her hair and the necklaces that dangle around her neck.

„She's skinny.“, Mitsuki comments. Katsuki stays silent. His mother stops infront of y/n and looks her up and down again.

„She has no muscle mass whatsoever. Can she even carry a bucket of water from the creek to your tent?“, his mother continues.

„She arrived yesterday. I'm sure she can build up muscles over time.“, Katsuki answers her calmly.

Mitsuki cocks her head to the side.

„Can she? She looks cold. She might also freeze before she even finds her way back to your tent.“, his mother continues.

„I get her warmer clothes.“, Katsuki argues.

His mother gives him a glance.

„Sure, sure. You can. But what if she catches a cold? Is she sustainable enough to survive that? To survive childbirth?“, his mother asks frowning.

Katsuki steps closer again and pushes y/n's top to the side a bit.

„When we met, she had an arrow stuck in her shoulder. Look, it healed quickly and without infection. I'm sure she can heal well after giving birth.“, he explains.

„Struck by an arrow?“, his mother says with a raised eyebrow and Katsuki instantly regrets mentioning it.

„That means she lost a fight? Are we not a tribe of warriors?“, Mitsuki asks sharply.

„It's a wound of a warrior. I've been struck by arrows before. Are you saying I'm not a warrior?“, he bites back.

His mother gives him a long stare before returning to her seat. She leans her head onto her arm and runs a hand over her face. He knows what comes next.

„I don't approve.“, she says and Katsuki's face twists in anger. Whispers run through the crowd.

Before he can answer her, Mitsuki continues.

„Katsuki, you understand you are our leader, yes? You understand that it is necessary that you have plenty and healthy children, yes?“, she points out angrily.

„Of course, mother. I intend to ensure our tribe's survival in any way I can.“, he tells her calmly.

Mitsuki slams her fist down and stands up.

„Then, why are you intending to bond to this frail excuse of a female? Why do you not wait until one of our own is of age?“, his mother says loudly pointing towards a few girls at the age of 10-12 at the side next to her ladies-in-waiting.

„The longer I wait or any man of this tribe waits, the bigger the gap between the generations will get. This poses a threat to our tribe. You know that. It's why we began bringing in women from other places in the first place.“, he argues back angrily.

„Wrong“, his mother says cooly, „We began bringing other women here because so many of us died that even the next generation of women can't ensure the tribe's survival.“

Katsuki grinds his teeth. She's not wrong.

„Do you know what kind of insult this is to these women? That their leader chooses a foreign, weak female like that over them?“, his mother continues and gives y/n a demeaning gesture.

Katsuki starts to see red.

„They're not women, they're children, mother. Do you intend to make one of them my child bride? Isn't that an insult to their mothers who died? Is that all they're worth?“, he yells at her.

He knows that will hit a sore spot. His mother cares deeply for these young girls and grieves the death of their mothers equally as deeply.

Absolute silence engulfs the square. No one dares to even move a finger. His mother gives him a long, cold stare. Then she sits down again.

„You're chief, Katsuki. Do whatever you want, but I'll warn you. Your example will precede this tribe. If you fail to produce an heir, this tribe will not survive under your reign.“, she tells him.

Katsuki is fuming. He wants to yell at her, maybe even throw a knife at her. But people are watching and he has to be careful what he says next. He must strengthen his position as chief even if that means demeaning his own mother.

„You've brought this fate upon us in the first place. Why do you think you have the answer to how we ensure our survival? Didn't you step down because you don't have the answer?“, he says striking to kill.

His mother's face contorts in anger and shame. He doesn't give her a chance to reply. He turns to his people.

„This woman came here by her own free will. She's proven herself a great healer and skilled hunter to me. You all feasted on her success at yesterday's bonfire. Therefore, I approve her of being worthy as my mate.“, he declares to them.

Without waiting for a reaction from his people or his mother, he turns around grabbing y/n's arm and he leaves the square with his head held high.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n stumbles after Katsuki. Her head spins. The last few minutes have been nothing but bizarre to her. Obviously, she didn't understand a single thing that's been said but y/n isn't stupid. She quickly picked up on the atmosphere of the conversation. Which was not good.

Even before Katsuki and the women started yelling at each other, y/n knew that the conversation was not going well. It's easy to spot when Katsuki gets angry. Really angry, not the normal state of angry he always seems to be in.

Katsuki walks fast and y/n has trouble keeping up with him. He drags her all the way back to his tent. Only when they're inside, does Katsuki let go of her. He doesn't say a word.

He walks over to the table and pushes it over with a loud, angry yell. Y/n flinches at the action.

Katsuki kicks a bucket filled with weapons to the other side of the room and lets out a string of angry words that y/n guesses are insults.

She's never seen him this angry before and it scares her. She wants to get closer to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and comfort him in his frustration. But when Katsuki starts destroying one of the chairs with a battle axe, y/n is sure it's best to not get close to him at this moment.

So, she stands helplessly in the middle of the room flinching and trying to avoid flying splinters of wood.

Suddenly, there's a rustle at the entrance of the tent. A red-haired warrior enters it.

„Yo, Bakugou!“, the man says carefully and steps next to y/n.

„What the fuck do you want, shitty hair?“, Katsuki yells at him, his face contorted in anger.

„Making sure you don't scare the poor thing to death.“, the man says and points towards y/n.

„Fuck off, Kirishima. She's fine.“, Katsuki growls at him

The man named Kirishima sighs and gives y/n a side glance.

„You sure? She doesn't look too happy about this. You still have to mark her, maybe tune it down a bit until then.“, Kirishima tells his chief.

Katsuki drops the bits of wood he is holding and frowns.

„Whatever, shitty hair. What do you want?“, Katsuki asks.

Kirishima pushes his hands into his pockets.

„Looking if you're alright. I mean the presentation went... not well, I guess.“, the red-haired man says carefully.

Katsuki scoffs. „I'm fine. The hag's opinion doesn't matter. I'm chief.“, he declares.

Kirishima nods. „Of course, you are. And your decision stands.“, he reassures his leader.

„And if you ask me, I think you made a good choice.“, Kirishima continues.

„From all the women that we brought here over the last few years, that one is definitely the calmest. Remember when I brought mine? She was a mess, well, actually still is but I don't need to tell you that.“, Kirishima tries to reassure him.

When Katsuki doesn't answer, Kirishima quickly adds: „Also, she's very pretty.“.

Katsuki straightens his posture and looks y/n up and down.

„Yeah, she is.“, he tells his red-haired friend.

Kirishima nods cheerily. „Exactly. So why bother thinking about your mother's words? Why don't you and... uh...?“, Kirishima gestures towards y/n.

„Y/n“, Katsuki tells him.

„Right, why don't you and y/n come and join us at the stables? Denki, Sero, and I are heating up some mead. Have a drink with us.“, Kirishima proposes.

Katsuki shrugs. „I don't know. Y/n might not feel comfortable meeting more people after this.“, Katsuki tries to excuse himself.

Kirishima gives him a toothy grin. „Oh, what a gentleman. You're really smitten, aren't you?“, he teases.

Katsuki shoots him an angry look. „Shut the fuck up, Kirishima. It's just been a lot, ok?“, he mumbles.

Kirishima doesn't fail to notice the pink dust covering his chief's cheeks.

„Alright, what about this. Y/n stays here and can collect herself. You come with us for a drink. Maybe we can come back and catch her later. What do you think?“, Kirishima tries to convince him again.

Katsuki shrugs.

„I guess we can do that.“, Katsuki says reluctantly.

„Great!“; Kirishima says clapping his hands. „Y/n, you stay! We'll come back later.“, he tells the woman next to him who looks at him with wide eyes when he speaks directly to her.

Katsuki steps over the destroyed chair and follows his friend outside without sparing y/n a glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n feels like crying. She's standing in the middle of the half-destroyed room all alone. She's so confused.

What on earth happened?

What's going on?

Who is that red-haired man?

Where is Katsuki going?

Her head starts to hurt by the amount of force she uses to suppress her tears. Eventually, she can't hold them back anymore and hot tears run down her face.

She makes sure that no one can hear her sob.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[weelittleweasley]

Transfer Student | Draco x Reader

Prompt: After transferring from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to Hogwarts, all of Hogwarts’ eyes is on the new girl. An American Gryffindor? Everyone wants to be your friend, steal a glance from you, or ask you on a date. Can Draco resist the hype or will he end up all for the new girl?

Warnings: None! Just some fluff and longing looks from bitch boy Malfoy

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: My requests box is very full oh my LORD. I’m trying to churn them out as consistency as possible, so if I skip a day with no imagines, it’s mostly for me to take a breather and catch up on my actual work for my job and school.

America was home, no matter where you were in the world. You grew up an American and lived your life with that culture and their customs. Going to school at Ilvermorny was a treat. Tucked away in the mountains in Massachusetts, it was your happy place, full of other kids from across America, studying magic. But things changed drastically when your father was offered a position at the Ministry of Magic overseas in London. Your parents were thrilled, a prestigious job in a new country; your father accepted the position, no question. You on the other hand were more nervous than anything. Moving meant new school, new friends, new start. Not to mention, if you moved within the country, you would still attend Ilvermorny. But now that you were moving overseas, it really meant a new start with a whole different school with a whole different body of students. 

Your mother was insistent that you would be just fine starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “Mom,” you insist, “I’m an American among a sea of people from the UK. I’m going to be a fish out of water. They’ll know the moment I open up my mouth!” 

But there was no changing their minds. You were moving to London whether you liked it or not. So you had to say goodbye to all of your friends at Ilvermorny. Although you expressed your anxieties about moving and switching schools, the rest of your friends were jealous of your move. Saying how London was a beautiful city and they were so jealous of all the culture and events happening. It did seem exciting, you always wanted to visit Europe, but not like this. 

Soon enough, you were on a plane to London from America, your things packed up and ready to ship you off to Hogwarts. When you arrived, your heart raced with excitement and nerves. London was a little grey and stormy, but it was still beautiful. People most melodically and dressed neatly. Men in suits, carrying around briefcases, heads tilted down as they ran to work. Women dressed cleanly and beautifully, walking to work, in and out of shoppes. Your mother gave your hand a squeeze as your father insisted you took the Tube to your new home.

London was very different from your hometown. Much more hustle and bustle with busy people, but its people were much kinder than Americans. Strangers offered you small smiles as you looked at your surroundings. As you arrived to your new home, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. Everything was different. Even the oven. You couldn’t think about how long it was going to take to get you adjusted to this life. You drag your suitcases into your room, flipping open the latches. “Don’t bother unpacking, honey,” your mom calls. “You leave for Hogwarts tomorrow, remember?”

Your stomach sinks. You couldn’t even get used to your new home because tomorrow you had to get used to your new life at Hogwarts. 

The next morning, you arrived at the train station, confused as ever. Your mom and dad walked with you through the station, interrogating you on what to tell the Professors when they asked for your information at arrival. “My name is (Y/N), I’m the transfer student from Ilvermorny, I’m going to be a junior,” you start.

“You’re a sixth year student,” your father corrects. You look at him, confused. “The education system here is different, sweetie. You’ll technically be going into year six at Hogwarts.”

Sighing, you know that this was going to take some getting used to. 

----

You watched your parents wave goodbye to you, your mother with tears in her eyes. Your heart drops, not wanting to leave your parents to go off to somewhere that was completely foreign to you. As the view of your parents fades, you walk through the train, looking for an empty stall to sit. People sat with groups of friends, laughing, picking up right where they left off. Why couldn’t you have been a first year student? This would have made things so much easier. As a sixth year, everyone had friend groups and you would have to wiggle your way into one. 

Finally, you find an empty car and plop yourself down on the seat, laying your head back. Here’s to the start of a miserable year, you think to yourself. You play with the charm bracelet on your wrist that your mother gave to you when you started school at Ilvermorny. The bracelet had a Thunderbird charm on it, the mascot of your house at Ilvermorny, and the same house as you parents. You were a proud Thunderbird, but now you had to be sorted into a new house with a new breed of people. You only hoped that whichever house you were sorted into had the same type of people as Thunderbird did. 

As you mindlessly play with the charms on your bracelet, the car that you sat in’s doors slid open. “Are you alone?” a blonde haired girl asks you, noticing you amongst the chaos of the cars around you. “Would you like some company?”

“That would be nice, actually,” you offer her a thankful smile. 

The blonde haired girl sits down in the booth across from you, pushing all of her thick hair to one shoulder. “Your accent,” she notices, her eyes widening. “It’s American,” her dainty English accent points out as you blush in embarrassment. “It’s lovely.” You slightly smile and blush, silently thanking her. “Are you a transfer student from Ilvermorny?”

You nod, “Yeah, actually. My name is (Y/N), by the way. I’m a jun-I mean a sixth year student.”

“I’m Luna,” she shakes your hand politely. “I also a sixth year. Look! You’ve only been here for five minutes and you’ve already made a friend in your year!” Your heart swell at the word friend. At least you at Luna to tag along with. The two of you talk for a while, you telling her about America and why your family moved to England, confiding in her about your nervousness about the new school and making new friends. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble making friends, (Y/N). Everyone at Hogwarts is very friendly. Besides, once you get sorted into your house you’ll make a ton of friends that way!” Your stomach churns. “Do you reckon what house you’ll be sorted into?”

Shaking your head, you reply, “Nope. Back at Ilvermorny I was a Thunderbird. But I don’t know if that means I’ll get sorted into a specific house at Hogwarts.” You reach into your backpack and pull out a pack of Fruit Roll Ups. “Want one?” you open the box to her as she gives you a hesitant look. “It’s good I promise,” you giggle. “If you don’t like it, you can force me to eat a gross British snack,” you tempt as she laughs before taking one from the box.

The two of you sit in the car, peeling open your Fruit Roll Ups, munching on the sticky snack. As you laugh at Luna getting it stuck in her teeth, another person comes to the car door, sliding open, making you yelp out scared, them surprising you. “What’s that?” the red headed boy asks, referring to the snack you munch on. You just look at him, bewildered that he just burst through, no introduction, no hello, no nothing. “Oh, hi Luna,” he smiles as Luna waves. The red headed boy looks at you. “You’re new,” he states as if you didn’t know. “I’m Ron Weasley,” he smiles at you warmly, making every bad thought about him leave your mind. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you reply before tossing the ginger a Fruit Roll Up. He catches it, eyes wide with excitement as he tears it open. 

Ron sits next to Luna as he peels his Roll Up. “Your accent. You’re an American,” he points out as he looks to Luna who smiles sweetly. 

You tease, “Really? I didn’t notice.” This makes Ron let out a chuckle before eating his Fruit Roll Up in two bites. “I’m a transfer from Ilvermorny.”

“Ron! Where did you go?” a voice calls from the hall. Suddenly, a girl with brown hair, wrapped in a stripped cardigan appears with a worried look on her face. It instantly relaxes when she sees Ron sitting next to Luna and you, wrappers in his hand from the Fruit Roll Up. “Ron, you can’t just interrupt two people’s conversation and then eat their snacks.”

Ron puts his hands up in defense. “She offered it to me!”

The girl rolls her eyes at his antics before walking into your car. The booth was getting awfully full very quickly. “I’m sorry about him. He has the mental capacity of a teaspoon,” she says, making Ron let out an offended hey! “I’m Hermione Granger. You are?”

You shake her extended hand with a smile. “(Y/N), I’m a transfer student fr-”

“Ilvermorny! I heard we were getting an American, but I didn’t believe it! Wow! It’s so nice to meet you,” she exclaims, scooting closer next to you. “Are you excited to be here? Which house do you think you’ll be sorted into? From what I’ve heard about you, you were a Thunderbird, correct? I reckon you’ll be a Gryffindor by the looks of it,” Hermione fires away. You were little taken aback by how forward she was, but you had to admit it was sweet. 

All of your fears of not being able to make any friends slowly faded away.

----

It has been a week since you arrived at Hogwarts. As Hermione had predicted, you were sorted into Gryffindor, making her cheer out in delight. “Yay! More girls!” she hugged you tight when you entered the Gryffindor common room. “They can be much,” she refers to Harry and Ron behind her with a little giggle. 

You had to say so far, you adjusted well to Hogwarts. You did miss your friends back home, but whenever you started to miss them, you found Hermione or Luna and they would always cheer you up and make you feel right back at home. Your classes were interesting, but hard at Hogwarts. Your Professors were all brilliant, some more intimidating than others. Regardless, you worked hard for your grades, doing study groups with Hermione, quizzing yourself with Luna, and spending countless nights in the library. 

However, much to your surprise, you were the talk of the halls at Hogwarts. Whenever you were in the hallways, you would feel people’s eyes on you as you walked beside Luna, whispers throwing your name around. Your anxiety grew. What did people think of you? Did they think you were strange? Did they hate that an American was in the school? 

It was actually quite the opposite. People were fascinated by you and how charismatic you were. You were kind to everyone, offering people smiles, making conversation in the Great Hall during meals, offering help with studying. You were the it girl of Hogwarts. 

That was a new concept for you since you always blended in at Ilvermorny. Maybe it was time for a change. You were getting invited to parties, asked to hang out on weekends in Hogsmeade, and not to mention, you were a few people’s crushes. “Hi (Y/N),” Seamus waved at you with a shy smile.

“Hey, Seamus,” you smile back, brightly, unaware of his blossoming crush on you. His cheeks turned beet red as you wiggled your fingers back at him. Hermione laughs next to you as a bunch of Gryffindor boys in your year watch you walk down the hall, you tossing your hair over your shoulder. “What’s so funny, Granger?” you ask, pushing her shoulder lightly. “Is it so strange that I say hi to everyone in the halls?”

She just shakes her head. “Are you that blind?” she laughs. “(Y/N), nearly every boy in our year fancies you.” You furrow your brows. Hermione groans, knowing you didn’t understand her slang. “The boys all think you’re cute. They’ve got crushes on you.”

Rolling your eyes is disbelief, you enter your History of Magic class. “Yeah, right, Hermione. The day everyone has a crush on me is the day pigs fly,” you plop down in your chair, grabbing your book out of your satchel. “Besides, I’m sure it’s just the new girl crush. It’ll be over within the next week, I’m sure of it.”

Hermione looks at you knowingly. “(Y/N), you’ve been here for two months now.” You just ignore her comment and continue getting ready to take notes for class. “There’s no denying that you are the popular girl,” she teases you as you fake gag. “I’m serious. I dare you to flirt with anyone in here and see their reaction,” she whispers to you.

You look around the room to see who would be the person most likely to shoot you down if you flirted with them. Two desks over was Blaise Zabini sat next to Draco Malfoy. You smirked and nudged Hermione as if to say watch this. “Blaise?” you ask, his head shooting up to look at you. “I think I forgot my quill. Do you have one I could borrow?” you bat your eyes at him.

A cheeky grin comes across his face as he hands you the one in his hand. “Forgetful today?” he smirks as you giggle. “You can borrow my quill any day,” he winks at you as Hermione fake gags, making Zabini rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask Granger for one next time? The mudblood is always prepared,” Draco speaks from behind Zabini. 

Anger rises in your chest as Malfoy laughs about your best friend. “Why don’t you just keep your fat trap shut and cry to daddy about how much you hate this school, Malfoy? No one wants to hear it out of you, least of all me,” you spit before turning away to do your work. Hermione smiles as you, squeezing your hand. “See? Malfoy doesn’t have a crush on me!” you tell her, making her laugh.

Meanwhile, Draco glares at Zabini. “Don’t tell me you fancy the American girl too.” Zabini keeps his mouth shut, knowing what’s best for him. “What is everyone’s obsession with her? She’s American, not from outer space.”

Blaise shakes his head. “Come on, Malfoy. She’s proper fit, isn’t she? Not to mention, she’s quite cheeky and has good banter.”

Draco just slaps Blaise upside the head. “Oh, please,” he huffs. “There’s plenty of girls like that in this school. She’s not the only one.”

Throughout class Draco thinks to himself about what the entirety of Hogwarts’ student body saw in you. He ignored the lecture going on in the front of the classroom and dreamily watched you during class. You sat there, biting down on your lower lip gently in concentration, scribbling down notes as your nose scrunched up when a question came to mind. He could see the wheels churning in your head when you asked a question and then the lightbulb flick on when it was answered and it made sense. You let a small dance play on your lips when you answered a question correctly faster than Hermione. You hair flopped on head perfect as you pushed strands back as they fell. Your eyes twinkled with curiosity and playfulness like a child. Draco’s heart thumped a little louder when you let out a giggle when the professor made an awful joke. His heart nearly stopped when you looked over at him and caught his gaze, your cheeks taking a rosy hue as you looked away shyly. Draco didn’t look away for a second. He wanted you to know he was observing you. Shit, he silently thought as he felt his heart rate pick up when you sent a cheeky wink his way. He was caught.

You left class that day, a little pep in your step. You didn’t think much about people having a crush on you, but something about Draco Malfoy staring at you during class made you giggly. “What are you on about?” Hermione pokes your side. “I know you aren’t happy about that lecture, so spill.”

“Nothing,” you smile as you walk down the hall. “Can’t I just be happy?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. She had a feeling she knew what was happen, but rather than embarrass you about it, she kept to herself. “Alright,” she sing-songs.

------

The more time passed the more Draco found himself thinking about you and itching to get to class just so he could tune the professor out at steal longing glances at you. Sometimes you would catch him as he sent a little wink your way as you blushed. Sometimes he would catch you staring at him which gave him way too much satisfaction of knowing you liked him just as much as he liked you. 

You had no problem talking to boys, but Draco was different. You didn’t talk to him much because you were too scared you were going to embarrass yourself in front of him.

But Draco on the other hand found any excuse to walk right up to you in the halls and strike up conversation. He would see you walk down the hall, his eyes zeroing in on, dismissing his friend group as he made his way up to you. He didn’t care who you were with whether it was Luna or Hermione. Draco just slid himself next to you with a sly, “Where are you off to, American girl?”

You did not try to stop the blush from appearing on your cheeks. “What’s it to you, Malfoy?” you tease as he laughs.

“I’d walk you there if you let me,” he suggested as you glanced to Luna or Hermione as they would fall behind to walk to class with Ron or Harry. “Ah, alone at last,” he’d tease as your friend walked away, earning a teasingly slap from you. “Don’t worry, I won’t try and pull anything on you.”

As you sat in another class of History of Magic, you doodled in your notebook. When the professor turned his back to write on the chalkboard, you see a small origami dove fly over to your desk. Curiosity gets the best of you as you peel it open to see a little note scribbled on the inside.

American Girl,

I need to ask you a very important question.

You look to your left to see Draco staring straight ahead at the board, but his eyes look towards you with a sneaky smile on his lips. You shake your head, a grin teasing your lips as you write back, And what would that be, Mr. Malfoy? 

When the professor turns back around, you send the note back to him. You watch him scribble for a while, your curiosity eating away inside of you. Finally, he folds the note back up and send it your way quickly.

The note lands back on your desk as you ravenously open it, dying to know what the question was. 

You. Me. Hogsmeade. This Saturday.

Your heart flutters and you want to giggle, but you hide your smile and scribble back coyly, That’s not a question, Malfoy. 

Again, you send it back his way, watching him open it as you bite your lip to contain your smile as you pretend to pay attention to the class. From your peripheral vision, you watch him scribble back. The note lands back on your desk and you let it sit there for a second, making Malfoy sweat. You let a solid ten seconds pass before looking at the note, pretending to be shocked to see it on your desk, before peeling it open slowly as Malfoy lightly laughs, watching you do so.

So it that a yes?

You smile and write out as slowly as you possibly can. It’s a yes.

The note makes its way back to Draco’s desk as he catches it from the air, ripping it open. He smiles impossibly wider and laughs a “yes,” a little too loud for your professor to hear. 

“Mr. Malfoy? Would you like to share something with the class?” your Professor asks.

Draco realizes that everyone’s eyes on him, including you as a deep shade of pink rises to your cheeks. Draco sends you a wink before standing up from his seat, your heart beating fast. What is he doing? “Actually, yes,” he retorts. “I’ve got a date with the new girl,” he declares. Girls all turn to you before immediately whispering to those around them as some boys groan and others cheer Malfoy on. 

You just sit there, blushing like a fool. Hermione grabs your arm. “No way,” she speaks.

“You better believe it,” you whisper, eyes not leaving Draco’s as Zabini high fives him. Saturday could not come quicker.

[cutie1365]

Sister, Sister

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Watson!Reader

Request: Anon- Hi💕💕 SHERLOCK x READER please can I ask for one where reader is Johns little sister (not Harry) and she has a major crush on Sherlock but only told John. And after she lived at 221c for a while she goes on a case with Sherlock and Anderson is flirting with her, but Sherlock steps up for her and admits he loves her (even though he has always had feelings for her) sorry if it a little confusing Love your writing btw💕

Word count: 3k

A/N: I changed it up a little bit from the request but I hope you like it!

Masterlist in bio

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

The chime of the doorbell rang through 221B Baker Street as Sherlock jumped from his chair, pulling him from his deep trance inside his mind palace.

“Finally a client.” He pulled the curtains back from the window, trying to get a better look.

“It’s not a client... Have you not been listening to me?” John asked, exasperated.

“I filter.” Sherlock muttered, removing his eyes from the window and losing interest.

John rolled his eyes at his answer and made his way down the stairs to open the door.

“John!” You smile as the door is flung open, dropping your bag and jumping into his open arms.

“Y/N! You made it!” John laughed, holding you in his embrace, “How was your trip?”

“Oh awful! The bloke next to me on the train would not shut up. I swear, three hours, I never saw him take a breath.” You chuckled as John grabbed your bag and led you up the narrow stairs.

You stepped into the darkened living room, your eyes going wide as you took in the space. Your brother was not lying when he said it was a bachelor pad.

Sherlock stood as you entered the room. He hadn’t been listening when John explained who this mysterious non-client was. Was it one of his girlfriends? He couldn’t keep up with how many come and go anymore. Although you were way out of his league.

“Y/N this is Sherlock Holmes,” John motioned, and Sherlock raised his hand to shake yours.

“Ah hello.” You smiled sheepishly. So this was the infamous Sherlock Holmes... John really had not done him justice when he described him. He’d mentioned the intimidating arrogant stare, but left out those cheekbones that could cut glass. Not to mention those curls.

“Y/N will be staying with us for a little while until she can find a place.” John explained once more.

“Hm, you’ve never let one of your girlfriends move in, what’s so special about this one?” Sherlock asked with his brows furrowed, examining you. You were a little younger, maybe five years or so, but there had to be something else.

Your jaw dropped as the words left his mouth, you turned to John who was seething beside you.

“She’s my bloody baby sister you cock.” John yelled, showing off that famous temper of his. Had he not told his flatmate that you were coming?

“Sister?” Sherlock’s eyes went wide, taking a step back.

“I told you this!” John yelled as they bickered like an old married couple.

“Are you adopted?” He turned back to you and asked, clearly not understanding how the two of you could be related.

“No, he’s just the runt of the family.” You answered with a smirk.

“Sister...” He muttered again, taking you in. Suitcase, train ticket poking out from your  pocket. Of course, how didn’t he notice before? Why couldn’t he read it the moment you walked in the room. Why was he distracted? He’d seen beautiful women before and could still deduce them at the drop of the hat. Why were you making his senses falter?

“I just got a job in the city, still flat hunting.” You explained, because clearly he’d ignored the first few hundred times John told him.

“My apologies.” He nodded, still shocked at this new revelation.

“It’s alright, I was warned about you,” You laughed, not taking offense at the situation, as you followed John into the kitchen. He handed you a cup of tea as you took a seat at the counter.

“Warned? You warned her about me? Why?” Sherlock began pestering John after he’d taken a second to let your words sink in.

John deadpanned, like it was obvious, and to everyone else, it was.

“Really?” John asked, unamused.

“I’m not that bad, John.” Sherlock whined.

“In the 90 seconds that I’ve been here you accused my brother of being a whore and that we were in an incestuous relationship.” You retorted, taking a sip of your tea.

“Well I didn’t know you were related, you look nothing alike.” He argued.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius? Shouldn’t it be obvious even if he hadn’t mentioned it, which he did.” You shot back, knowing you’d won.

Sherlock didn’t say anything as he looked you up and down, before slowly turning to John.

“John I don’t think I like your sister, she’s mean.” He scowled as you and John chuckled. Sherlock huffed and left the room, nearly slamming his bedroom door.

“Well this is going to be fun.” You smirked, still looking off in the direction he fled.

“No,” John whipped around to face, his voice going stern as he raised a finger at you.

“What?” You asked, raising your hands in surrender. You hadn’t said anything to warrant this kind of response from your brother.

“No,” He pointed back to Sherlock’s door, and you rolled your eyes at the implied instruction to stay away from him. You couldn’t help it that he was your type to a tee, and it’s just so fun to watch him get all riled up when you teased him.

“So tell me about all these girlfriends, brother dear.” You rested your head on your hands, leaning towards him on the counter and changing the subject. John sighed, hoping his warning got through to you.

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

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked as he walked out into the kitchen, a few days into your stay at 221B.

“Cooking dinner.” You held up the large spoon as if it was obvious.

“Why?” He asked again, maintaining his annoyed tone.

“Because I’m hungry??” You answered, as if that was the stupidest question in the world. What was this man’s problem? Did he not eat?

“Where’s my petri dish?” He asked as he approached you, practically pushing you to the side to look for the small plastic plate. You couldn’t ignore, try though you may, the way your body reacted when his hand touched your waist.

“I moved it.” You spoke, hoping your voice didn’t falter due to the unexpected touch.

“Where?” He shot up, his eyes scouring the kitchen.

“Over there.” You pointed to the corner of the kitchen island with your large spoon still in hand.

“Did you touch it?” He asked, rushing to it.

“I mean I moved it, but I didn’t stick my finger in it.” You rolled your eyes, moving your finger in a swirling motion as you spoke. Did he think you were an idiot? You didn’t know what kinda bacteria was growing in there, you were not about to touch that and then start preparing food.

Sherlock stood silently as he inspected the dish.

“Are those eyeballs in the fridge? I’m a little afraid to look.” You chuckled, placing your hand on your hip, filling the silence.

“Then don’t.” He quipped back, not taking his eyes off the dish.

“You know normally, you put food in a fridge. You could play a real life game of operation with all the stuff you’ve got in there.” You teased with a smile.

“We don’t normally cook.” He explained, placing the dish down, satisfied that you hadn’t ruined it as he moved to take a seat at the counter across from you.

“Oh so is the kitchen just decorational then?” You asked, knowing you were getting on his nerves.

“How’s the flat search going?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, changing the subject.

“Ugh, everything’s so bloody expensive.” You groaned, turning back to the stove to stir the boiling pot, “I don’t know how you afford this place.”

“Landlady’s got drug money.” The detective said casually.

“You’re joking.” You laughed, turning back to face him, and he shook his head.

“Husband ran a cartel.” He said, you didn’t think he had it in him to joke.

“You’re taking the piss.” You shook your head with a smile, there was no way that could be true. Little old Mrs. Hudson?

“I’m serious.” He smiled, maybe that was the first time you’d seen him do that.

“What’s that smell?” John walked in the room, stopping as he saw the two of you laughing. He eyed you sternly, and raised a brow, clearly you weren’t listening to his warning.

“That smell, dear brother, is a home cooked meal. I know the concept is foreign to you.” You retorted, causing Sherlock to smirk, before quickly dropping it.

“How much longer will your sister be here, she’s interrupting my experiments.” Sherlock asked John, returning to his annoyed manner.

“She is right here, and she cooks and cleans so you can either deal with it, or help me find a new place if you want me out that bad.” You pointed the cooking spoon at him, though he didn’t find you very threatening. Something about you standing before him in an apron, with your hair falling into your face, threatening him with a wooden spoon brought a smile to his face.

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

“What’s that?” You ask, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder as he sits at his desk. He must have been so deep in thought he didn’t hear you approaching.

“Go away, I’m working.” He swatted you away, knowing you’d distract him.

“Is that a body?” You leaned in closer, trying to get a better look.

“Yes, now go away.” Sherlock pushed you back as your hair fell onto his shoulder and he inhaled your scent, already distracted from the scene before him.

“So bossy, maybe I can help.” You said, stepping back and placing a hand on your hip.

“You could help? How could you possibly help? Your brother is a trained army doctor, that’s helpful. What’s a secretary going to do? File their papers?” He mocked as you rolled your eyes. You were a personal assistant, not a secretary, you didn’t just file papers all day.

“We’re good with details and eavesdropping.” You argued.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Sherlock asked, with brows furrowed after looking at the clock. You weren’t normally home during this time. He knew because it was the only time he could get work done without his mind wandering to you.

“Because my boss is on vacation in Malta and I’m bored out of my mind.” You sighed, flopping dramatically into the black plush chair next to the desk.

“So you think I’ll let you assist on this case? Not a chance.” Sherlock shook his head, turning back to the screen.

“Please, I’m so bored. Put me to work.” You begged, bouncing up from the chair and sitting on the arm.

“No.” He answered without turning away from the screen.

“Sherlockkk..” You whined. You were the youngest child, you knew how to get what you want, how to tear them down and break their will until they have no choice but to succumb to you.

“Dear lord, you are incessant.” He whipped back to you, the anger on his face causing a small smile to appear on your own.

“I’ll stop if you take me along. Please Sherlock, one case, and I’ll never ask again.” You pleaded, pressing your hands together almost as if in prayer.

“One?” Sherlock asked, and you knew you were getting somewhere.

“Just one, I wanna know what you do all day. What makes you come home and want to put eyeballs in the microwave.” You smirked, you were this close.

“You’re not giving up are you?” Sherlock huffed and shook his head with a small smile.

“Never.” You smiled, you could do this all day.

“Get your coat.” He instructed as you jumped from your seat, giddy.

You grabbed your coat off the rack and Sherlock pointed to you sternly as you slipped it on.

“You do exactly as I say, you hear me? You touch nothing. You say nothing.” He instructed, the glimpse of a smile you’d seen had now faded.

“May I blink?” You asked, as he moved towards the door.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” He turned back to you on the stairs, as you followed behind him, excitement still evident on your face.

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

“Freaks here!” A woman yelled as the two of you entered the scene. You were mesmerized, you felt like you were living an episode of CSI. Is this what Sherlock does every single day?

“And he’s got a guest.” A man in a white plastic suit said, standing and approaching the two of you. Your eyes went wide as you noticed the body on the floor behind him.

“Phillip Anderson.” He smirked and stretched his hand to shake yours.

“Y/n Watson.” You smiled politely as you drew your attention from the body.

“You recruited another?” Sally asked Sherlock, rudely.

“Come on.” Sherlock instructed, pulling you towards the body and away from Anderson. You took in every detail.

“What do we know?” Sherlock asked another detective who was standing over the body.

“Oh are you John’s sister?” The new man asked and you smiled and nodded.

“Greg Lestrade, D.I.” He shook your hand, “God, I didn’t know John had a sister.”

“What do we know?” Sherlock asked again, his patience growing thin. Or was he jealous at the fact that everyone was so preoccupied with you?

“James Cartright, 43, lives in town. Neighbors filed a noise complaint, and the responding officer found his body.” Lestrade explained.

“Why do I know that name?” You muttered, pulling out your phone.

“I thought we’d agreed on the not speaking thing.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he turned to you.

“I know that name. Yes! See,” You showed him the shared calendar with the scheduled meeting, “He met with my boss two weeks ago.” Sherlock examined it as the victim's name was clearly there.

“Why?” He asked, not seeing any notes below the appointment to provide a reason.

“Don’t know, it was after hours so it wasn’t work related. Though from what I heard Cartright was in the market for a good divorce attorney. My boss and his wife split a year ago.” You explained, sometimes eavesdropping paid off... Though not for the man sprawled on the ground below you with a bullet in his head.

“Find out who his wife is, and if she’s got an alibi.” Sherlock turned to Lestrade and instructed.

“See, told you I could be helpful.” You smirked, nudging Sherlock with your shoulder as Lestrade ran off. Sherlock didn’t want to admit it, but you did speed up the process. Though it was only a stroke of luck. Or fate.

“Are you going to be around more often, Y/N?” Anderson asked, approaching you once more.

“Nope, one time thing.” You shook your head and turned to Sherlock with a smile, you had promised after all, one case and one case only.

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? We can extend this one time thing.” Phillip flirted.

“Oh.” You turned back to him, your eyes going wide in shock. That’s not where you expected this to go.

“Or dinner. Or we could always skip to dessert.” His voice dropped and your breath hitched. No one had ever been this forward with you.

“Um,” Was all you managed to let out. After all your playful banter that’s so easy with Sherlock, and you couldn’t even find a way to respond to this advance. Obviously you weren't interested. You were ruthless, Sherlock had seen it, you could send him crying back to his mother with your words if you wanted. He’d never seen you at a loss for words.

“Anderson, stop pestering my girlfriend and do your bloody job.” Sherlock seethed. You barely snapped back to reality enough to register that Sherlock had called you his girlfriend. Obviously he was just lying to get Anderson off your back so he’d stop interrupting the investigation, he hated you. You were pretty certain of that. Anderson ran off as another detective had called him over.

“Thanks for that. Kinda threw me off guard, I’m not really used to guys talking to me like that. You’d think standing over a dead body wouldn’t be the most opportune moment.” You began to ramble.

“Anderson is an idiot.” Sherlock said, before going quiet. He liked how it felt when he called you his girlfriend.

“What if I didn’t want it to be a lie.” He muttered, drawing your attention as you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked, not sure what he was referring to.

“What if it was true?” He asked, unable to just come out and say it.

“That I was your girlfriend?” You asked with a chuckle and he nodded, “Why would you want that? I thought you hated me. I mean I annoy the living daylights out of you.”

“No you don’t. I like having you around.” He admitted, and you couldn’t believe he was saying this.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” You smiled, shaking your head.

“I know. It’s just, you bring out a different side of me. One I didn’t know I had. You make me want to be better, for you. I want to be a man that you could love.” He spoke, unsure of where these words were all coming from. The ones he’d thought in the dead of night but never dared to say out loud.

“What if I told you you already are, just the way you are.” You smiled, watching his eyes snap back to you in surprise.

“What?” He asked, brows furrowed. There was no way you were returning the sentiment. There was no way you felt the same way.

“Oh please, why do you think I tease you constantly. I’ve liked you from the moment I met you. John could tell, that’s why he told me to stay away from you.” You chuckled.

“That would explain his recent increased hostility.” Sherlock realized.

“He’ll get over it,” You smirk, “Now can we get out of here, because I really want to kiss you, but there’s a dead body like right there and it’s really putting me off.”

You laugh, causing Sherlock to laugh as well. You were going to get him in trouble. His best friend's little sister, yeah he’d never hear the end of that one... Although John didn’t necessarily have to know. For now at least. Three weeks, maybe four, that’s how long Sherlock suspected it would take for John to catch on. Maybe five if the two of you could keep your hands off each other long enough in his presence. This was going to be fun.

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

Please let me know what you think! My requests are open but be warned this one was probably from three years ago so I kind of take forever to get around to them. It’s just about when I get inspiration for a story or think of some good dialogue. 

Any and all feedback is greatly encouraged, even just a simple message helps!

[snowpeawritings]

oh hear is a fun scenario Kill la kill Ryuko's and satsuki reaction to there male S/o saving them whiles wearing senketsu / junketsu (yep in the activated forms) and their male S/o looked hot whiles wearing them

Reader is male

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Swearing, suggested sexual content, diverging from canon events, slight gore, blood tw, slut as an insult is used once

❄ Snowpea’s words: THIS REQUEST SOUNDS SO FUNNY BUT I LOVE IT SDFDSFLH

| Ryuko Matoi |

God, why did anyone allow students to have military-grade weapons? Carrying Senketsu in your arms, you hurried across the broken debris of the school as you tried to find some semblance of another human person. Goddammit, of all days that a random Satsuki-lackey could attack, why on a day where you had to submit files for the teachers? Sometimes you curse yourself for being a class president. But you had to hurry. It was your fault that your girlfriend is practically defenseless without Senketsu. God, why would you reassure her that she didn’t need Senketsu when you two are in the lair of your enemies? Why are you such a bad boyfriend? Feeling a tug on your arms, you looked down to see Senketsu’s only eye looking annoyed. You raised your eyebrow, only to wonder if you were monologuing your self-hatred on being a bad boyfriend. You stretched his fabric, glaring at the eye on the collar. “Can it! I’m very stressful right now!” Jumping on a concrete ledge, you carried yourself up and scanned the area with the leverage. This is was left of the cafeteria, you recalled, you were sure you saw Ryuko running in here as soon as the rando attacked. A tug from your arms and soon Senketsu was pointing at a certain direction. Your eyes widened, looking at where he was pointing and you felt your heart jump out of your throat. Her battered body slumped against the counter, looking so foreign when you were so used to her having less clothes on when she’s injured. ... That came out wrong but regardless, you hurried to her. Senketsu already extending his sleeves just so he could reach her but a giant force stopped you in your tracks. Skidding your feet on the ground, you nearly stopped in front of a giant syringe. It’s eerie-looking liquid made you squirm as you stepped back. Looking back, you gasped at the skimpy nurse outfit the assistant student was wearing. You recognized her as one of the student assistants that helped the nurse when she was out of commission but you never talked to her before. You tried your best not to squirm at the amount of skin she was showing as she twirled a scalpel in her fingers. “Look at you, little student assistant! How adorable that you came here for you girlfriend!” You steeled yourself, clutching Senketsu like he could comfort you. “Shut it. I’m not above hitting women, you slut.” She immediately raged, taking more scalpels from behind her (how does that tight thing hide those scalpels?) and brandished them dangerously. “No one gets to call me a slut and gets away with it!” You yelped when she threw them at you. Your legs immediately running behind any obstacle that could block them but you were fucking sure she must’ve taken strength enhancement drugs because of the scalpels stabbing right through the concrete, leaving holes after its wake. It only took one lucky swipe on your cheek to make you flinch. Soon, three more scalpels stabbed you in the calf as you screamed in pain. Crumpling down on the ground, you clutched Senketsu tightly around you. Tears of pain formed in your eyes but you refused to let them fall in fear of fueling her ego even more. “Who said you were going to hit me?” She cackled, hearing something move from the ground as something metal skid across the debris. You gasped, taking gulps of air as you crawled away from her. Away from danger and try to recuperate but all you could muster was pained gasps before ultimately slumping down on the floor. In your delirious haze, you heard Ryuko’s voice screaming out your name. It was a welcome voice but it wasn’t enough to wake you up. Black spots soon spread to the corner of your vision as you let out a shaky breath. “Sorry, Senketsu.” You coughed out, the fresh scar on your cheek now dripping blood. “Guess your gonna listen to me monologue even more...” You were afraid to see any sort of sharp object come and kill you, so you closed your eyes and awaited the final blow. Senketsu struggled in your grip, feeling his sleeve wipe against your cheek where it was bleeding. You chuckled weakly. Leave it to Senketsu for comforting you, huh? ... Why do you feel so cold? Opening your eyes, you looked down to see Senketsu stripping your clothes hurriedly. The sight alone made you wake up and scramble to get Senketsu off of you. In your panicked state, you could barely register an ‘Oh my!’ from the skimpy nurse or Ryuko’s aghast screams at Senketsu. With you only in your undergarments, you shivered at both the blood loss and the cold before Senketsu opened his giant maw. You couldn’t even let out a scream before you felt the kamui swallow you whole. Outside of the kamui transformation, Ryuko could feel her heart jumping out of her chest when she saw Senketsu swallow you just like he had with her. What would this mean? Does this mean you’ll sync with Senketsu? Will you get to hear Senketsu? Would you suffer blood loss like she has before? Those questions rang across her mind like a bell but she didn’t even question the most important part until the transformation finished. Feeling blood rush to her cheeks, she screamed out an “Oh my fucking god!” Senketsu said in passing that her father had worn Senketsu, the image not wanting to be imprinted on her mind so she pushed it back to the farthest reaches of her mind. But seeing you don Senketsu had brought all of the embarrassment back full force. Your entire upper torso was naked, letting the entire world see your chest and stomach as the sleeves covered your arms and neck. Senketsu’s eyes were still the same, sitting in front of your clavicle as he stared at you in concern. She was sure he was asking you if you were okay. That’s not even the last of it. Looking down was a horrible plan when she saw the skin-tight black and red suit hugged your legs deliciously. She saw how the skin just spilled from the clothes as the pants were hung low on your hips. She hated it even more when the lines and the suspenders pointed straight at your crotch area and oH GOD DON’T GET HER STARTED WITH THE CROTCH AREA-- “Senketsu!” You screamed at the kamui, stretching the suit on your thighs like it would help. “What the fuck?!” [Sorry, but you were going to die.] He stated simply before his eye moving towards the assistant nurse. She still looked dazed, a hot blush painting her cheeks as she stared at you in hunger. [And you’ll still die if I continue to drain you, so hurry up and get her already!] You gulped, cringing at how the suit on your neck stuck to the skin. You sighed before crouching down, arm brought back and glared at the offender. With the combined strength of Senketsu, you jumped, going at almost lightspeed before throwing your fist at the girl’s face. Feeling her bones crack under your fist brought you a sense of euphoria as she was sent flying across the room. Her now-unconscious body broke through the wall and the wall after that and soon, there were 4 holes in the shape of an assistant nurse. Steam from Senketsu poured out from you like a pipe. You breathed in and out heavily, the rush exhilarating to you. Quickly realizing about your girlfriend, you whipped your head to see her only to find her absolutely red and steaming. You hurried to her and if it was possible for her to be flustered more, it’s happening as you knelt in front of her and carried her away from the rubble. Since you have godlike strength now, it was a cinch to carry her with even one arm. “Babe! You okay?!” Oh god, she can feel your pecs oh god this is more skin she’s touching in her lifetime oh god oh shit oh god-- “Ryuko?” You questioned gently, not wanting to surprise her out of her flushed-stupor. You could see her eyes trying not to stare at your chest or your crotch but it was incredibly obvious. [... She’ll be fine.] Senketsu said after a beat. If one were to listen closely, one could hear the mirth in his voice when watching Ryuko getting turned on from you wearing him. [We should go home and get treated immediately though.] You nodded at Senketsu, securing Ryuko more firmly in your hold (and making her break down even more) as you hurried to the Mankanshoku’s place. Maybe one day, Senketsu thought, he would make you wear him again just to tease her.

| Satsuki Kiryuin |

“God fucking dammit--” You seethed, adjusting your belt to cover your crotch more. “I’m gonna murder that fucking blonde bitch I swear--”

Trying to aim at Nui, your finger hovered over the trigger before the modified sniper rifle shot the specialized needle. The needle to stop Nui in her place flew across the air before impaling an empty space.

You cursed, hearing the blonde bitch’s giggling.

Getting away from your position, you hid for cover as you reloaded your rifle. You took a glance as you do, the reloading becoming second nature to you. The battered down slums of the city made the situation even more dangerous as a dense fog crawled into the vicinity. The tall, dingy houses for squatters towered over you as you controlled your breathing.

You, Satsuki, and Nonon were supposed to be back at Nudist Beach base. It was supposed to be an in and out mission. But some fucking blonde bitch had to step in and ruin everything for the heck of it.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped around the corner of your cover, rifle aiming at the air before gasping at the sight.

“There you are!” Nui said gleefully, waving Satsuki’s lifeless body like a light stick. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up!”

Satsuki’s battered body made your blood boil but it made you furious even more when Nui waved her around like she was nothing. What made you afraid even more was that she wasn’t wearing Junketsu. The sight of her being only in her undergarments while Nui paraded her around had never made you want to stab the needle right through her other eye.

You gripped your rifle, taking aim at Nui. “Drop her or I’m fucking dropping you.”

She giggled, dragging Satsuki’s body in front of her. Blood dripped down from her numerous cuts, decorating the ground as her limbs swayed. You could see her chest still moving but it doesn’t ease your worries.

“Don’t you dare or else you might drop your partner!”

You snarled, hands shaking on your weapon. Satsuki’s bangs covered her eyes as her mouth was hung open. But you could see them moving for a small moment.

Your heart dropped.

You nearly dropped your rifle but you took hold. Seeing Nui’s stupid smile behind Satsuki’s shoulder made you fume but you can’t just tear a whole through your girlfriend. Even if she wanted you to do it.

You were sure Nui would’ve been impaled just to see it too.

You slowly lowered your rifle all the while glaring at Nui but not until the shrill shriek of “Aim your fucking rifle back, overachiever!” before feeling cloth cover your vision.

Nonon, who was trying to find you and Satsuki ever since being separated from you two, breathed heavily from constant shouting and carrying Junketsu. Yes, while she had proper vocal training and breathing exercises so that it wouldn’t tire her easily, having to carry a sentient kamui was hard enough as it is. She was careful not to nick her skin on anything sharp so that Junketsu won’t react.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen,” She started, staring at Junketsu eating you whole, “but I sure hope something good happens!”

She then turned to her best friend, glaring at Nui as she stared in curiosity at your transformation. “Hang in there, Lady Satsuki! I’m sure your boyfriend can handle Junketsu!”

Hearing the transformation stop, she quickly turned to you, about to bark orders but could only let out a squeak of embarrassment.

The transformation ended, leaving you wearing a version of Junketsu that was reminiscent of how Satsuki wore them. Your entire upper torso was naked, save for Junketsu’s ‘eyes’ covering your shoulders and your arms which were covered with the white and blue sleeves.

What made it worse is that the suspenders pointed all down to your crotch area, the frills on the thigh-highs accentuating the spilling of your skin over the boots. Nonon, as Satsuki’s best friend, tried to avert her eyes from you but the sight of you looking so fucking sexy wearing Junketsu was forever imprinted in your mind.

“Oh?” Nui drawled out. “How interesting! The lover wearing the kamui and withstanding its hunger?”

“Hey!” Nonon screeched, glaring at her despite the redness on her face. “Don’t you dare ogle him!”

Satsuki, who was nearly unconscious for the whole time, twitched under Nui’s grip. She coughed out blood as she stared at you. You were still standing proud, your rifle aimed at Nui with newfound vigor as the strength that flowed through Junketsu now flowed with you.

She never could’ve been prouder for you.

Amidst her weakness, she smirked at you, printing the image of you standing proud wearing Junketsu in her mind. “Make her pay.”

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡

𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐮 - 𝟐

✕𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Grim Reaper!Seonghwa x Living!Reader  

✕𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Grim Reaper, Halloween Au  

✕𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k+

✕𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: There’s nothing after death, or so they say. However, Seonghwa knows best and he’s determined to make you find out. 

Alternatively: “Married couples always promise to love each other till death, but darling, I’ll show you love exists after death as well.”  

✕𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of death, souls, grave yards, cemetaries, harassement/bullying and the afterlife. Seonghwa is holding a scythe to reap souls. There is some religious stuff as well. The people around you are really weird. You’re a living, breathing human at the beginning but not really at the end. The reader (you) are really weird. Some kissy kissy as well 

✕𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited 

✕𝐀/𝐍: Remember that this is fiction and that I don’t actually see ateez in this way. The religious stuff has not been put in to offend anyone. It is solely for fictional purposes. Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. Leave a comment under this post or message me! Also, this is inspired by OneUs’ song ‘To Be or Not To Be’. I am obsessed with their entire ‘Lived’ album...it’s a bit of a problem hehe  

✕𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @pancakes-for-teddy​

✕𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: Here 

Seonghwa watched you trace the crude grey stone with your fingers in a sense of curiosity.

You were a young child, new to the world but there was something extremely odd about you. Seonghwa had seen you a few times already, running around the cemetery as if it was the playground, playing hide and seek with the ravens that would sometimes whisper beautifully morbid things to you.

Tracing the sharp blade of his scythe, the male sighed and lowered his black hood when a series of footsteps crunched through the dead grass of the burial grounds.

"A mere lost soul," Seonghwa said as the groundskeeper of the cemetery came to a standstill next to him.

"A bit young to be a lost," he said but Seonghwa shook his head and ran his bony fingers over the staff of his scythe.

"Young souls are often the easiest to lose. But they are also the easiest to guide," he said and gave the groundskeeper a side-eyed glance.

"Are you going to guide her?" The groundskeeper asked in a quiet voice and Seonghwa inhaled deeply before covering his face with his hood again and disappearing into the shadows.

"Only if I must."

The next place Seonghwa saw you was at the foot of your grandmother's bed a few years later, crying hysterically.

Black ink flowed down your cheeks, leaving scorching burns in their wake but to any normal human, it would look like the most heart-broken tears were being shed.  

Next to Seonghwa, your grandmother pressed a hand to her heart. Although pain was not felt by deceased souls, the phantom pains of her only grandchild's cries were enough to provoke a physical feeling.

Both your grandmother and Seonghwa stayed, observing everything until it was only you left in the room.

Seonghwa approached you and wiped the inky streaks off your face with a gentle bony finger.

"Do not cry, child," he said and offered you a single black raven feather, smooth as the blade of his scythe.

"Angel," the word left your small lips as you marvelled at the man in front of you. A graceful being in front of a clumsy child like you, your brain could only muster the closest celestial being.

"No, child. But you can most definitely think of me as your guardian angel."

And with that, Seonghwa left you with an eternal promise and the mark of the grim reaper on your soul.

"So much for a guardian angel," you said as you twirled the black feather between your fingers. Now in your early adult ages, the feather had remained the only constant in your life.

Encased between thin glass sheets, the black feather gleamed under the sunlight as you leaned against one of the headstones in the cemetery.

"(Yn)? Here again?" The groundskeeper asked as he strolled by with his tools, his black cat in tow.

"Yes sir," you smiled and closed your eyes, letting your head fall onto the grey stone that was basking in the sunlight.

"I was going to wash the stones today but it seems I'll have to wait," he said and you smiled at the older man.

"Thank you, sir. You know I don't have anyone else but you."

The groundskeeper gave you a small wave before continuing on his way.

Sighing and tucking the black feather back into your pocket, you plucked at the yellow grass that always seemed to surround you wherever you went.

It was true that the groundskeeper was the only one you had. After the encounter with your "guardian angel", things had gone immensely wrong for you.

You started having nightmares and hearing voices that always called for help. The murmurs and cried pains of the damned that always seemed to haunt you on the darkest of nights. This eventually led to your family declaring you sick and moving away to a bigger city, leaving you behind.

You were harassed horribly during school which made you drop out and just stay inside your old house until midnight hit the skies. The old ladies of the town would gossip about your creepy aura and flash you with crosses and holy water while you would walk down the street.

Sometimes, just to mess with them you would hiss and try to cover yourself from the holy objects and inwardly laugh as the women scurried away to protect their children and husbands. On other days you would hide under the black hood of your jacket and ignore all the comments about being a disgrace to God and whatnot.

To say that your town was an orthodox one was an understatement.

But today was one of those rare nights where the voices didn't seem to bother you as much. The people of the town had been ignorant towards you and it was a blessing through and through. Lying in your deceased grandmother's room, you stared at the arcane carvings in her ceiling. Your grandmother always believed in the afterlife and that death was not as bad as people put it to be. It was always just a change of worlds but never a permanent one.

Your hand reached out to trace one of the gold lines in the air. You had spent your entire childhood memorising them as your grandmother would tell you stories of the world beyond but now, they seemed foreign to you, almost dead and lifeless.

"I remember seeing you here when you were only a little child," a smooth voice flittered across the cold room as you jerked awake and stood up to find the source of the voice.

"Even as a child, you were always so mysterious. I never expected you would grow up to be so beautiful," the voice sounded again and Seonghwa emerged from the shadows, bony fingers clutching his scythe.

He leaned down to your level and traced your jawline. His finger was chillingly cold and wasn't soft as skin would normally feel.

Silence blanketed the room as you shrank under his cold stare.

"Am I finally going to die?"

Admittedly, the question was stupid but voicing it lifted some weight off your chest.

"Why would you die?" Seonghwa quipped an eyebrow at you, a slow smirk making its way onto his face.

"You look like a grim reaper," you whispered and fidgeted under the tall male's gaze.

Seonghwa laughed, it was chilling in its nature and froze your bones.

"That's because I am."

Regardless of his cold stare and voice, his tone was nonchalant and careless, as if admitting to being the grim reaper wasn't the biggest thing in the world.

"Oh..." you trailed off, not quite sure how to react to that piece of information.

"What do you want with me?"

"That's..." Seonghwa sighed and leaned against his scythe with a bored expression.

"A good question," he said and furrowed his eyebrows.

"If you don't have any specific requests then please leave," you said and trudged to the bedroom door, opening it wide and letting the cold wind whistle through the room.

"Actually, I wanted to take you with me," Seonghwa said and leaned his fingers out to touch your hair. He twisted them around his fingers and smiled. It was a sweet smile, one filled with love and adoration, something you had not experienced from any human before.

But lucky for you, Seonghwa was not human.

"Take me where?" You asked and brought your hand up to curl your fingers around his wrist. His skin was strikingly pale against yours and while Seonghwa could feel the low thrum of your pulse, you couldn't feel a thing.

"To the spirit world of course," he said and booped your nose lightly in a childish manner.

For a grim reaper, he sure was soft with his movements.

"What if I don't want to go," you whispered and dropped your hand from around his wrist. Seonghwa's unbeating heart dropped a little at the lack of physical contact as he too uncurled your hair from around his fingers and then caressed your head gently.

"I suppose that's fair," he said but one look at your face and he knew you were just being cautious of stranger danger.

"Listen," he started and leaned down, dangerously close to your lips.

"Wha-what are you doing?" You asked and leaned your face away from his.

"Just let me show you," he said and leaned closer to you.

Hesitantly, you met his face halfway and pressed your lips to his.

If only your family could see you now, they would bury you ten feet underground.

His bony fingers let go of his scythe which vanished into thin air as he pulled your waist closer to his.

His lips were cold and yours felt numb to his touch. It was an insensitive feeling but as Seonghwa exhaled into your mouth, you felt a wisp of odd smoke travel past your lips.

It looked like unfurling ink in water as the wisps passed from his mouth to yours.

Stilling in his arms, your vision blurred and Seonghwa's face pixelated before it dissolved into the same black wisps of smoke and you found yourself as a child sitting in the living room with your family.

"I'm afraid (Y/n)'s brain is not developing properly," A voice rang in your ears as you watched little you play with blocks and your parents conversing with a man in a white coat.

"Oh, nonsense. (Y/n) is doing just fine," your grandmother butt in and ushered the man outside, your parents giving her a glare.

A smile made its way onto your lips as you watched the scene in front of you. Your grandmother always did have her way with you in the best ways possible.

"Mother, you don't understand. (Y/n)'s not normal," you heard your father coax but your grandmother just shushed him and handed you a cookie, which you gladly accepted before going back to play with your blocks.

You reached your hands out to touch your grandmother's delicate face but your vision distorted again and merged into you sitting at the cemetery while you were younger.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw a figure talking to the groundskeeper while looking at you. The figure was clad in a long black cloak and you only caught a glimpse of his glimmering scythe before he disappeared into the shadows.

The ink once again unfurled and revealed to you getting harassed in school. The girls pulling your hair as you walked past them in the corridor while calling you names and the boys tearing your books apart and beating you up in the school's basement.

You cried watching everything unwind. These were the memories you had kept suppressed for so long but seeing them again had just opened up unnecessary scars in your heart.

"(Y/n)," a bony hand reached out for you and brought you back to reality as Seonghwa's fingers wiped at the tears that were streaming down your face.

"Wh-wha-what was that?" You asked and touched your face, fingers pulling away to reveal obsidian ink staining your fingers.

"Why...what...why are my tears black?"

"What have you done?" You demanded with a bite in your voice this time.

Seonghwa sighed and brushed your hair out of your brush before wrapping you in a blanket.

"I simply showed you everything you've been through in the mortal world."

His words rang in your ear with high pitched noise, like a shrill cacophonic note being hit on the violin again and again.

"(Y/n)," Seonghwa said and leaned down to your level again.

"It doesn't have to be like this. How can you keep living in this pain?"

"Who said I've been living in pain?" You retorted and pushed your pointer finger into his chest that was covered with black robes.

"My darling, I've been observing you for so long and the pain you feel could bring some of the most tortured souls to their knees."

You gulped, the air not quite flowing down your throat properly. Your body felt constricted as if it was trapped in the physical peel you call your body.

"Let me show you," Seonghwa whispered and snapped his fingers.

The air around you changed and it was no longer cold. it was no longer filled with hate and bitterness but instead, there was a warmth. A warmth that seeped into your bones almost as if it was a mother's hug. Your mother had never hugged you like this, it brought tears into your eyes. As if it had encased you in its warm arms, refusing to let go.

Your core, the very centre of your being felt whole again and every little touch was like a loving caress instead of sharp recoil.

But the moment was a fleeting one. Gone almost as soon as you had touched it, crumbled to dust right in front of your very eyes.

"What was that?" Your voice was soft and deep down, your held hope. You wanted that feeling to be your home forever. Somewhere you could finally be everything you've ever wanted to be. If Seonghwa was the key to that, you were willing to take that chance.

"Just a mere glimpse of what your life could be with me. Imagine everything I could give you, how free would you be," he said and you found yourself wondering exactly that.

What could Seonghwa give you, what could he offer and how free would you feel?

Freer that anything you ever felt on Earth, that was for sure.

"What do you say, my darling?" Seonghwa had his bony hand stretched towards your face. He gently caressed your cheek with one finger and you realised how menial everything was in compared to this. It was yours for the taking, everything he could ever offer was written in the hand of his ivory white hand and all you have to do was feed from it.

"Is it better to be alive or not to be? The question is yours," he said and you watched as the scythe was back in his hand.

"Where are you going?" You said and stood up from where you were previously sitting.

"Well, my darling, there's only one grim reaper and millions of souls to guide," he said and approached you closely.

"When you need me, call me by my name and I'll be there, always in the shadows but I'll be there."

"What am I supposed to call? Reaper?" You scoffed and turned away from him. How could you give someone the disease only to give them the cure as well?

"Call me Seonghwa," he said and disappeared with a cold whistle, as sharp as the blade he always carried.

Your every day after that was filled with constant itching to escape. The voices never left you alone and would only get amplified in Seonghwa's absence.

On the rare nights he did visit you, you would sit around the tombstones in the cemetery. He would tell you stories of all the souls he has guided into the spirit world and sometimes, the names he would tell you about would be in the very cemetery you two would spend time in.

The ravens would always squawk at your presence but you knew exactly how much they appreciated your company during the deadly hour.

You had come to know Seonghwa a great deal. His entire being was now an open book to you and every detail was like a word etched onto his pale skin that was the page. He would often shower you with ghostly kisses and you always found yourself wanting more.

"Just concentrate," his voice sounded behind you as you closed your eyes and narrowed all your energy onto the spirits he was talking about.

"You're special. Made for this, made for me. You can do it," he said and coaxed you further with a loving nudge.

"Seonghwa...I can't-" and the words got stuck in your throat as a wisp stroked your side and curled around your wrist.

"What...Seonghwa...what?" You stuttered and looked helplessly at the reaper.

"Just relax," he said cooly and you snorted at his comment.

"Yeah...relax," you said and shook your arm, trying to get the wisp off you.

"It's a soul, (Y/n). A lost one, just like yours," he said and stretched his hand, attracting the wisp towards it. You watched stoically as the white smoke uncurled and floated towards Seonghwa who sent it towards the sky in a hushed whisper.

"It's gone," he said and you nodded before sinking to the yellow grass under you.

"Seonghwa-" you started but when you looked up, he was gone with only the moon glimmering as bright as his blade looking down at you.

It was a horrible feeling to admit that you had gotten shamefully attached to Seonghwa. You found yourself thinking about him even when you were lying in bed, begging for sleep to take you without any nightmares.

Sitting up in your bed, the covers bunched around your midriff, you silently called his name.

"Seonghwa."

It was an almost non-existent whisper. Something that couldn't even be heard to your own ears but you had felt your lips move which was why you were sure of the letters tumbling from your lips.

"My darling, you finally learned how to use my name," his voice sounded and you jumped in your skin at the amount of soft malice in his voice. You wanted to bask in it.

"I want it," you voiced and he lowered his hood while quipping his eyebrow at you.

"What do you want?"

You inhaled deeply and leaned into Seonghwa.

"I want to be with you?"

Seonghwa laughed a musical laugh that was still cold in nature, the icicles pressing into your body.

"You've chosen not to be," he said and nodded moving even closer to you, almost pressing your body into his.

"Not to be what?" You asked and Seonghwa smirked the most deadly smirk you had ever seen adorn his sharp features.

"Not to be alive."

His final words made him press his lips to yours. This time, it was a liberating feeling as the black wisps climbed your body, tangling around your limbs and then finally your throat.

It was strangling all the life out of you but as Seonghwa petted and soothe your hair, you felt yourself feeling a tad bit better.

You lost yourself with one last word hanging from your lips, "Seonghwa."

The air was colder when you awoke. Two feet on the ground but they weren't yours.

Gasping, you stumbled backwards as you saw your dead body lying limp on the floor.

"They'll call it a miracle," Seonghwa said and kissed your hand that had turned a pale white to resemble his. There was no pulse this time and the place that held your beating heart was glaringly silent.

"How did you...what did you-" Seonghwa stopped you with a careless wave of his scythe.

"You don't have to know," he said as you both made your way to the cemetery.

"(Y/n)," the groundskeeper said and gave you a slight mocking bow.

"It's great to see you," he said and you laughed a hearty laugh, one that liberated your entire soul.

"I'm going to miss you, sir," you said but the groundskeeper shook his head with a slight chuckle.

"Nonsense, child. As long as you're with the reaper, you'll always see me."

Seonghwa grabbed your hand and led you into the shade.

"Are you ready?" He asked and you nodded enthusiastically.

Sharing one last kiss, you stepped into the shadows, disappearing forever.

"They got my birthday wrong," you complained to Seonghwa who just laughed and traced the headstone with his hand.

"Do you really care?" He asked and you whined a little before laughing.

"Not really...but they make me look older than I actually am!"

"It's alright, my darling. They never cared anyways."

And that was something you could agree on. They never did care. All they did was bury you ten feet under the ground and mutter false prayers of love before dispersing back to their lives that didn't contain a sick, now dead child.

When you were in high school, you had read Shakespeare's play, Hamlet. It was there you had learned the phrase 'To be or not to be, that is the question'.

It truly was the question, your question. But your grandmother always told you, death was never permanent, only a change of worlds so your answer to the question would always be ‘not to be’.

Not to be alive but to be by Seonghwa's side.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just��wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:          

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

[lyranova]

Interaction with Solara please 🥰💕

Of course Laura 🥰! Soo this turned out way longer than I expected 👀. I apologize if I didn’t write Solara correctly or if i really messed this up and didn’t write the interaction correctly! I read her profile and what I could of Embers but the stupid app kept crashing when I’d get in the middle of the chapter 😭! So if you want me to delete it or anything please let me know!

Word Count: 1,943

Warnings: None

—————-

Neva couldn’t hide the irritation on her face if she tried. She was currently walking through the halls of the Crimson Lion’s headquarters to pick up two members of the Golden Dawn, apparently they had decided to start a fight with a couple of Crimson Lions at a tavern located in the city. Luckily no civilians were harmed during the bar fight, but still it wasn’t proper for magic knights to be seen in such a way. There was one thing Neva didn’t understand; why did the Captain decide to send her out here to collect the men? Why didn’t he send Langris or come himself? She wasn’t that scary...was she? Either way she was the one deemed qualified to handle this, and that's what she was going to do. Neva came up to what she assumed was Captain Fuegoleons office and quickly knocked on the door.

“ Come in.” A voice Neva recognized as the Captains instruced, so she pushed the door open and walked towards the desk. She saw the two members of her squad sitting in chairs off to the left side, they had multiple cuts and bruises on their faces plus dirt and other things on their robes. On the right side sat the Crimson lion members, they looked in just as bad of shape as the members of her squad. She turned back to her left with the coldest, and possibly her scariest, glare to ever grace her face, and spoke.

“ I will deal with the both of you personally when we get back to headquarters.” Instantly both of her squad mates paled. ‘Huh, guess I am that scary.’ She thought somewhat amused, she knew pretty much all of the members of her squad didn’t like her but still them being afraid of her never even crossed her mind. She turned back to Captain Fuegoleon and saluted, the glare easing off her face as she spoke to him. “ Captain Vangeance would like to express his deepest apologies for both not coming to handle this matter personally and for how the members of the Golden Dawn behaved themselves. It is inexcusable. They will be heavily reprimanded and Captain Vangeance will come see you to apologize personally once he has finished with his tasks for the day.”

‘Geez I don’t even sound like myself, I almost sound like Klaus.’ Neva mused to herself before she watched as Captain Fuegoleon waved his hand.

“ Thank you. Tell your Captain that I understand how busy he is so I do not require an apology in person. But I appreciate the sentiment.” He told her. “ You may also tell him that the members of my squad will also be reprimanded and I hope nothing like this ever happens again.” He added and Neva nodded.

“ Yes sir,” she saluted before looking back at her squad members. Their robes were burned, at least around the edges, and she looked over to the other side and noticed that their clothes were also burned. She frowned, neither of her members had a fire affinity, she turned back to the Captain. “ If I may ask sir, who exactly broke up the fight?”

“ Oh, my um...my companion Solara did.” Fuegoleon told her, Neva blinked, was he blushing?! Neva noticed something move out of the corner of her eye. A woman with red hair that went past her shoulders appeared from the shadows, Neva couldn’t stop the surprised look from appearing on her face. ‘Was she here this entire time?!’ The woman named Solara seemed to notice and a soft amused smile appeared on her face.

“ I noticed the fight while I was out in the city and I decided to end it before any innocents could get caught in the cross fire.” Solara explained, her voice was proper, calm, and yet regal at the same time. Neva wondered if she was a royal or at least a high ranking noble. Neva nodded at the woman in thanks.

“ Thank you for teaching them a lesson Ms. Solara, I greatly appreciate it.” Solara waved away her thanks and Neva turned back to look at the members of her squad, that cold glare back in place.

“ Let’s go. The Captain is waiting and I can’t wait to hear what excuse you two come up with to explain all of this.” Neva said with cold amusement, the men paled even more if it was possible before they stood up and walked out of the office with Neva following behind before she heard Solara speak.

“ If I may, I would like to walk you out.” Solara said as she placed a hand on the Captains shoulder, she leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Neva couldn’t help but watch the exchange, Captain Fuegoleon seemed to blush even darker before clasping Solara’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Neva turned away quickly, not wanting to intrude on the intimate moment. ‘I wonder,’ a little voice whispered in her head as she couldn’t help but turn back to look at the captain and Solara. ‘If I’ll ever find someone who looks at me the way he looks at her?’ She instantly shook her head to clear the thoughts. She was better off alone. She didn’t need to get too close to people. She needed to keep everyone safe. Neva was so lost in thought that she didn’t even notice Solara had walked up to her.

“ Are you ready to leave?” Neva jumped very slightly at the voice before nodding.

“ Yeah I’m sorry I was just thinking.” She muttered before opening the door and walking out of it with Solara behind her.

————-

The young women walked in silence for a while, the other Golden Dawn members having already made it outside from what Neva assumed. She glanced at the woman beside her; she was tall, elegant, and warm. Neva looked ahead again and felt Solara’s eyes on her, she glanced at the woman again and noticed she was correct. It was like the woman was observing her, trying to see what kind of person Neva was, and it admittedly made Neva very nervous.

“ I never caught your name.” Solara finally spoke, Neva hadn’t realized that fact and looked at her apologetically.

“ Ah I’m sorry. My name’s Neva, it's a pleasure to meet you. Although, not under these circumstances.” Neva said with a small laugh.

“ I agree. But it’s nice to meet you, Neva.” Solara said with a kind smile on her face. “ Where are you from?” She asked, suddenly taking Neva back a bit.

“ O-Oh, I’m from the Capital. I was born and raised here.” She told the woman easily, and she noticed Solara’s eyes narrow and even took on a suspicious look that made Neva nervous. “ What about you, Ms. Solara? Where are you from?”

“ I’m from Thea.” She answered simply, Neva looked at her again. Now that she examined the woman closely, she noticed there were slight differences in her appearance but that was only if you looked at her really close. Unlike most nobles, Neva didn’t really care whether you were a foreigner or not, as long as you were a good or decent person that was all that mattered.

“ Why did you come to the Clover Kingdom of all places?” Neva couldn’t help but ask, and she noticed the woman quirk an eyebrow. “ I mean, there’s multiple other countries and even other kingdoms you could’ve gone to or visited. So why here?”

“ I wanted to travel and see the world and this place seemed as good as any to start.” Solara told her. “ I was going to continue traveling and seeing the world, but one day, I ran into someone who asked for help and I decided to stick around for a while.” Neva nodded, sometimes she herself wanted to travel, but she had to admit she would really miss the kingdom and the people in it. They fell silent once again.

“ So,” Neva began after they had walked in silence for another moment. “ is Captain Fuegoleon your husband or something?” She noticed the question took the Solara by surprise, although it was very slight and easily could’ve gone unnoticed, and she quickly recovered even though there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“ No, he’s not my husband. But,” She had a soft loving smile on her face. “ he is someone very special.” She added softly, Neva felt a small pang of envy, but she quickly tried to hide it.

“ What about you? Do you have a boyfriend or someone special?” Solara asked with a small smirk of her own, Neva looked away as a small blush rose to her cheeks. In fact, there was someone that she was interested in. But he was too focused on achieving his dream to even notice her, and that's how it had to stay. As much as Neva wanted him to notice her, a small part of her was glad he didn’t. It made it easier to keep her walls up and shut everyone else out.

“ Ah, no not really. I’m just trying to focus on being a magic knight for now.” She shrugged and as she glanced over at Solara and her eyes widened. There was that gaze again, it was as though she was looking straight into Neva’s soul and she did not like it. At all. It was as though she just went straight through the walls Neva had put up many years ago and could see exactly who she was. Neva looked away quickly as she noticed they had finally made it to the door. “ Here’s my stop. It was really nice to meet you Ms. Solara.”

“ The pleasure was all mine Neva.” Solara told her with a warm smile, as Neva reached for the handle of the door Solara spoke again.

“ You know, it’s ok to lean on others when things get too heavy. Even if you think you’re better off alone, you’re not. There are some things in life that you can’t go through alone. If there is ever something you feel like you can’t tell your squadmates, your vice captain, or even your captain. You can always come here and speak with me if you’d like? I can try and offer some advice since they say sometimes an outside voice can offer some perspective.”

Neva had stiffened the moment Solara had begun to speak, her grip on the door handle was so tight her knuckles began to turn white. Had the woman really figured her out that quickly? Neva swallowed the lump in her throat before turning slightly and looking at the young woman from over her shoulder, her eyes widened at the sight.

Solara still had the kind, warm smile she had worn for most of their walk. But this one was slightly different, it was the same look, the same smile, that the Captain gave Neva whenever they would speak. It was a smile an older sibling would give to a younger. Neva almost laughed, this woman was something else entirely. One minute she was looking into your soul and the next, she was giving advice. Neva let a small smile grace her face as she turned a little more to look at Solara.

“ I might take you up on that offer.” Neva told her before pulling open the door and walking out, missing what Solara had said next.

“ That was the first honest thing you have said to me, Neva.”

——-

Ah i’m so nervous about writing and posting this 😫! I hope I did Solara justice @thoughtfullyrainynightmare if not I can always delete it and try again? But I really hope you like it and anyone else reading it I hope you enjoyed it as well~! This was my first time writing an OC interaction so I hope I did ok 🥺! I hope you all have a good day 💕~!

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (45)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

That feeling... you thought it would be gone forever. But it’s still there. And it’s much heavier than before. The question is: why? Why is this feeling of insecurity, this feeling that something dangerous is going to happen to you, still there? You know everything. You know that Danny won't do anything to you, that he will always make sure that the police don't know anything. But you have a hunch that the thing that wants to hurt you... is foreign to the city. to the country itself. You've been hearing for a few days something... unusual. Like voices.

But these voices are inaudible from others. Only you seem to hear them. At least that's what you think. They are strange, impossible to distinguish whether it is men or women who talk to you. or maybe both? Just as it is impossible to know what they are telling you. These are whispers. The only words you managed to understand once were: "Sorrow" and "Suffering". But nothing more. Could it be ghosts? spirits wandering aimlessly and trying to get in touch with you? From memory, you don't remember having a gift for communicating with spirits. But you've always believed in it. And you have always respected the dead, whether they were people you knew or complete strangers. Perhaps this respect has earned you a gift from the gods, allowing you to contact the afterlife? Maybe.

“Have you seen the latest news? In the end Hoggins was not McKellan's murderer. It was Ghostface!” said one the customer.  

“Yeah, I saw. But hey, is it surprising? No. Does this change anything? neither. And I want to tell you: so much the better. At least we are sure of who we should thank.” said his friend.  

“Excuse me? You wanna thank that freaking psycho for killing people? He’s a twisted man! Not a hero!” Replied the first one.

“Yeah, and he killed two others monsters, who stole money from the poorest and even the richest for their personal accounts! Moreover, it seems that Hoggins was involved in a more horrific scandal in Florida. They only got what they deserved.” Responds the second one.  

“I have heard of this story. What a bastard, to let sick people die when they could be saved. You have to be inhuman to do that. Fortunately, we have journalists like Jed Olsen to shed light on this kind of horror. Imagine how much longer Hoggins could have remained free if guys like Olsen didn't risk their lives and careers for it.” said another man before drink his coffee. “We need a guy like him to rule this damn country.”  

If only you knew sir what we know about "Jed Olsen". If only you knew... you would quickly change your point of view. But he and the second man in the trio were right, if Danny hadn't put his life and career on the line, Hoggins would still be free with impunity. And so does McKellan. They deserved to die it's true, and Danny made sure of it. He is both a completely twisted murderer, but also a hero to the inhabitants of this city. A murderous hero... you would have a hard time knowing how he would have reacted, if he ever heard it.

He would be both flattered and annoyed perhaps. Because that's not how he wants to be remembered, he doesn't want to be remembered that way. But simply as the greatest murderer in history who has never been arrested, and whose identity will forever remain a mystery. Like Jack the Ripper in itself. You wonder inwardly if Danny was inspired by it. It’s quite possible.  

“I find it hard to believe what I just heard. Ghostface who goes from murderer to hero of the little people. It looks like the end of the movie "Joker".” said suddenly a woman voice. When you turned your head, you could see Melina, smiling at you like always, coming to the table next to the counter. “Same as usual Amy!”  

“Alright! Right away!” responds Amy with a smile.  

“Hey... you look like you have your head in the clouds. Everything's fine? Jed made you live another wild night? Be careful, you will end up with a little baby at home very quickly if it continues.” replied Melina laughing by looking at you.  

“Really funny Melina.” you start before laughing too. “Even though Jed is... wild, he knows how to be careful. We are not yet ready to have a baby. But let's say that for a few days... I have trouble sleeping well.”

“Oh. Tell me maybe I can give you two or three advices.”

You tell Melina about your bad nights. If at first, she listened attentively and without expressing emotion, once your story was finished, the young woman looked at you with big eyes, as if you had just told her your most shameful secret of your life.

“Shit, so they're after you too...” she said worried.

“What do you mean?” you ask worried.  

“Jed told me the same thing the other day. He said he heard the same whispers and even had nightmares about them. Nightmares where you were there. I thought it was just a fear not to be able to take care of you but... I have to believe that my mystical side was right.”

Hold on. Danny went through the same things you did and he didn't tell you anything? It's not very friendly. But in a sense... you can't really blame him. He certainly had good reasons not to tell you about it. Surely, he didn't want to worry you, or that you would think he was crazy. Even if he is a little bit crazy in a sense. And again, the word is weak.

“You and Jed are related. And I feel like you've attracted... negative entities. Spirits, ghosts who want to hurt you. They may be trying to reach you through dreams first, but who knows how this can evolve. And who can be these spirits.” said Melina worried.  

“You starting to scare me. Why us? Jed and I didn't do anything except ... live our lives and do our work.” you said scared.

“Evil spirits have no particular criteria for attacking someone. If they find a target they like, or someone provokes them, then they go after that person. In your case, I think it's related to Jed. Because I think the mcKellan and Hoggins' souls are not... Left. They are surely stuck here because of their hatred and anger. And since you're in a relationship with Jed, they're attacking you too. Or, it's a much more powerful entity than those two. But in any case, it wants to hurt you. You're going to have to be very careful.”

“There's no way to get them to leave?”

“I could use the objects my grandmother used to purify a house but... I'm not sure I'm as good as she was. It's really very meticulous as a practice.” replied Melina.  

“I'll talk about it with Jed tonight. Thank you very much Melina.” you respond.  

You went back to work and the rest of your day was all about anxiety. If Melina is telling the truth, then you are in danger. Maybe that's why you have this strange feeling of not being safe when, all those who could have hurt you are dead, under Danny's sharp blade. And he, too, had the same experience. There is not much you can do about evil spirits except to drive them out. And you will deeply hope that Melina will be your salvation. Otherwise... you will have to think about leaving the city. Or start praying to God.

The last customers of the day ended up leaving your café, greeting you warmly. Then it was Amy and Corey’s turn who for a few days, got very close to each other. They were so lovely together. You clean the last tables before you take care of the back shop. Danny shouldn't be long in coming, so you'll both be able to discuss these nightmares you're both experiencing. Hoping he isn't too tired or in a hurry to kill someone tonight.

While you were cleaning your kitchen tools, you suddenly hear a noise coming from the room. You put down your equipment and take a weapon in case it’s a thief. You move carefully through the room until you reach the switch to turn on the light. But nothing. not the shadow of a thief, or an object that fell to the ground. You may have dreamed... Then suddenly, whispers. The same whispers you've been hearing for days and days. But this time it looks like it's coming from the back shop you just left.  

When you return to the back shop, you find that the door leading to the outside is... strange. A dark aura emanated from it and mist escaped from the lock and the bottom of the door. The whispers became clearer as you approached.

“(Y/N) …(Y/N) ...It’s time. Come with us. Join us. Feed my hunger. Give us all your suffering and sorrow. For all eternity.” said the voices.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” you ask.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. The most important is that you’ll feed us. With your screams, your pain, your sorrow, your blood. Now come with us. It’s time for you to meet your fate.”

Suddenly the door opened on a thick black mist. Giant spider legs came out and tried to catch you. You step back several steps but visibly, they are much longer than you hoped. As it was about to take you away, you feel something pulling you back. Under the effect of fear, you try to struggle when a familiar voice was heard.

“Hey! Hey Honey It’s me! Calm down!” said Danny by blocking yourself by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “It’s me...stay calm.”

“Danny...” you start as you feel tears in the corner of your eyes.  

The voices were heard again, and the paws moved towards the two of you. Danny pushed you, one of the spider legs injuring his arm in the process. He took a weapon in his hands and pushed it back to the door before getting against it and locking it. The door began to move, as if we wanted to open it from the outside and then after a few minutes... a silence set in. Everything had stopped. Danny stepped back before looking at you making sure you were still there. Then he joins you, taking you in his arms.

“What the f**k was that thing?? And what did it want??” you said crying.

“I don’t know. But for now...we’re safe.” said Danny.  

“You’re...you’re hurt. I have a first care kit. I will take care of your injury.”

You take the first care kit and ask Danny to come and sit next to you so you can treat him. He winced when you applied the disinfectant but remained motionless until you applied the bandages to him. You then put away the equipment and both of you leave the café to go home. Once at the apartment, you both sit on the sofa sighing, still in shock from what had just happened.

“Melina was right. We have attracted evil spirits. And they're not going to let us go now.” You said.  

“Honey please... Don't tell me you believe in this bullshit...” responds Danny, passing a hand on his face.  

“Danny, you saw what I saw! And you were hurt! How can you not believe in these things?? You suffered the same thing as me! Melina told me everything.”

“Okay, okay, stay calm. If they're really hitting spirits, there's not much we can do but chase them away, hoping it works.”

“Melina proposed it to me... it doesn't cost anything to try. But if it doesn't work... either we will have to leave the city, or we will have to pray to God.” you replied.

“Leaving the city would not be of much use and I have not believed in God for years. So don't count on me to pray to him. Anyway, knowing that I am a murderer I am not sure that he does much for me.” Responds Danny before getting up.  

You watch Danny walk to his office and walk out a few minutes later with his bag. He's not going to go out and kill someone tonight, is he? And even less leave you alone?? This thing, whatever it is, could come back! As he was about to leave, you take his hand before sticking yourself against him.

“Don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Please...” you said sadly.

“We no longer risk anything. I don't think this thing is attacking the two of us again.” Danny responds.  

“How do you know? If it happens, maybe it will only go after you and I will never see you again! Danny please... Stay with me.”

“...Fine Honey. I’ll stay. Tomorrow I'll call Melina. If her magic shits works...we’ll be safe again. Let’s eat something and go to sleep.”  

Despite his words, you do not let him go. On the contrary, you will tighten more and more against him. And he gave it back to you. Whatever that thing is, it will surely come back. Danny is maybe a murderer, but he is the one you love. And if this thing has to take Danny, it will have to take you too.

And that's what it intends to do. One way or another.

***

(My second dose of vaccine is finally done! but the effects were quick to manifest, I think my body wanted to do a speed run X) Don't worry it was nothing very bad, arm pain after the injection and the next day, headache in the morning and some dizziness in the evening. But now I'm feeling better! and above all, I will finally be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of life! And go see Dune at the cinema! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya! )

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 11 paragraph viii

Inside the parking garage, which vibrated depressingly with olive-green light, there were a number of empty spaces in the long-term area despite the Full sign. As we nosed into the space a man in a sports coat lounging against a white Range Rover threw his cigarette in a spit of orange cinders and walked toward the car. His receding hairline, his tinted aviators and his taut military torso gave him the wind-whipped look of an ex-pilot, a man who monitored delicate instruments at some test site in the Urals. “Victor,” he said, when we got out of the car, crushing my hand in his. Gyuri and Boris received a thump on the back. After terse preliminaries in Russian, a baby-faced curly-headed teenager climbed out of the driver’s seat and was greeted, by Boris, with a slap on the cheek and a jaunty seven note whistle: On the Good Ship Lollipop. “This is Shirley T,” he said to me, rumpling the corkscrew curls. “Shirley Temple. We all call him that—why? Can you guess?”—laughing as the kid, unable to help it, smiled in embarrassment, displaying deep dimples. “Do not be deceived by looks,” said Gyuri to me quietly. “Shirley looks like baby but he has as much onions as any of us here.” Politely, Shirley nodded at me—did he speak English? it didn’t seem so— and opened the back door of the Range Rover for us and the three of us climbed in—Boris, Gyuri, and me—while Victor Cherry sat up front and talked to us from the passenger seat. “This should be easy,” he said to me formally as we pulled out of the garage and back out onto the Overtoom. “Straightforward pawn.” Up close his face was broad and knowing, with a small prim mouth and a wry alertness that made me feel somewhat less agitated about the logic of the evening, or the lack of it: the car changes, the lack of direction and information, the nightmare foreignness. “We are doing Sascha a favor and because of that? He is going to behave nice to us.” Long low buildings. Disjointed lights. There was a sense that it wasn’t happening, that it was happening to someone who wasn’t me. “Because can Sascha walk in bank and get a loan on the painting?” Victor was saying, pedantically. “No. Can Sascha walk in a pawn shop and get a loan on the painting? No. Can Sascha due to circumstances of theft go to any of his usual connections from Horst and get a loan on the painting? No. Therefore Sascha is extremely glad of the appearance of mystery American—you—who I have hooked him up with.” “Sascha shoots heroin the way that you and I breathe,” said Gyuri to me quietly. “One stitch of money and he is out buying big load of drugs like clockwork.” Victor Cherry adjusted his glasses. “Exactly. He is not art lover and he is not particular. He is utilizing picture like high interest credit card or so he thinks. Investment for you—cash for him. You front him the money—you hold the painting as security—he buys schmeck, keeps half, steps on the rest and sells it, and returns with double your money in one month to pick up the painting. And if? In one month he does not return with double your money? The painting is yours. Like I said. Simple pawn.”

“Except not so simple—” Boris stretched, and yawned—“because when you vanish? and bank draft is bad? What can he do? If he runs to Horst and calls for help on this one he will have his neck broken for him.” “I am glad they have changed the meeting place so many times. It is a little bit ridiculous. But it helps because today is Friday,” said Victor, taking off his aviators and polishing them on his shirt. “I made them think you were backing out. Because they kept cancelling and changing the plan—you did not even arrive until today, but they do not know that—because they kept changing the plan I told them you were tired and nervous of sitting around Amsterdam with suitcase of green waiting to hear from them, you’d rebanked your moneys and were flying back to U.S. They did not like to hear that. So—” he nodded at the bag—“here it is the weekend, and banks are closed, and you are bringing what cash you have, and—well, they have been talking to me plenty, lots of time on the phone and I have met with them once already down in a bar in the Red Light, but they have agreed to bring the painting and make the exchange tonight without prior meeting of you, because I have told them your plane leaves tomorrow, and because they have fucked around on their end it is bank draft for the balance or nothing. Which —well, they did not like, but they accepted as proper explanation for bank draft. Makes things easier.” “Much easier,” said Boris. “I was not sure how bank draft was going to go over. Better if they think the bank draft is their own fault for dicking around.” “What’s the place?” “Lunchcafe.” He pronounced it as one word. “De Paarse Koe.” “That means ‘the Purple Cow’ in Dutch,” said Boris helpfully. “Hippie place. Close to the Red Light.” Long lonely street—shut-up hardware stores, stacks of brick by the side of the road, all of it important and hyper-significant somehow even though it was speeding by in the dark much too fast to see. “Food is so awful,” said Boris. “Sprouts and some hard old wheat toast. You would think hot girls go there but is just old gray-head women and fat.” “Why there?” “Because quiet street in the evening,” said Victor Cherry. “Lunchcafe is closed, after hours, but because semi-public nothing will get out of control, see?” Everywhere: strangeness. Without noticing it I’d left reality and crossed the border into some no-man’s-land where nothing made sense. Dreaminess, fragmentation. Rolled wire and piles of rubble with the plastic sheeting blown to the side. Boris was speaking to Victor in Russian; and when he realized I was looking at him, he turned to me. “We are only saying, Sascha is in Frankfurt tonight,” he said, “hosting party at a restaurant for some friend of his just got out of jail, and we are all of us confirmed on this from three different sources, Shirley too. He thinks he is being smart, staying out of town. If it gets back to Horst what has happened here tonight he wants to be able to throw up his hands and say, ‘Who, me? I had nothing to do with it.’ ” “You,” said Victor to me, “you are based in New York. I have said you are an art dealer, arrested for forgery, and now run an operation like Horst’s— much smaller scale in terms of paintings, much larger in terms of money.” “Horst—God bless him,” said Boris. “Horst would be the richest man in New York except he gives it all away, every cent. Always has. Supports many many persons besides himself.” “Bad for business.” “Yes. But he enjoys company.” “Junkie philanthropist, ha,” said Victor. He pronounced it philanthropist. “Good they die off time to time or who knows how many schmeckheads crammed in that dump with him. Anyway—less you say in there, the better. They will not be expecting polite conversation. This is all business. It will be fast. Give him the bank draft, Borya.” Boris said something sharp in Ukrainian. “No, he should produce it himself. It should be from his hand.” Both bank draft, and deposit slip, were printed with the words Farruco Frantisek, Citizen Bank Anguilla, which only increased the sense of dream trajectory, a

track speeding up too fast to slow down. “Farruco Frantisek? I’m him?” Under the circumstances it felt like a meaningful question—as if I might be somehow disembodied or at least had passed beyond a certain horizon where I was freed of basic facts like identity. “I did not choose the name. I had to take what I could get.” “I’m supposed to introduce myself as this?” There was something wrong with the paper, which was too flimsy, and the fact that the slips said Citizen Bank and not Citizen’s Bank made them look all wrong. “No, Cherry will introduce you.”

Farruco Frantisek. Silently I tried the name out, turned my tongue around it. Even though it was a hard name to remember, it was just strong and foreign enough to carry the lost-in-space hyperdensity of the black streets, tram tracks, more cobblestones and neon angels—back in the old city now, historic and unknowable, canals and bicycle racks and Christmas lights shaking on the dark water. “When were you going to tell him?” Victor Cherry was asking Boris. “He needs to know what his name is.” “Well now he knows.” Unknown streets, incomprehensible turns, anonymous distances. I’d stopped even trying to read the street signs or keep track of where we were. Of everything around me—of all I could see—the only point of reference was the moon, riding high above the clouds, which though bright and full seemed weirdly unstable somehow, void of gravity, not the pure anchoring moon of the desert but more like a party trick that might pop out at a conjurer’s wink or else float away into the darkness and out of sight.

[skullsandwineglasses]

Life Lessons

The things you thought you wanted when you were 18 are very different from the things that you realize are important when you’re 24. 

1. Meet cutes

You fantasize about running into a stranger at a coffee shop, a book store, a library aisle, a grocery store lineup, etc and that you’ll click with them right away. You think “the one” is out there somewhere. But Ashley from bestdressed put it best: do you really think that out of the 7 or 8 billion or so people on the planet, you were born down the street or a city away from your soulmate? How is life going to be that convenient?

I thought college would be my Debut(TM), especially after a comfortable but uneventful time in high school. But college was quite anticlimactic. I was even less social if that was even possible. It’s hard to make friends when you’re not forced to sit next to the same people everyday. You instead meet people from afar who seem to be living, breathing real-life protagonists: beautiful, smart, witty, stylish, artsy, outspoken. I found myself trying to emulate them. I felt like I was falling behind in terms of who I should be in life. 

I tried to take control. If you don’t put yourself out there, how would meet cutes ever happen? So,

I go to coffee shops: but everyone’s too busy to look up from the work on their laptop screens to pay any attention to anyone else. 

I go to bookstores: but everyone’s too busy scanning the titles on the shelves to pay any attention to anyone else. 

I go to the library: see coffee shop.

I’m in the grocery store and someone asks me about the best coconut milk to use for curry: they get their answer and leave. 

I go to a jazz bar: again, everyone’s too busy listening to the band to pay any attention to anyone else.

I go to a swing dance social night: but everyone’s too busy trying to dance with as many different partners as possible in order to diversify their skills to linger any attention on anyone

You can’t say I didn’t try. 

Bonus:

Imagine you’re feeling bummed that you got assigned an aisle seat on the plane, only to approach your seat and see that a cute guy is sitting in the window seat next to yours. Could this be the meet cute you’ve been waiting for? You sit down. He says hi. You return the greeting a little too excitedly. You move to the fasten your seat belt. He speaks again: “So, my girlfriend has a window seat a couple rows back. I was wondering if you...”

Stunned, you pull the seat belt back and get up, gathering your stuff. “Oh yea, for sure, no bother at all. I wanted a window seat anyway.”

I kid you not. Cringe writes itself. It was like the opening of a bad romcom where the side character has one romantic failure after another. 

-> Moral of the story: Don’t expect to arrive at a place hoping that you’ll lock eyes with someone across the room. People go to places for the services that the place provides, and so they’ll be focused on their purpose for having gone to said place. Taylor Swift songs and YA novels did a wonderful job of misinforming me of how indifferent the social environment is like in public spaces. 

2. Exchanging phone numbers

So, maybe someone finally asks for your number. You part ways at the subway station. He promises to talk to you soon. But after 3 days, you wonder why he hasn’t texted you yet. You get a text from him Sunday morning asking you to meet for coffee that evening. You’re outside the cafe at 7:15, waiting. He texts you apologizing for being late because he was jogging around the lake and lost track of time. He says he’s on his way. You never hear from him again. 

-> Moral of the story: Even if you do ending up having a cute first encounter with someone at a subway station, it doesn’t mean things will work out. I’ve been ghosted like this 3 times. It’s gets harder trying to give men the benefit of the doubt each time.

I had thought that my self worth depended on how many strangers would approach me for my number. I thought that being liked was the only way to be validated. And while being asked for your number is flattering the first time, the illusion quickly shatters when you learn that the success of a relationship hinges on more than just the circumstance of the first meeting. 

3. Reading signs

You’re in line at the airport after returning from a conference trip, waiting to get through customs. You finally reach the customs officer who asks about the reason for your trip. 

“A conference,” you say.

“For?”

“Narrative. You know, like storytelling”

He hands you back your passport. “So are you an author?”

“Oh no, I just study the psychology of storytelling”

His face lights up. “Wow yes, storytelling is so important. It’s the foundation of civilization. That’s great”

“I’m glad you’re able to appreciate it. Not many people do when I tell them.”

“Well that’s because they don’t understand how important storytelling is to the basis of civilization. And for me too as someone who works in law enforcement.”

“Yes, for sure,” you say nodding. You look at the line behind you and start to move to leave.

“Well, it’s too bad we can’t talk more. Have a great day, miss”.

You walk towards the exit where the baggage claim is, and your head’s a blur. Was he...flirting? You’ve never met a stranger who was that interested in your research before, much less a border officer who was willing to stall the line just to ask you more about what you do. 

You begin to wonder if you should have left a card or a number so that you could talk later. You know, for research purposes. It’s always nice to make a friend outside your field who shares the same interests as you. But none of that matters now anyway because #ACAB. What’s done is done. But you still wonder about what his intentions were when he started that conversation. It’s too bad we can’t talk more. Yeah. A shame.

-> Moral of the story: Be more assertive. Offer a way to connect if you’re interested. Why do we keep reinforcing the idea that women can only be acted on and can’t act themselves?

4. To love or be loved

Like many young adults, I often question if my mother really understands what it means to be in love. She seems to like the idea of love, the idea of the perfect fateful meeting, but proudly says that she never fully gave her heart to anyone. She’s always warning that it’s better to receive love than to give it. That you end up at a disadvantage if you love first and love more. 

But I think I’d rather have the agency to make that choice than to be chosen. All throughout high school and in the media, we seem to glorify having someone choose us and love us unconditionally. But that’s unrealistic. There’s no such thing as unconditional, but I do hope to get as a close as possible to it. I want to love someone even if they might not love me back. I want to know how it feels like to put someone else first. Maybe this is just another teenage fantasy that has re-manifested itself in adulthood, but I want the freedom of stretching my feelings out than to feel the weight of that of someone else’s whom I can’t reciprocate. 

It also has to do with how much the alpha male is romanticized in our culture. I realize that I don’t want a domineering male version of my mother, who herself is controlling, obsessive, and possessive. I want a friend, not someone who thinks that I constantly need to be coddled and protected for my own good. 

It’s also a stupid expectation to have of real life men. If the men in my life are any indication, then they have goals and ambitions that they want to pursue. Everyone does. A relationship is a mutual support system. It’s not about how much as can take from someone. 

5. Choices

Some people say that you can fall in love with a city by falling in love in that city. 

TW: Sketchy interactions in ubers/taxis

I was grabbing coffee with a guy that I just met in a foreign city that I was visiting. It was approaching 9pm and he said that he had work the next morning, so we decided to call it a day. I was heading towards the subway station when he said that he called an uber and could drop me off at my hotel. Obviously, warning bells went off, but I was so worried about disappointing him, even though I knew that I wouldn’t see him again anyway after that evening. I just didn’t know how to say no. I reluctantly got in the car with him and instantly regretted it. He moved closer, but when he saw that I was uncomfortable, he moved away. Thankfully. We had an awkward conversation, and the driver dropped me off at my hotel after 10 minutes. I was lucky. I knew it. But looking back at the encounter now, I do wonder what would have happened if I had reciprocated the interest. I mean, I was definitely was curious at the time, but mostly because I was inexperienced and a little desperate to be completely honest. But, I knew that I didn’t want my first kiss or first whatever to be with a stranger who I knew I would never see again since I was leaving the next day. I knew about the emotional confusion that it would cause. I also wasn’t prepared to go as far as I thought he wanted to go, so I didn’t want to give him any wrong impressions and assumed that it was just easier to not show any interest at all. From time to time I still wonder about him and how he’s doing and whether I’ll ever run into him again if I’m back in the city. 

-> Moral of the story: Learn to say no and to stop worrying about whether you’ll offend someone because you want to keep yourself safe. I should have never gotten into that car, and my friends always remind me of that every time I tell them that story. I also acknowledge that some people might not always have that choice, and we should never victim blame. 

For me in that situation, I had a mix of different emotions. Curiosity, attraction, anxiety. My friend told me that I should have told him what I felt at the time and what my boundaries were instead of shutting off. But at the same time, he should have been vocal to me too and voiced what he was thinking, instead of just moving closer in the closed space of an uber. Sketchy af. 

6. Fate (is a lie)

I like to believe in the idea of fate and soulmates. My mother always tells me how I was the product of fate and so a part of me feels entitled to a little bit of that magic too. 

But I got my wake-up call when I walked into a dive bar one Friday night and could have sworn that I saw my first crush from middle school sitting at a table in the centre of the room with a group of his friends. 

We made eye contact, but it was too dark to know for sure. I walked past the table to the bar and asked for a table for one. I sat in the corner and watched him and his friends, curiously.

No one just walks into a dive bar and suddenly decides that the first person you see when you walk through the door is someone you once knew from middle school. I was almost sure that it was him. Was he? 

I was in a city an hour away from where we went to middle school. What are the odds. Was it fate? Was it a coincidence? After 12 years of having never seen this kid, I run into him in a dive bar I’ve never been to before in a city I only go visit maybe once every 2 months. 

Out of all the kids I went to middle school with, I had to run into my first crush? Seems like a joke. What kind of message was the universe trying to send?

In the end, I finished my sangria, and left. He never took one look back at me. And I walked out knowing that I’d never see him again. What seemed like an impossible coincidence just ended up mounting to nothing. 

That’s when I learned that coincidences are just coincidences. There’s nothing more to them unless you decide to make something out of them. 

Concluding remarks:

Maybe y’all are smarter and more perceptive than I am and already knew about these things when you turned 18. But these are lessons that took me 6 years to learn and then some. And even at 24 and having a couple of serendipitous experiences under my belt, I’m still no closer to being the confident, mature, and level-headed adult that I think I should be. I still feel 18 with the unrealistic expectations and mentality embodied by someone that age. Hell, to be honest I’m not entirely sure I remember when it feels like to be an 18 year old anymore. I just feel like an inadequate 24 year old. I shouldn’t be insulting 18 year olds like this. 

[magic-miraculous]

Daminette December-- So Close (And Yet So Far), Chapter Two “Blind Date”

———————————————————————————————————– Marinette absolutely adored Gotham University. She felt free there, away from the responsibilities and drama that she’d been sucked into in Paris. Ever since the defeat of Hawkmoth a few months before, Mari had found that the only tie she had to the city was her parents. Luka was touring with Jagged as an intern, Kagami had gone to Japan for pre-Olympic training and University, and Chloe was planning to move to New York with her mother after her father lost his job as Paris’s mayor. She had no contact with anyone else in the class, but she did hear what some of them were up to through Luka, who was told from Juleka. Apparently, Lila and Adrien had started dating a few weeks into the summer (Marinette had left for Gotham just a few days after graduation, staying at the university for a summer program specifically for foreign students; where she met Damian, actually, even though he wasn’t a foreign student of course), and Alya and Nino had broken up yet again soon after. They got together for the first time during their last year in college, but the relationship had always been rocky. Alya was under Lila’s command, and Nino didn’t appreciate that. Luka said that this might be the real end for them, though. Nathaniel got into a prestigious art program at the Sorbonne, and Sabrina became one of Lila’s new cronies. The rest of the class didn’t do anything that Marinette or Luka found noteworthy. As much as thinking about her old class angered her, she felt comfort in the fact that she was able to escape and find such amazing friends.

Chloe, Luka, Kagami, Allegra, Felix, Allan, Claude. And now Damian, too, as difficult as it was for him to admit.

Marinette really appreciated Damian’s sobering and serious presence. He brought her back down when she spiraled, and he actually listened to her, which she really appreciated. He wasn’t the type of person Marinette ever expected to be friends with, but she’d found their personalities really complemented each other. Tikki even thought he reminded her of a black cat, and Mari agreed.

The duo was quiet on their walk, as Mari expected they would be. Mari waved as people she knew passed by, but Damian kept walking. She had to take quicker steps to keep up with his brisk pace, but with her extra endurance she wasn’t out of breath.

It was outside one of the academic buildings that a club had set up a table covered in newspaper-wrapped books. The sign in front of the table said “BLIND DATE WITH A BOOK: $2.00”

“Oh, look!” Mari said, pointing at the table. “Let’s go over!” She grabbed Damian’s hand, an act that he surprisingly didn’t recoil from as he would have if it was anyone else who’d done it, and headed over to the table.

“Hi! Want a book?” a boy sitting behind the table asked. “Some general info is written on the front, just so you have a general idea of what you’re getting into, but all the titles are hidden.”

Marinette picked up a thin book, reading the notes on the cover. “SUPERHEROES, BIRDS, WITTY BANTER”

“Can I take this one, please?”

“It’s all yours! Just two dollars, please.”

Marinette fished through her bag and frowned. “Any chance you would take euros? I need to convert some more cash…”

“I’ve got it, Mari,” Damian said, pulling out some money from his wallet.

“No, it’s--”

“It’s only two dollars,” he replied. “No big deal.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she said, making it clear that she wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

“If you say so. Want to keep walking?”

“Yeah!”

As they walked, Marinette started to unwrap the book. “Superheroes, birds, witty banter,” she told Damian. “Any guesses?”

“Comic book?” he suggested.

“Right you are!” She held up a copy of “Batman and Robin: Bad Blood.”

Damian scoffed. So it was one of the fake stories. There was no ‘bad blood’ between him and his father, and even when Dick was acting as Batman he was sure to keep things professional.

“--are so cool!” Mari said, flipping through the pages. Damian watched to make sure she didn’t trip over anything on the ground. “Who’s your favorite?”

Damian’s favorite hero? He couldn’t say Robin; that would be conceited, and on the slight chance she ever found out his alter ego she would think he was a raging narcissist. Definitely not Todd, and he would rather die than have Grayson find out he said something nice about the eldest brother. That only left--

“I guess Red Robin is pretty cool,” he replied calmly. “What about you?”

“I really like Robin,” Mari said. “Even though he has terrible fashion sense and his costume could use a serious update.”

Damian felt an unnatural blush forming from her first comment, but her second one sobered his thoughts. “What do you mean, ‘bad fashion sense’? His costume is tasteful, and timeless!”

“More like ‘lost in time,’” Mari told him, flipping to a page in the comic that had his full outfit on display. “The cape is old-fashioned and a bit too long, and the color blocking just gives you a headache, you know? The colors work, but they’re also very bright and… violent, maybe? I can’t find the right word, but you know what I mean, right?”

“Sure,” he muttered, staring at the page. He never really thought about any of the things she said, but now those critiques were all he could see. He’d have to talk to Alfred or one of his brothers about potentially changing it.

Wait, why did he care so much what she thought of his alter ego’s outfit? For some reason, he now craved her approval. He didn’t like that feeling at all. At least she looked happy, though. He always saw a light in her eyes when she talked about fashion, and this was just the distraction she needed to get over the stress of getting so many unsolicited calls.

Damian found himself wishing he could stare at that smile forever.

———————————————————————————————————–

BONUS #1:

“So, could you find out who the number belongs to?”

“Yeah, it’s a guy named Adrien Agreste. Age eighteen. Son of Gabriel Agreste; big fashion guy. Kid’s a model, currently living in London and attending University there. Business school, of course.”

“Any chance you can make it so his number can’t call this one?” Damian asked, handing Tim a piece of paper with Marinette’s number on it. “But you aren’t allowed to look up the holder of this number. You have to promise me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim replied, already typing away. “Okay, so now whenever he tries to call this number he’ll get one of those ‘why are you harassing women?’ messages. That good?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Tim blinked. “Did you… did you just thank me for something?”

“I take it back.”

“Too late! I’m going to cherish this moment forever, Demon Spawn. I hope you know that.”

“I’ll stab you, Drake. So help me, I’ll do it right now.”

“So that is a knife in your sock! Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“Not as uncomfortable as it would be to be stabbed by it.”

“Touche.”

———————————————————————————————————–

BONUS #2:

In the Batcave:

Damian: Do you guys think my suit is outdated?

Dick: It’s a classic!

Damian: That’s what I thought too, but recently someone I know from school said that it was ‘lost to time,’ and that the colors were blocky and too bright and I’m starting to see it.

Tim: Is it the same person whose number you gave me to block from that creep?

Jason: What person? What creep?

Damian: Drake, I swear to all that you hold dear, I will stab you.

Tim: Do it. I’m calling your bluff.

Bruce: No stabbing anyone! We’ve talked about this!

Damian (mouthing to Tim): Watch your back!

Bruce: But yeah, the outfit can be a bit much sometimes.

Dick: *indignant noises*

Damian: Alfred, can we make some changes?

Alfred: Of course, Master Damian. I’ll have some new sketches ready in the next few days.

Jason: Hope your mystery friend likes it!

Damian: *scowls at Jason* You’re next.

———————————————————————————————————–

Hope you enjoy the bonuses! They're my favorite parts that I've written so far. Also I was planning to post this earlier but I’m dumb and accidentally deleted ALL of my tabs I had up and had to reorganize everything which took a WHILE so yeah.

Tagstagstagsallthetags:

@dawnwave16 @bluerosette23 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @northernbluetongue @latinawithbooks @blue-peach14 @weird-pale-blonde-person @astridflies @annabellabrookes @iloontjeboontje @abrx2002 @valeks-princess @interobanginyourmom @vixen-uchiha @sofmimis @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thesunanditsangel @crazylittlemunchkin @caffeinetheory  (comment/send me an ask if you want to be added! Also, please feel free to lmk if the notifications aren’t working and I’ll my best to fix it!)

@daminette-december2019 @ozmav @maribat-archive

All of the prompts are available to see on @daminette-december2019 on Tumblr, and that might give you a general idea of how this fic is going to go (but there will definitely be some twists, I promise you that!)

COMING UP NEXT-- Chapter 3 "Decorating"

[waiting4inspiration]

Danity, but Bruised (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: As the dainty queen of Kattegat, you’re kidnapped by the Saxon’s as leverage to use to persuade Ivar to leave and not attack their city.  

Warnings: little fluff in the beginning, most angsty

Vikings Masterlist

In the case of opposites attract, everyone thinks that you and Ivar are the exact definition of that ancient theory. Ivar the Boneless; a ruthless, unyielding warrior and king has you as his queen - a compassionate, dainty queen who will never pick up a sword or shed blood. At first, it was hard thinking that such a relationship is possible. 

But as the moons passed, the people saw how much your personality compliments Ivar’s and how much he loves you. They didn’t need a shieldmaiden queen when they have you. Besides, with a king like Ivar, there needs to be someone with a calm mind beside him. 

You’re basically like a mother to everyone in Kattegat. The people have never seen a queen care so much for their people before which only made their love for you grow. And you never need to learn how to fight. Not when you have an entire army that will do anything to ensure your safety.  

Just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean that you have to stay behind every time your husband goes across the seas for a raid. You’ve sailed with him and the army multiple times only because you love seeing that pride of victory on Ivar’s face. And it’s not the same expression he has when he returns home. It’s that fresh look that makes you smile brightly. 

This time is no different from other raids. You have been to this city before, so the familiarity makes you smile. The camping grounds you use has changed over the years, becoming greener from the rain which means the trees around are denser. This gives the army perfect cover, hiding them from the city’s eyes. But it also hides any scouts that the city may send. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with me?” Ivar questions, wrapping his arms around your waist as his lips work their way across your shoulder and up your neck. 

Turning around in his arms, you giggle up at him and place your hands on the side of his neck. “You know that I’m not the best person to have in your war council,” you remind, making his chuckle before leaning down to take your lips in his. 

His fingers dig into the material of your dress that covers your hips as you lean into his kiss. “It won’t be a short meeting,” he mutters against your face, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “It might take all day.”

You know he’s trying to convince you to go with him so that he can keep himself occupied should things start to bore him. But you know that you’ll get bored along time before he does. “Then you best go now and get it over with, my love,” you giggle, running your hands down his chest to playfull push him away from you. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back to me.”

Ivar growls at your suggestive words and tries to step closer to you. But you hold up your hand and point to the flap of the tent that leads outside. Rolling his eyes at you, he turns around and mutters how stubborn you are as he walks out, causing a laugh to fall from your lips as he shakes his head. 

Because you are in a foreign land, you decide to enjoy being here before leaving after the raid. Being fond of the nature that surrounds the camp and knowing that it will be a while before Ivar returns, you make your way past the borders of the camp and into the woods. 

It’s something you would normally do before a raid. Giving you peace of mind and time to pray to the Gods for success and protection for Ivar and the army, your fingers touch the bark of every tree that you pass. 

Being so invested in your thoughts, you don’t realize that the city that Ivar plans to invade has sent scouts to the camp and now that they’ve spotted you, they watch you like a hawk. Among the scouts is the prince of the city. He knows who you are. He’s seen you before. The first time you came to his father’s lands, you were right beside the heathen king, sharing in the victory of the invasion. 

This prince also knows that you are not like the other women in this heathen army. You are no fighter. Which will make things a whole lot easier. 

Nodding towards you, the princes silently informs the soldiers with him to take you. The soldier closest to you quickly immerges out of the dense bushes that hide him and quickly wraps a hand over your mouth to prevent you from screaming. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try. 

Fighting against the man, you try to kick him or claw at him but more soldier immerge from the shrubbery to quickly stop your frantic movements. Binding your hands tightly together, you hiss at the feeling of the rope digging into your skin before you’re forced down to your knees.  

The prince steps forward, waving the man with his hand clasped over your mouth away as you glare coldly at him. “If anyone can tell these heathens plans, or at least where their camp is, it’s their queen,” he speaks, standing in front of you with a wicked look on his face. “What do you say?”

“Go to Hel,” you sneer in your own language. The prince suspects that you might have insulted him from the venom dripping on your tone. Glaring at you, he takes one step forwards before backhanding your face making you whimper and fall to the ground.

The plans for invading the city went on longer than Ivar thought they would. Taking up almost all of the day, he’s just glad to be back at your shared tent. When he doesn’t see you at first, he doesn’t worry about it. Thinking that you might be walking around the camp, conversing with warriors, he doesn’t think that anything bad happened to you. Besides, no one in the army will let that happen. 

A bustle of noise outside pulls him out the tent. On the borders of the camp is the soldier of the city. Every Viking warrior questions how they found the camp and what they want. It’s certainly not to attack because they would’ve done that. They only sit atop their horses, glaring coldly at the heathens filling the camp.

All they want is to escort Ivar and a select few men to the castle because the king of the has a deal to make with Ivar. They say that it’s a deal he won’t want to refuse. Curious at their words, Ivar agrees to go with them - with some of his men for security - hoping that he’ll be back before you return to the tent.

Ivar has never seen a more smug king sitting on a throne before. With the prince beside him and a wicked look on his face, Ivar feels that something is not right. Frowning at the both of the men in front of him, Ivar shifts in his spot, keeping his crutch close to him as the king stands to his feet. 

“Ivar the Boneless, you have returned to my shores with the intention of more bloodshed and war,” the king hisses, Ivar smirking at him and licking his lips as he tilts his head to the side. “I don’t want to lose more of my men because of you and your army. So, I’ll make a deal with you.”

Ivar laughs at the king and quickly glances over his shoulder to the warriors that stand behind him. “You think you have something that will make me change my mind about raiding this city?” he questions with a shake in his head, the men behind him chuckling at his words. 

“If you agree to leave our shores and never return,” he king starts, holding out his hand to the side. “I’ll return your wife.” 

Snapping his head to where the king points to, he watches as a soldier drags you out of the shadows and towards the king. Throwing your body to the floor, you try to catch your body but fail due to the rope still binding your hands together. Ivar feels the rage buildup inside of him as the warriors behind him mutter curses and tightly grip the hilts of their weapons. 

As you slowly lift your head, Ivar takes in a sharp breath at the sight of your bloodied face and bruised skin. The bruises run over your chest and some are scattered over your arms. Your body trembles as pain and fear flood your eyes that are glossed over with tears. 

He doesn’t know how long you’ve been in their hands but from the dried blood and dirt that covers your skin and ripped dress, he can only imagine that it’s as long as he’s been in that war council. 

Tearing his gaze away from your broken body to coldly stare at the king, Ivar’s jaw clenches as he gives a stiff nod, not being able to say a word with the anger building up inside of him. 

The soldier behind you jerks you off the ground making a pained whimper escape your mouth and Ivar to take a step forward. Freeing your hands from the tightly wrapped rope, the soldier turns you around and pushed you forward making you stumble towards your husband. 

Ivar catches you in his arms before you can fall and you allow yourself to cry into his chest. The cries falling from your lips makes the pent-up rage inside of him break and he lifts his head back up to the king. “I’ve agreed to your deal but I can’t speak if my men decide to disobey my orders to not attack,” he sneers, wrapping his arm around your shaking body as the warriors behind him step forward. “After all, you did hurt their queen.”

Tags: @tephi101 @rororo06 @flokidottir-imagines-br  @mad4oak @nerdypisces160 @xinyourdreamsx @vikingaestheticsblog @xenavistania @medievalfangirl @chipster-21 @poisonous00 @mblaqgi @lol-haha-joke @inforapound @beacosta27 @walkxthexmoon @youbloodymadgenius @sallylebecks

[9w1ft]

this post is for any swiftie who is on the fence about this, or anyone who has heard about kaylor for the first time. please allow me a few minutes of your time.. pretty please with a cherry on top? i see you. ready to scroll past this. please. in this moment. please. give it a read. two years ago i was right where you were. please look this time. it is so important to what is going on now and taylor needs you to understand fully about scooter.

we are at a turning point. taylor’s life’s work was just bought up by scooter braun and it is important for everyone to read this perspective because as swifties we have to understand the full gravity of the situation in order to best defend taylor against her worst nightmare. you may think the kimye situation is terrible enough, but add to it this:

Scooter has been a manager for a one joshua kushner for the better part of this decade. as in, the brother of the guy who is running major arms of our whitehouse without qualification. scooter’s job is to improve his client’s image as it relates to securing foreign investments as josh is a uh.... ‘venture capitalist’ in charge of investing his family’s assets. if you’ve been looking into scooter, go ahead and look into him too.

josh started being seen with then 19 year old (think about that) rising star karlie kloss. considering the amount of push in tabloids that this otherwise nobody started getting, these two are easily identifiable as a PR relationship. he does work with many overseas investors, and karlie helps bring them in where josh alone cannot (please take the time to look up about PR relationships and how common they are. also look up ‘bearding’ and how common it is to set up a PR relationship so that a manager can better mask who a client loves, should that be problematic to a target demographic)

taylor and karlie were formally introduced to one another at the end of 2013. they became best best friends. inseparable. seen together everywhere. anytime they are together their happiness is palpable.

did you know there was a slice of pavement in new york city by where karlie lives with the initials TS♡KK engraved? they were thick as thieves!

i am not going to ask you to believe taylor and karlie dated one another. and if you believe that, i’m not going to ask you to believe they are still together. as for the first point, well, the visual history between them (and between taylor and other women integral to her life story) is overwhelming and if you would like to look at what i feel are the most straightforward stuff browse my blog @kaylorwelcomecenter and beyond.

but i digress. let’s assume taylor and karlie were just best best friends, then

...well, okay, they got caught kissing (we think that’s what Dancing With Our Hands Tied is about). but let’s say they were drunk? regardless, the smiles don’t lie—i think it goes without saying that taylor and karlie were important to one another. karlie influenced taylor to stay in new york, for example, instead of moving to london. karlie changed the trajectory of taylor’s life.

and you know they meant the world to one another because of songs with specific lyrics pointing to that like You Are In Love (taylor had an instagram post of her and karlie road tripping at big sur with the caption ‘on the way home’), and on reputation with songs like King Of My Heart (‘drinking beer out of plastic cups’ ... google “taylor swift beer” and see what photos come up), and Dress (watch her perform it with karlie watching, as she sings “i don’t want you like a best friend”).

karlie signed with scooter and in 2016 trump assumed office. jared kushner suddenly represents our nation. from then til now karlie has grown further and further distant from taylor as her relationship with jared’s brother continues.

that pavement? construction happened and the TS was mysteriously cut out and replaced with a J along with the freshly laid concrete.

rep tour starts and includes the song “don’t take the money” by jack antonoff in the preshow playlist. please listen to that song.

karlie announces her engagement to josh and the very next concert taylor sings Curious with hayley kiyoko and is in charge of the line “calling me up so late at night are we just friends? say you wanted me but you’re sleeping with him.”

the only time they are seen in public is at the nashville concert in august, and there is a photo of karlie celebrating her bachelorette with her sisters. strange that the same ambience of the photo down to the curly pink straw was replicated in You Need To Calm Down. karlie’s straw says ‘bride’ while taylor chose the word ‘lover’

after passing through karlie’s hometown, taylor sang “Speak Now” and was shaking with electricity in her delivery.

taylor comes out as a democrat. says something compelled her in the past two years to start speaking out.

karlie and josh suddenly hold a surprise wedding (coordinated by scooter’s team) while taylor is en route to australia. i say surprise because it came out of nowhere, (wouldn’t you say it took taylor by surprise?) had close to nobody documented in attendance, and the tabloid articles pushed it constantly during the bad press the kushners were getting in conjunction to ... world events involving a us citizen that was a member of the press...

taylor lands in oceania and sings I Knew You Were Trouble and slips in a firey “and the saddest fear comes creeping in that she never loved me”

on the very last night of the rep tour, a kaylor sign (representing the pavement mark) gets put up on the big screen as taylor sings “you belong with me” and bows in front of it.

in between then and the lover announcement, taylor all but confirms that half of one of the reputation concept photos is a collage of her and karlie’s eyes. ...i mean, she even encircled which eye is hers on the lover album cover 😂

because their first wedding was such a drag, karlie and josh held a ‘bigger reception,’ also coordinated by scooter’s team, and they had the audacity to give out shots of patrón as party favors 😡 taylor is not in attendance.

now scooter buys her music??

not only is this guy responsible for bad behavior surrounding kimye, he also has orchestrated the obliteration of one of the foundational relationships of taylor’s life. whether it was platonic or more than that, i don’t want to waste my time convincing you because either way, hearing scooter’s name makes taylor cry. and i am a thousand three hundred percent positive that it isn’t just about bullying surrounding kimye.

think about that. think on it.

we need to support taylor (and god am i worried about karlie in her own right!) and it goes beyond the kimye drama because this man and his client are predatory and downright creepy. and given the political connection? dangerous. they ruined her reputation and took away her best friend. literally took her name out of the pavement and ‘married’ her friend off in the eyes of the public. this goes far f*ing beyond bad management practices. this is so unforgivable.

and i cannot stand for people jumping in the comments telling us we are all delusional. honest to god i thought this was all ‘a reach’ two years ago. i was there. but i gave things the benefit of the doubt and i looked into it. i did my research on the music industry, and on hollywood and PR relationships. taylor wanted us to get political, right? please take this a step further if you already haven’t and look into the structures that control our society. taylor is dropping easter eggs for us, right? we need to look for clues. taylor is drawing attention to LGBT issues, right? look at the intersection of that and the music industry, suspend disbelief for one instant and imagine if taylor herself was gay, what her relationship with karlie may have meant to her, and how it was torn apart, at the very hands of the men who took over her music.

i am being serious. people calling us delusional might like to tout themselves as being sane or more in touch with the world, but they are literally sticking their heads in the sand on this one and turning a blind eye on something that is so cutting for taylor... now and over the course of her whole career. and each and every one of them best get off anon and stick a name to their words and proudly stick a pin to their comments, and @ taylor (i am dead serious. at your words to @taylorswift) if they are oh so confident, because when this blows open they’ll be on the wrong side of history on this one and i want them to know it and own it and learn from it. because this a huge life lesson and we are poised to take what we learn and give back to our idol by defending her in full force and it’s harder to fight when you’re sitting on your hands.. what role are you going to play? please... make the jump.

[devnicolee]

The Chosen Ones (1)

A/N: Woohoo! New story alert! This is a M’Baku x Mutant OC story. Enjoy!

Warning: Slow burn, slight angst

Summary: Princess Asha is the reclusive third child of King T’Chaka and Queen Ramonda. Happy and content with isolation, which helps her hide her darkest secret, she lives her life in the shadows. However, after a series of tragic events, she meets an equally reclusive chief, who makes her question everything. 

Word count: 8,105

Masterlist

"You are not cold?" Ross whispered as they were escorted through unknown territory. He eyed her and her body suspiciously, noting the lack of a Border Tribe blanket huddled around her petite shoulders like the rest of small group of refugees. She rolled her eyes, still unclear as to how her brother’s friend even became apart of all of this. She supposed she could not even call him a friend. He saved Nakia, so T'Challa saved him, then Nakia saved him again and he somehow got roped into this new tragedy. She shook her head, trying not to think about him, trying to postpone her grief. They had a job to do. 

Asha shared a glance with her sister, who turned to look at her with amusement peeking through her red, puffy eyes as they walked presumably to the throne room of this palace tucked in the side of a mountain. She supposed she did look crazy without the blanket, they certainly were not built for such harsh winter weather. She could see the cold air seeping through the thick, vibranium-infused blankets wrapped around her companions. But five minutes into their journey, she could not bother to keep up the charade that she needed it. The cool air against her skin felt good, comforting against the heat still boiling beneath the surface. "No, not really." 

"Is it because of t-the... the..." he struggled to find the words to describe what he witnessed earlier.

The curse, she finished for him silently, knowing that was what he was thinking without saying. "Yes," she answered shortly. The questions ceased as the coldness in her tone registered in his mind. She had no interest in rehashing her grief-stricken display from earlier. She partially felt bad for being so cold to the colonizer. He did not ask to be here. Admittedly, they were saving his life as their cousin would have had no issue murdering him. But that did not make their current predicament any easier for him. 

Asha’s logical mind understood why this journey was necessary, but she found it increasingly difficult to stomp down the urge to turn around and murder the man who sat on her brother’s throne. Your throne, her subconscious reminded her. She ignored that, it was too soon. The mountain tribe could help them place Wakanda back in Wakandan hands but justice? Revenge? He could not provide her that and that was all she desired. She did not want to talk to him, offer him power or persuade him to help. She did not need help, she could end Killmonger’s exist with one flick of her hand. That was all she could think about the entire journey up the mountain. All the women had been too wrapped in their own heads to bother with needless conversation. On the cycle of grief, she was firmly planted in rage. She did not foresee getting out of it anytime soon.

She continued to trail behind the group as they entered the throne room, nodding at Nakia to speak once they were in front of the chief. Nakia pursed her lips before rolling her eyes and directing her attention to the giant sitting at the front of the room. Asha and Nakia knew that she should be leading this audience, after all Asha would be Queen should he choose to help them. However, she was not rushing into that responsibility, rejecting the inevitability of her future. Years of isolation taught her the value of being a wallflower, seen but not heard. And so, it was more of her nature to observe: the stoic soldiers standing around the throne room, the light snow drifting down outside the floor to ceiling windows surrounding them, and the yellow lights flickering in the darkness below. She breathed in deep, the presence of so many fires nearby overloading her senses. The smell of burning wood and ashes invaded her senses, she wanted nothing more than to follow her senses to their warmth, to comfort. But she knew she could not.

She ended her visual survey of this foreign location to turn her attention to the group, the man in front of her. She could not even kid herself, he was the most interesting thing in the room right now. She tilted her head as she looked at him, noticing that he seemed to look past her mother and only had eyes for her as well. Asha quickly diverted her gaze upon catching his eye, choosing to instead study the wooden carvings to her left. She did not quite understand why he was staring at her, she was not much to look at.

But he is. 

She stole quick glances at him in-between looking at the ground or around the room. She marveled at his power, his confidence. She supposed she would be confident too if she held all the cards as he did right now, if someone came graveling to her palace for help when she had no reason or incentive to aid. They came to offer him the world, more power over Wakanda than a Jabari has had in centuries, and he was as relaxed as ever. He almost looked bored by them, body slumped back, legs spread wide as he sat. He was gorgeous. She did not notice at the ritual combat, the first time she had seen anyone from the fifth tribe in her entire life. But it was hard to deny it… he was beautiful. His eyes were deep and captivating. Something in them beckoned her to fall and never get up again. His broad shoulders and body sculptured by Bast herself made desire course through her, heat flaring in a way that was far too inappropriate for the setting. The panther inside her seemed to welcome it, soaking and relaxing into an emotion that was not pain and grief. He was a nice distraction from that pain, from her fears of what uprooting Killoknger would actually mean, from the impending weight of Wakanda. He was offering them physical sanctuary while unknowingly offering her a short reprieve from picking back up the bag of trauma she left at the bottom of the mountains. 

She shook her head. You have a job to do. Now is not the time to lust after a man... particularly a Jabari. Besides, you have obligations down the mountain, her subconscious interrupted her musings and brought her back to reality. She sighed, reality was harsh, cold and empty. 

Meanwhile, M’Baku was just as captivated by the small woman before him, the only panther who hadn’t uttered a word since they arrived, the only one he did not know. He recalled getting a glimpse of her at his challenge, standing with Shuri and the Queen Mother. Even during the two seconds his eyes fell on her then, he could not deny her beauty. She unwittingly drew him in for a moment, distracted him from his passionate monologue. He did not understand why, he knew nothing of her, save her existence.

He inquired about her upon his return to Jabariland after the challenge. The Princess Asha. According to his spies, the woman was somewhat of a recluse, only leaving the palace to go to official events and those were never a guarantee. The rumors were that she was ill, body plagued with a series of ailments prohibiting her from engaging with the rest of the tribe like the rest of the Panther Tribe.

M’Baku tilted his head, examining her and noticing the way she stole glances at him then shyly looked away upon realizing he was still staring at her. The rest of the group and their reason for requesting this audience were forgotten.

She does not look sick to me. Quite the opposite actually… she looked extremely healthy. Underfed perhaps but he knew that women were preferred frail in the Golden City. Beneath her deep brown skin, he could see it was flush with heat, not pale and colorless like a sick person. There was something in her eyes that were mesmerizing, they contained both a fire and sadness he had not seen before. He knew part of the sadness was due to grief, the loss of a beloved brother. But he wondered if there was something deeper than grief festering beneath the surface of the windows to her soul. He wondered if, when they realized their grief was merely temporary with the gift they brought him, that sadness and pain in her eyes would dissipate or remain as strong as ever.

Speaking of which... don’t you have a job to do aside from lusting after a lowlander? His subconscious reminded him. He quickly straightened up as Nakia offered the heart-shaped herb to him, offered him the mantle of Black Panther. Part of him wanted to accept, who wouldn’t? It is what he had longed for days prior. A lesser man would. But he was not a lesser man. He was one of honor first and he knew lies were not the way to seek power.

He stood and told the group to follow him. He ignored the confused looks on their faces for he knew he was leading them to hope, to the end of their grief.

***

The young Wakandan Princess knew she should not go ambling around alone at night in a home that was not hers. But restlessness kept her awake and alert. Asha stole a quick glance at her younger sister peacefully sleeping in the guest bed next hers. She scribbled a quick note, letting the young girl know where she was just in case she woke up to find her bed empty. After a day like today, she knew Shuri would not appreciate the worry. 

She passed by her brother’s room and considered stopping by, knowing he would not be sleeping. One small thing the two siblings shared, their nighttime restlessness due to their ability to last days with no sleep. She could get the energy she needed to survive the battle to come tomorrow morning without sleep. Thankfully for her, there was plenty to spare in a location with such unforgiving cold. But then she remembered Nakia would likely be there and she kept moving. Nakia… one of the two people they all owed their gratitude toward for saving his life, saving their lives and the future of the Black Panther. She was the reason life pumped through his veins and he was not still in the snow outside, the reason they had not lost a father and brother in a manner of weeks. The thought sparked a litany of painful memories. She stopped walking, leaning briefly against the wall. Her eyes clenched shut as she saw it again in her mind like a horror movie: her brother being mercilessly thrown from the Falls. If she concentrated enough, she could still hear it… she, her mother and her younger sister’s screams.

The smell of fire infiltrated her crowded, traumatized mind causing her to break free of the memories. Small wisps of smoke emanated from the small space between her palm and where it rested gently on the wooden wall. Asha tore her hand away quickly, noting the heat signature that it left behind. She shook her head, pushing out the negativity. Without them, she could not control it. She needed to be stronger. She needed an outlet, someplace to calm down, to release the energy coursing through and heating up her body. She longed for the sanctuary of the training center, where she could release her tension away from judgmental eyes. 

She walked through the Great Lodge of Jabariland without much haste. It was her first time in the Lands of the reclusive Wakandans but she finally understood it. Beautiful was an understatement for the mountains. And it was endless, the ranges expanding as far as her human eyes could see. She understood why they left, why they chose this spot. If you were surrounded by such beauty everyday, what could the rest of this world offer you?

Her trek around the winter palace ended at an open door, which signaled it was not a private space so she took it upon herself to enter.

It appears the Jabari have an issue with all technology, even light bulbs, the royal huffed annoyed to herself as she groped around the wall for a light. Frustrated, a small voice whispered to her, you do not need artificial light when you can just create your own.

You are not supposed to. You are here to ask for his help, a guest at his home and you think he will help him if you insult him by doing that here? Her conscious fought back with the devil on her shoulder, the devil that encouraged her to defy the rules her father put before her.

Her body seemed to agree with the devil, per usual, because soon her small hands were curled into a tight fist. She released it and lifted her hand to her face, small flames now encompassing her palm. She stared intently to get the flames to grow slightly to get the effect she wanted. They flickered in and out, dying in her hand for a moment. She groaned frustrated, knowing she still did not have real control over the flames as she wanted. She always thought of it like a panther inside her and right now, the animal was loose out of her cage and Asha had no real control over it. Eventually it seemed the panther decided to obey and the flames grew. Soon they swirled around each other gracefully until they were contained in a perfect tight ball, the bright colors swirling inside an invisible encasing.

She pushed the ball out and it floated away from her, dancing gracefully through the darkness as it slowly illuminated the space around it. Her hands repeated the motion until the room was bathed in the light and heat of her own making sourced from half a dozen balls of fire.

She smiled at them intently, a small wave of pride surging at what she could do, before using her hands spread the light sources out until she could fully see the entire room: a vast and breathtaking library. She stared, amazed, calling back to the endless hours she spent in the palace library. It was similar to the one at home, endless shelves stacked high to the tall ceiling with more books than humanly possible to read. Her eyes fell on a specific shelf by the window, a glint of her favorite color catching her eye. Her feet guided her to the random shelf, not knowing or recognizing most of the titles she passed along the way. Asha's small hands picked up the weathered red book, immediately attracted to how its bright color stood out among the earth-tone books and dark wooden shelves around it.

"The Legacy and History of the First Chosen Ones," she read out loud to herself at a low whisper. Her fingers glided over the cover, noting the symbols of the four elements on the front. Her thumb lingered over fire. She took the book and the one next to it off the shelf and sat down on the small couch in by the fireplace of the library.

Before she started to read, she remembered. You cannot leave all of these here. Someone will see. She quickly stood and began gathering the light around her. Each ball floated gracefully back to its owner, morphing into her chest like there was not bone and flesh in their way. She held one in her hand to save it, opting for a small reading light instead of lighting a fire next to her. Once she was done, she tossed the ball back up so it could suspend over her head.

"Your Highness."

Asha jumped up unexpectedly, whipping around to come face to face with her reluctant host, her brother’s second savior. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked between him and the ball of fire suspended in mid air without a lamp or string to hold it above their heads. What was once a warm glow now felt like a menacing spotlight on her, on her affliction. 

"L-Lord M'Baku! What you saw… i-i-it is not what you think," she stammered, mind freezing as she tried to explain the inexplicable events he had just witnessed. Fear gripped her heart, fear that he would throw them out, not agree to help when her brother made the official request in the morning. She did not know much about the Jabari, it was true. But her logical mind knew it was most likely that he was just as, if not more, intolerant of her kind than people at home were.

"It is not what I think?" his deep baritone asked suspiciously. She could detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Because I think you are a Chosen One. Or can every person on Earth create and absorb fire as you can?" He pointed at her hands, which were now emanating smoke and small flames from her palms, her body’s usual response to her emotions. She quickly clasped them together, forcing the fire to die out in her palms. She was more frustrated than ever now, anger at herself for destroying the one thing that helped her control it, helped her hide it. 

M’Baku was forcing himself to hide his excitement, his wonder and awe. He had yet to meet one chosen by fire. The legends said the Fire Ones were the most sacred of the Chosen, so rare that there was no one in the Lands with living memory of knowing one. It seemed no one had been bestowed that gift in generations, even though it would’ve been particularly useful in their harsh climate. It made sense to him now, the sparks in her eyes, why she walked into his home without a tribal blanket like the rest of them, seemingly content in the winter weather.

Here one stood and it was as mesmerizing as he envisioned and suspected. Even something as simple as the small balls of light she created. He could sense her power, all the beautiful and terrifying things she could do with that power.

"Please, Lord M’Baku. I am sorry. I should not… I should not have used them in your home like this. We are indebted to you for finding and saving T’Challa. I am going to put myself further in your debt and beg you not to hold this against us or tell a soul about this. Please. I did not mean to cause any trouble, I can head back down the mountains right now."

His personal musings were cut short, face scrunching up in confusion. He finally took a moment to examine her: the way her hands fidgeted nervously, the slight heave in her chest from her panic, the way her eyes fell to the ground with her shame and guilt. He did not understand… she did nothing wrong but here she stood, acting like a criminal instead of a goddess. "Why would I not tell anyone? You are a Chosen One. It should be known, your great power, your unique gift."

Why does he keep calling me that?? She thought to herself, frustrated. She was not chosen, she did not earn it. That was the problem.

"Chosen one? Why do you keep calling me that?" She repeated out loud. 

"Because that is what you are? Jabari with your powers, they are the chosen, gifts to our people from Hanuman. I figured the custom would be the same in the Golden City? And why you chose that book." He gestured toward the book on the delicate wooden stand by her body.

How progressive, she thought to herself.

"Um… uh no," she answered, her shock and confusion at his response evident in her voice. "No, I have not heard of that before. The book... well I was just attracted to it’s color. But mutants are not considered gifts at home."

His face pulled in with disgust. "Mutants?" He spat the word back at her with sudden disgust and anger. It startled her for a moment until she realized it was not directed at her but in her choice of words. "Why would you refer to yourself that way?" 

Every answer between the pair seemed to bring increased questions and confusion. "Because that is what we are? The powers are due to a mutation in our DNA. An abnormality." The hardened scientist in her brain slipped out to give him the stock answer for why she referred to herself by a word she secretly despised. No, it was not factually inaccurate. But it was loaded, it was isolating and she wished people understood the sting of being referred to in such a way. 

"That word does not bother you?"

She bowed her head, hand rubbing her arm as she tried to appear as hardened and stoic as she could. "I am used to it, I suppose." She knew by his pursed lips that her words were not as convincing as she wanted.

"So no one knows you can control fire?"

"Just our family… No one else can know. The Council… the country would not accept me if they knew."

He opened and closed his mouth several times before settling on a simple, "I am sorry."

"For?"

"That you have had no one to affirm your power. I am sorry you have lived your life in such darkness." He stepped forward so he was also bathed in the light of her personal spotlight with her. The fire inside swelled, heat rising in her but unlike anything she felt before. Normally, moments like this felt overpowering as the panther became too large to contain in its cage. Instead, this just felt warm, light and satisfying. She did not need to release the energy in the space, she was content with simply existing with it and doing so with the man before her.

"Powers such as yours," he held her hand in his with her palm up. She tried to tug it away, immediately afraid she would burn him. But he held it there, watching the small embers rise gently from the center of her palm as if he was seeing Hanuman for the first time. "Power and beauty such as yours deserve to be adored and worshipped."

She breathes deeply, not knowing what to say, only hearing such affirmation from her siblings. But it felt different, coming from him. It filled her with joy and pride that she had never felt before. However, it quickly clashed with the 26 years of self loathing that had been installed and nurtured in her heart.

She pushed against his chest with her free hand, creating some much needed distance between the two and breaking their physical contact. The embers immediately died out when the warmth of his hand left hers. "That sounds like something out of a book… a fantasy. But it, unfortunately, cannot be my reality. I will retire for the evening now. Good night, Lord M’Baku."

"No. You stay. Enjoy the book, bask in the beauty of the fantasy, which is our reality here. Good night, your highness."

He spared her one last glance before walking out of the library. After he shut the door, he leaned against it, unsure of how to contend with the desire coursing through him or the beast of jealousy threatening to rear its ugly head. Two emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum and both directed at a lowlander, a woman he would not have given a second glance before.

As he walked back to the chief’s quarters, he just did not understand. He thought of all the hours he spent on his knees praying for a gift she considered a curse. Part of him simply felt bad for her, forced to hide your true self everyday. He grew frustrated at the lowlanders, frustrated that they treated people as if they were burdens instead of blessings. 

And they think they are so much better than us? So much smarter. But they do not see, they cannot see, he thought as he fell into bed.

Sleep was not easy to catch for the young princess who dozed off and on in the library nor the chief who slumbered in the largest room across the wooden lodge. When she finally did rest, Asha dreamed of her panther. But unlike her usual recurring nightmare of the panther trying to escape a field of flames that spread and grew taller and taller until it consumed the poor animal, its punishment for existing, tonight was no nightmare at all. Tonight, the panther basked in a plain filled with embers, a nearby tree of panthers peacefully watching over her as she roamed. No flames to consume her nor imminent danger, there was peace and the promise that she could just exist. For M'Baku, his dreams were as mundane and normal as they always were, as he felt he was, but they all featured the same person in some way: The Princes Asha, with her eyes of fire and sadness. 

****

"Are you sure you do not wish to fight on the field?"

Asha shook her head, pushing down the annoyance of being asked the same question twice. She knew the question came from a good place, but frustration brewed beneath the surface nonetheless. "I already told you Shuri, no. Without them, I would not be able to control it. I could accidentally hurt you, brother or the Dora. You all do not need me and this in the way. I will go and guard Ross."

"But -"

"No buts. This is not about me, it is about ensuring the right person, a Wakandan, sits on the throne, and that our weapons are not sent around the world to create chaos. I know where I am needed in that fight and that is where I shall go." She gave her sister an encouraging smile before walking across the Talon to her brother. She stood beside him for a few moments, looking out the window of the ship gliding toward their home.

"Try not to die on us, brother. No more herbs to bring you back this time," she muttered with slight amusement. The joke earned a small chuckle from her elder sibling. He reached and grasped her hand, about to pull her into a tight hug before she ripped her hand away from his, cradling it close to her.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" He fired off, immediately going into protective brother mode. He grabbed her arm, ready to examine her hand and body for obvious injuries.

She shook her head immediately, "No, no… I just don't want to hurt you. I destroyed them so it is unpredictable right now." She flexed her fingers, alerting her brother to the lack of golden rings donning each finger on her hands. 

"How?" 

She sighed, not wanting to revisit it but she supposed she did not have a choice. 

Asha did not hear footsteps as she let her grief consume her, throwing fire at the tree across from her. There was no break, no reprieve. As soon as fire left one hand, the other lifted throw another. She looked without seeing, all she could see was his stab wounds, his body thrown over a cliff like a rag doll. She had no idea where her mother and sister were, having broke away from the group when she realized she was losing control. She shook with rage as she grieved the one of two people who loved her unconditionally, who treated her as a whole person despite her curse.

"Asha," a low voice whispered, startling her out of her trance. She turned around quickly, hands and feet fully encompassed in flames, body slowly rising off the ground as she prepared to flee from danger. She lifted her hand back, prepared to lob fire at Killmonger’s henchmen after her. But instead all she found was Nakia and Shuri, standing bravely in front of her. Her mother cowered slightly behind them with Ross, who looked too amazed to be afraid. 

"She has burned through the inhibitors," Shuri commented, noting the lack of 10 gold rings across her fingers, a set of inhibitors that work to suppress her powers. She did not agree with the use of them, despite creating them herself at her father and older sister’s insistence, so they were not as strong as they could have been. They were meant to limit her average emotional responses, ensure her powers were only used when she actively tried to use them. However, even vibranium could not stand up to fire for a sustained period of time. They held up to a degree and she was far past it. "She cannot control it."

"Asha… you have to calm down. We have to leave here. Now," Nakia called out to her. Nakia looked around quickly, praying Killmonger was too preoccupied with his first night as King to send anyone after them. Every rustle of the trees, night jitter gave her pause. They needed to leave and while she shared the young woman’s grief, this display was going to give them away. 

"No! Go without me. Get them to safety. I am going to kill him." The irises of her eyes changed from their normal deep brown to a deep, blood red, signaling her rage and determination.

"We need to go and take this to M’Baku. He can help us. That is the plan. T’Ch- T’Challa would not want you to put your life in danger to avenge him. He would want us to save Wakanda. This is the right plan."

She floated back to the ground, the fire on her feet died out as she stomped toward Nakia. She shook her head, "NO! M'Baku," she spat, "Cannot do anything for us! I will not run. I will not hide behind the Jabari who wanted to see T'Ch-," her voice broke as her emotions began to take over, "him dead either way... W-w-we can't j-just run. W-w-we have to…" her voice failed her as she crumpled to the ground, her rage giving way to sobs. The ground around her scorched black as she fell. She covered her face in her hands, paying little attention to the flames still encompassing them, which died out a few minutes later.

Shuri quietly approached her, ignoring her mother’s quiet calls for her to not get too close. She was not afraid of her sister, she never would be. "Asha… Come with us. Please. The Dora and the Border Tribe have aligned with him, we need an army. The Jabari have one. We will get justice for T’Challa but t-this is the way. Trust me," she stated through her own tears and sniffles. 

"H-h-he c-c-can't be gone, Shuri. He j-j-just c-can't." Shuri wrapped her older sister in her arms, understanding the depth of her grief.  

The sisters shared one more moment of grief before Shuri pulled away, "We will m-mourn him but r-right now… right now, we must save Wakanda. He would want us to do that. That is our duty. We must go, now." 

Asha nodded as silent tears continued their trek down her cheeks. Shuri helped her stand as she looked at Nakia, "You are sure about this? This is the way?" She wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to reel herself back in. She noted the sparks still leaving her hands and the burn marks from where the rings melted against her skin.

"Yes, this is the way." 

He nodded in understanding, but she saw it underneath the surface, his guilt. He quietly whispered "fuck it," and pulling his younger sister into a tight hug.

"You can never hurt me and we have told you, you do not need those. You never have," he whispered to her as she buried her face into his shoulder. She did not believe him but she also did not feel like ruining the moment with such realities.

"Bast, I missed you brother. Scare me like that again and I will set you on fire," she threatened jokingly.

"I expect nothing less," he kissed her on her forehead before returning to speak with Nakia about strategy. She smiled at how close they were as they talked, happy the pair were finding their way back to each other. Tragedy is tragedy but it never hurts when people can find a rare moment of beauty among the flames. Nakia would be a good queen, this proved what she was willing to do for Wakanda. She hoped they stayed the course this time, she wanted that for both of them - they deserved it. Sadness crept into her soft smile as she thought about what they had, what she never would get.

She shook her head, shaking off the negative thoughts coursing through her. She returned to her seat next to Ross, who looked as if he was going to be ill.

"Are you ready? You understand what you need to do?" she asked him as they sat.

"Yes. You seem rather calm about all this? How are you not terrified?"

"There is little Killmonger or anyone can do to hurt me... I'm the monster," she answered as they both watched fire appeared and dissipated in her hands. "And monsters have nothing to fear."

****

When she and Ross stopped the last ship from reaching the border and escaped the explosion in the lab, they immediately raced to the Great Mound to join the fight. However, she was shocked to see the fighting had ended, Jabari soldiers helping round up the Border Tribe. She caught eyes with the chief across the fields. They soon found themselves face to face, Ross awkwardly standing behind her. 

"What is this? I thought you all did not concern yourselves with the drama of us lowlanders?" Asha asked. 

He chuckled, "Well it seems you all continue to need us to save you." 

She looked off into the horizon, a small smile on her face. "Yes... it seems we do." 

There was an awkward silence before he motioned for another warrior carrying a satchel to come up to him. "You..uh.. you left this in the library last night." He pulled the red book out of her bag. Truthfully, she had not even gotten the chance to read it. She read two pages before closing it and dozing off in the library chair. She did not have the heart to read that fantasy, to learn how much affirmation she could have gotten in this life if she was born just up the mountains instead of below. 

"Oh... well yes, it was not my home so I cannot just steal your books. We are indebted to you a great deal as is." 

"Well, I would like you to have it," he pushed it into her hands. Their hands brushed and she felt it again, the heat rising. She did not understand how he had this much of an effect on her after one conversation. 

"T-t-thank you Lord M’Baku. And for everything else. Wakanda is in your debt," Asha stammered, looking discreetly around the field for Shuri or Nakia, a reason to escape this man’s gaze.

"Perhaps she will find a way to repay me," he responded, his eyes signaling that Wakanda was not the "she" he was referring to. He gave her a smile, the first one she had seen grace his features, before saluting her. "Wakanda Forever, your highness."

****

Asha tossed and turned that night. One would have thought it would have been easy to rest, now safe in her own bed instead of on the run. But she could not quiet the memories. He was alive and well but she still saw her brother’s body falling to his death; he was dead but visions of Killmonger coming back to continue his reign of terror still filled her subconscious; and he was back tucked away out of sight but wishful thoughts of a certain mountain king still floated to the top of her mind. She could not quiet all of the thoughts, pleasant or otherwise, that competed for her attention. 

It was well after midnight before she finally dozed off, deciding that she required a break from the conscious world for a bit. However, her reprieve from her memories was short lived. The world had other plans.

She woke to the bright sun of a new day streaming into her room. She pulled the cover over her eyes and immediately fired off, "You have five seconds to close those curtains and get out," angrily at the unknown servant who thought this was a good idea. The staff knew she hated to be disturbed in the morning and that they were not to enter her room without expressed permission for their own safety. 

"Is that anyway to speak to your king?" A familiar voice asked, slightly muffled from the heavy duvet that was wrapped around her head. She grunted, checking the time on her beads before emerging from her cocoon beneath the covers. 

"It is if my king has lost his Bast-forsaken mind. It is 7 am!" Asha argued. She was no stranger to early mornings but this felt criminal.

"Yes, well you need to get up and meet us for breakfast. The council meeting is in an hour." 

"Why on Earth would I care about when the council meeting is?" She asked frustrated. She did not sit on the council, did not belong in the meetings. 

"Because your attendance at weekly council meetings is now required by order of your King." 

She groaned. "No T'Challa... I can't!" 

"Yes, yes you can! I will not tolerate you hiding in your own home, existing here like a prisoner. Father may have allowed and endorsed such a thing but not me, not under my rule."

"It is going to be kind of difficult after years of saying I am basically on death's door? How will we explain such a miraculous and random recovery?" She asked as she ambled around her closet for a suitable outfit to address the Council. 

"How we explain every other miracle around here…" 

"Shuri," they both responded at the same time. 

She sighed, "Are you sure about this? Once we go down this road, we cannot go back. I cannot reisolate myself." 

He grabbed her shoulders. "Yes, I am sure. You act as if this comes as a shock. This isolation was going to have to end at some point, particularly with a certain announcement on the near horizon."

She groaned, "Dear Bast, please do not remind me of that." 

"You know you do not have to go through with it? Father set it up but I can easily call it off. If it does not make you happy. I want you to be happy, Asha." 

"Yes call it off and turn the entire Merchant Tribe, the elder with the most power, against you? Father’s ghost would leave the plains and murder us both in our sleep. No, duty does not require either of us be happy. He is just as cursed in this as I am." 

"He is not cursed. He is winning a prize.” 

She scoffed, “You only say that because you dislike him. Ask anyone who knows of my affliction and they will agree, he is not winning any prizes here.” 

“One, I dislike him because he does not treat you as you deserve,” she rolled her eyes. “Two, you must stop referring to your powers as an affliction. But either way, I will no longer allow this isolation. Father fueled this narrative, your desire to hide away. This is not how it will be under my reign. You are a member of this tribe and you deserve to be treated as such," he reiterated. "Understand?" 

She sighed, annoyance brewing. She did not want to change, she was content with the way things were, safe the way things were. She did not understand why both her siblings were so keen on changing her existence. Besides, she knew his words were empty. Not that he would not try, she knew he would. But to truly end her isolation, he would have to change hearts and minds, beliefs that her own father had amplified. He may be able to make her a public figure but he would never be able to create a space where she could be herself fully. She pinched the bridge of her nose, ultimately relenting because she could tell this meant a great deal to him. "Yes, my king." 

***

Asha walked into the throne room filled with nervous energy. She did not want to be here, did not understand why her presence was necessary when she had nothing really to add. But her brother asked and she would not refuse. She turned around at footsteps to hear Shuri walking in behind her. "Do you have them?"

"Yes, yes. I still do not understand how you expect to learn how to control it when you constantly use this crutch to hide it?" 

"I do not expect to control it," she snapped, snatching the box out of her sister’s hand, tired of hearing the same lecture over and over again. "If I had a choice I would get rid of it. And this is the closest I am going to get to that at the moment. Are they stronger than last time?"

"Yes," Shuri answered easily, she mentally patted herself on the back for lying with such ease. They were not stronger and she would have preferred not to make a new set in the first place. But if it made her sister feel better to believe that, then she was willing to lie.

Asha slide the rings on each finger, immediately feeling the effects, the panther being herded and locked back a tight cage. She breathed a bit easier, felt a bit more secure that she could, at least, make it through the Council meeting without any mishaps.

"Thank you sister. And I am sorry for snapping at you. You know why I cannot let anyone find out about this, I do not understand why you always insist on rocking that boat." 

"Because I am trying to flip it over. T’Challa and I both just want you to be happy… fulfilled. You cannot be either of those things when you hide part of yourself." 

Asha smiled sadly, a part of her appreciated her meddling siblings. And the other part wanted to scream at them. Who are they to decide my life is not happy? That it is unfulfilled? 

But she did not get the chance to counter her sister’s point as the Council began filing into their seats. She took hers at the right side of her brother’s throne with Shuri next to her. Her eyes fell to her lap as she waited, not feeling like seeing the stares of the council, the unspoken questions. An elbow nudged her side causing her to look up at her sister. 

"Look," she whispered, discreetly pointing across the room. She looked in that direction to find a certain chieftain. Shock fell across her face as she stared at him. They caught each other’s eyes, trading surprised but soft smiles before she turned her attention back to her sister. 

"What on Earth is he doing here?" She whispered back. Shuri only had time to shrug before their brother entered and started the meeting. 

"Welcome all. First order of business, we are excited to welcome the Jabari back into the fold of Wakanda. Lord M’Baku will now have a seat on the Tribal Council and the Jabari will have the same protections and privileges of all the tribes of Wakanda. You had a proposal you wanted to present Lord M’Baku?" 

M’Baku nodded, sitting up straighter in his chair as he addressed the King. "Thank you King T’Challa. While we are open to forging this new path with you and the rest of Wakanda, many of my people fear what joining will mean, what integrating our two cultures will mean. And so, I would like to propose the Jabari have an intermediary, a person from the Golden Tribe who can help make the transition smooth. It will go a long way in showing the tribe that you all care about our customs, our ways." 

T’Challa nodded, "That seems reasonable. I can dispatch someone to fill that role -" 

"Actually, I was hoping the Princess Asha could do so. She is a member of the Golden Tribe, the people will see it as having direct communication with the King, it will make them feel heard and valued." 

All eyes turned to Asha who looked as confused as ever. Why on Earth would he want me? She wished the ground would swallow her whole, or that she could burst into flames and disappear. 

"If Asha is willing, then it should not be a problem. She is just recovering from some health issues, as you all know. Just reintegrating herself into her duties so we do not wish to overwhelm her." Asha ignored the pointed stare from M’Baku, the stare that recognized the lies in her brother’s statements. 

"U-uh, yes. I am fine with it. Lord M’Baku, King T'Challa and I can discuss the details at a later time to ensure the needs of the Jabari are met while prioritizing my health. I-It should not be an issue. Thank you for the opportunity Lord M’Baku," she stammered. 

"Well that is settled then," King T’Challa answered. Asha attempted to get M’Baku’s attention for the rest of the meeting, mainly so she could ask him what the hell he was thinking with this proposal. Truthfully, an escape back to Jabariland sounded heavenly but she remembered how her body reacted to him. She did not need to be around him anymore than absolutely necessary. However, he seemed determined to avoid her gaze for the rest of the hour, looking everywhere in the throne room but at her. She sat quietly, the rest of the meeting - mainly about how to recover after Killmonger’s attack - was irrelevant to her. 

"Any other issues from anyone?" her brother asked, prepared to conclude the meeting. 

The Merchant Tribe Elder quickly raised her hand, "We have an announcement to make King T’Challa do we not?" 

Most did not notice the look of annoyance or reluctance pass across his face but Asha did. She almost wanted to laugh if the announcement in question was not about her life, specifically. 

"Ah yes, thank you Elder Shani. You all have expressed concern that neither my siblings nor myself are married or have heirs to carry on the Panther line. I am pleased to announce that my sister is engaged to Elder Shani’s son, Hasani. We will announce their engagement publicly in a month on the first night of the Festival of Bast." 

A short round of applause followed the announcement. Asha’s face burned at the attention. However, one set of eyes seemed to burn a hole in her face with more intensity than the others. She was not sure what she would find when she locked eyes with M’Baku but she was not expecting this: sadness, frustration, even a hint of jealousy beneath it all. 

"That is all. Thank you and Wakanda Forever." 

Most of the Council approached her afterwards to offer their congratulations, the last in the processional was M’Baku.

"Congratulations, Princess. I pray the two of you are very happy together." The words almost sounded pained, forced as he addressed her. He looked around, realizing they were the only two left besides Shuri before he hugged her. He knew it was not appropriate, his mind screamed at him. But his body was compelled to be close to her, to feel her, just once before she was somebody else’s. 

Asha was startled by the display but almost did not want to let go when he pulled away from her. That hug held so many beautiful things in its 10 second lifespan. So much she longed to feel every day for the rest of her life. "T-t-thank you, Lord M’Baku."

He nodded curtly before hurrying out of the throne room. She wanted to tell him to wait, to explain that this was not an engagement of love or passion, but one of duty. But she couldn’t form words, did not know what to say. Her feet followed after him before she stopped herself at the door frame of the room, watching his retreating frame walk down the hallway and away from her. She slumped against the wall of the hallway alone, sadness hitting her like a punch to the gut. She realized that the intimacy she just felt in those 10 seconds, she would never get to feel again. She thought of everyone’s well wishes, "I hope you all are happy together."

She hoped so too but deep down, she realized that was another fantasy… she knew they would not be.

*****

[Chapter 2]

Tags: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @jellybean531 @afrolatinpami @archivistofwakanda

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 6

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 6: Tommy and Kate take a walk. When they return home, they both come across unpleasant surprises. 

           It was a night to remember that was for sure. John’s wedding had ended up in Ada giving birth which led to Freddie’s arrest. Tommy knew he had nothing to do with it, he honored a truce. Of course, his aunt didn’t buy it.

After she was done yelling at him and had simmered down a bit, Tommy sat down with her at the Garrison’s bar. Grace quietly cleaned up around them.

“Where’s Kate?” He asked.

“With Esme and Ada. She fainted while Ada was giving birth.”

Tommy had to hide his smirk. Apparently, the woman hadn’t been lying when she said she was inexperienced with pregnancies. Still, he was wise not to make a joke out of it in front of Polly. “Let her stay over just to make sure she’s okay. I’ll speak to her tomorrow morning.” He finished his last whiskey and got up to retrieve his coat.

“What about Freddie?” Polly turned around on her barstool.

But her nephew didn’t answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~`

Kate was still sporting a nasty headache after fainting and hitting her head on the nearby dresser. Polly said it was lucky she’d only walked away from a headache.

Just to make sure nothing was wrong, Kate decided to stay in for the day to rest and take it easy. Unfortunately, she was in Birmingham and the city rarely let her rest.

Tommy was knocking at the door by ten in the morning. Kate begrudgingly answered. “You know I think I’d have less of a headache if you allowed me to go out drinking with you instead of being with your sister.”

“I suppose I should’ve listened to you beforehand.” He replied apologetically. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone threw a brick at me and didn’t miss.” She retorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

“Care to take a walk with me?”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She snorted. “Because Tommy Shelby doesn’t do anything without a reason. You live like a soldier. Every move is planned if it isn’t then you risk injury or death.”

“I can tell you on the way.”

Kate appreciated that he at least dropped the act when she called him out on it. So, she grabbed her coat and stepped outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beyond Birmingham, up a fairly steep path, sat a graveyard. The grass was overgrown and the monuments were old. Some had succumbed to the elements and fell to the side. Crosses and rounded tombstones littered about in no particular pattern or organization. Some of the names and dates were still legible but others had been weathered away. So much so that only some lines or curves were left up to interpretation.

Tommy picked his way through the graveyard. It was clear he knew the area well as he didn’t disturb any of the plots. Maybe out of respect or superstition.

Kate did her best to keep up with him, picking up her skirt and trying to ignore the long grasses scratching against her ankles. She lagged behind but managed to keep his heavy dark coat in view.

Finally, Tommy stopped and threw his hands in his pockets. Kate caught up to him went to stand beside him. His blue eyes were locked on a small wooden cross that had been hammered into the ground.

Daniel Owens.

“Someone you knew?” She asked.

“Yes.” He nodded. “He’s working for me in London.”

“You mean he did?”

“No, he still is.” Tommy cleared his throat and struck up a light for his cigarette.

“I don’t understand-”

“Don’t you want to know why I brought you along?” He wondered.

“Sure but…”

“My brothers are about to get some payments from a fighting ring. They’ve yet to obtain a license.” Tommy responded and began walking away from Daniel’s grave.

Kate gave the site one more perplexed look before going to follow him. She trotted a few steps to match his long stride. “So why aren’t you there with them?”

“Because I’ve got people watching me. Waiting for a reason to lock me up. They won’t have much to go on if they know I’ve gone on a walk with another party.”

“You needed an alibi.” Kate nodded in understanding. “Well, I suppose as long as you’re not getting me into trouble, that’s fine by me.” She missed the hint of a smile on his face.

Tommy checked his pocket watch. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” She nodded.

“Good.” He returned his watch to the inside of his coat. “They should be back by now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I should go and see Grace later. She was telling me not to find you guys last night.” Kate said as she and Tommy entered the flat on Watery Lane. “I’m afraid she thinks you might’ve done away with me.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure she knows you’re fine.”

The two stepped into the kitchen and Tommy froze. A hardened look of anger and hatred plastered over his face.

Kate wasn’t sure who the man was sitting at the table but she didn’t doubt that Tommy didn’t expect to see him there. Polly, John, Arthur, and Finn were also in the kitchen. They all looked uncomfortable as well by the strange man’s presence.

“Speak of the Devil, how are you, son?”

Kate’s eyes widened a little. She hadn’t asked about Tommy’s parents mostly out of courtesy. The last time she’d pried about his past, she hadn’t gotten a warm response. None of the Shelby siblings mentioned either of their parents. For good reason, she assumed. Either they were dead or there was bad blood. At least with their father, it was bad blood.

“Get out.” Tommy snapped instantly.

“Come on, son.” Arthur Sr. appealed. “I’m a changed man.”

His son was not in the mood. “This family needed you ten years ago. You walked out on us. We don’t need you anymore.” His frigid voice sliced through the room. “Get out of this house.”

Arthur’s brow knit together. “Tommy, he’s different.”

“You, shut up,” Tommy responded harshly.

Their father stood up. “It’s alright, son.” He wiped his hands and went to get his things. He gave Tommy a lingering look of surprise and almost seemed mildly humored. “Quite something you’ve become.” He quipped before heading out the door. He tousled Finn’s hair before he left.

“Kate, go,” Tommy ordered without looking at her.

“Okay did you…”

“Just go.”

She looked to Polly who seemed tired. She sighed and waved her hand to the door, trying to save the young woman from getting embroiled in the family mess.

“Alright, I’ll go,” Kate said quietly and took her leave. She headed down the road and considered a stop by the Garrison to see Grace and maybe get something to eat. But something was gnawing at her stomach and it wasn’t hunger. So, instead, she decided to return to her own flat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The people of Birmingham began to ignore her. Before, they eyed her as a foreign intruder. They didn’t know where her loyalty lay or what she was looking for. But it seemed the longer you were seen with Tommy Shelby, the more people chose to ignore you. For their own good, most likely. Still, it didn’t settle Kate. She still felt like she didn’t have a place to call home. True, she’d gotten used to her flat and the layout of Small Heath, but that wasn’t enough to call it home. Did she have a steady job or a steady income? Did she have friends and cohorts? Everything was so ambiguous and hushed in Birmingham. Kate was afraid she’d go to bed and wake up married without her even knowing what happened. Still, she held out hope that an alliance with the Peaky Blinders would do her some good in the long run. Every good deal took some time. She just had to wait it out, as usual.

Unlocking the front door, she stepped inside. Her flat was chilly and she wondered if she’d left a window open. But the thought faded away when she noticed a piece of mail on the ground. She picked it up and tore open the envelope. “Hang on…” She whispered to herself and turned the envelope back over.

In black ink, someone had written her name. A fact that wasn’t supposed to be alarming, except when she saw that it was her given name.

Kathleen Lynch

It was the name she left behind in Boston many years ago. No one in France knew it was her real name and the only person in Birmingham who knew was Tommy. Besides, no one in Boston was supposed to know where she was. She left behind a confusing path of towns and cities that she stayed in under different aliases. There was no way anyone would have been able to track her.

Beginning to panic, Kate pulled out the letter and began to scan through it. She didn’t recognize the handwriting but that didn’t mean much.

Dear Kate,

It’s been quite a while but you slipped away before I could give you my well wishes. We should meet up again soon to discuss the past. You have a lot of things you need to answer for. You once said you were a woman who paid her debts. And yet, you still have some to pay.

I plan on paying you a visit very soon. It would be wise of you not to run again.

SL

The initials printed on the bottom of the parchment was enough to make Kate’s world turn upside down. She dropped the letter and rushed to the washroom, becoming physically sick. Her brain was swirling and her body was tense with learned defenses. She thought she’d been careful enough. She thought she hadn’t left a trail of evidence. She was so vigilante. How? How could this have happened?

Terrified there were people watching her flat, she grabbed the letter and stuffed it into her coat. She locked the door behind her and ran the whole way to the Garrison.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams​

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