#why expect honesty from them about a political enemy

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Is North Korea actually bad

It is not what you have been told it is. There are many bad things about the government of North Korea, there are many bad things about those running it, but it is not what you have been told it is.

[hirazuki]

For Now [Chapter 13 snippet]

Sasori/Haruno Sakura, Sasori & Haruno Sakura | T | Blank Period | canon divergent | angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to friends | ongoing [AO3]

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Sakura walks back into her apartment to find Sasori sitting on the couch, his nose in a book, and the tea cups that had been on the living room table nowhere in sight. 

She studies him for a moment – she supposes that, after years of Ino, and Naruto, and Sai, and Sasuke-kun, a non-irritated Sasori would seem polite company, in comparison.

“You were nice to my parents,” she says, frowning, leaning back against the door until it clicks shut.

He looks up at her and blinks. 

“Your parents are nice people,” he replies, and goes back to his reading, as though that explains everything.

“I hope you’re not offended that I checked them.” Because there’s absolutely no point in pretending that she didn’t; not with him.

“I would be offended if you hadn’t,” he returns with a smirk, and there’s a sharpness that glances across his eyes that she hasn’t seen since the time he covered the sky in puppets.

Sakura smiles at that, both at his manner and at the memory.

“They think you’re a civilian,” she comments, walking into the room and dropping down into the armchair, propping her chin with a hand.

Sasori hums, closing the book and giving her his full attention. “Did you correct them?”

She snorts, a loud, unrestrained sound of mirth that she'd be embarrassed to let out in front of most other people.

“No,” she states, and the single syllable is packed with all of her disbelief that he would even ask that. “What would I say? ‘Actually, mom, he’s almost forty, a missing-nin, and was part of that criminal organization that tried to end the world a couple of years ago. In his spare time, he enjoys turning people into puppets, which involves killing them, removing their organs, extracting their blood, and embalming their bodies. Oh, and he killed me once.’”

He laughs – an actual laugh, not a derisive snort or an ominous chuckle or something that barely passes for an expulsion of air; it's bright and open and it makes her think of sun-soaked sand under clear skies, and she finds herself wishing that he'd do more of it. Much, much more.

“I see my process left an impression.” There is amusement in his gaze, and interest – his interest is always there, with her, burning and biting and ever-stirring – but there are other things, too; Sakura can't quite make out what they are, however, though she can see their shapes. “Do they know you died?”

“Of course not,” she answers. “They don’t know about most of my battles.”

Sasori quirks his head at her, silently. It's his way of extending an invitation without expectation or obligation, she has learned; of indicating that he wants to hear more, only if she's inclined to share.

It has quickly become one of her favorite mannerisms of his, warming both her skin and her blood, and, as usual, she pounces on it, with the kind of speed that Naruto would pounce with on any form of ramen.

“I’m lucky,” she says, and looks down at the floor, incapable of meeting his eyes. Family is a difficult topic with him and, as much as she wants to tell him all that he wants to know, she worries about misstepping. “Both of my parents are alive and well and, now that I’ve moved out on my own, we get along for the most part. I’m really lucky. I know that. I know that, but – ” She struggles and then shrugs, unable to find the right words. “It’s a different type of loneliness.”

“I never would have thought that you come from a civilian family,” he states.

Sakura blushes, fiercely – normally, any dismissal of her civilian background would be something she'd immediately take offense at, but this is Sasori and she's familiar with his abrasiveness, with the gruff nature of his honesty; she knows it is meant as nothing but a compliment.

“Why become a shinobi?” he asks.

She chews her lip – he most likely will think it stupid; but she has a long history of making a fool of herself, so what’s one more time?

“I found the shinobi classes interesting, as a kid at the Academy,” she confesses. “And I wanted to become strong.”

He considers this, for a moment. “What for?”

Her first thought is ‘for Sasuke-kun,’ of course. But now, having grown up, she knows it never really was about Sasuke-kun; not entirely. He was only a manifestation of it – her desire to be self-sufficient, independent, noticed; to not be bullied; to not be left behind; to matter. Not that different from Naruto’s motivation, honestly, when she allows herself to think about it.

“For me.”

Sasori smiles at her, book entirely forgotten somewhere beside his legs, and it straddles that alluring line between soft and stinging.

[sankta-starkova]

BURN IT DOWN

025; BUILT ON HOPE

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

summary: the one where harlow kaz realised that the world was going to end but she decided to try and save it with the people that she cared about, no matter what it takes

wordcount: 1.1k

he rest of the flight was awkward to say the least. Harlow mostly holed up in the small back area and Cassian tried to keep the peace.

As soon as they got to Yavin 4 and called the council meeting, Harlow rushed away.

She stood in the crowd of all the important members of the council and listened to Jyn explain all about the death star to them.

The audience didn't seem to receptive about it all. They seemed shocked and horrified but nobody had any clue what to do - like normal.

"Are you really suggesting getting rid of all that we've worked for?" Pamlo asked, looking at the group.

"I joined an alliance, not a suicide pact," Vaspar yelled out from next to her.

As she looked at them, she knew what they were sacrificing but they didn't know the sacrifice that people who weren't born rich made every day for the rebellion.

"If she's telling the truth, we need ro act now," Pamlo stated.

"The death star us nonsense," someone called out from the crowd

"What reason does my father have to lie? What benefit would it bring him?" Jyn asked, defending her father no matter what.

"To lure our forces into a final battle to destroy us once and for all," Draven said, arms folded across his chest.

"And you Draven, you've got so many bright ideas. Why don't you share them with more than just one person?" Harlow questioned.

He narrowed his eyes at her and she could tell that he wasn't expecting the bitterness from her.

Jyn looked at her, noticing how Harlow was standing up for her, "My father gave his life so that we can defeat this," she said.

"If the empire has this power, what chance do we have?" Mon questioned, finally speaking up from the head of the table.

"What chance do we have? The question is what choice. Run, hide, plead for mercy, scatter your forces, you give way to an enemy this evil with this must power and you condemn the Galaxy to an eternity of submission," she explained.

There was a smile on Harlows face as she watched the girl rallying the troops. She was a born leader and when you believed in a cause, nothing could stop you.

"The time to fight is now every moment you wasted another step closer to the ashes of Jedha,' she said.

"What is she proposing?" Pamlo asked, looking at the girl.

"Send the best troops to Scarif," Harlow said and everyone turned to her, "We need to capture the death star plans if we have any hope of destroying it,"

The two girls shared a look of solidarity, and any issues they may have had on that ship were left behind because they were united and needed to work together.

"You're asking us to invade an Imperial thing based on nothing but hope?"

Jyb scoffed, "rebellions are built on hope," she said.

She looked at Cassian and Harlow who stood together across the table and Harlow nodded, a half smile on her face.

Jyn watched as the whole council argued about what was going to happen and what they were going to do on terms of thr issue.

Harlow knew politics and she knew that they weren't going to find a middle ground but she hoped that for once, she was wrong because they needed to do this.

"I'm sorry, without the full support of the council, the odds are too great," Mon said once everyone stopped talking.

Jyn shook her head, leaving the room in anger a everyone watched her, whispering about her behind her back.

Harlow stood there as the crowd dissipated, trying to get her head around their logic.

She didn't notice Cassian leave with two men in a deep conversation because she was too busy trying to change their minds.

"We're going to lose if we don't destory that," she said to Mon, shaking her head as she looked at her.

Mon knew what she meant and in all honesty, she wished that she could have done something about it but the democracy had chosen not to.

"I'm sorry Harlow, but we will win this war," Bail said before walking out of thr room.

Harlow couldn't believe that they were just giving up and she turned around, storming out of the room.

If they didn't destroy the death star then they would all die. She had seen the destruction that the death star left first hand and it had been awful.

"Jyn!" Harlow called out and the girl turned around, "I believe in you,"

Jyn smiled at the girl. She knew that after everything that had happened that she had reacted out of love, that she was protecting Cassian.

"And I'm sorry for what I said on the ship," she said, an apologetic smile on her face.

Jyn nodded, "It's okay, I'm sorry for getting mad," she said, the to starting to walk out of thr hangar together.

"No, it's fine, you were right to be mad. Cass was about to kill your dad,' she said, "Anyway, we need to find a way to stop the death star,"

Jyn nodded. When they left the hangar, Harlow stopped in her tracks and Jyn followed the girls eyeline to Cassian who was standing there with people behind him.

She walked ove slowly, both girls confused as to what was going on but when she saw a smile on Cassians face, she knew that he had a plan.

"They were never going to believe you, but we do," he said, looking behind him at the group.

Harlows face lit up as she looked at him, proud that he had made the right decision for the rebellion.

"We'd like to volunteer, most of us have done terrible things for the rebellion," Cassian said and she could see the pain in his eyes.

He had done everything for the rebellion, everything for Harlow and didnt stop often enough to think about what he wanted.

"Everything I did, I did for the rebellion, every time I walked away from something that I wanted to forget I told myself it was for a cause that I believed in, that it was worth it because without that we've lost everything," he said.

There was a silence as everyone listened to Cassians speech and it resonated with everyone.

Everyone in the room had done something bad for the rebellion. Harlows own sister had tried to kill her for the rebellion so she knew first hand how awful it can be.

"It won't be comfortable. It would be a bit cramped but we'd all fit," Bodhi said.

Harlow smiled, walking out between Cassian and Jyn, "Okay, we're leaving tomorrow morning," she said, looking out at everyone that was ready to fight for this.

[thephilosopheroffeelings]

Erdogan celebrated his 'friend' Trump's victory yesterday; like all other world leaders. Nothing is wrong with that but the word 'friend' rubbed me the wrong way. Friends, enemies and politics. Who comes to your mind? The Crown Jurist of the Third Reich Mr Schmitt.

Carl Schmitt is an interesting guy. He is a political realist and his ideas are influenced by Thomas Hobbes. His focus is on power, conflict, the necessity of decision-making in crisis. He views politics as a matter of survival and the need for a decisive sovereign to ensure the state's stability. According to him, politics is fundamentally about the friend-enemy distinction: us vs y'all. Isn't he romantic? I would not be in a relationship with him but a date would be fun. Sorry, back to the topic. The political sphere is defined by conflict and the existential necessity of distinguishing those who are threats (enemies) from those who are allies (friends). He does not sound ridiculous, right? As what he says currently is in practice in the world: World wars and then allies felt the need to be grouped as NATO, EU. etc. When you know your capacity of how nasty you can get if there is need, you might have the same perspective as he has. We read the room with our own lenses.

He sees democracy as secondary to authority and stresses the importance of order and security over individual freedoms. Was he authoritarian then? Not really. He loves the idea but practically he is not so sure. He is okay with democracy as long as it serves the sovereign. But ideologically, he is critical of liberal democracy, particularly parliamentary systems, which he sees as indecisive and incapable of addressing existential crises. He thinks that authority should be able determine when normal laws and rights can be suspended to protect the state. So we can conclude that he is not really a fan of legal liberalism as it can hinder the sovereign's ability to act decisively. Complex guy, eh? Do not be harsh on him. He has a point. Also, you have been warned; he is interesting. He favours authoritarian democracy, where a leader acts with strong popular support, sometimes bypassing parliamentary processes. He wants democracy if and until it brings him to power as it will make his sovereignty legitimate but once he holds the power, he does not care about it. Carl, you cheeky bastard.

When I was working as a teaching assistant, each week for an hour I was doing a course hour for the political thought course with UG students. While discussing political realism; I told the students that political realists do not sound nice but maybe they are honest? Regardless whether they are or not, I concluded that honesty in politics and in life are so overrated. What kind of politician would you like to see in power? Honest, has integrity, blah blah. You know the drill. As in, what do you expect from a romantic partner? Honesty. No darling; you do not. The idea of it is so nice but practically it would be awful to live with someone with no filter. The dose makes the poison.

This does not mean that I think Trump, Erdogan or Schmitt are at least honest people. Definitely not. I know that they are not. I have proof that they are not. However, what we do not get why they are (or were) in power might be all about how their careless relationship with liberal democracy portrays them as 'genuine.' Maybe the public sees these characteristics as something they would have if they were in power themselves. Something makes the person in power 'human.' Or maybe, on the darker side, this is what the public expects from a political leader: Authority. They would like to see the person they put in charge is actually using their power, even at the expense of their own freedom.

I am writing these on a train on my way to work as someone who cannot legitimately vote anywhere in the world as of now. Not a permanent resident in the UK, not a resident anymore in Turkey. I miss actively participating (voting) in elections. Democracy is a nice thing. Especially the majoritarian one: It fools you for a second that you are in power and then sobers you up the next day. Regardless, it is the best thing we have so far.

Off to my excel sheets.

[solomanta]

Very good advice.

People tend to forget the origins and reasons behind the older books of magic. And Ars Goetia is one such book.

It is written by religious cristians for religious cristians. That's important to remember.

They used force to command demons, because to bargain with them would be to go against g-d, and their own faith and loyalty.

It also explains why so many precautions and protections had to be taken.

If someone forcefully dragged you from ehat you were doing, then started commanding you around, I'm sure you'd be pissed and wanted to harm the idiot who tried too.

While the more modern versions of summoning --such as the one mentioned above-- is less of a guarantee (because you are asking, not forcing, and those you ask can say no, unlike when forced) it is still a far better methode to use.

Safer as well. And good manners helps. As does a show of subservience to those of a high ranking. Tho different demons care more, and some less about politeness and etiquette.

And I would warn that some demons truly are dangerous. Whether it is because they have a more volatile nature, or simply have anger or deception at the very core of their being.

Much like humans, demons have different personalities. And you would be wise to study that well before you attempt a summoning.

To summon someone like Asmodeus, whom may decieve you, or harm you if you are rude --he is for the most part quite plesant and friendly as long as you are polite and treat him with respect...

...it is quite different from summoning a demon like Glasya Labolas. A demon in the shape of a dog, whos nature is in line with it's apperance. And it has a temperament similar to the Japanese Youkai type Inugami.

A very dangerous undertaking to summon that particular demon.

Alasdair, Hell's Executioner, is another class as well. Wonderful to use against your enemies, but will go to gruesome lengths and take great pleasure in it.

I have had very good result from working with him, but he always demands a high price, and takes more than what you believe you offered.

Orobas, on the other hand, I have heard is more prone to friendlyness and honesty.

So really...

Never assume demons are a group of kind and fluffy creatures when treated right. I know of at least three people who made that mistake, two of which are now permanent residents at the mental ward, and one whom is dead.

Demons are demons. They are not angels, nature creatures or benevolent, misunderstood little fluff-bunnies. (Although I have no doubt they could pretend to be, if it suited their purpose.)

One should also remember that demons are known for deception. If a demon is nice, or tells a sob-story of his/her life, odds are that it serves some purpose, and the demon wants something from you.

That said, if what you want aligns with what the demon wants, you can have a wonderful and prosperous relationship for the both of you.

Demons are amazingly good at granting humans eartly pleasures and delights --or at the very least teach the humans how to get it themselves.

And each one is different. Which really is my main point.

.

As a final note, I'd recomend to carve the sigil into a black candle, not just write it on paper. And smear the sigil with blood.

When you light it, and call for the demon to ask it to join you, add a drop or two of blood to the flame.

Your Offering will be apriciated and make the demon more likely to answer.

It is also traditional to offer the demon a gift or Offering when you call upon them. Especially those of a higher rank.

It is not a hard and fast rule, but more a show of appreciation that most demons will like. Thus making them more likely to come.

Also try to dress nice and make your summoning space look good.

Think of it like this:

Would you call on the Queen of England, or the President of the United States wearing a t-shirt and underwear, sending a informal text message instead of writing a polite letter, and expect them to not care if your house looks like a dump and you've got not even a bottle of wine with you?

If you wouldn't treat the leader of your country that way, don't treat a King (or otherwise titled) Demon that way. That is a good rule of thumb.

Some of the more formal demon Kings like to hold on to old feudal rules and traditions as well, and may apriciate the whole bended knee and kissing their hand.

(Paimon tend to be expecting such things. He is kind when he wants to be, but expects proper worship and adoration. Those I know who has worked with him find he enjoys being treated as a Maharaja or Sultan of the old days. Although he enjoys being seen as a generous and benevolent master, but makes for a truly terrifying enemy.)

Priestess Akelta speaks a great deal about how Mammon enjoys luxuries set out for him, and for the human to hard work towards their own success.

As I said before; It ultimatly comes down to each demon and their personality how you should treat them.

So study the demon you wish to summon, and try your best to be a good host/hostesses for the one you call.

Demons can be your greatest friend, or your worst enemy.

Try to stay on their good side.

--Belial

On Summoning Demons

Strap in mammals, I need to correct some stupidities about “summoning” major demons. I’ll lay out a proper procedure in a few easy steps. This isn’t for minor infernals, but so-called “princes of Hell”, as it were. I’ll focus on the Goetic demons. Step One: Acquire a copy of Ars Goetia (you can get a free PDF online) Step Two: Record names, sigils, and descriptions of any you want to contact. Step Three: Throw the rest of Ars Goetia in the garbage and tell it that it’s a very rude poorly behaved book. Step Four: Inscribe a sigil on whatever you have available. If you happen to have an unused gold tablet laying around I’m sure they’d be flattered, so by all means pull out the dremel tool and get to work. If you’re like the rest of us, pen and paper is fine. If you want to get really fancy, use a consecrated pen or special ink. Step Five: Cast a circle and so on in whatever fashion suits your tradition. It’s not to protect you from the demon, it’s to screen out discordant energy and interference. Step Six: Respectfully request their presence and begin conversing. Treat them as one part deity and two parts royalty. Please and thank you. Yes sir/ma’am. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. In fact don’t even think of it as summoning. That word implies compulsion. You are asking, not telling. The Goetic demons are GODS. Several of them can be traced to their origins. Asteroth is the Egyptian Astarte. The idea that you can force them to do your bidding, or that you can protect yourself from them, is a joke. The Goetic concept that they are bound to specific sigils and commands is based on a pact made by King Solomon for a fixed period of time, which has expired. It’s useless now, even if it ever was genuine. They help those who they find worthy, and no one else. If you are respectful, and they find you worthy, they may choose to help you. If you are unworthy, some of them might just decide to fuck with you. Which would fall under the category of not my problem, so follow my advice at your own risk. Each demon has their own standards and personality. It’s almost like they’re real people (heavy sarcasm). If you want to work with them, treat them as such. If you give a major demon an order, I have zero sympathy for what they may do to you. I am not recommending that anyone evoke demons. For humans it’s really generally not a good idea unless they take an interest in you first. You don’t have claws and scales. But if you’re going to do it anyway, try not to make an ass of yourself. Entrails are a bitch to clean out of carpet. Carry on, and good luck, humans.

[blackkatmagic]

Could I please request a drabble with Mace meeting Jaster? Time travel shenanigans would be loved and heart-eyed, but are not required.

“A Jedi is hiring a Mandalorian for a job?” Jaster asks, one brow raised, and can't help the thread of incredulity that creeps into his voice. “Perhaps you're confused, Jetii, but our people have been enemies for millennia.”

“I'm well aware,” the Jedi says, unmoving. Jaster has, admittedly, never been quite this close to a Jedi, and he can't help but be faintly impressed at the man’s stoneface, particularly given the bright-eyed Chalactan girl peering around his side. Her hands are hooked into his sash without any apparent fear of being shaken off, or any apparent concern for her Master’s dignity, and Jaster finds himself reluctantly amused despite the man’s temerity.

“Oh?” Jaster asks, leaning back in his chair. His blaster is within easy reach, and the Jedi is far enough away that Jaster has the advantage. “Bold of you to approach me with a job offer, then.”

“Is it?” the man asks, and reaches up, folding his hood back. Jaster stills, startled, because he hadn’t thought there were Korun Jedi—Myles has always been very insistent that the Korun people have their own Force traditions, and outsiders aren’t welcome to step into them. He’s a handsome one, too, tall and broad shouldered, with a lean strength to him that even the loose, comfortable robes can't hide. Steady, he meets Jaster's eyes, and says, low, “It seems to me, Mand’alor, that our status as enemies means no one will suspect me of having hired you.”

Ah, Jaster thinks, smiling. Like that, is it. He hums, then says, “Jango, who don’t you show this lovely padawan the gardens? I'm sure she would like to see them.”

“What?” Jango demands, outraged the way only a fourteen-year-old can be. “Buir, I'm not leaving—”

Jaster levels a pointed look at his son, and his mouth snaps shut. He scowls, deep and affronted, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t be meeting with a Jedi alone,” he says grumpily. “Myles is going to yell at you.”

“Myles will survive,” Jaster says, though it’s likely true. “Master Jedi, I hope you don’t object to speaking privately.”

“Of course not,” the Jedi says, perfectly calm, and glances down at his padawan. “Depa. Be polite.”

That is, Jaster reflects wryly, an incrediblyfamiliar tone of voice. He’s willing to bet the girl gets herself into almost as much trouble as Jango, given how practiced it sounds.

And, on cue, the girl beams up at her Master without hesitation. “I'm always polite, Master Mace,” she protests, perfectly, wickedly innocent. Mace doesn’t answer, just sighs, and Depa laughs, rising up on her tiptoes. She hauls him down, no thought given to dignity, and plants a loud, showy kiss on his cheek, then hops back two steps and turns that smile on Jango, who freezes like he was just dipped in carbonite, his eyes going wide.

She is, Jaster thinks with amusement, a very pretty girl. He wonders how quickly Jango will manage to stick his foot in his mouth this time. Within ten minutes, judging by last time. Jaster doesn’t precisely have high hopes for their interaction, but at least this isn't the daughter of a high-profile client that Jango is going to offend. The Jedi needs them, not the other way around, and given Jedi morals, he likely won't turn to the Death Watch the instant he’s insulted.

“Depa,” Mace says, a warning, but Depa ignores it, grinning at Jango and folding her hands behind her.

“I would love to see the garden,” she says cheerfully. “Jango, was it?”

“Jango Fett,” Jango says, only a little mulishly, and takes a careful step forward, like he’s worried she’s going to bite him. “It’s this way, I guess.”

He couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. Jaster rather suspects he is.

As the door slides shut behind their two witnesses, though, Jaster's amusement fades slightly, and he turns his gaze on Mace, narrow and thoughtful as he considers the man, his presence on Mandalore, the quiet, entirely understated way he arrived.

“This isn't a mission from the Jedi Order,” he says, weighing. “I might even go so far as to say they have no idea of your presence here.”

“They don’t,” Mace says bluntly. “I'm here on my own business, and acting on information the Jedi Council isn't privy to.” There's a pause, and then a rueful curve just touches one corner of his mouth. “Believe me, Mand’alor. I do not go behind the Council’s back easily. This is vital, and I'm willing to provide the funds to prove it.”

Jaster smiles, a little humorless, a little thin. He’s not fond of being played, and this sounds very much like Mace is trying. “I have plenty of credits, Master Jedi. Why should I find yours any more appealing than anyone else’s?”

Mace doesn’t hesitate this time, just raises his chin. “Because I have something that is far more valuable than credits,” he says calmly. “I can provide you with information.”

It is, Jaster will admit, a tempting prospect, but he’s still wary. “Jedi information? Access to the Archives, perhaps? If I wanted dry Jedi tomes on political law—”

“No,” Mace interrupts, flat, and takes two steps forward, until he’s right across Jaster's desk. “Far more important and immediate information. Such as the name of the traitor who will kill you. And the location of Jango Fett's older sister.”

Jaster freezes, hardly daring to breathe. Arla was gone by the time he’d made it back to the Fett homestead on Concord Dawn, and no trace of her has ever surfaced. Jaster has been looking, because Jango speaks of her endlessly, but—

“That,” he rasps, voice half-caught in his throat, “could be considered blackmail, Master Jedi.”

Mace tips his head. “Proof of my desperation,” he says, and there's no self-consciousness to it, just blunt honesty. A pause, and then he says, faintly rueful, “I’ll give you her location whether you take the job or not. The Death Watch has her.”

Jaster was afraid of that. He breathes out, slow, careful, and—the willingness to offer up half of his bargaining chips makes him more inclined to trust Mace, even if a flicker of wariness still remains. “And the job is?”

Mace doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch. “I want you to assassinate the senior senator from Naboo. Sheev Palpatine. He’s a Sith apprentice.”

Of all the things that Jaster was expecting, that most certainly wasn’t among them.

It takes him a long moment to scrape together a coherent response, another still to get the words right. “Apprentice,” he echoes. “Usually, an apprentice follows a master. Who is the Sith Master, then?”

“A scientist and a banker,” Mace says coolly. “Palpatine is the more dangerous target, and a better duelist. I can handle the Master, but the apprentice I would leave to someone more adept at assassinations.”

It would hardly be the first time the Mandalorians have been hired for such a thing, and Jaster is more than willing to do it. Knowing that Mace will be fighting his own battle allays some of Jaster's fears as well, and he leans on one arm of his chair, considering the man.

“A fraught mission,” he says, “on both parts. You have a plan, I assume.”

If anything, Mace looks amused at that. “The Jedi do not plan,” he says, a trace of humor in the words. “I trust the Force to see me through, however. And as I am training Depa, I will have all the time I need to see things through.”

Jedi, Jaster thinks, and doesn’t roll his eyes. Quite. “And would you care to tell me where you got this information, Master Jedi? Particularly about a traitor within the ranks of the True Mandalorians. I must admit that one surprises me.”

Mace is silent for another moment. “From the future,” he finally offers. “I traveled back with the help of a Force nexus. In the time I came from, the True Mandalorians were wiped out, and the Sith won.”

Something cold slides down Jaster's spine, and he rises slowly, comes to his feet to face the Jedi. Mace meets his eyes, holds his gaze, and—

He looks tired, Jaster thinks, calculating, considering. Tired in a bone-deep, weary way that Jaster had managed to miss before, buried as it was by his determination. Traveled back from the future, through time itself, and Jaster didn’t know such a thing was possible.

Not possible for most people, he thinks, watching Mace. And not optimal even for this one.

“Very well,” he says after a long minute of silence. “But on the condition that you stay here and provide your information throughout the mission. I won't have a Sith kill my men because you think you have better things to do.”

The relief that slides over Mace's expression is subtle, but—Jaster catches it easily. “Agreed,” he says. “We will rely on your hospitality, Mand’alor.”

“Jaster, please,” Jaster says, and moves around the end of his desk, taking Mace's arm. Muscled, he thinks, and that’s likely a good sign. Not a useless Jedi, hopefully. Not if he’s certain he can take on a Sith. “I think the use of first names is allowable now that you're my guest.”

“You have a liberal interpretation of guest,” Mace says dryly, but he doesn’t pull away as Jaster leads him out of the office, and Jaster is willing to count it as a win.

[On AO3]

[umiarumi]

fucking three houses | lorenz hellman gloucester

the whole reason i wrote this collection was because of an inside joke. "wouldnt slut shaming lorenz be funny?"

The resounding tune of the clock striking noon echoed around the monastery, prompting you to perk up from your studies. Usually, you studied in solitude. As outgoing as your allies made you, you always held onto that ease and pleasure being alone supplied you. With how lust-induced your recent activities had been, a little peace and quiet would do you some well-deserved good.

You shut the book regarding tactics your professor had recommended you. The soft shuffles of former students leaving the library and hushed chatter reverberated around the room and halls. Of course, you were at war but there's always time to get better at what you do. You chuckled at the thought of some grizzled lady wielding a sword studying. Well, that is you after all!

Sliding the book back in its respective shelf, you hummed as you remembered Tomas. From what you gathered, the Tomas that the faculty knew was replaced. Unfortunate, but unsurprising knowing the enemies working behind the scenes.

You shifted your thoughts to your upcoming mission. Some scouting mission from the empire detected commotion in Garreg Mach. You huffed at the thought. Of course, you'd expect Edelgard to retaliate but damn, that was quick.

You shook your head, well, it was tea time! Noon meant the yard would be filled with people gossiping and sipping alike, the hobby so ingrained in them that they retained it through the war.

You walked past Seteth, nodding to him. He nodded back, cracking a soft smile. You'd rarely see that emotion! You giddily laughed as he turned the corner, pleased to see he was loosening up.

Walking down the stairs, you passed a rushing Lysithea who didn't even recognise you. You grinned, shaking your head. Always in a rush, that girl! Or, well, woman. She'd like that better.

Sauntering, you caught a glimpse of a certain purple and ginger-headed duo bickering. "Lee! Lorenz! Whatever is wrong, my dear friends?" You cheered, slinging your arms around the two. Leonie raised a brow at you, grinning, seemingly relieved at your arrival. Lorenz, on the other hand, froze up. "Although you may have connections to House Riegan, (Y/N)..." He grumbled, sighing.

"Oh chill, Lorenz!" You guffawed, shaking your head. He'd become considerably more agreeable, but God, he'll hold onto that 'treating commoners with his version of respect' ideal forever.

Leonie nodded with you. "Yeah, buddy." She pointedly looked at Lorenz, crossing her arms. "Well, apparently (Y/N), Lorenz thinks that he can't take me to tea because I'm 'unpleasant'". Hands now on her hips, she turned back to you.

You smirked. "Lovers quarrel?" You asked, shifting your weight.

"NO, DUMBASS!" "Absolutely not!"

You cackled at the yells, waving your hands in front of your face dismissively. They really did act like it!

"My bad, my bad... now, Leonie is a great dining partner! But... I doubt tea is even your thing." You offered, mockingly putting on a wise tone. She slowly nodded, realising you're right.

"Yeah! A good meal is better than tea. Thanks for seeing my point, (Y/N)." She slapped your back before, turning away. "I'll spend this time on training, can never get enough!" She waved goodbye to the two of you, although you supposed it was more to you.

Lorenz sighed, brushing his, admittedly less foul, hair out of his face. "I fail to see why you defend her." He muttered, looking to you. You raised a brow, tilting your head for that added 'what do you mean?' effect.

"Simply put, she wouldn't make a fair tea partner. She accused me of the reason being that she was a commoner, but it truly was not! I explained to her, but she seemed to have not appreciated my honesty, either." He pondered, lips pursing.

"Well, Lorenz! I think you need a lesson in manners." You bluntly asserted, placing your hands on your sides.

"Why I never-"

"Not that you don't have wonderful manners! However, your honesty can be jarring... you come off rude, man." You explained, patting his shoulder.

"So I am to lie?"

"Gah! No! Look, how about we discuss it over tea?" You suggested, exasperated. As intelligent as the dude is, his social cues with... commoners and the rest of us normal people are is abysmal!

He nodded. "A splendid notion! Shall we take this to my dorm? I feel as though the tea court will be filled by now. I also have some delectable flavours and tea sets!" He smiled, leading you away.

You yelped, catching up to him. What was the deal with guys walking briskly away from you?

~~~~

"Please, take a seat." He offered, pulling out a chair for you. You mumbled thanks, sitting down.

Crossing your legs, you hummed. Was this a curse? Was this going to end up in you fucking the most pretentious man? Well, the omniscient presence watching your every move knows the answers.

As he poured the tea into your embellished cup, you admired the colour. "How pretty! And the teacup compliments it!" You whispered in awe, looking back up to Lorenz. He smiled sweetly at you, almost in the way one would at a kitten or puppy.

"I'm glad you have a knack for spotting artistic factors in the simplest things." He said, sitting down opposite you.

"However, on our way here, I thought about something."

You gulped. How was your impending lecturing being turned on you?!

"Y-yes?" You stuttered, bringing the teacup to your mouth, sipping nervously on the steaming liquid.

He eyed you, before humming.

"I doubt you're the most qualified person to teach me about manners." He said, gauging your reaction. You halted sipping on your tea.

Collecting yourself, you placed your teacup back down. "Oh? Why would that be?" You questioned, fiddling with the tablecloth.

"Well, you seem to have time engaging in certain... promiscuous activities, that isn't exactly too innocent or polite." He murmured, sipping on his tea.

Your eyes bulged, hands antsy as they moved to your face to hide your shock.

"For someone so carefree to participate in such... activities in public, you sure do seem to hold a facade of modesty." He replied, watching you sternly.

"Yeah, imagine how it feels having someone know of this!" You gritted your teeth, clenching your arms.

He raised a brow, smiling crookedly. "Certainly you wouldn't mind. Considering you would do so on holy grounds. You and Claude seemed to have not cared. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole monastery heard you."

You gasped, moving to get out of your chair. You didn't need a lecture from Lorenz.

He stood up with you, challenging your gaze.

"When I told Leonie she wasn't well-kempt enough... I suppose you aren't any better." He smirked, watching you bite your lip anxiously.

"Damnit, what do you want!? Don't tell anyone, I'll do anything!" You pleaded, taking a step forward. Lorenz grinned at this, raising a brow. He walked around the table, coming to face you directly. You looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Since you're so eager to offer. Perhaps I could partake in those services Claude recommended to you?" He whispered, hand coming to tilt your chin upwards. Your face erupted in a dark heat, your heart thumping.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

You collected yourself, giving him a sly grin as your hands found themselves around his neck. "Well, if you're interested in a free trial..." You hinted, swaying your hips.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

He gulped, smiling crookedly. "You strike a hard bargain, my fair lady. I suppose I'd have to indulge." He murmured, grabbing underneath your knee and pulling your leg up to his waist.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz.

"Then, please, take whatever you'd like."

Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck-

Your lips were captured by his own, as you soon felt your weight shift as your body was lifted from the ground. You wrapped your legs around him fully as you were set down on his plush bed

The kiss heated up passionately, feeling Lorenz palm you through your normal uniform. Being a Sunday, no war business was discussed and no armour was worn. He cupped your breasts.

"You're hardly pleasant, ever so brash and callous. But not to fear, I'll mould you into a fair woman. However, I'd say I prefer your unabashed promiscuousness." He hissed, stripping you of your uniform. Soon, your bra and underwear followed.

He shed his own casual uniform, for once in his life, not caring. That was proved as much as he dropped his uniform onto the mahogany floors.

You were pushed down onto the bed as you felt Lorenz slide on top of you, his already hard dick grinding against your slick cunt. You sighed, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.

His hands moved to your breasts, removing his mouth from your own only to kiss up the skin. Poking, squeezing, kissing, licking. He left no stone unturned, or in this case, no skin untouched. His apparent fixation on your breasts soon shifted to your darkened face. He simpered at his work.

"You will be good practice for the future. I suppose a whore such as yourself wouldn't oppose being treated with such behaviour." He proposed, his hands stroking up and down your sides.

"I... I'm not a whore!" You defended weakly. Yet any argument was soon washed away as he began to rub his dick up and down against your vagina.

"Oh? Ah, I see. So making love... no, I should say, carelessly fucking your former classmates one after another was just a hallucination?" He asked, the tip of his dick sliding into your walls for a split second before retreating.

"N-no, that's not what I meant!" You cried out, frustrated at the lack of stimulation.

"Ah, straight to denial, I see! You have skipped explaining and gone straight to denying your needy, sluttish behaviour." He groaned as he felt you pull him closer.

You cried out in frustration before looking away.

" F-fine! You're right that I'm a whore! I'm a whore who loves her classmate's dicks! Now please fuck me!" You moaned, exasperated.

"That's wonderful to hear."

And no sooner than he spoke did he thrust his dick right into your pussy, a silent moan escaping your open lips. He leant over you, feeling your tits press against him. Your legs rose and wrapped around his pistoning hips.

You struggled to get a full breath at the pace he was thrusting at, it sent your head spinning. You couldn't think, you could only feel as you were fucked silly by the one guy you could never like.

Yet, that distaste furthered your arousal.

"You are far from suitable for me. You.." He heaved as you clenched around him. "Naughty. You're brash, loud, unladylike... but you make a wonderful cocksleeve." He groaned into your ear, letting out soft moans.

You felt the coil in your stomach tighten at his words.

"Then... you're just like me! Sinking down... to my level just for some pussy?" You teased, slurring.

He smirked annoyedly. "Tch, I wouldn't say that in your position." He grunted out, holding you tighter as he pistoned harder.

"O-oh! I... you!" You moaned, speech cutting off as you couldn't talk. It was so fast, so hard, so good!

The two of you continued to moan and grunt, accompanied only by the sound of skin slapping. The erotic groans of the man you held such distaste for was sending you over the edge. You hated it so much that you loved it.

To the means of an end, you felt the coil snap as he groaned once more in your ear, the spasming of your walls soon causing him to cum. You felt your ravaged pussy shudder as ropes of hot cum seared your insides. As he slid out, it trailed out.

Lorenz looked down on you, smiling coyly at the sight. "Speechless and fucked silly, that's a perfect look for you."

[luminnara]

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it. 

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else. 

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job. 

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price. 

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it. 

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it. 

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him. 

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse. 

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to. 

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much. 

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord. 

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked. 

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it. 

Not yet. 

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to. 

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait. 

[lunnybunny12]

Sandor Clegane X reader (Rory)

MODERN AU

A/N: This is a modern AU based off of this headcanon. 

Word count: 2036

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, mentions of death

Master List

As an Infantry Soldier, Sandor served in the field, working to defend his country against any threats on the ground. He'd capture, destroy, and deter enemy forces, assist in reconnaissance, and help mobilize troops and weaponry to support the mission as the ground combat force. He'd seen good people get murdered, shot, hanged, killed. People with families to get back to and friends who would miss them. Sandor had neither, and yet he was allowed to return.

He took a large gulp of his drink and looked at his surroundings. Sandor had been to the bar many times before and the familiar hum of other patrons as they'd pull frothing glasses of beer to their lips was there like always. He heard the occasional clicks from the back where the pool-tables were placed. The smell of alcohol, snow and pine-scented air freshener drifted through the air as you dragged a damp rag across the bar.

"Oi Barkeep. Beer." Sandor called, fiddling some change from his pocket.

"Keys first, Dogface. Then you can drink," You retorted, not moving from your place at the bar. (Dogface- A nick-name for Infantrymen because they sleep in "Pup-tents" and hide in "dugouts")

Sandor sighed in annoyance and paused to look at you. It hadn't been the first time you had told him this, he never understood why but he knew full well that you weren't joking with him.

"Again?"

"Yes, again. now hand them over."

He begrudgingly did as he was told and slid the car keys across the bar, avoiding your outstretched hand completely. You snatched them away and placed them in your pocket, with a fake glare.

"Good boy. They'll be in the same place when you come to pick them up tomorrow." You said popping of the cap of a beer and sliding it towards him and going back to cleaning the bar.

"You're lucky you're one of the few people I can stand in this town" He grumbled.

"Oh I feel so honoured" you joked and rolled your eyes.

Since there were other customers to attend to you couldn't talk long, but it's not like he'd say much to you anyway. The community he had found himself in was quite tight-knit. Everyone knew everyone and it was tricky to not run into someone who had something to talk about. Sandor however was a very quiet individual who often kept to himself making him stand out to many of the residents.

As the night continued and other staff started their shifts, Sandor found himself looking at you from time to time. He watched you collect glasses, chat to customers, tell jokes and take orders. He found himself doing it allot recently and he didn't understand why. At some points, he had even begun te eavesdrop on your conversations since he had nothing better to do.

"Ah (y/n) hows Rory? Heard the lad had an accident" A customer asked as you took their order.

Sandor's ears pricked up. He'd never heard of a Rory before at least not from you, and from what he knew there wasn't a Rory in the village.

"Yeah, the silly thing fell down the stairs and hurt his leg. He's upstairs having a lie-down. he should be up and about in a few days though," You chuckled.

You had changed so much since he was dragged off to the army. You weren't a crazy teenager anymore but a grown woman, with a proper paying job and a life outside of work. Yet you were still the same when it came to your personality: humerus, silly, carefree, cheerful and stupid... my god were you stupid, you had to have been to be his friend.

"Right, consider me.. clocked out" You smiled to yourself and looked at Sandor.

"Why do you need to clock out? You own the bloody place." Sandor said.

"Yes, but its this new fangled technology thing that Mr Ray insisted I use, and you know what he's like. 'His town his rules.' Plus it helps me keep tabs on whos working."

"At least you understand half of the tripe you just said." Sandor joked taking another sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes and patted his shoulder as you headed towards the door. "Goodnight everyone!" You yelled earning a cheer of goodnights.

Everything was different when Sandor went away. One day he was there and the next he wasn't, no warning, just a letter that said that he had been accepted into the army and to not expect him back for a long time, that was if he came back at all.

When he did eventually return he had also changed. His personality remained the same, as you expected but he had changed physically. He was taller, broader and stronger and his hair had been cut making his burn a more prominent feature.

If it was up to you, you would've stayed away from him but since yours was the only bar in town, he would come for a drink. Out of politeness you talked to him and sent the occasional harmless jab his way and in return he was civil. You were still angry that he hadn't said goodbye but you still cared, you must have done to take his keys.

It was misty that morning. All mornings were misty since the Autumn season rolled around. You loved Autumn. You loved the feeling of the wind rushing past your face and how the leaves crunched beneath your boots. Your favourite place to walk was at the park and since Rory had stopped limping around your apartment, you thought the park was a good idea.

Rory was a large thing. The hound was easily half your height when stood on all fours and towered above you when on his hind. In his youth, he would have been jet black and full of energy but as he aged, the fur around his snout and paws had dimmed to a light grey and he had mellowed out.

As you walked along the wet grass a sudden yelp bit through the air.

"Someone get their fucking dog!"

You immediately ran to the voice to see Sandor, on the ground with your dog licking his face.

"Rory! come here. You silly thing" you laughed as you latched the lead onto the dog's collar and pulled him away from Sandor.

The man looked awful. His hair was a mess and he was covered in dirt. The shirt he wore was the same as the day prior and he seemed half asleep.

"Were you sleeping in the bush?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine thanks for asking" Sandor huffed as he pulled himself off of the grass.

He was in a mood and in all honesty, you would be too if you were sleeping in a bush.

"What kind of dog is that? Looks like a living mop"

"He's a wolfhound and I can guarantee he's cleaner than you."

"Well, you try and stay clean when you've been sleeping in the park for 5 days," Sandor growled, dusting off some leaves from his pants.

"5 days?" you asked. "You've been sleeping here for 5 DAYS! What happened to your apartment?"

"No money to pay for an apartment."

"What about your job?"

"Why do you care?" Sandor asked, bending down to grab the blanket that was hidden in the shrubbery. He was about to walk away until you stood in front of him with a serious look.

"I care because we were friends once and I'll be dumbed if I let my friend sleep in the cold. So I will ask again... What about your job?"

The look Sandor gave you wasn't out of shock or surprise. It was a look of familiarity. A look of relaxed friendliness that you hadn't seen since before he left.

Sandor sighed and scratched his neck. " My job fired me a few weeks ago. Said that 'I have talents that could be useful elsewhere.'"

"They fired you without reason?"

"I stacked boxes (Y/n) and that's all I did."

"Load of cunts," you sighed. "Right you're coming home with me, you're gonna get a shower and we can talk about a job later."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"No, but you're getting it anyway. Follow me Dogface."

A month had passed since then and things once again changed.

You gave Sandor a job at the bar more suited to his skillset and became the security. The town was a tourist hotspot in the summer months and you would get the occasional rowdy bunch that you nor the rest of the residents liked to deal with. In the other months, Sandor would just hang around, help with any shipments that required heavy lifting and occasionally cover for a staff member. Since you couldn't have him sleeping in his car or in a bush you gave him the spare room in your apartment and when he could afford it he insisted on paying rent and wouldnt take no for an answer.

One day when Sandor came back from his shift, he was met with you, laying on the couch with Rory draped over you with his head on your chest. Rory had done this more than once and you thought it was adorable, whether it was to protect you or because he was cold you didn't know but it was adorable just the same.

"You look comfortable," Sandor said slipping off his shoes at the door.

"Oh, I am. Very much so. I was in the mood for cuddles and since you weren't here Rory stepped up" you joked, petting the sleeping dog.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Sandor's demeanour change. He straightened his posture and took a sharp breath in.

"You alright?

"I'm fine. move your legs." Sandor said sitting on the couch beside you as he leaned to grab the tv remote.

He had been doing that a lot. Whenever you joked about ding something a couple would do, he would shy away or close himself off and to be honest you were only half-joking. It why you were so upset when he left without a word of warning. You liked him but if he liked you was a different story.

"You jealous?" You asked

"Jealous?" Sandor chuffed. "Of Rory? Nah. You wouldn't go for an old dog like him"

"I like old dogs. They have more charm and personality than the younger ones." You answered as you ran your fingers through Rory's fur and kissed him on the head.

Sandor sighed and continued to look at the TV. He looked so handsome to you, he always did. Sure he was rough around the edges but its what drew you to him in the first place.

"I like you too, you know."

"What?" Sandor laughed and looked a you. He thought you were joking like you usually did but by the look on your face, you weren't.

By that point Rory had jumped off of the couch to get some water, allowing you to sit properly.

"I like you, Dogface."

"In what way?"

"In a romantic way... since before you left" a second of silence cut between you when you started laughing at yourself. Like a real laugh. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's not like you feel the same anyways."

"How do you know I don't like ya?"

"Look at me, Sandor. The only men in my life  are you, the customers and my dog, I'm not exactly a noble-born am I? Just a daft bar made"

You stood up and walked to the fridge to grab a few beers.

"I like a daft bar made. They're way more entertaining than the smart ones."

"Very funny" you said handing him a bottle and sitting back on the couch with a huff.

"I also like my bar made: brave, and strong, and funny. With... a nice dog and a home of her own. Look, I like you too. I like being around you. I...I like your face."

You laughed and shuffled closer to him and leant your head on his shoulder.

"Cute" you mumbled and leant up to kiss his cheek. " I like your face too"

[free-falling-grenade]

Promt: raya sees namaari sparring/having fun with her closest friend from fang (which is a girl her age) and gets jealous and competes with said friend for namaari's attention, even though namaari and her friend have no idea what's happening.

With @killjo-qartz permission, I borrowed her OC, Somwang for a cameo in this fic! Hope I got her characterization kind of right & didn't butcher her. (I'll take it down if you don't like it) Can read in ao3 or keep reading down here 🤙🏽: Anger wasn’t new to Raya. She had lived through it within the six years of being alone. Used it as fuel to get through her encounters with bandits and mercenaries alike, to leave them begging for mercy. Used it to push through every obstacle in her way to prove each of these damned binturis wrong in this cruel, broken world. Anger was comfort as misery was company, that flowed like blood in her veins, reminding her that if she couldn’t use hope to live, then at least she had rage to build her up. If she couldn’t feel anything else, then why not let anger take control. However, as comfortable negative emotions could be, its goal was to bring anyone down.

However, as comfortable negative emotions could be, its goal was to bring anyone down. The princess of Heart stood warily outside the training grounds, her patience ran out while waiting for Namaari to finish her princess duties. They hadn’t seen each other for a while. Her own duties at Heart taking over most of her schedule, it was utterly grueling and overwhelming. When her Ba gave her the window of opportunity to take a break, she did not hesitate to flee and visit Fang, since in all honesty, she didn’t have close enough friends in Heart. Sisu was busy with her siblings, and she really didn’t know if she wanted to see the rest of the crew who were probably busy with their own families. Plus, if she was being honest to herself, she just really wanted to see the Fang princess. Her feelings had become clear, the burst of realization came upon her during a council gathering as she was lost in admiring the Fang princess instead of paying attention to the monotonous negotiations and arguments that was going on across the meeting hall. Everything becoming muted as she watched how Namaari seemingly managed to quiet down the Chiefs with her compelling and confident voice, her point somehow settling the previous argument they were having. But it wasn’t exactly that that made the Heart princess realize, no. It was the look right after they had move onto another topic of discussion, Namaari had turned to catch her gaze, her eyes speaking volumes of the actual anxiety it held after her speech. But her features instantly softened as she sent Raya the warmest smile Kumandra could offer, her body relaxing from her stiff posture as the Heart princess returned the smile as equally loving. The Fang princess somehow beamed brighter. Raya knew right there and then that she wanted to have that woman. To jump over the table and kiss that smile on her face, if it would taste like how it felt when she saw it. After that day, her emotions had been all over the place. Her heart had yearned for the other princess’ presence like a thirsty traveler to water. She needed her, she was unsure how healthy that need was. Hence why she stood outside Fang’s training grounds hoping to get some of her frustrations out of the way. However, at her arrival, she found that it only seemed to tremendously increase. She leaned by the entry way, her arms crossed as she eyed the two occupants suspiciously. Their laughs had echoed through the hall, the sound distasteful to her ears, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She glanced at the taller and even more defined warrior of the two, one she didn’t expect anyone else to have a well physique like the Fang princess, but she stood there towering over Namaari, looking closely as sturdy as a Spine guard, a bright grin on her face as she charged at the princess lifting her up from her torso and throwing her over shoulder. The laugh that had come out of the Fang princess Raya had only heard when they were together. Her heart painfully clenched inside her, her stomach churning unpleasantly and the corner of her lips falling downwards. “Put me down, Somwang!” Namaari complained, but there was an obvious lightness in her voice. The sturdy warrior, Somwang, listened to the order and gently placed the princess down on her feet. Her arm remained around her waist, the furrow on Raya’s brows just deepened, her grip on her bicep tightening. She remained still, quietly scrutinizing every move Somwang made as she made Namaari carelessly laugh and grin freely unlike her personality towards her other guards which usually came off as polite and civil. The Heart princess remembered something her Ba used to tell her before her bedtime at a younger age, when she had used to complain about others having their own mothers, how she would throw bitter angry words at them, words she shouldn’t even know. Or when she overheard about some Tail people purposely attacking their trade ships to steal their produce and goods that was for their people. Or Fang, their worst enemy refusing to share their medicine expertise to

their land causing a great amount of people to die. Or simply when her Ba decided to court some older lady and spent more time with her instead. She asked her Ba why she felt so angry when other people were happy, when other people had it better, or when the people she cared about felt happier even when she wasn’t there. He would say, “Dewdrop. Anger, resentment, and jealousy doesn’t change the heart of others – it only changes yours. It is never wise to seek or wish for another’s misfortune because everyone deserves to be happy. Jealousy is just drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. So don’t let it take over you, okay?” However, Raya couldn’t help the way her anger was bubbling over her. She shouldn’t be jealous because Namaari wasn’t hers to claim. She wasn’t even an object to claim, and she had every right to be happy with anyone else. She was allowed to have friends, she did have that chance, compared to her who didn’t. But why was it that her heart twisted when she thought she was the only one blessed to see that smile on the Fang princess’ face, or how she thought she was the only one capable to let her relax and laugh the way she did. She didn’t know Namaari let other people touch her further than a handshake.

The lump in her throat grew as she watched them longer. Her jaw clenched and her teeth gritted harshly. She felt the familiar anger flowing through her veins, reminding her what she had used as fuel to get rid of any obstacle out of her way. She felt things too deeply, it was how she had always been, to feel each and every bit of it so she could use it as energy to punch her way out. Her body was buzzing with the need to hurt, her blunt nails digging through her palms with force willing herself to ride the anger out. She took in a sharp breath, her fist clenching with the inhale and unclenching as she exhales. She willed herself to turn around from the sight but just as she was about to walk away, a voice pulled her back. “Raya! You’re here.” Namaari’s voice contained a hint of excitement. The Heart princess immediately swallowed the bile in her throat, letting out a smile that only came naturally because of the other princess’ beaming expression, otherwise she didn’t know how to explain the grimace that would’ve come out instead as her eyes spared a glance at the tall figure beside the warrior. Raya felt the other girl’s penetrating gaze piercing through her, but she kept her attention at Namaari as she slowly approached them. “Hey, dep la” She purposely spoke out enchantingly, or at least she hoped so.

Her flirting skills lacked incredibly so, and she was way too embarrassed to admit that to anyone. Although, Sisu had called her out on it during the times she tried to woo the Fang princess, but it never got through. The way Namaari’s smile grew told her enough it worked. She pushed back the urge to bite her lip and pull her close. “Are you up for a spar?” Namaari offered, her cat like grin challenging her. Raya would usually say yes but her gaze shifted to the sturdy woman beside her, “Actually, I saw you guys sparring earlier. I want to challenge your friend into a spar instead” Somwang narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the Heart princess, sensing the slight tenacity in her words. Her polite smile slightly wavering as their gazes turned heated. “Actually, she’s my—" “I accept your challenge, Princess Raya.” The taller warrior spoke up, cutting off Namaari entirely. Her attention was now too fixated on the Heart princess. The Fang warrior stepped closer, raising a hand out for Raya to shake, “I’m Somwang, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you” The princess sensed the sarcasm in her voice, her lips tugging into a mirthless grin. “Likewise,” Even if I wasn’t told of your existence. She wanted to say but bit her tongue. She raised her own hand to shake the warrior’s, her grip purposely hardening. She was fully aware the other woman was twice her size, but she was taught not to let her enemies physique dull her chances on winning. Her fighting style specifically aimed towards people who were bigger than her. Somwang returned the firm grip, her own shit-eating grin on her face, “Hand-to-hand or would you prefer weapons?” She asked as she scanned her petite body full of judgment. The condescending tone struck a nerve on the Heart princess, her eye twitching as she held her stare looking up the warrior, “Hand-to-hand is perfectlyfine” She exclaimed sarcastically. She might regret this later, but she wasn’t about to let brawn and no brains binturi get to her. Namaari stood there, her face scrunching up at the sudden tension in the room. She was beyond confused but she guessed it was just both of the people’s traits of being competitive. She shrugged it off stepping back to let them do their thing. Raya finally let go of the warrior’s hand, her skin buzzing from the touch. She felt the anger boiling in her veins, her heartbeat increasing rapidly at the rush of adrenaline that surged through her skin. She hadn’t faced a big challenge like this in a long time. She was glad for the further training from Namaari herself and her Ba. She had been doing a lot to improve her hand-to-hand, the meat in her bones also had returned from the proper nutrition she was now receiving compared to the six years alone. Her mind flashing through the match against Namaari in Spine. Her body lacking the nourishment was a huge disadvantage at her strength, she may be good at weaving her sword, but she wasn’t that great with the strength needed in hand combat. She strived to be better from then on.

She stretched her limbs as she watched the Fang warrior step back a few steps, she cracked her knuckles then proceeded to a fighting stance. “You both know the rules” Namaari reminded. The Heart princess seemingly had forgotten that she was there and why exactly she was doing this, the excitement was coursing through her veins. She got into her fight stance nodding, her eyes narrowing mischievously at the sturdy woman in front of her who matched the same fiery in her gaze. As the Fang princess signaled the start, Raya didn’t hesitate to charge first. Her legs had been impatient throughout the day, aching to be moved. She raised her fist feigning a swing, the Fang warrior instinctively moving to block it, but Raya grinned as she used her speed to slide in between the other woman’s spread legs. She quickly scrambled up and used the distraction to kick her in the back forcefully causing her to stumble frontwards on her knees. “Oops. Sorry, khun Bulky.” She taunted jokingly eliciting a slight snicker from the Fang princess on the sidelines. Raya charged once again ready to kick but Somwang rolled on the floor catching her foot on time. She locked her grip on her ankle tripping her in the process then pulled her towards her fist as she swung to punch. The Heart princess blocked it in time, but the impact of the strike caused her to inwardly flinch. She managed to use her other foot to kick the warrior’s face, freeing her ankle as she scooted backwards to stand. Somwang stood along with her charging with a series of well calculated punches that she dodged swiftly. She acknowledged the force behind her jabs, each blow she blocked leaving a pleasantly painful feeling around her arms. But the slow speed in which it came she used to her advantage to slip her own fast blows on her midsection. “You are annoyingly fast” Raya heard the Fang warrior grumble under her breath. A cocky grin made its way to her lips, she was about to spurt out another retort, but the short distraction was enough for her to feel a terribly harsh blow on her cheek that was definitely going to leave a mark. She temporarily saw white spots clouding her vision, but quickly blinked them off as she backflipped away from the next punch. She ran her tongue inside of her cheek, tasting the copper in her mouth. She grinned in delight at the burning sensation, “And you’re annoyingly tough.” The Heart princess charged once again, she used the other warrior’s towering height to her advantage as she stepped on her thighs using it to boost herself up letting the tip of her boot kick her under her chin with much force. She flipped back over quickly before spinning around throwing a roundhouse kick on the side of the warrior’s cheek. The tall woman stumbled to the side clumsily, the impact momentarily pausing her movements. The satisfaction buzzed through Raya’s body, giving her time to get her bearings. Usually, she would have ended the fight, but she was having too much fun. Long gone was the anger that fueled her, instead replaced with a questionable excitement. “Don’t tell me your body is just for show. I didn’t know the princess of Fang associates herself with walking tree trunks” The familiar eccentric laugh she heard behind her caused the hairs in her body to stand, the goosebumps on her skin spreading happily. She watched the sturdy warrior in front of her chuckle lightly as she wiped the dripping blood of her cut lip. She didn’t reply, instead charging at Raya with newly found strength, her punches landing ruthlessly this time, the princess’ blocks slightly wavering. She used her fatigue against her as she pushed her elbows away and jabbed her right on the abdomen. The Heart princess huffed in irritation, her chest heaving after the strong blow on her stomach, stumbling backwards. The warrior kept going, striking and kicking her vigorously as she hastily flipped, spun, and dodged her strikes. How persistent. Raya thought to herself. She inwardly sighed, deciding it was time to end the match. She backflipped away once

more, making sure there’s enough distance to do her final trick she had learned from the princess of Fang herself. “You are one slippery and bouncy binturi, Princess gremlin.” The genuine smirk on Somwang’s lips caught her off guard. Raya narrowed her eyes but let an honest smile tug on her lips, “You’re not so bad yourself, khun giant” She dashed to her, raising her arms to feign more punches. Luckily to her prediction, Somwang steeled herself, ready to block, and possibly to grab her ankle again if she used it to kick. The Heart princess just scoffed, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She used her momentum to boost herself up into a jump, tangling her thighs around the Fang warrior’s neck before bringing her pelvis forward, her hands coming up to the floor using all her body strength to flip her tall, heavy figure over. Somwang landed with a loud thud and skidded behind her, her back arching in pain, her chest heaving as she stayed motionless on the floor. Raya walked over the fallen warrior, locking her arms in between both of her feet before crouching down, a victorious smirk on her lips. Somwang blinked blankly at the princess above her, her face flushed at the sudden proximity. “You’re pretty—" The Fang warrior started but was cut off. “—pretty good. You’re not wrong”

The warrior scoffed grinning, “That too but I mean, you are pretty.” Raya raised a brow curiously, taken aback at the sudden compliment, “Maari, I get it now” The warrior called out, twisting her head to face the Fang princess on the sidelines. Namaari’s eyes widened at what the other girl was insinuating but before she could say something, the Heart princess met her gaze, the words refused to leave her mouth then. Raya just slyly smiled before standing up and offering a hand to the Fang warrior under her. She gladly took it dusting herself off as she stretched her now pained limbs. “You are no joke, Princess.” Somwang commended, this time her look held no tenacious intent. Raya suddenly felt guilty for the previous ill thoughts she had against the warrior. She shrugged shyly, an apologetic look crossing her face, “Sorry for beating you up.” The sturdy woman raised a hand to wave her off, “No lasting damage. Plus, I think that was probably a perfect way to go.” The corner of her lips forming a smirk as she winked at the Heart princess. Raya blinked in surprise, her cheeks slightly coloring pink. Namaari, who finally joined them, grimaced at the comment, playfully shoving Somwang away, “Okay, match over” The Fang princess stepped closer to Raya reaching for now bruised hands and arms, “I’m sorry about my cousin. We should probably get your bruises treated” She spoke softly. The Heart princess flushed as she felt Namaari’s hands reach up to her cheek where Somwang had punched her forcefully, her thumb caressing the tender spot. She felt her heart doing somersaults as she instinctively leaned to the touch. She let out a tired sigh until the other princess’ words just processed in her brain. “Wait, she’s your cousin?” She blurted out before she could even think about it. Namaari quirked an eyebrow but nodded, her hand falling back down. Raya instantly missed the feeling. Somwang popped up from behind the Fang princess, a goofy grin on her face as she wrapped an arm around Namaari’s neck pulling her into a deadlock and ruffling the top of her neatly combed hair. “Yep. This kid is my cousin. I can’t believe we’re related sometimes because of how uptight she is.” The tall warrior stated as she casually smiles back at Raya while not even struggling at Namaari’s attempt to pull free from her grip. The Heart princess gaped in bewilderment. She felt the dread and guilt swimming through her body as she recalled her foolish actions for even thinking poorly about the other woman in the first place. She let out a huff of relief and shame, running a hand over her face. The Fang princess managed to jab her cousin hard enough in the stomach causing her to let go, she pushed her away fixing her shirt and adjusting her hair back in place as properly as she could. She turned to Raya, her forehead creased in concern, carefully grabbing her hand to gain her attention, “I was going to tell you, but Somwang here cut me off earlier and you guys were too focused on the spar to listen.” She tried to explain. Raya felt her squeeze her hand to emphasize, she offered back an understanding look. Somwang frowned wrapping her arms around her stomach, “That hurt you know. Your girlfriend already beat me up pretty damn well. Also, I can never turn down a challenge. She was more of a challenge then you are when we spar” She purposely jested, her vexing grin causing Namaari to twist her head and scowl at her, heat rushing to her cheeks. Before the Fang princess could comment and correct her, she felt Raya interlock their fingers, “She’s right, dep la. You’re losing your touch. I think that spar was the most fun I had in a while.” The Heart princess ignored the way her heart fluttered at the word girlfriend, a hopeful part of her mind celebrating the possibility that other people saw them that way even if it weren’t true. Namaari threw a betrayed look at her, she didn’t know how to feel about both of her favorite people ganging up on her. The sturdy warrior forcefully clapped Raya’s back causing her to stumble a

little, the blow leaving a stinging feeling behind her, “I think I don’t mind you as much now. You’re fun, Princess” Somwang complimented, cheerfully grinning. “I don’t know what Namaari told you about me, but I can assure you, they’re only partly true.” Somwang lets out a good-natured belly laugh, the Fang princess grimacing as she glanced between the two, “I can beat you both up if I wanted to” It was a weak retort, they all knew it, but she wasn’t about to let them team up. “You wouldn’t stand a chance, Náwng.”

The Fang princess simply rolled her eyes. She gripped back Raya’s hand tightly, before turning away and dragging her out, leaving Somwang’s protests behind them in the air. The Heart princess flushed at the warmth that spread through her body at the touch, the doubt in her mind slowly fading at the possibility of Namaari returning her feelings. Maybe she was wrong, energy wasted on jealousy. The Fang princess didn’t hold anyone else’s hand the way she held hers. A part of her couldn’t help but be thrilled at that revelation. They finally slowed down once they were far enough from the training grounds, Namaari’s hold on her hand still solid. She smiled quietly to herself, enjoying the comfortable silence as they strolled past the garden. “Sorry if I took too long. I know I said I’ll meet up with you, but I got pulled back by Somwang forcing me to spar with her for a while.” Namaari bashfully explained. Raya shrugged, “That’s okay. I happen to stumble by you anyway.” “You sure you weren’t just looking for me, dep la?” The Heart princess playfully shoved her, “You wish. I was itching for a spar. Good thing you guys were already there.” Namaari hummed, a knowing smirk on her lips, “Speaking of, since when did you learn to copy my move?” She asked recalling the last trick Raya had pulled against Somwang.

She was surprised she even managed to flip the sturdy half Spine woman over. Her strength left her wondering what else she could do with it, Somwang’s comment about it being the perfect way to go echoing in her head. “Why? Want me to try it out on you?” Raya raised a teasing brow twisting her head to look at the Fang princess who was fighting back the blush on her cheeks. She knew she failed when the other princess’ smirk just widened. Namaari cleared her throat an idea popping in her head, “I mean it’s only fair. I wouldn’t mind you returning the favor” She managed to quip back almost hesitating at the stimulating thought. However, she grinned victoriously at the widening eyes of the princess. The highly suggestive tone in her voice caused Raya’s heart rate to spike up, sinful actions flashing through her head. She licked her lips unconsciously, her teeth grazing the bottom as she imagined the feeling of her face between – Raya caught herself immediately, shaking away her thoughts as she swallowed to dampen her drying throat. She turned away from the Fang princess, her gaze focused on path in front of them but her mind reeling back to the way her hands felt under her fingers and how it would feel to explore further parts of her body like how she explored the whole of Kumandra.

She really needed to find a way to confess first, asap. -x- Oops, that's a long one. Sorry 🤷🏽‍♀️ Anyway. Hope you liked it, anon!

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

The Best Potioneer (pt. 1) — Harry Potter x reader

***not my gif***

Request: “Hii, I love your work! I was wondering if I could request a Harry x Slytherin!reader, maybe set during the last year at Hogwarts and enemies to lovers? Thank you 💚”

Summary: You despise Harry. Your Slytherin friends seem to have strong opinions of him already, but during your sixth year, you also seem to have found a reason to absolutely hate the boy. But when you’re forced to work on an assignment together and stay up all night, is it possible for those feelings to change?

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: Thank you so much for the request @obsessedwithrandomthings ! Ahhh, I really hope I did it justice!! I’m sorry I had to split it up into two parts because it turned out *way* longer than I expected it to! It was so hard to come up with a valid reason to hate Harry, he’s such a sweetheart, but I tried my best lmao. Anyways, I had such a fun time writing this and I really hope you enjoy!! And stay tuned for part 2!

__________________

You crossed your legs as you nodded politely in agreement with something that Professor Slughorn had said. In all honesty, you had had no idea what he was rambling on about, no one did, really, but still your face held a bright smile as you nodded once again. Your head of house, Professor Slughorn had invited you, among with various others, to his newly formed club.

Your eyes briefly surveyed the others that were sat at the table with you, all listening -- or at least, pretending to listen -- to the Professor about some very rare ingredient that he skillfully was able to find in some remote region. To your right sat Blaise Zabini, a fellow Slytherin, and to your left, a Hufflepuff that you had never talked to before.

All of them were here for one reason, of course; they seemed to show that they were extraordinarily skilled at something. Or, they were related to someone who was. You hoped it was the former in your case.

You liked to believe that you were here not because of your extremely famous Potioneer father but because of the talent you, yourself, possessed when it came to Potions.

Potions had always been your favourite. You liked other things, of course, but none of them satisfied you like Potions did. The feeling of accomplishment as you gaze down at a finished recipe in your cauldron bubbling, to you, was exhilarating, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

Evidently, this was also the case for your father, who after graduating Hogwarts, had gone on to become a Potioneer, brilliant in his field, and make a name for himself. You hoped that you would be able to do the same.

“But enough of me blabbering on,” Slughorn chuckled heartily, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to hear me talk about myself.”

You met his gaze and smiled politely, making sure that he knows you’re paying attention.

See, Snape had always been fond of you. Snape, as the Potions Professor, gave you brilliant marks (which you deserved, in all fairness) and didn’t even try to hide the fact that you were his favourite. While others got a cold and disapproving glare from him when they had made a mistake, you received helpful insight on where you went wrong. Snape gave others a monotone sentence of approval at their success, while he gave you… Well, he gave you the same thing, really, but you could tell it was more heartfelt. As heartfelt as it gets, coming from Snape and all.

You were determined to impress Slughorn as well. You had decided that sheer talent can only go so far; teachers were human, too, after all. It was with no doubt that you concluded that every teacher ought to have a favourite, someone they will always favour over the next. And, similarly, every teacher has one student they would never think twice about, someone they didn’t even notice. While you were certainly grateful that you weren’t the latter, you weren’t exactly pleased at your position in the middle. It had always been all or nothing for you. You wanted to be the favourite. The best there can be.

But, that was proving to be a little difficult and unexpectedly, it was because of a certain raven-haired, bespectacled, and utterly clueless -- in your humble opinion -- Gryffindor boy.

You had never paid much attention to Harry. He had always been insignificant in your life, having only shared a couple classes with him over the years. And, even in those classes, you had only exchanged a few occasional words. The bottom line was, you didn’t hate Harry and you didn’t like him. He was just… Harry. A Gryffindor.

It was almost as if the universe saw this and decided that this wasn’t enough. Just like you disliked your mediocre position in Slughorn’s class, the universe disliked Harry’s mediocre presence in your life. After all, you were always one to go big or to go home.

It was as if Harry had been pushed onto the stage that was your life, forced to play a role, as soon as your sixth-year Potions classes had begun. And, Harry might be a hero to some, but in your play, he was easily the opposite.

All because Harry had started doing exceptionally well in Potions. You didn’t know what it was. His potions always turned out perfect, capturing Slughorn’s praise. Praise that you wish you were receiving. Naturally, before you knew it, it turned into a competition, both determined to out-shine the other. You couldn’t let him beat you.

A recent occurrence annoyed you, in particular, just a few weeks ago, when Harry was able to brew a draught of Living Death perfectly, and in record time. You were close, of course, but Harry had managed to do it before you, resulting in him getting awarded with a vial of Felix Felicis and getting praised relentlessly by Slughorn. Harry, being aware of just how much you resented him doing better than you in Potions, sent you a small smile as he stood at the front of the class, holding up the vial of the luck potion. It was clear at this moment that you had to be better than Harry. There was no other option. Excelling at Potions was in your blood.

However, the sole reason behind your undying hatred for the boy was not just the fact that he had magically turned into a brilliant Potioneer. No, it was also because of your friends, who were mainly Slytherins, had told you all about their interactions with him over the years when you brought up how he seemed to have claimed your spot at the top of the class. Since you only got a one-sided testimony from your friends, you were always led to believe that Harry was in the wrong.

If Harry were being honest, he wasn’t exactly sure why you hated him and wanted to beat him so badly in Potions. Regardless of the reason, Harry certainly wasn’t one to back out from some (un?)healthy competition. A part of him only seemed to want to compete with you on principle; a typical Slytherin vs. Gryffindor feud. He certainly didn’t take this little competition as seriously as you did.

But this ‘competition’ for you meant a lot more.

“Ah, Ms. [Y/L/N],” Slughorn directly acknowledged you for the first time that evening, “how lovely it is to have you here!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir,” you replied kindly.

“Tell me, how is your father doing?” Slughorn questioned with genuine curiosity, “I haven’t heard from him in ages! Correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. [Y/L/N], last I heard, he was running some sort of experiment trial with sleeping potions?”

Your heart sank. You couldn’t help but think you were only here because of your father. You despised the thought. You caught your smile from faltering and took a breath in.

“He’s doing well, Professor,” you nodded, “And yes, he is running an experiment with sleeping potions. Unfortunately, he hasn’t shared much about it with me just yet.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Slughorn said to you, “He was always quite the expert at sleeping potions…”

He paused at this before smiling and turning his gaze from you to Harry, sat directly across from you, “But of course, we have another emerging sleep potion expert in the room!”

At this, you grudgingly turned your head to Harry as well.

Great. Just the thing you needed this evening; to be reminded of your failure to brew a sleeping potion, one that your father would easily be able to brew in his sleep.

You continued to try to smile politely as Slughorn once again, started to praise Harry for his perfect potion. Harry smiled and accepted the compliments quietly, but he shot you a few glances in between, which only made you angrier.

“Quite remarkable, indeed,” Slughorn praised, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. [Y/L/N]?”

“Yes,” you agreed, still smiling, although you knew that everyone could tell it wasn’t genuine, “It is quite interesting how much Harry has been able to improve this year.”

“Indeed, indeed,” came Slughorn’s response who nodded and smiled at Harry.

“In my opinion, it just seems too good to be true,” you continued, your smile turning more into a grimace, as you shifted a little in your seat, “how exactly did you manage to brew a potion like the draught of Living Death so brilliantly, even though you could barely manage to brew a draught of Peace just last year, Harry?” You tried to keep your tone curious and casual, but you failed as a few murmurs broke out amongst the table, clearly picking up on the tension in the air.

“Well,” Harry began, holding your gaze keenly and smiling slightly, “I just followed the recipe.”

“Of course,” you said as you nodded slightly, patronizing him, “but was crushing the sopophorous bean in the recipe?”

“I--” Harry tried to reply as he, too, shifted in his seat. His smile had vanished.

“And,” you continued as you rested your elbows on the table, “Is ‘following the recipe’ a newly acquired skill?”

“No,” Harry kept his calm as you struggled to do the same.

“Because, if I recall, you couldn’t simply ‘follow the recipe’ last year,” you accused and narrowed your eyes. You had stopped pretending to be polite. More whispers and murmurs broke out while Slughorn watched this scene unfold in distress, “Or the year before that, or--”

“Are you trying to imply that I cheated, [Y/L/N]?”

“How lovely of you to finally catch on, Potter.”

Slughorn seemed to have decided that he had seen enough. “Alright! That’s enough, Mr. Potter and Ms. [Y/L/N]! Everyone, help yourself to this delicious chocolate cake! This ought to calm some of you down a notch...“

You and Harry kept your gazes on each other, both unwilling to break first as several people around you finally started to talk again, instead of listening intently to the heated interaction between you two.

Finally, Harry was first to break, looking away from you and picking up his cutlery.

__________________________

If it wasn’t already clear to you that this year just was not your year, it became clear when Slughorn declared that your class would be working with partners on the next assignment.

It became crystal clear, however, when you got partnered up with none other than Harry Potter.

You groaned as you walked back to your assigned seat beside Harry after arguing -- respectfully, of course, -- with Slughorn for fifteen minutes straight on just how well you could do on this assignment by yourself. It would be an understatement to say that you were severely displeased when Slughorn repeatedly suggested this was a two-person job.

You took a seat beside him with a frown set on your face, as Harry glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He was dreading this as well, of course, but certainly not as much as you seem to be dreading this. Was it because you hated that he was a Gryffindor? Perhaps you thought he was lesser-than because he was a half-blood? Or because he hung out with the Weasleys and Granger, both considered to be near the bottom of the wizarding social status hierarchy? He decided that it most likely was a combination of all of these, judging from the green and silver on your robes.

The truth was though, you couldn’t care less about what house he was in. Or, who his friends were. And, you certainly didn’t give a damn about his status. You resented him because he was doing better in Potions than you were, but you hated him because that was just the norm. You were expected to hate him. Only now, you actually had a reason to.

But now, because he was paired up with you, his failure was your failure. His success was your success. You couldn’t one-up him this time… you would have to actually cooperate with him. Interact with him. You scrunched up your face at the thought.

“Memory potions!” Slughorn clapped his hands as he started to tell the class about their upcoming assignment, “Who can recall what those are?” He chuckled slightly at his own joke.

Hermione Granger’s hand shot up.

“They’re exactly that, sir,” she informed, “They can boost one’s memory for up to six hours, depending on the dosage.”

“Yes!” Slughorn seemed pleased at the answer, “Yes, Ms. Granger! Memory potions are very powerful, indeed… I had a particularly nasty experience with those once…” He trailed off into telling his very underwhelming anecdote that no one really cared much for.

“Oh no,” you whispered, not particularly to anyone, as you realized it’s going to take Slughorn a while to actually get to the point.

“We’ll be here a while,” Harry whispered back, which surprised you. It was a very rare occurrence for you two to whisper to each other, and even more unusual for you two to be agreeing.

“But never mind that!” Slughorn said finally, “You lot will be brewing memory potions!”

Almost instantly, you grabbed a hold of your Advanced Potions book to examine the recipe. A few others did the same and Slughorn visibly noticed.

“Ah,” he said, “You won’t find the recipe in there. You will have to find the recipe yourselves.” He smiled. “After finding the precise list of ingredients and measurements, I would like you, with your partners, to brew the potion.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in concentration. Find the recipe?

“This assignment is, of course,” Slughorn went on, “a competition. The first pair of students to successfully brew a memory potion with effects lasting for precisely 7 hours will receive an O on the next essay!” He smiled as his eyes moved around the room. “You have until next week, but this potion can be done in a day...” His smile grew, waiting for a reaction from the group.

The students in the room all had no idea how to proceed. Find the recipe? 7 hours? This assignment seemed like way too much work, all for an O on the next essay?

“Alright! Get to work, you lot,” Slughorn urged as he laughed and walked back to his desk, failing to elaborate.

You looked around the room to find that everyone had started to talk to their partners, trying to figure out how they would be going about this peculiar task.

“We need to stay up all night,” you said quickly, turning your head to face Harry.

“What? Why?” he questioned with confusion in his eyes, “We have a week!”

“Zabini and Greengrass will most definitely stay up all night,” you told him urgently, “I know it. We need to beat them.”

“But--” Harry tried to reason with you. Spending all night working on potion with you? He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

“Look, do you know where we might be able to do this?” you ignored what he said previously, turning to get a fresh piece of parchment, “I was thinking of an abandoned classroom, but Filch will easily catch us.”

Harry did know a place. But did he really want to work on a potion all night? With you, no less?

“Fine,” you sighed as you once again turned to face him, “You need to sneak me into your common room then.”

“What? No!” he exclaimed, alarmed. He was not about to do that. For all he knew, this was all just some clever ploy to get back at the Gryffindors for beating the Slytherins in the Quidditch match last week.

“Where else would we go?” you question irritably.

“What about your common room?”

“No. I already told you Zabini and Greengrass will probably use it to brew their potion tonight.”

“But, I can’t sneak you in.”

“You have to!”

Harry was conflicted. He couldn’t sneak you into his common room, and he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he were caught in your common room.

“Fine, okay,” Harry said as he fixed the glasses on his face, thinking, “I might know a place.”

“Okay?” you said, getting incredibly frustrated at his cryptic response, “Please enlighten me, oh Chosen One.”

“Just meet me on the seventh floor tonight.” He ignored your clever response and gave you a straightforward one. Like he always did.

“But there--” you tried to protest. The seventh floor had no classrooms that you could use.

“Just--” Harry also seemed to be getting frustrated as he insisted, “Just do it. Alright?”

“Fine,” you crossed your arms and leaned back into your seat.

You expected the night to go horribly. You expected a dreadful night, filled with insults. You expected your hatred for Harry to only have increased in the morning. What you didn’t expect was what actually happened.

(Part 2 has been posted!)

[inkstaineddove]

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up.  They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

��Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

[casiavium]

If selkie! Link is an AU no one asked for then idk what this is because I'm probably the only person who would want to combine these two things

or, Roman Empire Ghiralink

Outline of an AU/fic idea I will not write

If you've made it here I promise I will try to make this readable to someone who did not spend eight years of their life studying this stuff :)

Skyloft is an island off the coast of Britannia (Britain as a Roman province), the "Surface" is Rome itself & the surrounding Italian area. There's rumors that some of the Romans are blessed/cursed with the power of their gods and it has corrupted them beyond humanity (demons), and that their emperor is one of them

I'm not going one-to-one with the Skyward Sword plot for this (even though I could and it would make sense) because I don't really care about factoring Zelda in right now

SO Link living happy life in Skyloft still training to be a warrior for his village when the Romans attack, Skyloft is desperately underprepared and surrenders, no one gets hurt (so unrealistic but I'm keeping it PG and happy-ish)

Zelda knows she's the reincarnation of Hylia, it's like a priestess role she's been working with since birth. The Romans hate this because it puts her on the same level as their emperor gods or leaders like Cleopatra (Roman emperors were worshiped as gods especially after death, Egyptian pharaohs as the incarnations of Ra or Isis) Instead of killing her they choose to hurt someone close to her. She's still powerful, and they don't want to insight an uprising, they want to subdue her and make Skyloft cooperate. Conquered provinces were allowed to continue their religion as long as they added Roman gods to their pantheon, but in the case of Britannia druid priests were outlawed by Claudius to prevent rebellion so they did try to discourage Celtic paganism.

Link is special, he's been chosen by the Skyloft goddess Hylia to protect her reincarnation. Perfect to make an example out of. He gets taken back to Rome to become a gladiator, they honesty expect him to die during his first fight.

But he's good. So good he gets the attention of the emperor (which is Demise but that sounds so stupid when I say it like that) who wouldn't fight him himself, of course, but is interested in watching him die fight someone who is actually a challenge for him.

(Adding Fi to make it more complicated—Hylia gets him the magic sword somehow. these things just kind of happen in Roman mythology. Fi's still a sword spirit)

Ghirahim is head of the praetorian guard (guards the emperor & high level senators, massive amount of political power). The rumor is he's not human but a demon spirit, gifted to Demise by the gods to make him invincible. This is kinda true, he's Demise's sword, and though he's head of the guard he often gets special treatment and is more of a pet and a figurehead than he is allowed to be a leader. Ghirahim feels slighted, he's a powerful sword that deserves to be used in battle. The praetorian guard could overthrow the emperor because of the power they held (and they did, several times), but Ghirahim can't disobey Demise and despite being head of the guard he doesn't have much control over them.

Back to Link. Demise is interested in this young warrior from a weak province, wants to watch him fight someone his own skill level, who better than Ghirahim (symbolic shit, civilized Rome conquers the barbaric province). Duels to the death didn't happen that often, but for a big political spectacle like this, one of them (Link) is gonna die

Gladiator fights were somewhat staged, so there is some training that has to go into Link & Ghirahim's fight. During this time they speedrun enemies to lovers, but they're still preparing to kill each other. (maybe not so speedrun. These things take a lot of planning, it's not like they'd be the only ones fighting on the day they're scheduled too. They'd make it a huge deal with their fight the main event. ask me about the different types of battles in the Colleseum I'll infodump)

At some point before the end they get taken to the palace for a mock fight at a party (where they do not kill each other, they need to be alive for later) and Link wins. Was it staged to make the stakes seem higher? Ghirahim would say so, and that was the plan, but he really did lose to Link. Link, sword to Ghirahim's neck, realizes he can't kill him when the time comes.

Ghirahim on the other hand gets pissed at Link, who doesn't know why, and Ghirahim almost kills him in a private real fight. Demise's orders stop him from doing it, but Ghirahim was 100% ready to end Link's life. Ironically what gets Ghirahim on Link's side is the fact that he couldn't kill him because of the orders.

So Link and Ghirahim team up to assassinate Demise and there's some Katniss killing President Coin type of thing going on. They find a bunch of loopholes so Ghirahim can go around Demise's orders, get the rest of the praetorian guard on their side. (When the time comes Demise won't order Ghirahim to kill Link, he'll give him the thumbs up meaning kill ASK ME ABOUT THIS AS WELL but the action doesn't specify who)

When the final battle comes and Ghirahim wins, he looks to Demise for the order to kill Link and kills him instead.

Somehow they escape back to Skyloft (getting separated on the way for some extra angst), Link is Ghirahim's new master (he wouldn't have been next in line for emperor anyway), and they live as happily ever after as they can get in the 2nd century AD

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Like her - Bucky Barnes [III]

Part three and I am alive! I’m starting to figure out this story but honestly, it’s still pretty vague. If you have any ideas or you want to be tagged, please let me know!

MASTERLIST Word Count~2k  Part I | Part II 

      For a while, there was nothing but silence. She thought that maybe they were expecting her to be eavesdropping, but after a minute or two, soft arguments were audible. Not very clear, but she would manage.                  “You went too far, man” Sam sympathetically told Bucky. Sam knew that his partner had many unsolved issues, especially when it came to his past and so he had thought that he would have been a bit gentler with her.            “I know. It’s just – I don’t trust her” he lowly admitted. He had every reason not to, she contemplated. She had made a deal with the guy that was particularly bad towards him and his friends. She rolled her eyes at herself; why was she defending the jerk?              “She has told us the truth” he reminded the ex-soldier. Well…                  “Bits and pieces that suited her plea. There is a lot more. Do you know how many people she must have killed? Because, I have a rough number in my head” he accused her and not without a cause. She was done waiting by the door. Now or never.            “More than you” she admitted as she made her way back down. They were both left feeling ambushed. She sat on the couch, and they moved right across her, sitting on the two armchairs, inspecting her. She was so fragile but she could kill without blinking. And that was what Bucky couldn’t trust. He was afraid that she was going to use their lack of alertness to her advantage.                                There were so many questions they wanted to ask her but something in her eyes made them stop. She was going to tell them any truth they were looking for. She had nothing left to hide. They didn’t know if they were ready for all those secrets to come out, all that darkness of her past to be freed. At the end of the day, she had to get better for herself. She had to get better by herself. No one else could save her. She had to fight her own battle. And she had to be the reason she fought. Nothing else would ever be enough, nothing else would get her through the darkness. She had to keep going for herself. She knew it was not going to be easy; it already felt lonely and impossible. It would only get worse, like walking over glass with her bare feet. But she had to believe that it was worth it, even if she really didn’t.            “Why didn’t they proceed with the training?” Sam was the one to ask the first question. She chuckled as if she had met an old friend. She looked at him, eyes bare of lies, mouth ready to reply.            “Because I wasn’t Natasha. She was your friend, I know. To me, she was my better. At everything. And I was constantly reminded that. Not as disciplined as her. Not as smart, not as fast, not as beautiful, not as focused, not as strong. I didn’t meet their standards. I wasn’t a good follow up to the prodigy. Even when she betrayed them, they admired her. Well, the work they had done on her. Once they were sure I wasn’t a black widow material, they blindfolded me, hit my head and left me in the middle of the woods” she answered. She was being objective but the pain was there, in every word.            They had never thought off all those girls that didn’t make it. Some of them were killed, that they knew. But what about all the others? Leaving someone to die alone in the woods, wasn’t just a way to dispose them, it was to punish them for not being good enough.               “This is what I don’t get. I get the money, and the info… I get that. Why Zemo reached out to you? You in particular. And how does he know about your family?” Sam continued without asking her per se; he was trying to figure it out.             “Your guess is as good as mine” she acknowledged. She had no idea, either. They believed her – her honesty was undoubted and even if Bucky wanted to question her, he didn’t have the heart for it. She wasn’t hiding from them – she was trying to forget her past and they kept asking her about it.                “How did you do it? How did you move on?” he asked her out of the blue. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain but he had to know, not just for him to mimic but… her answer would either make him trust her or… not.                “I haven’t” she gently whispered. She looked at him; he was defeated for a reason completely unknown to her. Deep in thought, brows furrowed, eyes looking down, lips pressed into a thin line. She couldn’t disagree with Jackie – he was… interesting but not in an easy way.                      Sam noticed how the affected one another; how easy it was for them to go from distrusting to mutual understanding. Maybe, not acceptance, but they would be able to work together, if needed. He saw how Bucky’s mind shifted, how he saw her in a different light. And she had been right – even Bucky had had it easier than her, in a way. They started talking about what their next move should be; trying to create a solid plan. She had nothing to add, she just felt tired. Tired of being used as means to an end, tired of being the bad guy, the broken doll, the sloppy student, the one not worth it.                  “You’re awfully quiet” Bucky pointed out. Obviously, they wanted her input but the had not yet mastered the politeness required for such a thing.                            “Staying quiet doesn't mean I have nothing to say, it means I don't think you're ready to hear my thoughts” she replied without hesitation. She got up and paced back and forth, wanting nothing more than to scream. She wasn’t in a good place. The whole thing was fucked up. Bucky stood too, his instincts kicking in, without realizing it. Just because he had understood her past in a rather personal level, did not mean that he trusted her. He didn’t even trust himself that much.                    “Please, enlighten us” he mocked her, but that was all it took for her to burst, like a tornado, circling them, just to kill.                  “I'm trying really hard to be this person that has her shit together, that has some form of fucking control over anything that has to do with my life. I'm trying really hard not to be so god damn fucking angry at everything. At the world, at myself, at people in my life. I'm trying to mask it all with some point or validation or giving it a mean by saying "this has to happen for a reason. It had to." But maybe that's just it, that's what's driving me crazy. Maybe there is no reason why bad things happen or good things happen. Maybe there is no reason and it's just that, a thing that happened.              It's just the universe being cruel and the universe giving you a break once in a while because if we're being honest there is always something. There will always be a time in your life where it feels like bricks are sitting on your chest and there will always be a time after the bricks when the light peaks through one small crack and you have that moment where you don't feel like you're drowning and you think "This is it; this is where things get better. This is where I get better." And it's true you do get better. You get better every time, but there will never not be a time when there aren’t bricks sitting on your chest and that is what is so goddamn heartbreaking to me.              We are born and we suffer and we live and we are happy and sad and everything in between and then we just die. Our bodies go into the ground or get spread out somewhere that was once meaningful to you if your family or friends know you, if you're lucky. I'm trying, I'm really trying to find the goddamn crack in the pile of bricks but fuck. What's the point? What is the god damn point? And you want to make a plan? Here is your plan… Screw this and let’s find him. Let’s end this”.            She had come undone. She wasn’t just sad and miserable about her life, she was mad and frustrated, angry and desperate. All of these monsters that they had implanted in her head, were on the loose and she could not stop them. They roamed her mind, escaping to her life and screwing her over. She couldn’t take it any longer. It felt as if her tears were drowning her from the inside. No one saw her collapsing but she did. Slowly, gradually but steadily. She collapsed on top of herself, imploding with pain. Her smiled had never fluttered but her mind was shutting off.                      His first instinct was to tell her that her life had meaning and no one could tell her otherwise; his second thought, made him stay quiet. She was clearly not the enemy in this case, but who was to say she wasn’t going to blow them off for a better offer? He knew exactly how she felt, even if he had managed to get out of that place in his head – there were still moments he wasn’t sure who he was.            Sam, who didn’t understand her in a personal level, but was able to detect signs of depression and low self-esteem, knew that the person in front of him was not posing any danger for them, only to herself. He wanted to help her, but he wanted to find Zemo more.                “Okay. We find him. We question him. We’ll… see what we are gonna do about him” Sam offered. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t kill the guy himself. He wasn’t pro violence but… he could make an exception. Her eyes shot up, glowing in revenge and Bucky saw the determination that washed over her. She wanted him dead, that was for sure. How far would she go, to see her goal achieved, was an entirely other question. One, he didn’t want to think about now.        

TAGS: @imlivingliferightnow​ @tonystankschild​ @badasseddy​

[soukokuwu]

heaven in hell

     genre: fluff      pairing: fyodor x reader      warnings: some religious references/themes; bonus points if you can see who i projected them both as      word count: 1.7k      synopsis: you and fyodor go through thick and thin together.      - requested by anonymous: fyodor with a childhood friend s/o who takes part in his murderous shenanigans — at one point she tells him: “it’s strange. when i’m with you, no matter how bad things get, i’m not afraid.”

White daffodils and crimson pomegranates.

Silk dresses and flower crowns.

That’s the sight that accompanied your beauty the first time he saw you. How old was he then? Eight? Nine? Somewhere there. He didn’t place much significance in that moment. How was he supposed to know then that you’d mean so much to him now?

The daughter of a wealthy family, someone who seemed to have everything. Everything but freedom. Even someone like you, who was constantly surrounded by people, must’ve felt lonely. The empty praises and fake kindness from those who surrounded you.

You hated it, Fyodor could see it. He had found you ravishing, and that was never a secret. That was what drew him in. At first. In all honesty he thought you’d be plain, a blank canvas in the mind, like a drone that only operated on commands.

But as he spoke to you that day, under the shade of the pomegranate trees, Fyodor found his expectations exceeded. The way you vocalised your opinions, the way you spoke of politics and disdain for the sinful nature of humanity. Then, only then, was Fyodor completely entranced.

Where he thought you grew flowers because you loved to see them grow, you admitted it was not; you liked to watch them fade and die. Like there was something worth admiring about a necessary death. A certain duality lived in you — like you could be the goddess of life, and yet at the same time, a ruler of all that was dead.

Fyodor found something in common with you that day. Both of you would kill for the sake of a better world, if only you had the means. That was the first time you spoke of him as that. It was when he confessed his perception of an ideal world — a world without ability users.

“Kill any one of them, that makes you a murderer,” you had commented once.

“But if I kill millions of them, that makes me a conqueror.”

You had turned toward him with a playful smirk then. “Kill all of them — that makes you a god.”

A wildflower — that was what he saw you as.

You grew from what you perceived as nothing. That house held no meaning, your choices were never actually yours to make and family was just an empty label tying blood relatives together. Where you used to be scared of going against your family, you stood up to them. Renounced everything they promised you, called them out for being nothing but self-fulfilling bastards.

You chose to run of your own accord, but that was not what your family spoke of. They spread rumours of how you had been seduced by evil, bribed by the demon, manipulated to leave your nest. They spoke of how you were stolen, not cast off. They were adamant on how you were dragged away from paradise and into hell. They omitted how you were the one who pounded on the its gates yourself just to escape the real devils parading as angels in their own personal form of ‘heaven’.

There was a sickness in them. Rising like the bile that leaves that bitter taste at the end of your throats. You hated it. And so you ran to him, to Fyodor, with only your hatred for such greed in tow. You had absolutely nothing. Yet ironically, with nothing to your name, you stumbled upon everything.

Whatever it was initially, it had bloomed into something more. Much akin to friendship on fire.

Only a beautiful soul such as yours would kiss the damned. That was how he viewed all ability users at first, and that included himself. But you? You didn’t have any — you were all human, pure, untainted, this way. You didn’t think of him as a damned being though. Much as you viewed certain deaths necessary, so were certain evils. And if Fyodor viewed himself as damned, you argued to put it to good use.

“You are not the devil, you are a god.”

You always reminded him of that. Until it was ingrained in his mind. And just like that, you became the most influential person in his life — the reason he does anything for the dream of a better world in the first place. Not only for himself, but also for you.

That’s why you followed him wherever he went. Fyodor deemed himself god and you were his one loyal, devoted follower. No — he viewed you as his goddess, one worthy of standing beside him as an equal. Although he does not say.

He was still doubtful you’d follow him away from Russia, leaving the safety of familiarity for foreign lands. Fyodor was preparing to leave you, to say farewell. But you showed up with your luggage in tow this time, carrying with you the smile he called home. He found it fascinating, how with each step toward him it’s like you brought springtime with you, and with each step away it felt more and more like winter. Lucky for him then, you’d always stick close to him.

You became his partner-in-crime, a goddess standing strong beside her god, the bride to his ruler of ‘hell’ (as they used to call him back at home — you were nothing like your parents though, you thought being with Fyodor was like heaven on earth), minus the deceptions because he could manipulate everyone, but he would never want to do that to you. Only you.

Every scheme, every murder. You had a hand in it. There were other subordinates, sure. But you were his right-hand man. There was no other he’d trust more than you. And you hid in the shadows, far deeper than any of them did.

But not for tomorrow. For tomorrow they needed a female. And you had volunteered.

Fyodor isn’t one to worry, much less one to admit it. Although you can always tell when something is off. Tonight is one of those times.

You’re on the balcony, looking out at the view before you. It’s a nightly routine for you, to stand here and just enjoy the song of the breeze, along with the choir of stars that blanketed the sky, seemingly endless. There’s something more tonight though — Fyodor. He’s right there behind you, bony, icy fingers nestling against your stomach, cheek resting against your back.

He’s the first to break the silence by calling your name.

“Yes, fedya?”

Fyodor exhales gently through his nose before he says anything, the warm air hitting the back of your neck now that he straightens up. “Мне так повезло́ тебя́ встре́тить,” he whispers in your ear.

He celebrates inwardly as he sees the smile creep up on your face. You’re trying not to grin silly, but you fail miserably the moment he leaves a chaste kiss on your earlobe. “I consider myself lucky to have met you too, Fyo.”

“Are you not worried, lyubimaya?”

He knows he is. He’s always preferred to keep you safe behind the screens, never let the enemy even know of your existence if he can help it. He’s not worried about whether you’re capable of carrying it out properly, no. He has the utmost confidence that you’re the best person for the job. As you did for the few previous times you had to help out. You’re intelligent, capable, tough. Perfectly able to kill anyone you had to. But you are also the only thing he is afraid of losing.

You turn around in his arms and cup his cheeks in your hands, giggling slightly as his cheeks grow rounder from being held. Your gaze shifts to his purple orbs, finding it endearing how you’re the only one who gets to see his hardened gazes melt into an earnest plea for answers.

Fyodor can’t help it; the way his vision wanders to your body — your torso. He only has to furrow his brow ever so slightly for you to know exactly what’s on his mind: the last time you went on a mission, how you had severely underestimated the enemy, how they had stabbed you and nearly killed you. Not a day goes by that Fyodor doesn’t think about it. The man is dead now, yes, but he can’t get the sight of your scar out of his mind. A reminder of how he had failed to protect you.

“It's strange. When I'm with you, no matter how bad things get, I'm not afraid.”

Your words snap him out of it. He swallows the lump in his throat. He appreciates your attempt at easing his worries, you can see that from the slight pink tainting his pale skin. His thumb rubs over the spot of your scar through your shirt.

They say that when you lose someone, you’ll only ever regret the things you don’t say. Is this what he’s feeling now? The taste of loss — however false it may have been now since you’re safe and alive — is still fresh on his tongue. Nothing will stop either of you from continuing with this. So maybe, this is the least he can do, isn’t it? Let you in? After all, you’ve been with him for as long as he can remember.

“Я хочу́ провести́ с тобо́й всю оста́вшуюся жизнь,” he mutters with a serious expression before he releases you from his embrace and turns around. “So you better not fail tomorrow.”

As he disappears back into the room, you lean back against the railing and smile to yourself. Over time you got used to his shows of affection. People who knew always commented on how he doesn’t show enough — but to you he shows plenty. Fyodor has never said he loves you. It’s always said in a roundabout way because that’s just who he is.

But what you heard earlier? That must be the best one yet.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, Fyo,” you whisper after him into the night. Because you’ve never said you love him either. But just like you, he already knows.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[leggomylino]

Braked, Trifled | Han Jisung

Genre: slice of life, college au

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader

Word count: ~1.5k

A/n: Masterlist in bio~ | Based on true events ♫

- ♫ - ♫ - ♫ -

[12:11 오전]

The inertia that pushes your car forward makes your head spin. Like being on a roller coaster that stops all too quickly. 

“What was that?” Your friend asks, turning around. “Did you just hit the brakes hard?”

Your eyes travel up to peer through the rear view mirror. “No…” you speculate, watching as the shadow of a tall, 20-something year old boy steps out onto the curbside. Your vision narrows. “Some punk just hit me.”

It was just after midnight. Your friend Daewon’s birthday was today, and to surprise him you and your other friend Junyong made plans the previous afternoon to throw him an all-day surprise party, along with the rest of their rookie college music group, Noir. Your town’s local Dunkin’ Donuts was just a hop, skip, and a jump down the road from campus, and being a Tuesday night with a new semester just around the corner, you weren’t expecting anyone to be out, especially at this hour. Even so, there were plenty of better places to go for partying than...a local 24/7 donut shop.

Which is why you were baffled to find the rival enemy, Han Jisung of the infamous 3Racha and Co., quarreling before your newly-imprinted bumper.

"Han I told you for the last time that's the accelerator! Dang it, I should have listened to Chan and not let you drive—“

"How are we gonna tell this to Minho…it's his car..."

Han waves his hands peacefully before the crowd. “Okay, okay,” he states, looking back at the imprinted [car model]. “Everything’s fine, it was just accident so— sh*T WAIT I USED CHAN’S LICENSE!” He suddenly huffs, making an elaborate 180 in behavior to stamp his foot like an immature child. “You're the one that wanted donuts at 12 am!!!” He accuses, pointing to an orangish-blonde boy. Definitely a part of the squad, but not one of the 3Racha fiends. 

Freckles huffs back. “Well EXCUSE ME FOR WANTING TO CELEBRATE NATIONAL DONUT DAY!!!”

"THAT'S NOT EVEN A REAL THING!” The one from the passenger’s side erupts; another groupie. “BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!!!"

“Aaaah,” Han groans, palm on his forehead. “Okay, Seungmin’s right, we need to calm down. Like I said, everything is fi—“

“It’s not fine,” you cut in, glaring. Han jumps, seeing as you appeared to be a ghost behind the glow of taillights. “I’m pulling up over there.”

You point a couple parking spaces to the left of the drive-thru, and he nods, swallowing. A nervous glint about him. Ignoring your late-night drinks and dozen Boston Cremes, you pull up to the designated area, sighing as your head hits the steering wheel. Junyong pats your shoulder solemnly. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this. It’s just a fender-bender, so you don’t have to tell the insurance company— I’m sure he’ll agree,” he added, nodding behind him. He turned his head to glare out the back window. “...But seriously, who hits a car in a drive-thru? You’re supposed to inch forward, not ZOOM like Speedy Gonzales...”

Wasn’t that the truth... Shrugging, you open the door, preparing to rendezvous with the enemy. In all truth, in all honesty, you were annoyed at the notion; but the fact that it was Han Jisung, well, that made you livid. 

He was, after all, the boy that had instigated war between the two groups; by stealing Seunghoon’s file, and writing his group’s name on it as the demo for their music final. He stole Noir’s song, and made it their own. And nobody stopped him.

“I’m so, so sorry…” he starts, walking up with your order. “Here’s your stuff…”

You take it from him stiffly, passing it to Junyong, who came running up beside you. Sensing the awkward tension, he dips back to the safety of the dented vehicle without a word, gulping his Matcha Latte down.

“Gimme your info,” you demand, wanting to keep this short. Han begins to sweat.

“Uuuh…” he nods, slowly, and juts a thumb over his right shoulder. “R-Right, lemme just—“

“Here,” one of his friend’s says, extending a piece of paper. He has brown hair and matching eyes, paired with a calm, logical aura. You’re pretty sure you heard Han call him Seungmin. “I wrote it all down for you. If it’s alright with you, we’d like to keep the insurance companies out of this situation, so...we’d be happy to pay for the damages out of pocket. We’re very sorry.”

“Hmph,” You scoff, snatching the paper. As genuine as he may seem, it’s probably a fake number, with a false address and a made-up company name. Some forged on-the-spot license numbers. You glout over the paper and nice handwriting.

“Something wrong? Did I forget anything?”

“Show me your license.”

Han flinches, Seungmin remaining very still. Their faces both harden into something frantic. “...Well...” Seungmin begins, “...about that…”

“You don’t have your license?” You frown. “You could be arrested for this, you know.”

Han chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Ha-ha, yeah, I-I know—“

“Then why were you driving without it?” Your arms cross. “You should always have it on you, always. It’s careless to leave it at home, or in another car, or somewhere else...what are you laughing about?!” You holler, whipping over your shoulder. 

Junyong covers his mouth, bowing his head so only his eyes peer over the hood. He takes an exaggeratedly loud sip of his Matcha Latte. “Nothing!” he shouts, “It’s just...” ...Sip. “...you kinda sound like his girlfriend or something, scolding him like that.”

“Huh?!”

“Oop!” He quickly ducks back into safety. You sigh, overly annoyed and done with it all.

...Zen, Y/n. Totally zen.

“...I’m...sorry,” you manage, biting the side of your tongue. Apologizing to the enemy should be treason! “This is just such a pain. But I understand it was an accident.” You look each of them in the eye. “Are you okay? No one was hurt, were they?”

Han opens his mouth to speak, but his buddy stops him, covering it in an odd fashion. “We’re fine,” he insists, smiling. “And, again, we’re so sorry about this.”

“...Right…” You rummage through the bag around your bodice, flipping out your mini planner and tearing off a page. “Here’s my information. You can call or text me about the damages tomorrow, er…” You smile, just a little. “Later this afternoon.”

“Yes!” Seungmin states, taking the paper and passing it to Han Jisung, Enemy No. 1. “We’ll definitely do that!”

You press your smile further, forcibly, politely. “Grea—”

Flash!

“OW!” 

From Han’s...if you’re recalling correctly, “Minho’s” car...you see Freckles squint, hands raised to block the flash bombs going off behind you like the paparazzi just showed. 

“WHO LEAVES THE FLASH ON?!?!” he cries, swatting at...the air. You spin around to scowl. 

“Junyong! What are you doing?!”

“Don’t worry, Y/n!” Junyong howls. “I got pics of everyone involved, and both license plates! They can’t run now!!!”

“......” Well, the Matcha Latte was certainly kicking in. You would have thrown a donut, had one been available to you. 

While being ushered off, Han continues to stare at the paper curiously. Then, as if struck by a realization of some sort, he looks up at you over his friend’s shoulder, smiling.

“I thought I recognized you! Y/n L/n, right?”

You blink, unenthused. “That’s what it says on the paper.”

Han just continues smiling. There’s some sort of sparkle in his eye that’s visible even in the blotched moonlight of storm season. It sends a shiver down your spine, even after you’ve closed and locked the car doors. “I’ll definitely call you!” He yells, waving. Like a couple of old friends reconnecting, excited to catch up over donuts and coffee.

But he was the enemy. Han Jisung had done something wrong, something cruel, something that had yet to be concluded that you weren’t sure you could ever forgive...so, then...

You start the car with a gentle whir of the engine, setting the gears into reverse. Hesitantly, you glance into the rearview mirror once more, watching him engage in harsh whispers and subtle push-and-shoves before getting in.

His face. His charisma. His profile...two months ago you’d sworn he was the enemy, yet...

...Why was it that you were just as excited?

- ♫ - ♫ - ♫ -

“Wasn’t that the girl that accused us of copyrighting her friend’s track? That was her, wasn’t it?” Felix asks. “...I hope she knows that was all just a misunderstanding…”

Climbing back into Minho’s stolen convertible, because Felix just had to have donuts for National Donut Day at 12 am, Seungmin heaves a sigh, running a sweating hand through his exhaust-riddled hair. Too close, honestly. The infamous Y/n, known for being the Campus Blizzard, could have had them fined, reported on campus, and Han behind bars. ...Yet for some reason, she didn’t.

...Must be in a good mood or something. A saving grace, if he did say so himself. “...Please tell me this was really an accident. You didn’t do this on purpose...right?”

The boy in the driver’s seat smiles...sheepishly. Pulling back up to the window to claim his goods, he places the tips of his ringed fingers together. Takes a breath.

“...If I say half yes and half no, will you be mad?”