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last-herondale · 1 year

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Help Me Understand

Loki x FemReader!

Loki x FemReader!

Angst, hurt/comfort, some fluff Warnings: Mentions of abuse, self deprecation, feelings of unworthiness

This fic takes place during Dark World. (I didn't particularly like the movie, but we were blessed with scenes of Loki so...) Summary: The reader is a handmaid of the castle, assigned by Frigga to take care of a special prisoner. While you tend to Loki, you slowly begin to learn more about the "Would-be King of Earth".

A/n: Here is the Loki fic that i promised in my poll! I hope you like it! I had fun with this one.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

“Could you cease with your incessant humming?” Loki hissed from across the room.

He sat against the wall of his cell, not bothering to look up from his book as he spoke to you. You ignored him, continuing your tune as you attended to your duties. Maiden’s work was not a particular favorite job of yours, but Queen Frigga had requested for you personally to see to Loki’s new… living arrangements.

You had just finished putting fresh linens on his bed, placing clean clothes into his wardrobe, and began to tidy up his mess of books that were strewed about the place. You continued to hum as you worked, delicately placing the books into their proper shelves.

Finally, you heard the soft slamming of a book, and a loud sigh from behind you. “Must you always be so irritating?”

“Insulting me will not make me leave any faster, your grace,” you say simply as you finish tidying up. You turn around to him and are met with an icy stare. “In fact,” you mused, “I may decide that these floors need waxing, and gods know how long that might take me.”

A flicker of something crossed Loki’s face, but you were unable to detect what it was before he turned his face back towards his book. He didn’t open it again, but rather he let his fingers caress the pages gently. You found yourself watching him for longer than necessary, and heat flooded your cheeks as you turned away. You gathered up the old sheets and began to make your way to the exit when his voice cut through the silence. “Why do you still call me that?”

You halted mid-step, blinking in surprise at the question. “Call you what, your grace?”

“That,” Loki said bitterly, “Your Grace. You of all people should know by now. I am a prisoner. I have no place here.”

You froze in place. In the few days you had worked here, Loki had hardly spoken to you, let alone discuss his imprisonment. You slowly turned to face him, being careful to guard your emotions. Loki looked to you expectantly, an eerie calm washed over his face as he waited for you to respond.

"You are still a Prince," you replied carefully, "And I was taught to always formally address those of higher status."

Loki gave a bitter laugh. "Naive little thing, aren't you? Save your pleasantries for when you leave this cell, I have no need for them, and you'll not win any favor with the All Father by being cordial with me."

You narrowed your eyes at the god. You had heard rumors of his nature all your life. The Mischievous son, the silver tonged viper, the fallen god. Stories of his rampage on Earth had spread like wildfire. You had wondered how much of them were true, if he really was the villain everyone seemed to think he was.

You straightened your posture, tilting your head a bit higher. You refused to be intimidated by him, no matter what you might have heard. "It is not for your benefit, believe me. I am in the service of your mother, not Odin, and it is on her behest that I show you this simple act of courtesy, whether you are deserving of it or not. Now if you will excuse me, your grace," you spun on your heel and exited the room, leaving Loki glaring after you.

The next few days passed by without issue. You attended to your duties in a diligent manner, always bringing Loki his meals on time, cleaning his cell, and bringing him books that his mother had sent with you. Loki kept his distance, for the most part. He couldn't help but mutter the occasionally bitter phrase at you, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle. Frigga was grateful to you for your service. The other maidens were too frightened of Loki to take the job, and you were Frigga's last hope. For what, you were not certain.

It was dinner time now. You carried a platter of food down into the cells, taking pleasure in the smell of freshly baked bread and stew meat. A guard let you into the cell without question. You thanked him as you entered and was unsurprised to see Loki lounging in a chair, book in hand. He had his hair tied back into a messy bun, a few of his dark strands lingered on his face, almost kissing his cheekbones.

You cleared your throat, watching as his eyes flickered up briefly from his book to look at you. "I have brought your dinner," you said. You placed the plate on a small table that sat on the opposite side of the room, being careful to move some scattered books and parchment. As you turned, books in hand, you nearly bumped into him as he stood beside you. "Watch it!" you snapped. Immediately you bit your lip.

A smirk spread across Loki's face, as if he could read you like one of his books. "My, my," he mused, "Not as cordial as we usually are, are we?" Warmth heated your face as you pushed past him, eager to be done with your job. “My apologies,” you muttered. Loki just snorted as you began to put away the books in their proper place.

"And what have you brought me today, my gracious lady?" Loki mocked as he lifted the lid from the container.

"Lamb stew, your grace," you replied with a sour tone. You finished putting the books away and turned to face him. You were caught off guard by the sight of him. He stood rigidly over the plate, giving a distant stare into the bowl. “Is something wrong?” You asked.

Loki remained silent as he slipped into the dining chair. He clasped his hands together in a tight ball, and leaned his head into them. Slowly, you made your way closer to the table. You peaked your head over the bowl to make sure nothing was amiss.

“My mother made this, didn’t she?” He asked weakly.

“I’m not sure your gr—“

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Loki slammed his hands down onto the table, causing the bowl to go spilling all over the table. Loki rose from his seat so fast that the chair knocked backwards. “Does she take me for a fool? Does she honestly think that she can win my sympathy by bringing me books, cooking my favorite meals, sending some broad to tend to me each day?”

Your blood felt like ice in your veins. Loki looked at you as if you were some kind of monster. His eyes seemed wild, but there was a sadness in his expression that he couldn’t hide. He caught you staring, and he gave a low snarl as he charged toward you. You stood your ground, stiffening your back as he stuck a finger in your face.

“You tell my mother— the next time you grovel at her feet— that I don’t need her pity. She needs to accept how things are now— how things have always been..." he took a ragged breath. The heat of him radiated around you. He inched ever closer to you, his forehead nearly touching yours as he hissed. "I don’t need her— and I most certainly do not need you.”

“Is that all?” You asked calmly. Loki’s expression looked murderous, but you just turned around and began to clean the table. You gathered the tray, putting everything back as best as you could as you made your way to the exit. You hesitated before leaving, turning back to look at Loki. He had thrown himself into one of the armchairs, holding his head in his hand as his body heaved with deep breaths.

You sighed a soft breath and placed the tray down on the floor. You didn’t understand why you were doing what you were doing. All you knew is that you were walking across the room, sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked up at you with tear brimmed eyes. Your presence shocked him, that you were certain. He had to mold his expression into one more hostile to fit the façade, but instead he just looked… broken.

There was a pang in your chest when you looked at him. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself.

“Firstly,” you began in a gentle voice, “I will expect an apology for your earlier comment before I leave.” Loki opened his mouth to speak but you quickly interrupted. “Secondly, your mother is one of the few people in Asgard— possibly in the universe— that truly cares about you. You are her son, and she loves you unconditionally, despite whatever might have happened in your past. You would do well to remember that.”

He just stared at you with a wavering intensity. “You don’t know anything,” he muttered. “Perhaps not,” you shrugged, “but what I do know is that you do not frighten me. If your goal is to scare me away or anger me to the point of insanity-- I’m afraid you’ll fail. But there is little use in making my job more difficult than it needs to be, so out with it."

Loki furrowed his brow. "I don't-" "Look, neither one of us wants to be in this situation. Clearly, you are upset— either with your circumstances, the Queen, or me I don’t care, but for the sake of both of our sanity, I think its best we clear the air."

Loki scoffed. "This is ridiculous." "No, what is ridiculous is throwing a fit over perfectly fine stew," you muttered, letting a small smile escape your lips. Loki studied you, taking a large sigh as he rubbed his temples. "You are quite irritating," Loki muttered.

You took that as a victory and nodded. "It does not have to be today. We can begin tomorrow, when I bring you your breakfast." You stood up from his bed and made your way to the exit, picking up the tray once more. “Think on it, your Grace. I believe it could do us both some good… this cell can feel lonely for just about anyone, but it doesn’t have to be.”

You signaled for the guard to open the door. Just as you were about to step out, you heard his low voice echo behind you.

"I apologize," Loki began in a soft tone, "for my behavior this evening. My words were- unbecoming to say the least, my lady." He said the last words with a sour tone, but there was the faint whisper of a smile on his lips. You turned to him and gave a small bow with your head just before leaving the cell.

As promised, the next morning you came, breakfast in hand. This time you requested that two portions be prepared. You wanted Loki to feel as normal as possible, so you joined him for breakfast. At first he seemed amused when you took a seat at the table in front of him, a sly smile inching across his face as you served yourself from the platter. "Aren't you going to eat?" you mused, filling your plate with meats and eggs, "I will eat this entire thing if you don't." Eventually he shrugged and also began to dig in.

You were surprised by how easy it was to talk with him. It was as if you had always known each other. Once the conversation began, which took some encouragement from your end, it never seemed to stop. Loki had a deep love for books and theater, and you quite enjoyed listening to him recount his favorite plays from the royal theater. The two of you talked about your childhood, the fond memories of Asgard in your youths. Loki spoke of Thor often, even though he seemed to try to avoid him as much as possible. You could tell he loved his brother, despite their complicated history. Loki refused to talk about his father, the memories still perhaps too painful for him, and so you didn’t push.

You listened to every word, not out of duty or obligation, but out of curiosity. It was an odd wonder to pick the brain of the crowned prince. The mental images that you held of him from past rumors were starting to fade. A clearer picture was being painted and the menacing god before you was beginning to become a man. He would listen to you as well. Loki would ask you questions as you worked, and he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. It was nice to have someone to talk to.

Days passed like this. You now ate every meal with Loki. The two of you filled the empty silence with chatter and sometimes laughter. You viewed each time you made him laugh as a victory and he enjoyed teasing you to the point of making you red in the face. His demeanor towards you changed. Slowly, his snippy remarks began to dwindle and he seemed to smile more, although you couldn’t be sure if it was because of your company.

Not all days were good. Some days Loki would be in one of his horrid moods. You came to the cell one day to find most of his furniture overturned. His cell was a wreck and Loki seemed to mirror his room. His hair was a tangled mess, and dark circles hung under his eyes. Part of you wanted to get angry with him. To yell, to curse, to hit at him for making you clean up after him. But you didn’t. There was still that lingering sadness in his eyes, hidden behind the slyness. You could see he was hurting in ways you couldn’t imagine and so you took it in stride.

He would apologize once his episodes would end. He would read to you from his favorite books, as a sort of peace offering, or make sure to clean up immediately after your meals so that you wouldn’t have to. You never forgave him out loud, but he must have known you didn’t hate him too much because you kept returning. Day after day.

One night you returned to bring him dinner and you could tell he was in one of his dark moods. He hadn’t destroyed himself or the room, thank god, but you could sense the change in his demeanor as he ate. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or shall we continue this night in silence?” You meant it as a friendly nudge. You knew sometimes playful taunts could pull him out of his darkness, but instead he just shook his head.

“I think I would prefer to be alone tonight. Your presence is not needed.” He stood up from the table and walked to his reading chair where he plopped down. Normally, you would have obliged and left, but something was nagging at the back of your mind. A silent command. Stay.

You rose from your seat and slowly made your way towards him. He watched you move closer, his weary eyes seemed to brighten as you took your seat across from him at the edge of his bed. “Something is troubling you,” you say softly, “Please, let me help you.” Loki’s face became unbearably soft as he looked at you with complete tenderness. “You can’t. I’m haunted… the things I’ve done…” he placed his head in his hands and shuddered.

“Loki,” you said gently as you reached over and placed a hand on his knee, “I think it’s time you told me about New York.” Loki lifted his head to look at you. He looked pained at the mention of his biggest failure. He had refused to mention it, and you had been careful to avoid the subject. But you couldn’t stand to see him so broken. Maybe if he talked about it…

“If I told you what happened,” he began slowly. He took your hand off of his knee and held it in his hand gently, looking at it rather than you, using the tips of his fingers to trace the lines on your palm, “you might very well hate me.” A shiver ran down your spine as he touched you. He looked up at you again, his tired eyes searched yours.

“Would it matter if I did?” You asked. Loki gave a shaky laugh, “Perhaps not, but I don’t want this to be the story that scares you away. I was actually starting to enjoy your company.”

You felt a lump in your throat. "I told you before... I am not easily frightened." Loki realized there was no swaying you, or perhaps he needed the outlet. Maybe he could no longer hold back the secrets that haunted him.

He let go of your hand, almost unwillingly, and watched as you slowly pulled it back to rest in your lap. He took a ragged breath, waiting a moment, as if to savor the last moment of normalcy between the two of you. A part of you feared what his story entailed. What had truly happened on Earth?

After he finished his story, he finally looked up at you to gage your reaction. You had your hands balled into fists, and they trembled slightly in your lap. Loki noticed them immediately and his face went a little slack. "I'm sorry," he muttered. You blinked at his words. "Sorry? Loki—" you struggled to find the words. A million thoughts were racing through your mind, making you almost dizzy as you tried to formulate a response.

Before you could do so, Loki rose from his chair and began to pace the room. "I realize it's too late for apologies, for all of the wrongs I've done, but you wanted the truth and there it is. I am a monster. A frost giant dressed up as a Prince, an unworthy son, a villain— I am all of those things, and look at you now. Scared of me for it."

"Scared?" You demanded. "You think I'm scared of you? Loki," you stood up from where you were sitting and stepped towards him until he stood only a foot away. "Loki, I am angry for you." Loki was the one to blink in surprise this time. "What?" he gawked. “You were lied to… your whole life. Pitted against your brother for something so trivial as a throne…” You shook your head at the thought of Loki’s story. How much pain had Odin caused? “And then there’s Earth…” You took a step closer to Loki, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around him.

"Loki—Thanos tortured you, manipulated you into overtaking Earth for him... How can you not see that?" Loki remained silent as you continued. "He should be here in these cells, rotting away for his crimes, not you. If you told Odin, maybe he would-"

"NO!" Loki shouted, "My father cannot know about Thanos. You have no idea what the Titan is capable of y/n, he would bring his armies to destroy Asgard." You threw up your hands in frustration. "But this may be the very thing needed to set you free! Help Odin find Thanos, help lead Thor and his Avengers to him and let real justice be done. Your mother would see to it, I know she would. Anything that could grant you your freedom." Ideas flooded your head. Perhaps there was a way to free Loki from his prison. You didn't realize how much you wanted this to be a reality until now. But now you had all of the facts. Loki did not act alone. Loki was not the one to be facing punishment.

"Don't," Loki croaked in front of you. You stilled for a moment, the hope that was rising through your chest was sharply cut off by the look on his face. He had no intention of fighting. "It is kind of you to have such sympathy for me, but it is undeserved. Thanos might have had a hand in the siege of Earth, but it was my hand that held the scepter, my hand that took those lives. And I will not risk losing Asgard by provoking Thanos any further than I already have. My mere presence here is damming enough."

“And so what, you’re just going to stay here? Locked away for the rest of your life? Is that what you want?” You asked incredulously. Loki just gave a dry laugh. “I hardly get what I want,” he looked at you, his eyes glimmered for a moment as he searched your face, “But believe me, it’s what I deserve.”

You crossed your arms in defiance. You couldn’t believe how easily he was willing to just give up. He noticed your posture and flashed a small smile. “Such a fiery thing,” he mused. He held out his hand toward you, and slowly you slipped your hand into his as he pulled you towards his living area. He motioned for you to sit down in his armchair as he slid into his bed. “Let’s not end the night with us bickering. Come, I’ll read to you a while before you leave.”

He pulled out a book from his shelf and began to dip through the pages. You let yourself relax a bit in the chair. If he didn’t want to talk about it anymore tonight, fine. But you had no intentions of keeping quiet once you left this cell. “What would you want?” You asked softly. Loki arched his brows at the question. “You said before that you hardly ever get what you want. So what would you want? What’s something I can do?” Playfulness danced in his eyes. “I could think of a few things that you could do,” he murmured, a grin inching across his face. You rolled your eyes, and ignored the flush of your cheeks.

Loki’s face softened, and the mischievous demeanor slipped away. “If I could have anything,” he began slowly, taking care to articulate his words almost as if he were nervous. “I wouldn’t want to be alone tonight. You can’t imagine how— eerie this place feels at night. It can be soul crushing.” You blinked at him. He seemed serious in his words, and your heart lurched a bit in your chest. This was something you could do. You rose from the chair and hurried across the room to the cell door. You turned to Loki, your breathing uneven as you enacted your plan. “I’ll return soon, trust me.” He just gave you a small confused nod of his head as you slipped out of the cell.

Returning had been as difficult as you imagined. First, you had your daily check in with Frigga. She asked about Loki, and if he needed any more books, or clothes, even if he enjoyed the food. She had been pleased to hear that you joined him for meals, that you treated him as an actual person. You wanted to tell her everything that Loki had relayed to you, but now was not the time. You had made a promise.

Sneaking back into the cell was another matter. You had to wait for the guard change during lights out to slip back into the cell. You were careful to not knock anything over in the dark as you stumbled toward Loki’s room. “Loki—“ you began to say as your foot snagged on a edge of a rug. Hands were holding you before you could even Yelp, steadying you in the darkness. “You came,” Loki’s low voice hummed in your ear. “I said I would.”

Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness in the room. Loki had been right. It was eerie here at night. You imagined how being alone with your thoughts in this kind of darkness could lead someone to madness. Loki kept a hand on your shoulder as you felt around for the bed. You had returned in your nightwear, wrapping a dark cloak around yourself as you snuck through the castle. You removed the cloak and inched your way into Loki’s bed, ignoring the pounding in your head as you did so. You felt him lay beside you, the heat of him warmed your side as you stared blankly into the darkness. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I could get in trouble for this,” you replied in the same hushed whisper, “They might throw me in one of these cells if they catch me.” You felt Loki laugh beside you. It was odd to be so close to him, especially in the engulfing darkness. It felt like energy buzzed around you. As if you were in a vacuum of space, floating along aimlessly in the darkness. At least you weren’t alone.

“How could you get in trouble? Clearly, you were seduced by the imprisoned prince with his quick words and stunning looks. After tending to me every day, it was only inevitable that you would fall victim to my charm.” This time you found yourself laughing, taking care to cover your mouth as you did so. “I guess that would be the easier explanation as to why they’ll find me in your bed,” you teased. You let your hand fall from your mouth back to your side, but accidentally put it in top on Loki’s. At first you went to move it immediately, but stopped when you felt the curve of his fingers hook around yours.

“Loki-“ you warned. “What is that song you’re always humming?” Loki asked quietly, letting his hand wrap around yours. His fingers intertwined with yours and you did not pull away. “It’s a lullaby,” you finally respond, “my mother would sing it to me as a child. It calms me.” Loki strummed his thumb over your hand but did not move outside of that. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you stared into the darkness. “While I am making a habit of being selfish tonight, can I ask one more thing of you?” Loki asked.

“Sure,” you whispered, feeling your voice choke up in your throat. “Would you hum it— the song?” You smirked in the darkness. “I thought you said it was incessant noise?” Loki just gave a small chuckle. “Perhaps it’s grown on me,” he murmured, “your silly little song.” Your eyelids felt droopy. The only thing that reminded you that you were awake was the soft touch of Loki’s hand in yours. You smiled, knowing he couldn’t see you and began to hum. You hummed until Loki’s breathing slowed into a soft rhythm, and his hand stilled in yours. You hummed until the darkness over took your senses, and your head nestled into the crook of the Prince’s neck.

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eddiemunsonfanfic · 2 years

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Crochet Monsters

Eddie Munson x Female Reader Summary: Reader is a member of the theater club of Hawkins High School, and their rehearsals are usually the same days that the Hellfire Club meets to play D&D, which means she sometimes can stop to speak to their dungeon manster, Eddie Munson, who might not be as mean as he’s rumored to be. Slow burn, mostly fluff. Chapter 3: A Hellfire T-shirt, teacher talks, friends gossip, and some trying to do homework with Eddie.

On Thursday, you met with the Hellfire Club for another session of D&D.

As the time before, you made sure to arrive a few minutes earlier than the other players, hoping to find Eddie alone so you wouldn’t feel as awkward, since Eddie seemed to put you at ease somehow and make you feel like you belonged there with them and were really welcome to join them.

You smiled when you saw him leaning against the armrest of his chair, as if he’d gone to sit down but got distracted with his notebook and forgot to actually sit.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

His beautiful eyes looked up from the notes he was reviewing, seeming to twinkle when he smiled…you called yourself a fool for thinking such a thing.

“Hey, you’re early again!”

“Yeah, I, uh…I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenience…” You realized that maybe he’d needed those minutes to set up the game and review everything.

“It’s not!” Eddie shook his head, frizzy curls bounding, and then he pulled out the same chair in which you had sat the previous session, at his right. “Besides, I got your t-shirt!” He took a plastic bag out of his backpack that he handed you, and you pulled a Hellfire t-shirt out of it, smiling.

“I really like it!” You couldn’t help your grin, looking from the t-shirt to Eddie, who was fidgeting with the crochet beholder monster and seeming a bit relieved, as if somehow he might have feared that you may not like the t-shirt.

“Glad you like it.” He shrugged as if nothing, but you could see his smile.

“Yeah…” You looked at the t-shirt again. “Give me a minute!” Hellfire T-Shirt in hand, you rushed to the bathroom.

The t-shirt smelled slightly of weed, and you guessed that’s how the inside of Eddie’s backpack smelled…the rumor of him dealing weed was a true one… you should wash the shirt once you were at home before your mother asked questions about the particular scent.

Smelling of weed or not, you tried it on and smiled when you checked it in the mirror. You hadn’t lied when you’d told Eddie that you liked it, and it looked good on you.

You traced the demon’s face drawing with your finger. Eddie had told you that he’d painted the Hellfire logo himself and you’d also noticed the doodles in his notebooks and papers. You hadn’t imagined him to be artistic like that, and you were impressed.

You pushed your discarded t-shirt into your backpack, checked yourself in the mirror once more, and rushed back to the Hellfire room.

“I think it looks-” You began as you walked in, but you stopped when you realized some of the other guys had arrived.

“Good?” Eddie finished for you, looking at you on the Hellfire t-shirt and somehow making you feel a bit flustered.

“I really…really like it, thanks,” you said, shyly waving hi to the other guys as you made your way to your seat.

You had remembered to bring snacks that time, and you began placing them on the free space of the table, glad to hear some pleased murmurs at a particular taste of chips that everyone seemed to love…you didn’t want to say that you were trying to buy the club’s approval with food, but if it helped…

Once everyone arrived, the game began.

Like the previous time, you felt shy and it was a bit awkward, but less than the last time, and soon enough you were laughing and having fun like everyone else, and no matter if sometimes you might get a snarky comment from a couple of the guys, most of them tended to be helpful and nice enough to you, whether it was genuine or not to piss off the dungeon master.

And as for Eddie…you were certain the game wouldn’t be half as fun and interesting if it weren’t for him. You had never known any other dungeon master, so maybe you were not one to judge, but you were certain there could be no one better than Eddie.

After the session finished for the day and everyone began to leave, you thanked Eddie for the t-shirt once more, to which he bashfully reminded you that you didn’t have to wear it at school if you didn’t want to.

You knew why he was saying it, and you felt like a coward realizing that you were uneasy at the idea of wearing it at school, no matter how much fun you had at Hellfire and how much you liked Eddie. You just didn’t want to deal with all the stares and questioning that would come with wearing it…not for now, at least, even if you felt a bit like a hypocrite coward, no matter that Eddie assured you yet again that it was fine.

On Friday, your teacher gave you your graded essays back.

You couldn’t stop yourself from trying to discreetly look back toward Eddie’s table. He noticed, turning his paper so you could see his grade. It was a B, and he gave you a thumbs up and that cute, dimpled grin, to which you couldn’t help your own smile.

When the class finished and you were going to leave, the teacher asked you to stay back for a second, and dread filled you…maybe Eddie had copied your work and the teacher had noticed it? But he said he wouldn’t, and you both wouldn’t have gotten a good grade.

Your friends looked at you and you shrugged, trying not to appear worried, and Eddie gave you a concerned look, but they all left when the teacher asked them to…you hoped Eddie was not about to be cornered by your noisy friends, since they knew you had helped him with the essay.

“There’s something wrong?” You asked the teacher, fidgeting, before she could say anything.

“No, nothing is wrong, Y/N,” she told you but you were still anxious. “I was wondering if Eddie Munson and you have worked together on those essays.”

“No,” you said maybe a bit too fast. “I mean…yes, but no, not really…” you had no idea what to say. “If they’re similar, he didn’t copy, just-”

“Y/N.” Your teacher raised her hands as if trying to stop your anxious rambles. “I just wanted to say that I think it was a good idea, actually.”

“What?” You blinked at her.

“Eddie… half of the time he doesn’t even remember to submit homework, or it’s like he doesn’t even try, even if I know he’s smart,” your teacher let out a sigh. “So, if him submitting a good, finished essay might have something to do with you both working together, I think it’s good for him. Maybe he will actually graduate this year.”

You could just look at her. So, she was not calling you out for helping Eddie, but actually encouraging you to do it? “Okay, I, uh…I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, though,” the teacher said. “It’s not your responsibility to help someone else with school…but still, I wanted to tell you that you did well.”

“Okay…okay, thanks.” You were still a bit surprised.

“Now, I have another class,” your teacher said as she picked up her things. “Have a good day.”

“Yeah…yeah, you too…”

As soon as you walked out of the classroom, your friends were on you, asking questions.

“She called you out for letting Munson copy your essay, right?” Kathleen asked. “Did you both fail?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, we did not fail and Eddie did not copy,” you snapped. “The teacher wanted to tell me that she thinks working on homework together was a good idea,” you couldn’t help how smug you sounded, sure they were not expecting that.

“Really?” Anya blinked at you, taken aback, and you hummed, nodding.

“So, are you going to do homework with Eddie now?” Naomi asked, frowning and seeming confused too.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged…you didn’t think so, but you wouldn’t mind working together on essays and things like that, if Eddie didn’t mind it either.

Looking away from your friends, you saw Eddie at the end of the corridor, looking at you anxiously, so you gave him a smile and a thumbs up, trying to tell him that there was nothing to worry about. He gave you a small, half-smile at that, but he still seemed nervous.

Kathleen scoffed and rolled her eyes as she looked at the exchange of smiles. “Ruining your life and studies for any boy is stupid enough, but for Eddie Munson? Even more stupid.”

“You’re so romantic…” Anya sighed, shaking her head at Kathleen.

“I’m not ruining anything and it’s not like that,” you scoffed but Kathleen was already walking away, followed by Anya.

“I guess…I guess it was a kind thing to do…” Naomi said quietly. “Just…be careful.”

“Eddie’s not a bad guy, he’s not dangerous or any of those things they say,” you told her, stopping yourself from saying that actually, you thought he could be rather sweet…it’d have sounded odd, to say the least.

“You never know,” she said, as you both made your way to your next class.

By the end of the class day, you hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to Eddie alone. You weren’t sure about what you wanted to tell him either, though… "the teacher thinks that we should work on essays together so you can graduate because you’re a disaster on your own?" It sounded rude and unjust…maybe you shouldn’t say anything…

Still, when you saw Eddie walking to his van, you couldn’t stop yourself. You excused yourself to your friends, telling them to wait a minute and heading towards Eddie without waiting for their reply.

“Hey,” you greeted right on time before Eddie got into his van.

“Hey,” he greeted back but without his usual bright smile. “Was everything okay with, you know, the teacher and all that…” Eddie asked as he fidgeted.

“Yeah, she just wanted to know if we’d worked together on the essay,” you told him and his doe eyes went wider.

“I didn’t copy it, I swear!”

“No, I know you didn’t and so does the teacher,” you rushed to reassure him. “I guess she just thought they might be kind of similar? Anyway, she said she thought it was a good idea if we worked together,” you finally decided to be honest.

“What.” Eddie blinked at you, seeming as taken aback as you had been.

“Yeah…she thinks that our essays could be better that way, you know…joining forces, working together…” You shrugged.

Eddie smiled at that, but it was bitter instead of happy, not a real smile. “You mean she thinks my essay is not crap because I used yours, yours are good already, so she knows the only way I won’t fuck up the next time is if you help me again," he scoffed.

“No, Eddie, is not that…yeah, she thinks you did better because I helped you, but it’s just because half of the time you do nothing or you submit your essays half-done!” You chided him and Eddie just shrugged as he looked down, grumbling something that you didn’t catch.

“So, yes, she thinks you could do better if we worked together again, but it’s not because you couldn’t do it on your own if you really tried, besides, she said she knows you’re smart,” you said and Eddie arched an eyebrow, he didn’t seem to believe it. “Anyway…just…yeah, that’s what she said, it doesn’t mean anything…I have to go.”

“Hey, wait…” Eddie reached out to gently hold your arm and so you turned to look at him again. “I’m sorry if I, uh…if I was kind of an ass just right now.” He let out a small chuckle, looking at you with unsure eyes and a nervous, half-smile.

You weren’t upset or mad, and if you had been, you didn’t think it’d have lasted with Eddie looking like that. Besides, you knew what it was to feel insecure and judged, and you knew the comments Eddie had to endure from other students and even some teachers.

“It’s okay, I get it,” you let out a sigh. “But I have to go.”

“I can drive you home, if you want,” Eddie offered, gesturing to the open door of the van and somehow managing to hit the back of his hand on it while doing so. He muttered a curse and you couldn’t help a smile even if you tried to stop it.

“Thank you, but my friends and I always walk home together,” you explained. “They’re waiting for me.”

“I see…they seem to really like me,” Eddie joked as he looked towards your friends, who were looking at you both, seeming very much not thrilled. “I bet they don’t want a ride home by the school’s freak.”

“Hey, don’t speak like that,” you chided him, he always acted like he didn’t care what people said of him, but you hated to hear those words coming from his mouth anyway. “They just don’t know you…but yeah, no, they won’t want a ride,” you chuckled. “Thank you, though,” you said but Eddie just shrugged with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah, see you.” Eddie waved you goodbye, in a rather adorable way, if you may say so, before getting into his van.

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your friends, trying to get ready to ignore their comments and questions about Eddie as best as possible.

It wasn’t until you were walking alone with Naomi that you finally talked about it. You were tired of keeping everything secret, it felt disrespectful towards Eddie and the Hellfire club, as if you were hiding it because you were ashamed, and it felt kind of disrespectful towards your friends, you hated keeping things secret from them, especially from Naomi since she was your best friend.

“I’ve joined Hellfire,” you blurted out as you stopped in front of Naomi's house before she could get inside.

“What?” Naomi blinked at you.

“I saw them playing D&D sometimes when I went to the theater rehearsals, I thought it looked interesting,” you said while you fidgeted. “It’s a game in which-”

“I know what D&D is,” Naomi interrupted you.

“Do you?” Now that you thought about it, she too enjoyed sci-fi and fantasy books and movies.

“Yeah, I’m not sure it’s my thing but it’s interesting, I guess.” She shrugged and you felt like you should have talked to her about it way sooner.

“Seriously? You should join too then!” You’d already wished there were more girls in the group, what could be better than your best friend joining?

“No way,” Naomi snorted.

“Wait, why?!”

“I doubt Eddie and the others would want me and anyway, I’m not looking forward to them being assholes and laughing at me,” she said and you knew she was mostly wrong, but you too had thought like that before joining.

“They’ll be happy to have another player,” you said even if you weren’t sure, but you thought Eddie would be okay with it, “and they won’t laugh, they’re not assholes…well, a couple of them, maybe, but everyone else has been nice and helpful to me,” at least once past their initial shock. “I know they can look like pricks sometimes at the school, but they’re not.”

“How long have you been playing?” Naomi frowned at you.

“I’ve joined a couple of times by now…I know, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was joining, but…I didn’t want to be judged…” You felt kind of pathetic admitting that.

“I wouldn’t have judged you…” Naomi sighed and you hated to think that she might be disappointed in you.

“I’m sorry…but you know Kathleen and Anya are going to freak out.”

“Yeah, probably.” Naomi nodded. “I won’t but…I worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I swear,” you assured her. “The guys are harmless…and even the couple of asshole ones, I'm sure you can keep them in check just by hitting them on the head with a rolled-up newspaper.”

Naomi snorted at that. “Somehow, I can see that being true.”

“Eddie’s a good guy, really, he’s been kind and nice to me,” you kept going. “He’s not his looks or what people say of him, he’s not dangerous like they say…”

“I know that.” Naomi nodded.

“You do?” You frowned, taken aback.

“Yeah, I mean… I guessed so…” She shrugged. “People say he’s dangerous yet he’s never done anything against the people who say all kinds of ugly things about him, I’ve seen stupid guys throwing fists for much less…but not Eddie.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.” You smiled, more than pleased that your best friend thought like that of Eddie, that she could see past the rumors and Eddie’s bravado.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s an asshole…”

“He’s not!” You jumped to say, although Naomi was smirking so you weren’t sure if she was joking or not.

“Yeah, you’ve made pretty clear that you think he’s very nice and very much not an asshole,” Naomi said, raising an eyebrow. “So…did you join Hellfire club because you like d&d or because you like Eddie?”

“What, no, it’s…it’s not like that…” You stammered, getting all flustered. “Eddie…yeah, he’s nice, I like to hang out with him, but it’s not…it’s…”

“Okay, okay…” Naomi stopped your rambles, seeming amused before she went serious again. “I don’t think Hellfire Club and the guys there are dangerous and I bet the game is fun, just…just be careful anyway, and you know Eddie deals drugs…”

“Not at Hellfire, he’s never tried to sell me anything, never talked about it either,” you assured her…you understood her concern, though.

Not many people knew but when you both were in middle school, Naomi’s uncle overdosed. It hadn’t been in Hawkings and her parents had kept it quiet to avoid rumors, but you knew how it had traumatized Naomi and how much she hated drugs and dealers now.

“He deals anyway,” she said. “Uses too, probably.”

“Yeah, but, just…it’s just weed and, I don’t know, I think he really needs the money…” You had never spoken with Eddie about it, nor had he said anything, but you got the feeling that money was tight on the Munson household. You were not about to gossip about it, though.

Naomi just hummed, but thankfully, she dropped the topic. “So…did you create a character and everything?”

“Yes!! She’s a human ranger, she’s a badass!” You couldn’t help how excited and even kind of proud you sounded, and you were embarrassed to notice it, but Naomi just smiled.

“Okay…I’m still not joining and I’m not sure those Hellfire guys are not assholes, but…do you want to come in and tell me more about d&d and your ranger?” Naomi said and you wondered if she’d noticed how excited you were to talk about it…bless her. “I may even sketch her…”

“That would be so cool!” You looked at Naomi with bright eyes. She was not in the theater club like you, but in the art one, and she was good at it. “You know, Eddie also makes some doodles of characters and stuff, he’s not bad, he’s quite artistic, honestly,” you were back to praise Eddie before you could stop yourself, “I think you both might have stuff to talk about, seriously.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow and you thought she was going to tease you, but then she looked towards the kitchen window of her house and you followed her gaze to find her mother looking at you both, though she tried to pretend she wasn’t looking when you both caught her staring. She was lovely, she truly was, but she could be a bit overbearing.

“I’m sure she’s hoping we’re gossiping about boys…we kind of are…” Naomi chuckled.

“Please, don’t…” You whined.

“Come on…let’s get inside before she cranes her neck…”

The next week, one day you found yourself at the school’s library with Eddie, which felt rather unusual even if you both had already talked about working together on homework from time to time.

Hellfire Club was meeting a couple of hours after school was done, so you’d asked Eddie if he wanted to join you in the library before that, since you’d be doing homework and studying instead of going home before joining Hellfire.

So there you were, trying to do math homework while Eddie tried to balance two of his rings on each side of a pen that he was also balancing on top of his stacked books, and you were mildly amused but mostly irritated.

You didn’t know how someone could get as distracted in the library as Eddie did. There was literally nothing to do there, besides studying, and yet Eddie managed to do anything but that, as if the lack of distractions and stimulus just worked to make his brain even more distracted somehow.

He complained in too loud whispers that made the librarian glare at you both, he sighed dramatically as he skipped through books and notebooks, he played with every piece of stationery that you made the mistake of leaving too close to him, and his notebooks were more filled with doodles than with homework.

You were not near the windows, so neither he nor you could have the temptation to look outside and get distracted, but still, Eddie managed to space out and get lost in his own head staring at nothing, whether it was the wall or just…air.

Most of the time, it was as if he couldn’t keep still, leg bouncing, fingers drumming, and sometimes he would even get up to pace the corridors of the library, looking at the book spines on the shelves and at you didn’t even know what.

Sometimes he’d return to your table with a book that had nothing to do with homework, skimming over it before abandoning it, sometimes pointing things about it to you, to which you helpfully whispered to shut up and do homework before it was time to leave. Maybe this studying together thing hadn’t been the best idea.

Between that, though, somehow it seemed that Eddie was still managing to do some homework, you could see him scribbling math problems, when he was not sighing as if he was being tortured, pushing the notebook away and jumping into whatever distraction suited him that time.

When you saw him getting his Hellfire notebook out of his bag, though, you couldn’t stop yourself from scolding him while you nudged his leg with your foot.

“Eddie, homework first, Hellfire later.”

“I finished it already,” he said without even looking up from the notebook. “You can copy it, I don’t care.”

Eddie pushed his math notebook towards you and you saw all the problems chaotically spread through the pages, but all of them were done, and it seemed rather perfectly.

“How…how are you so damn good at math?” You looked at the notebook in awe and then you realized all the calculations he did in his head, no paper needed, when playing d&d. “And most importantly…how the hell did you manage to fail last year?”

Eddie just shrugged and you gave the librarian an apologetic look when she shushed you again.

It didn’t take you long to finish homework, while Eddie studied his Hellfire notebook, sometimes scribbling on it, seeming way more focused than when he’d tried to study and do homework.

“Let’s go to the Hellfire room,” Eddie said as soon as you were finished.

“Okay…let’s put back in place everything that your grabby raccoon hands have taken…” You whispered back, looking at the stationery that he’d taken from your backpack and the random books, like a dragon’s hoard.

“Grabby raccoon hands?” Eddie asked, not too quietly, seeming confused.

“Yeah, like…like you know raccoons have those cute hands that grab everything they see…” You murmured… You were embarrassed, Eddie was not in your head, he probably had no idea what you were going about, and you hoped you hadn’t weirded him out.

He blinked at you but then he snorted, his lips curling up into a smile. “I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered,” he said.

It seemed the librarian had enough of you both and she demanded you to shut up and leave already, and so you both rushed out, Eddie grabbing your backpack for you while you had your arms busy wrapping your shawl around you.

Once at the Hellfire room, you took out from your backpack the folder that you used for Hellfire, and from inside it, some sketches that Naomi had made of your character. You hadn’t shown it to Eddie before because you had guessed then you wouldn’t get any homework done on time.

“Look…that’s Myrna, how I imagine her,” you grinned like a fool but Eddie’s grin as he took the paper stopped you from feeling a bit silly.

“Looks amazing!”

“Yeah…my friend Naomi made them, she’s in the art club,” you explained.

“You have to convince her to draw all the characters,” Eddie said, looking at you with bright eyes.

“I can try…hey, would you be okay with her joining?”

“...does she want to?” Eddie seemed taken aback and his chocolate eyes widened in surprise.

“Not really…not yet, at least,” you admitted. “But if maybe someday she wanted to, would it be okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Eddie shrugged and then he smiled again. “The more characters, the bigger the chaos.”

“I’d really like it if there were more girls, even if it’s not Naomi…not that you guys aren’t nice,” you rushed to add, in case Eddie might get offended. “But…yeah, I’d like having more girls here.”

“I told you already, it’s not a boy’s club, it’s not our fault you’re the only girl who asked to join,” Eddie said nonchalantly.

“And I told you, you guys don’t look very approachable half of the time…”

“Yeah, what do you want us to do?” Eddie arched his eyebrows and you’d be afraid he might be upset if he wasn’t because he was smiling, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Create banners saying how girls are welcome and asking them to join Hellfire? Hang them at school? Yeah, we won’t look like perverts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, don’t do that…it’s either perverts or recruiting maidens for blood sacrifices.”

Eddie laughed too. “You know…I might actually hang the banners…can you imagine the stir around the school?”

“Don’t you dare…”

N/A

I forgot to say, this is set one year before Season 4, so it’s Eddie’s second final year and it’s reader’s final year, and so Dustin, Mike and Lukas are not in Hellfire yet, and I imagined there might be some guys there who had already graduated by season 4.

Thank you for reading this, if you didn’t hate it then a comment and a reblog would mean the world. Also excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

I’m sorry that this is more of a filler chapter, but I think stories need those.

I was not sure about keeping this up since there are a lot, lot, like really lot of Eddie fics are there which are way better, more canon and get thousand notes, but then I saw Eddie’s cute puppy face again and decided to write.

If I write another part, it’d have some reader and Eddie studying at his trailer, some more Eddie headcanons that you already can see me adding to the fic, some reader going to the Hidehout, and if you had any other idea, I can try ading it in.

I’m leaving this queued, I’ll be traveling home for a bank holiday while this gets posted, I hope it works...

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson & reader

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tragedy-peanut-gallery · 11 months

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What would the relationship between Naerys and her grandmother Rhaenyra be like?Both are opposite like day and night, Naerys is described as very thin and small, possessing a fine and delicate beauty, she liked to dress simply almost always without jewelry or her crown and was passive, sweet and religious, contrary to her grandmother who is described as robust, large breasted and the most beautiful maiden of the seven kingdoms, she liked to dress richly in purple velvet and golden lace from Myr often pearls or diamonds shone on her bodice and always wore rings on her fingers, she could to be charming but she had a bad temper and was not very pious, she also had lovers (I am not judging her for that, I am only pointing it out to differentiate her even more from her modest granddaughter who was not interested in sex and wanted to be septa) However, both were women with features typical Valyrians who suffered due to misogyny, Rhaenyra was denied the throne that her father promised her because of her gender, she was branded a prostitute for having children from her lover, regardless of the fact that her imposed husband was gay and if she did not engender offspring they could accuse her of being sterile something very dangerous for a woman and the gentleman who protected her since she was a child joined her abusive stepmother either because she rejected him or offered to be her lover because her imposed husband was gay (Whatever the case the guy was annoyed that Rhaenyra decided whether or not she wanted to have sex and he had a madonna-whore complex); Naerys is also forced to marry a husband she does not want by her father who ignores her desire to be septa or that her son does not treat her well, her husband is heterosexual unfortunately unlike Laenor he is abusive, he does not empathize that she is also trapped in an unhappy marriage, he rapes her and is unfaithful to her with any pretty face, he forces her to give him children despite being told that she will not be able to survive another pregnancy and all the children are stillborn, rumors arise from her own husband that she has an affair with her other kinder brother and her son is accused of being a bastard, I really hope that at least the first part is true because that poor girl deserves to know what true love is and consensual sex born of tenderness and affection yes It is so it is interesting that both women do not deny themselves the opportunity to be happy despite how opposite they are. It would also be funny if her faces were similar and her eyes were true purple, only that Rhaenyra has bigger and flushed cheeks (from eating properly) with a mole under her right eye and full red lips; Naerys is more emaciated due to her poor health, not eating much and shitty life in general, her skin would be even paler without any moles and her pink lips. In your art Naerys uses the colors pink, purple, blue and white, fandom apart from black and red often imagines Rhaenyra in those romantic colors (it's not unreasonable pink is lighter red and blue and white are the house colors Arryn that belongs to her mother) plus the yellow for Syrax, maybe Rhaenyra wears darker shades of those colors, I would like to see an art where both come together, I have not seen any work like that.

Hey, thank you so much for this question! (also sorry about the earlier inconvenience lol) These are a lot of interesting ideas and inquiries, but out of fear that I might end up rambling nonstop about it, you’ll find my answer right under the cut here!

Understandably, it’s pretty clear that both Rhaenyra and Naerys are as different as two people who are related could possibly get, but by no means is that a bad thing! Personality-wise, Rhaenyra clearly shares more similarities with another granddaughter of hers- that being none other than Daena, but as I like to show in my art, I believe Naerys got along with her younger cousin very well, so technically she may get along with her grandmother very well right?

Well, I’m not too sure. While I can see Rhaenyra being absolutely loving and doting towards her oldest granddaughter had she lived long enough to meet her (after all, she did lose her only daughter Visenya), I can just as equally see them having nothing more than distant respect for one another, or just being unable to form an understanding given their massive differences.

Either way, I’m sure Rhaenyra would care for Naerys enough to want a better life for her, though I’m also unsure if she would encourage her granddaughter to take on any extramarital affair since that begs the question of if Rhaenyra herself would want to place another woman in the precarious position she had once been in where her children’s parentage was put into question (obviously her having an affair shouldn’t have even been considered a bad thing, but as always Westerosi society’s just coming in with the steel chair on this one 😔). Personally, I don’t believe Naerys would have an affair even with encouragement from her dear old grandma and, this is just my personal take, I don’t think she would’ve had an affair with Aemon.

But, either way, I can agree with you very much that I think they do have some connections with appearance in style! I do headcanon that Daella had these very big porcelain doll looking eyes, which got passed down the line from Aemma to Rhaenyra and eventually Naerys as well lol, and though Rhaenyra is described in the text as preferring deep maroons and purples, I could see her rocking pastels similar to her granddaughter back when she was younger!

I wouldn’t say that the two look exactly alike, since both their descriptions and just the lives they led in general seemed to suggest otherwise, but they’d share just enough similarities to show that they are indeed related! And, at the end of the day I think in spite of their differences and the hypotheticals of their relationships, Rhaenyra would care greatly for all her granddaughters Naerys included, and Naerys I’m sure would at the very least respect her grandmother!

#thank you so much for the ask!!#just remember you’re free to form your own opinion on the matter- as this is just my personal take!#naerys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #asoiaf #asks

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laplacemail · 2 years

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from this character development meme, my dearest @ofhope sent me a bunch of questions that I am really enjoying writing the answers to! (still accepting but know that it might take me some time to get to all of them x_x)

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

I will include both parents in this question, since it applies to both of them! There is something to be said about ‘people too in love with each other that they would not make good parents’. This would apply to Adonia’s parents. Due to the customs of Ruthia (especially the royal family), they were mostly hands-off with their children. First so they would not directly interfere with how the kid would grow up - since the successor would not be the eldest child but the one that by their own virtues is the most apt to lead - and while everything else was provided to Adonia (and later on his siblings), his own parents were not something he thought warmly or coldly about. They were their own people, and there is always the desire of a child to not disappoint their own parents. Second, whether they were aware of it or not… they were too in love with each other and that would leave no real love for their kids. Adonia filled that vacuum for his siblings, but there was nothing that could be done for him. And as his family grew, he had to spread himself thin to cover for all his siblings while ignoring the growing problem with one of them, or simply thinking he ‘did not want as much attention as before’. I actually have something I have been writing on his relationship with each of his siblings, and mostly how the growing divide between him and Olysseus resulted in the eventual downfall of Ruthia and - consequentially - the Dawn Elves. He respects both of his parents, and would tell you that their way of raising them was understandable considering how Ruthia was structured. But there is something telling about how he generally felt about them when, on the day that he left, he made sure to see all of his brothers and his sister… yet there was no move to truly remember his parents. He loved them as much as a son would love their parents, but knew better than anyone how much that affected all of them in the end. How that unknowingly added even more pressure on his shoulders, another thing he will never admit nor talk about. Honestly that entire thing and the effects on each of the members of the royal family could become an entire meta post on its own. And because he did not say goodbye to his parents, he does regret never having been able to. It is rumored that his parents died not too long after he left, that they both had ‘died of sadness’ due to his absence. While Adonia later would find out that is a lie, some of it still rings true to him. So it adds to the never-ending list of things he silently blames himself for.

Something about how this entire family has issues with communicating with each other and how this is one of the reasons why everything went to hell. All four siblings know their parents love each other very much (and jokingly teased about how gross it was), but they all understood that they mostly had to be independent and understand that kind of gentleness would never truly reach them. Adonia simply suffered the brunt of it, while making sure that he could provide the emotional support they needed - which he never got. Makes you wonder why he buckled under the pressure of being crowned King and having even more responsibilities thrown into his already very full plate, huh. This certainly will have no consequences! None at all! Especially not about how he raises his own children and how he sees children - which is its own post that I will tackle later! Absolutely no consequences ever!!

#decided to just put everything in a google doc and answer it one by one or two at a time depending on the length so it takes me #... i guess. less time to churn these out #ofhope #the last rose of summer ; adonia

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clarklovescarole · 1 year

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May 1936: Clark Says He’ll Wed Again

May 22, 1936; retrieved from the Hartford Courant; written by Sheilah Graham

Clark Gable threw back his dark, handsome head – exposing a neckline on which a tiny ridge of fat is accumulating – bared his white, flashing teeth, laughed, and said, “Oh, no you don’t catch me that way.”

Mr. Gable was referring to my question – “What type of woman do you prefer?” Ever since a reporter and a cameraman linked the actor a few months ago to a couple of South American beauties, Mr. Gable has been shy of discussing his feminine preferences with members of the fourth estate.

I tried again. “What type of woman do you prefer as your move leading lady?”

One hundred ninety pounds, six feet one inch of masculine pulchritude surveyed your correspondent suspiciously for several seconds. Deciding he was on safe territory, he replied: “The sophisticated type.”

Often Seen With Carole

“Why?” I insisted. Throwing caution to the winds, dream-man-answer-to-the-maiden’s prayer came through with:

“The sophisticated woman is more interesting. She has more to offer. She has had experience with life and men. She has seen more, heard more and consequently is more amusing. As far as I’m concerned, the demure little girl is a very dull proposition. Give me, every time, the older woman who knows what it’s all about.”

Which explains, perhaps, why Gable’s two wives (Mrs. Josephine Dillon Gable, from whom he was divorced several years ago, and Mrs. Rhea Gable, from whom he was separated last fall) were both several years older than himself – birthdate February 1, 1901 – and the fact that his constant companion these days is Hollywood’s No.1 sophisticate, Carole Lombard.

But in spite of his close friendship wth 27-years-old Miss Lombard, it is extremely doubtful whether she will become the third Mrs. Gable.

‘Likes To Be Mothered’

“Clark likes to be mothered,” Mrs. Josephine Gable told me some time ago in New York. “He expects his wife to concentrate on their home life so that he will be able to concentrate on his career, always the most important thing in his life.”

Miss Lombard is not the mothering type and she also happens to be extremely interested in her own very successful screen career.

But Clark will marry again. “That’s the normal way for a man to live,” he says. “However, I shan’t marry right away. In the first place I’m not divorced yet, and in the second, I’m enjoying my freedom.”

In keeping with the “He-Man” character – half real and half exaggerated by the publicity department of his studio – in spite of what they tell you, the actor is as much at home on the ballroom floor as he is in the great wide open spaces – Mr. Gable indulges in as much big game hunting and fishing as his work schedule allows.

“I haven’t been in Hollywood for three consecutive weeks between pictures since I came here,” he said. “I don’t care for this place except as a work factory. There are too many people staring at me as though I were a freak; too many columnists linking me to this and that woman; too many rumors that I have been killed in this or that accident.

Going To China

“Shortly after I came back from my South American trip a reporter called me and said, ‘Is it true that Mr. Gable has been killed in an automobile accident?” ‘Sure, it’s true,’ I told him. ‘Go ahead and print the story!’

“I’m going to China in the China Clipper ship when my current picture – ‘Cain and Mabel’ – is completed,” he continued.

Clark has been planning this trip since the time they started to build the giant seaplane, but there are so many pictures lined up for him that the only trip he will make to China in the near future will be via the imagination route.

“I’d like to go to England one of these days,” said the work-chained Adonis wistfully. “I’d combine business with pleasure – see the country and, of course, hope to make a movie.”

The “of course” is better understood if you know your Gable. The erstwhile time-keeper and telephone operator, now earning a reputed $6,000 a week, lists work, money and fame above everything in the world – not excluding lovemaking.

#CLARK GABLE #carole lombard #1936 #old hollywood

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edwardskhakipants · 3 years

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Forks, Washington. August 2004.

Esme and Carlisle stood in the middle of their grand living room, waiting for their five vampire children to arrive. Alice arrived first—prompt as usual. She settled herself gracefully onto the tufted sofa Esme had recently acquired, only to be immediately jostled by Emmett who heaved himself onto the cushions. A breath caught in Esme’s throat—she had lost many pieces from her beloved collection by that action—but it looked like this one was still in one piece. For the moment. Jasper took Edward’s normal spot in the only armchair, forcing Edward to wedge himself between Alice and Emmett.

“What?” Rosalie grumbled as she perched on the armrest of the couch beside Emmett, “Are we having another one of those How to Respect the Telepath in Your Life meetings again?”

“No,” Edward answered, fully aware of the intent of this meeting since it hatched in Carlisle's mind two days prior. “But there’s never a bad time to bring that up. Christ, Emmett, if you’re going to have a song stuck in your head for over seventy-two hours, the least you can do is learn the correct lyrics.”

Emmett’s eyebrows knit together, asking his brother a silent question.

“It’s ‘mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido,’” Edward answered.

Emmett’s brow furrowed doubtfully.

“No.” Edward shook his head, answering Emmett’s thoughts. “Why would he eat a beetle?”

Emmett grinned playfully and tilted his head towards Edward.

Edward wasn’t amused. “You know what it means.”

A silly grin plastered on his face, Emmett elbowed Edward in the ribs, silently egging him on.

Edward’s eyes darted to Carlisle, then Esme, and he shifted in his seat. “Sexual desire,” he muttered.

Emmett howled with laughter and clapped his hands once, “Wow, Eddie! You’re just going to say that in front of Esme!?” Edward scowled as Emmett’s bouts of laughter echoed through the room.

Esme ran a hand through her youngest’s ginger hair. “Boys,” she warned, and Emmett sucked in his laughter.

“Our meeting today has to do with all of you,” Carlisle began.

“We simply wanted to go over the rules of attending school with you kids before you start your second year at Forks High School,” Esme explained, unfolding and re-folding her hands in front of her. “There are already whispers, and we don’t want those whispers to turn into rumors.”

“I thought the only whispers about us at school were whether or not Edward liked girls,” Rosalie said, earning an eye-roll from Edward.

“No,” Alice chirped,” Some kids think we’re a cult.”

Jasper leaned back heavily in his chair. “We haven’t heard that one since the Seventies.”

“Kids are getting more creative these days.” Emmett nodded appreciatively.

Esme held up one, delicate finger. “Which is why it is best to take preventative action.”

Carlisle took the floor. “We thought a few reminders would be helpful before you started your first day of your second year,” Carlisle said. “We don’t want another incident like the one we had at the end of last year.”

Every head in the room turned towards Emmett.

“What?” Emmett threw up his hands in exasperation, “The water gun fight was the senior prank—I wasn’t the one who brought them to the school. Hell, I wasn’t even the only student who got suspended!”

“That’s true,” Carlisle agreed, “but you were the only student to shout, ‘Sit down, kids! Daddy’s gotta tinkle,’ and shoot the stream of the gun from your crotch.”

Jasper snickered—the sound was immediately silenced by a single raised eyebrow from Esme.

“I still don’t see the problem,” Emmett continued, “That’s not necessarily a vampire thing.”

Edward—who often mistook himself as the third vampire parent rather than the youngest son—sighed, “Yes, but it brings unnecessary attention to the family. Which is the first rule: do not bring attention to yourself.”

Esme ran her fingers through her son’s hair once more, “Yes, darling, you are especially good at keeping to yourself.” Edward’s eyes widened, despite Esme’s gentle touch, already aware of where her point was headed. “So much so, that I have been given the names of several child therapists to help my son through his depression. One was recommended for his exceptional work on spotting and treating the early signs of sociopathic behavior.”

Esme grabbed her son’s chin and forced him to look at her. “You have to talk to other people.”

Knocked off his high horse, Edward flinched back from Esme’s hand. “Friendship with humans never bodes well for us.”

“We’re not asking you to create lifelong friendships with humans,” Carlisle clarified, “We are simply asking you to be likable.”

“A nearly impossible feat for Edward.” Rosalie grinned. The comment went unnoticed, save Edward’s slight flinch. But the quick, little tick was satisfying enough for Rose.

“Look at your father,” Esme gestured towards Carlisle, “At every hospital he works at, he goes out of his way to ensure he is well-liked among his colleagues. He forces down countless lunches and coffees, solely to make sure they’re comfortable around him.”

Carlisle took over. “And your mother, a beloved member of her gardening club and a prized member of the PTA.”

“And neither of us have rumors started about us, and do you know why?”

All five teenagers grumbled the ingrained response. “Humans don’t want to spread rumors about people they like.”

“Exactly.” Esme nodded.

“I try!” Alice whined, “But Edward never lets me talk to any humans.”

“That’s because every, single thing that is about to come out of your mouth is incriminating. You might as well walk around with a neon sign that says, ‘I’m a psychic vampire’.”

Alice scoffed, “Is not!”

“You wanted to tell Nihal Howard not to audition for the musical.”

“And he broke his leg on opening night,” Alice challenged.

“You were going to tell Christiana Ward that pink was not her color.”

“And she lost prom queen to Ashley Kirby.”

Jasper put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. “Maybe try not to meddle so much, darlin’. Natural relationships, first.”

“They would have been!” Alice wailed, “I would have played it cool and casual and made friends and you all would have seen it! But everyone’s hurt and I have no friends at all because Edward won’t let me try!”

Edward rolled his eyes.

Carlisle suppressed a heavy sigh. “You have to let your sister try, Edward.”

Edward’s mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be siding with her on this!”

But Carlisle stood his ground. He and Edward stared at one another for a few seconds, engaged in a silent conversation. In the end, Carlisle tilted his chin and Edward slumped back. Victorious, Alice used both pointer fingers to jab Edward in the side several dozen times at vampire speed.

Rosalie flipped her golden locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you all struggle so much. I have no issues with becoming well-liked at school while remaining inconspicuous.”

“Oh yeah, you’re so inconspicuous,” Edward grumbled, now extra-petty that he had been called out two times in one meeting. “You dress like you're on your way to brunch at your second husband’s country club in Beverly Hills and you make out with your foster brother. The perfect picture of discretion in Forks High School.”

“At least I don’t dress like a sad, old man.” Rosalie grimaced, disappointed in her comeback. The light, humorous insults that were required in family situations were Emmett’s forte; Rosalie’s insults were meant to emotionally cripple a person.

Edward sat up in his seat on the couch and turned to face Rosalie. “I think you missed the main takeaway in that you make out with your foster brother.” Edward turned back. “I can read your minds, and I still don’t understand what made either of you think it was okay to bring your relationship to school?!”

Emmett smiled, unperturbed. “It’s hot.”

“It’s disturbing,” Edward disagreed.

Esme frowned, “You kids don’t really do that, do you?”

“Would it help if Jasper and I became an official couple too?” Alice suggested. Jasper perked up at the idea of being able to hold hands with Alice in public again.

“No!” Edward yelled at the same time Emmett and Rosalie muttered their acquiesce.

“It wouldn’t seem as weird if there were two couples,” Emmett agreed.

Edward dug his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god!”

“...maybe not, kids,” Esme intervened, but was ultimately ignored.

“So should we come out today like it happened over the summer, or make a little show out of it?” Alice asked Rosalie.

Rosalie waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s way more fun if you play up the theatrics.”

“A little more realistic, too,” Emmett agreed.

Alice looked to Jasper for his opinion. “It might be better if we were discreet about it,” she said. “Like we knew it was wrong, but we wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of our love.”

Jasper scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Or we could let it be quiet and drawn out. Let others see our mutual pining, and root for us to be together.”

Gazing deep into the golden eyes of her soulmate, Alice sighed, “I love that.”

“If people wanted us to get together, it would normalize Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship.”

“Or Rosalie and Emmett could stop,” Edward suggested, bitterly. “That would be normal, too.”

“Oh, Edward,” Alice patted his shoulder, “You’ll find love someday, too.”

“That is not at all what bothers me about the situation.”

Carlisle made the decision for everyone. “Rosalie and Emmett, break up at school. Alice and Jasper, remain friends and siblings.”

Disappointment filtered into the room through Jasper.

“I heard that,” Edward grumbled at someone’s thoughts.

“You were supposed to,” Rosalie shot back.

“We are also initiating a new rule,” Esme brought the room back to the conversation at hand, “No more correcting your teachers.”

A chorus of complaints rang from the couch.

Esme clicked her tongue, “I’m tired of defending you all from entirely preventable issues. I have emails from curious teachers wondering why my foster daughter is taking French 101, when she already appears to be fluent.” Esme looked at Rosalie, who immediately tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or why my son, at the tender age of sixteen, could not only deadlift three hundred pounds in his first weightlifting class, but also give his coach tips on improving his posture.”

Emmett glanced over at Edward before he realized Esme was, in fact, addressing him. “What!?”

Jasper snorted. The sound was a mistake, for it brought Esme’s wrath onto him. “And not to mention the emails from not one, not two, but three teachers warning me that my foster son has an intimate understanding of the mechanics of a point fifty-eight caliber rifle-musket.” Esme held out her hands, almost pleadingly, “How does that subject keep coming up, Jasper?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only answer Jasper had for that question.

“No more,” she commanded. “You can get good grades but keep your extra knowledge on any subject to yourself. Whatever your teacher teaches is all you know. Understand?”

“But what if we—” Edward started.

“Understand?” Esme repeated.

The five teenage vampires understood, even if they didn’t want to.

“I believe that all five of you will graduate from Forks High School!” Esme cheered.

The kids stared back, unable to muster the zeal Esme had over the prospect.

“Meeting adjourned!” Carlisle announced, and faster than fast vampire speed, the kids bolted from their seats.

Esme was able to get in a few more reminders as her children flitted around the house and filed out to the silver Volvo. “Remember to buy lunch with cash and not your credit cards. Emmett, please do not joke about being mauled by a bear. Do not address your teachers by their first names—I don’t care if you’re older than they are, Edward. Alice, please wear something a bit more causal, pet.”

When the house was finally empty, Carlisle pulled Esme backwards into his chest and began massaging her temples. The gesture wasn’t needed, but any touch from her husband was always welcome.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” she asked her husband.

“Not a chance.”

#this bad boy had been swimming around in my head for awhile #please enjoy #my other fics havent been cullen centric enough for me lately #so i had to do something #twilight fic #twilight fan fiction #and thank you to the editing queen edwardsmate4ever for beta'ing for me #youre a queen

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leogichidaa · 2 years

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Why is everyone certain Regulus is a dead deserter?

Ok, so this seems like a dumb question: it's because he is a dead deserter, Leo. First of all, no he's not, he's alive and well. Sure, but there’s no reason for anyone to be privy to that information pre-DH. Literally the only person who knows that Regulus is dead is a house elf with orders to keep it zipped. So it’s weird when Remus says this in HBP:

“And they’ve found Igor Karkaroff’s body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it — well, frankly, I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius’s brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember.”

It’s an offhanded comment, and from a meta perspective, it’s clear why we’re being reminded about Sirius’ dead Death Eater deserter brother. But it’s oddly specific and implies that Remus is recalling two separate days, one in which Regulus deserted the Death Eaters and one in which he was pronounced dead. Which really makes no sense. So where is this coming from?

He’s likely just repeating rumors and assumptions. I imagine there were plenty of them flying around in the first Wizarding War. This line is also taken from a really dismal piece of dialogue in which Remus is pessimistic af about the war. It could just be a sort of, “Voldemort kills all his deserters and enemies with a quickness rip” fear based comment. And he’s almost certainly repeating what Sirius has told him about Regulus’ death, because Sirius has the same narrative for Harry in OotP (he joined, he deserted, he was killed).

That’s an unsatisfying answer though. Because again, it’s an oddly specific narrative and it’s delivered as though it were fact by Remus, whose only uncertainty seems to be whether he’s remembering the length of time Regulus stayed alive correctly or not. Which--he isn’t. But more on that later.

Sirius doesn’t deliver his version of this narrative like fact; although he clearly believes it to be true, he is upfront about it being vague, secondhand information:

“From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It’s a lifetime of service or death.”

But who tf told Sirius this, and where did they get their info from?

The reason Sirius is sure Regulus is dead in OotP is clear: the tapestry. There is definitively a date of death on the tapestry for Regulus. That’s how we get this exchange between Sirius and Harry, King of Tact:

“He was younger than me,” said Sirius, “and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.”

“But he died,” said Harry.

Well spotted, Harry. Very compassionately put. Yes, he died. So says the tapestry. But where did that death date come from?

There’s fanon about the tapestry being magical in a similar way to Molly Weasley’s clock, where it just updates with births and deaths. It makes sense that it would, but if it does, that baffles me even more. Here’s why: Regulus’ mother doesn’t seem to know that he’s dead in the aftermath of the cave. Kreacher tells us in DH (emphasis mine):

“And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened...”

Walburga is distressed over her son’s disappearance, not death. If the tapestry updated with death dates, it would have updated when he died in the cave and Walburga would have known, at least, that he was dead. Maybe the tapestry is magic, and it escapes her notice. But wouldn’t that be the very first place a mother would look when her child, who is in a violent gang in the middle of a war, suddenly goes missing: the tapestry that could tell her if he’s alive or dead?

But if the tapestry isn’t magic, then the only way a death date got there is if Walburga updated the tapestry herself, which then leads to “why is Walburga certain Regulus is dead?” What convinces her to do this? Unclear.

Whether the tapestry updates itself or Walburga updates it, though, it leads to the same result: Regulus died the day that he disappeared. He rolled into Grimmauld, picked up his house elf, went to the lake, and died day of. So the date that magic omniscience would put as the date of death and the date that Walburga would associate with the loss of Regulus would be the same.

So...where is this “he deserted and then died a few days later” narrative coming from??? There were 0 days where Regulus was on the run from Voldemort. Regulus yeeted himself into a lake of corpses rather than deal with the fallout of deserting. Who is out there saying he pulled a Karkaroff and tried to hide?

And again, why does everyone seem so aware that Regulus backed out of the Death Eaters at all? How did that become common knowledge? Regulus made a point of not telling anyone he was betraying Voldemort, Hermione notes in DH that he didn’t even explain that to Kreacher. But somehow everybody knows or assumes this is the case? Is he really bad at keeping his cover or is the Order just like “well, it wasn’t one of us, so he must have pissed off his own people”?

And I just don’t understand why more people weren’t like, “he’s missing, he’s almost definitely dead, but for all we know he’s still out there somewhere”. Because before DH came out, Regulus Lives wasn’t an AU, it could very easily be canon compliant. Kreacher is the only witness who could confirm Regulus’ death, and he didn’t until he told the trio in DH. All we had was that tapestry saying he was dead, and are we really trusting some dusty old moth eaten thing that doesn’t even have Sirius on it?? I guess we are. I guess we are.

#I feel like I've gotten on this soapbox before #but I have so many questions #and 0 answers #it's all speculation #regulus black #regulus discourse #sirius black #remus lupin #karkaroff #walburga black #house of black

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iamcalmdammit · 3 years

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Matching his crazy — (1) First impressions || [Jang Han-seok x reader]

If he hadn’t heard the rumors about you, Han-seok wouldn't have given much attention to you. But as it turned out, the always smiling and kind-to-everyone girl was a cold and calculating person on the inside according to one of his friends. Everything you did, every person you talked to served a purpose in your life, and several people on campus were secretly giving you intel about the others. You had an entire network of spies working just for you and he was strangely attracted to this side of you.

He could’ve hired a private investigator to get him information about you, but in the end he decided to follow you around himself for a little while, hoping he could figure something out on his own. The first evening passed uneventfully—a friend of yours came over to your place, and the two of you studied over a bottle of wine before she left and you went to sleep. But the second evening looked to be more eventful as he followed you to an old house near campus. You weren’t alone this time either. A guy Han-seok had briefly met before was on your side the whole time, visibly flirting with you ever since you met him at the bar.

By now something had already changed in him and he felt possessive whenever he looked at you. His mind was in overdrive. He loved your way of handling things in your life—if the rumors were true, that is—but he hated the idea of you flirting with other guys. The duality of his emotions was driving him crazy and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. In a way it was thrilling, something new in the usual gray days of his life where he was surrounded by dumb, boring people all the time.

When he looked inside the old house, he saw the two of you in what seemed to be the living room. You were just talking at first, but then he saw the guy becoming a little too pushy. You tried to keep your distance, but he didn’t give up and kept reaching out to touch you, eventually pinning you against a wall. Once it was too much for him, Han-seok stormed into the house and punched that punk in the face. Then he hit him again. And again. And again. He lost control and completely forgot you were standing right there. It was just him and the guy with the now entirely bloody face.

“Stop it!” you told him as you grabbed his wrist before he could punch him again. “What the hell are you doing?”

What was he doing? He was just protecting you, no big deal. Letting out an annoyed huff, he said, “I saw what he was doing to you. Unless it was some weird-ass date night role play, I think I deserve a thank you.”

You looked down at the unconscious guy and started laughing. It was a real, heartfelt laugh, not something he would expect after what happened. “You want me to thank you? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? I had it all planned out. The whole night went smoothly, I almost had him, but you had to get involved!” you yelled angrily.

“What does that supposed to mean?”

“It’s none of your business.” Letting out a high-pitched scream, you kicked the guy then turned back to Han-seok. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

This little tantrum of yours was adorable. He liked it. He really did. With a bright smile on his face, he stepped a little closer to you. “I’m Jang Han-seok. I’ve been watching you, you know.”

“What a creep—he even dares to admit it,” you mumbled under your breath.

He raised an eyebrow in question, but you only shook your head. What he didn’t notice in time was you slowly reaching into your bag and pulling out a taser that you eventually pointed at him. Before he could react, you pulled the trigger and the electrodes hit his chest a second later, sending an electric current through his body. He fell on the floor as his body was completely out of control for now, but despite this he could still see you watching him with a smirk on your lips.

This was fun. Han-seok couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He saved you and this is what he got in return. So much for genuinely being the good guy for once. “I think I love you,” he said once his body stopped shaking. “But seriously, what was your plan with him?”

You hesitated for a while, visibly trying to decide whether or not to tell him the truth. In the end, you let out a sigh and started talking. “I have cameras all over the house. I knew he was going to do this if I played my cards right, and I needed the footage. But look at him—you probably beat him up so bad he should be in a hospital right now. If I used this video, I’d have to answer questions about you, which is clearly something I want to avoid. I don't even know who you are and why you're here.”

“And why do you need the footage?” he asked as he sat up.

You let out a sigh. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that his father keeps him on an incredibly short leash. Even though he has the money and power required, he wouldn't cover up something like this. It's always his mother who takes care of these things behind his back.”

Han-seok let out a deep hum. “So you wanted to use it for blackmail. You're a clever girl,” he said with a wide grin. “Anyway, speaking of hospitals—shouldn't we call an ambulance for him?”

New chapters on @reallyverybored

#vincenzo #jang han seok #jang han-seok #jang han seok x reader #jang han-seok x reader #kdrama #jang joon-woo #jang joon-woo x reader

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demonslayedher · 3 years

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Hi! I keep seeing people commenting again and again that Rengoku's "Umai" comes from "ancient samurai did it to enjoy every meal as if it were their last one", but I can't find a reliable source on that. Do you happen to know if that's true or it's just one of those fandom rumors that spread around and everyone believes them? Did the Rengokus used to be samurai?

I have... never heard this????? Granted, I don't stray from under my Tumblr rock when it comes to interacting with the wider KnY fandom, so that might be part of it. But I also have been a nerd for samurai since long before KnY might have been a twinkle in a gator's eye, and... I still have not heard this??????? Granted, I am but one nerd on the internet, so there's of course plenty I don't know. So I went looking into this on the Japanese interwebs, found a good handful of articles on the epistemology of the "umai" Rengoku uses and how the usage meaning can vary depending on the kanji it's written in, and...

Again, that's not to say there's not something out there, but I couldn't find anything that implied that this started as a samurai-specific phrase with a highly specific meaning behind praising a potential last meal's tastiness. Setting aside the question of the word "umai," though, there is a lot of meat to this interpretation, though. There is a lot of samurai and Zen influence at work in Kyojuro's character, the Rengoku clan, and in Kimetsu no Yaiba as a whole.

Let's start with the question of whether or not Kyojuro (and everyone else in the Rengoku clan) is a samurai. I don't think this is an appropriate phrase for a number of historical reasons as well as reasons in canon. First, to my knowledge, the use of 侍 "samurai" in KnY is limited to context of swordsmen from warrior families (武家 "buke") who would have acted under the title of someone who is a career warrior under the service of a warlord. Child Yoriichi uses this phrase when addressing Michikatsu, saying he wants to be the "second strongest samurai." This is appropriate for them, for as warrior family, they have the social expectations of samurai to live up to. This was back in the Warring States period, but the definition of samurai was a building block of the whole social structure in the Edo period, and being tied in with politics would be problematic for a family committed to an unrecognized/secret organization. The Rengoku clan had their own illustrious family legacies to maintain, their own master they already served separate from whatever warlord is in power, and their own dire mission unrecognized by the political world. Rather than samurai, most of the time the demon slayers (or demon hunters, as they were more commonly called in Yoriichi's day before "Corp" existed as a military phrase) were referred to as swordsmen: 剣士 "kenshi." This is how Yoriichi referred to the Rengoku ancestor who found him after Uta was slain. That all being said, the Rengoku family clearly would had been influenced by samurai culture, so much so that acquaintances might assume they are of the samurai class. Besides the general attitudes, there are many subtle details that make the Rengoku household seem like a buke. You know how excited I was when watching the movie and I saw the garden in Rengoku-san's flashbacks and was like, "ahhhh, look at that, only evergreens, no fading flowers, that is totally a garden appropriate for a samurai abode." "But wait!" you might say. "Cherry blossoms represent the evanescent nature of the samurai, scattering in youthful warrior glory!" Pssh, yeah, that makes it a real inauspicious thing to have in your garden. Sometimes you want a symbol of a samurai's undying loyalty and stuff instead. But the constant awareness of death? Yeah, totally a samurai thing. And that's part of why Zen was so popular with samurai/swordsmen. The more you dig into the samurai psyche about death and constant preparation for it (as well as the struggle to be stoic about it, as opposed to fearing it or being too eager for a glorious death), the more fascinating things you find. Even proper hygiene for making sure your head is a fitting trophy from the battlefield! One method of stoicism found in Zen is mindfulness, and it's actually been on my mind lately how so much of Breath users' abilities does stem from mindfulness (emphasis on the five senses, embracing mundane chores like Tanjiro tending rice as it cooks, heck, even the tree-like state), which would lend itself very well to the interpretation that each meal should be appreciated like your last.

Like, that's one reason the tea ceremony was so popular a practice among samurai too. It draws you attention to the moment. And it's pretty realistic that you'll never encounter a moment like that again with the people you're gathered with. It's the same sort of the approach, and it can absolutely be applied to eating. There is a lot of more general focus throughout KnY on meditation being a source of strength, be it training under waterfalls, Genya repeating the Nembutsu prayer or Ruka practicing Kankagari (meditation done by expectant mothers in the Rengoku clan, staring at a hanging lantern). Breath itself is so, so, so, so closely linked to meditation. It's as though Gotouge is trying to extol the virtues of mastery of the self, and how running away with our passions (perhaps well-meaning, but misguided) is what will make demons out of us. And Kyojuro, who sees good reason for being sad over his father's state, stoically chose mastery over his own emotions. He does not let his potential inadequacies become a passion that rules his heart, and this gives his mind the freedom to adjust quickly to new situations. Kyojuro does tend to live in a state of being in the present, and that means being mindful of an grateful for the details of everything and everyone around him. He accepts not only that he may die protecting his juniors, but that he might also grow old and weak. He neither seeks or flees from either course.

To become a demon would be to let oneself be consumed by passions, ultimately losing that appreciation for our delicate existence. Maybe I wouldn't call him a samurai, but I would feel comfortable calling Kyojuro a 武士 "bushi" (warrior) (albeit the over-idealized bushi mindset took through writings of people who could only look back and admire samurai of the past, and project themselves onto them a bit, but I digress, that's an interesting but irrelevant topic). Not every samurai was a good one, especially as we trickled through the peaceful Edo period, being a samurai was just a happy accident of birth that landed you a civil service position. But for someone who accepted a bushi lifestyle, they accepted that death might always be near. While it's very easy for bushi idealism to be taken to a fanatical level (and for politics, it always has been), KnY lifts up the best of it, with mindful attitudes to strive for even without death constantly down our necks.

#oh look it's 1am #KnY fandom theories and meta #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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you-can-call-me-wanda · 3 years

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Fake Dating

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Reader

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

When you first started dating Nikki Sixx, it was all for the money.

Now dating someone for money may sound cruel and awful to most, but in your case, it was a little different. Dating Nikki was literally your job.

You had been reached out to by Nikki’s management close to eight months ago and were offered the job of becoming his fake partner. Mötley Crüe had gotten into some sort of scandal once again that had the public upset and protesting their work. It really wasn’t anything that bad that the band had been up to, just their typical hotel shenanigans, but it happened right before their new album release and their label was desperate to change the opinions of any upset mothers to try and increase album sales.

So, they had reached out to you. Why? Because you were exactly what they needed to get the public back on the side of Mötley Crüe. You were a small-time actor and pretty much universally liked. Having gotten most of your fame from starring in a recent and popular children’s movie, you were recognizable to children and parents alike. You were relatively new to professional acting, so there was no sort of rumors or nasty gossip associated with your name. Not to mention, you were young and beautiful and, even better, had no criminal record. You perfect for the role of Nikki Sixx’s significant other.

You were hesitant to accept of course. Sure, you had heard rumors of celebrities with fake or hired partners before, but never had you been asked to be in on one of those schemes. It felt wrong, to be lying to so many people, but the pay was too good for you turn down. You were in between gigs at the moment, having had no job offers since your big movie role. Maybe it was wrong to have ever accepted, but you had, and there was definitely no turning back now.

To everyone’s surprise and Mötley Crüe management’s absolute glee, the tabloids and press was obsessed with your and Nikki’s relationship. After just one “date” out with Nikki, a no-expenses lunch courtesy of Elektra Records and lots of well-timed hand holding and pecks on the cheek, paparazzi photos of the two of you could be seen on virtually every teen gossip magazine’s cover. When people mentioned Mötley Crüe now, they were talking about you and Nikki, not the fact that they got banned from the Hilton or destroyed over fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of property at their last hotel stay on tour.

Like you were, Nikki had been hesitant to play along with this fake relationship. It was weird and the whole thing was uncomfortable in the beginning. You were a complete stranger to him and now he was expected to kiss you in public and take you out on dates? It was awkward to say the least. But over time, the two of you warmed up to each other and your roles. With every staged date, you two got closer and closer and got to know each other more and more. Things got easier, and you actually began to enjoy the company that Nikki provided when you saw him, and the two of you even began to hang out sometimes even when it wasn’t scheduled by corporate.

“Hey (Y/N)!”

You turned around where you stood to see Nikki and his best friend and bandmate, Tommy, running towards you.

“Hey,” you said, smiling widely at the two boys. “You guys ready for your big show?”

Today was the last night of Mötley Crüe’s tour and it was the biggest show yet. You had been invited by management since the show was to be filmed with some backstage footage as well. And since Nikki was your fake boyfriend, it only made sense for you to be there with him.

“Hell yeah!” Tommy cheered, twirling his drumsticks in his hands. “Tonight is going to be killer! You’re gonna be watching from side stage, right?”

“Of course I will,” you said. “You know how much I love seeing you guys play.”

And it was true. The best part about your newest acting role besides getting to hang out with Nikki, was watching his band perform on stage.

“That’s why you’re the best,” Tommy said, ruffling a hand through your hand and bounding off down the hall on the venue excitedly. “I’m going to go warm up!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t chicken out on me Sixx!”

You turned back to Nikki with a confused smile.

“That boy is all kinds of weird,” you laughed.

“Tell me about it,” Nikki said with an eye roll.

“What does he mean about chickening about?” you asked. “You nervous for the show or something?”

Nikki had never seemed nervous before a performance before. He was normally excited, but maybe since this was his biggest gig yet, the stage fright was getting to him. You examined him carefully. He did look a little nervous. He was tapping his fingers to an irregular rhythm against his leather-clad thigh and biting his lip just slightly.

Nikki sighed through his nose and attempted to look non-chalant. The real reason he was so nervous was because tonight was the night he had decided would be the time when finally he told you that he loved you. He had stupidly mentioned it to Tommy who in turn had told Mick and Vince and half the crew. Now, almost thirty people had wagered money on whether he would actually go through with it or not. Somehow, thankfully, you had been left blissfully in the dark to all of this.

“No,” Nikki said. “I’m not nervous. It’s nothing really. Just Tommy being dumb like always.”

“Oh, okay,” you responded. “As long as you’re okay. By the way, Mick said you wanted to talk to me earlier.”

Nikki cursed under his breath. Of course, Mick would intervene. He had bet a hefty amount of cash on Nikki being brave enough to confess his feelings to you.

“He did? Oh, well, it’s really nothing important. It can wait until later,” he said, swallowing thickly.

In reality, Nikki was genuinely terrified to tell you that he loved and ask you out. Normally, he was confident in matters like this, but with you, he felt like he was diving headfirst into the unknown. He felt a connection with you, and he was sure that his feelings for you were true, but he had no idea if you felt the same. In any other situation, he could probably figure out if someone were interested in him based on how they interacted, but with you that was near impossible. You were literally being paid to date him. How was he to discern between your acting and what you really thought? For all he knew, you could hate his guts and just be putting on a show to keep getting your monthly check.

And if he told you that he loved you, and you didn’t feel the same, he wouldn’t know what to do. Not only would he be heartbroken, but he wouldn’t be able to hide from you. You would still be invited to events and he would still have to pretend to be your boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to kiss you knowing that you didn’t and had never had any feelings for him.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “There’s plenty of time to talk now. You’re not on for another hour at least.”

“I just uh, I just- I don’t know,” Nikki stammered.

“Sixx,” you said with a laugh. “Just tell me.” You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re my fake boyfriend, remember? I love you,” you joked.

Your words pained Nikki because he knew you were only teasing.

“Do you really though?” Nikki asked quietly, finally finding the strength to make his move.

The smile slipped off your face.

“What?”

“Do you actually love me?” Nikki repeated louder, looking up at you. “Do you really love me?”

You were caught off guard to say the least. That was not what you had been expecting Nikki to ask you. Did you love him? Of course you did, but why was he asking? Had he figured out that you were secretly harboring feelings for him, the boy you were supposed to be fake dating? Had he realized that your acting was getting to be too realistic, that you couldn’t possibly be faking this well?

“Why are you asking me that?” you said, avoiding answering his question.

“Just answer me,” Nikki said. His eyes searched yours for an answer.

You could feel your heart hammering away in your chest. Did he know? You were panicking, trying to think of something to say. Should you deny any feelings you had for him? It would be unprofessional to admit that somewhere along the line, you had begun to really love him.

“(Y/N),” Nikki said, realizing you weren’t going to answer him. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore.”

You felt like he had punched you in the gut. All the air left you lungs. So, this was it. He had figured you out and was ending things. He didn’t want to see you anymore now that he knew.

“You- what?” you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore because I want to be your real boyfriend (Y/N),” Nikki said. His eyes turned downcast, too nervous to look at you. “I don’t know when it happened (Y/N), but I’ve fallen for you. You’re just- you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re smart and witty and fun. You can make me laugh and get me out of a bad mood. You know how to party, but you also can just sit and have an honest conversation with me. I love you and I want this to be real, what’s going on between us.”

You were speechless yet again. You gazed at him in awe, shocked by what he had just admitted.

Nikki took your surprised silence as rejection and his shoulders sagged visibly.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked eventually, daring to look up at you now.

“I, uh- I mean, no. I’m just surprised is all,” you managed to spit out. “You really mean all that?”

Nikki merely nodded.

“Nikki, I- oh my god. I love you too,” you said, finally finding the words you wanted to say back to him.

Nikki looked skeptically hopeful.

“You do?” he asked hesitantly. “You really mean that?”

“Nikki,” you started, breaking out into a grin. “I have loved you for months now. I thought you could never feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. I thought you would hate me if I told you.”

“I could never hate you,” Nikki said, lips curling up to match yours. “God (Y/N), I really love you. Can I- will you- would you be alright if we started dating for real now?” he asked. “No more staged dates or kisses. Just you and me actually doing this.”

You nodded excitedly.

“Yes,” you agreed quickly. “Yes, I would like nothing better Nikki.”

Nikki let out a relieved laugh and quickly threw his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” he said, as you hugged him back.

“Of course,” you said, pulling back to look at him.

“Can I kiss you now? For real this time?”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx imagine #motley crue x reader #motley crue imagine #motley crue #wanda writes

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momolady · 3 years

Text

The Mad One: Part Two

Part Two of Six

Mad One goes into the Neon City, searching for a way to find her sibling. But the ruler of this city wants to see Mad One.

Female Main Character x Multiple Male Monsters

The City of Neon wasn’t far from the City of Red Tide, but the two cities had never had any sort of union. The Neon Acolytes the peaceful sort, whereas Red Tide and Red Witch were more than willing to throw punches. It was because of this that Red Witch never saw a need to integrate with the Neon Acolytes, the two cities remained neutral. Which, for the City States, was a strange and precarious bond.

The Neon City was ruled over by Queen Mazza Hemlock, who was able to keep her city in perpetual shadow so that the neon would always shine brightest. It had been a strange sight for Mad One to see when she was young. Often traveling with Red Witch, she would see the Neon City up the hill, shrouded in darkness yet glowing with lights. It was rumored that Mazza stayed in a perpetual state of meditation in order to keep the city shrouded.

Mad One had never delved enough into Neon City to know much about it, aside from the Rotting Nectar, a highly alcoholic drink they brewed that tasted like candy, and could induce a blissful state. During her younger days, Mad One would make many trips to the Neon City to imbibe Rotting Nectar. This would be Mad One’s first time entering the city as Red Witch’s heir rather than a girl looking for a drink. Word had been sent ahead to make sure Mad One’s arrival would be met, and that she would be granted an audience with Queen Mazza.

Mad One was given her mother’s favorite car to make her journey, a cherry red chrome machine powered by magic. Depending on how much one was able to produce in a sitting, the car could go at speeds well above what a normal car could, and with the help of Huni Buni’s debris enhancers the car was going down the road like lightning.

“You’ve been quiet,” Huni Buni remarked to his wife. “Is everything okay?”

Mad One eased back into her seat, arms going slack as she held the wheel. Gazing vacantly beyond the windshield, she finally let out a mournful sigh. “It is and it isn’t.”

“You can talk to me,” Huni Buni insisted. “You don’t have to be strong around me. You can cry. You can scream. You can tell me anything at all.”

“I know, I’m just… figuring out how I can share it.” Mad One glanced briefly from the road to her husband’s face. “I’m scared about this.”

“About fighting Sasha?”

Mad One shook her head. “No. I haven’t been married in a long time - I mean, not to anyone else.”

“You’re worried about your new partners?” Huni Buni laughed, then quickly stopped. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, and maybe your level of trust isn’t what it used to be.”

Mad One pulled the car over, slowing until they stopped by the side of the road. In the distance she could see the dark shroud of Neon City. Laying her head on the wheel, she sighed heavily. “What you said before, when you snapped at me - was that true?”

“I love you so much,” Huni Buni said solemnly. “It has never been a question for me. But they had questions. When Sasha beat you, I only wanted to hold you and put you back together. They lost faith. I was so angry at them, and I still am.” His ears twitched from side to side before standing again. “Of course they didn’t deserve you. They only wanted what you could offer, not you. You deserve partners who want you, no matter whether you’re a queen or can fry an egg.”

Mad One smiled at him, her heavy heart lifted. She leaned over, kissing the smooth visor of his face. “I love you too, Huni Buni. Thank you for staying with me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, my darling.” Huni Buni touched her face, gently tickling the lobe of her ear. “All I want is to see you happy and thriving again. Your magic is obviously up to snuff. You’re stronger than ever. You just need the right partners to back you up.”

Mad One pressed kisses all over his visor. Huni Buni placed his hand on the nape of her neck. “The Neon Acolytes are known for being quite gentle beings. They all harbor powerful magic, but it’s all light-based. I think you’ll find someone in the Neon City who is more than willing to be your next partner.”

Pressing her forehead to his, Mad One slouched slightly. “Are you getting tired of being the only one to take care of me?” A smile perked the corners of her lips to let him know she was teasing.

Huni Puni tapped her lips with the tip of his finger. “On the contrary, I have enjoyed having you to myself all this time. I simply wish not to become spoiled, and I am also eager to see you in the embrace of another. You’re so beautiful when you’re enraptured. I rarely get to see it due to my own state of joy.”

“It’s been a while,” Mad One purred. Her hand pressed to Huni Buni’s thigh, pushing up the baby-pink skirt he was wearing. “Should we…?”

“We’re in a bit of a hurry, darling,” Huni Buni scolded. “We should keep going.”

“I can have my magic drive us.” Mad One tugged up her shirt enough that the undersides of her breasts were exposed. “We can fool around until we get to the Neon City.”

“As much as I love seeing your muscles and breasts, I must insist...” His voice began to buzz with glitching.

Mad One smirked, pulling her shirt back down. “If you’re so sure.” She grabbed the wheel again. “Maybe you’re right. It would be best to wait.”

Huni Buni’s glitchy voice started to return to normal. “I want to, don’t get me wrong. The debris in me is acting up a lot.” He reached down to tug his skirt. “But we have to remain serious.”

“I understand, love.” She took his hand. “You know how I get when I’m nervous.”

“Yes I do. You do everything to turn the subject.” He squeezed her hand in return. “We’ll be in the Neon City soon, and from there we’ll be able to move forward. Once we talk to Queen Mazza, we just need to make it across the sea to the Island of One Thousand Corpses.”

Mad One pursed her lips in thought. “Do you really think it’s an island of corpses? Or just a name?”

“I think it’s a name, drummed up by the crazy person who owns it.” Huni Buni scoffed. “Whoever heard of an island full of corpses?”

The Neon City drew nearer, and even before they reached the gates they found two burly Neon Acolytes waiting for them, blocking the road with their motorcycles. Mad One and Huni stepped out of their car to meet them. Mad One was used to being the tallest and biggest in a room, so it was rare for her to feel petite. The Acolytes were massive, close to eight feet in height. They had huge, powerful wings, broad chests, narrow waists and long legs, and an abundance of fuzz. Known for their peaceful natures, it was rare to ever hear of the Neon Acolytes having issues with anyone, but when they did it could be gruesome. One of the two approached, wearing a helmet that covered his entire face. “My mother is expecting you,” he said.

“It’s been a long time since I was greeted by a prince,” Mad One laughed. “What’s the catch? Why stop me out here?”

The masked prince tilted his head to the side. When he opened his wings slightly, Mad One detected hints of soft pink, but the shadows shrouding him made it hard to see much color on his wings. “Your sister came through here a few weeks ago. She destroyed a popular bar, wrecked several vehicles, and caused a lot of mess for us.”

Mad One glared and threw her arms up. “Well, she killed my mom. If you hate her, I certainly do! What do you want me to do about it?”

He stiffened. “Red Witch is dead?”

Mad One struggled to maintain her tough facade. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been asked to take over, but I won’t until my sister is dealt with. Whatever grievance you have with Sasha, tell me, and I’ll add to the fight I’m going to give her.”

The prince nodded. “I was going to pay you back what your sister gave me.”

Mad One smirked. “You fought her?”

The masked prince shook his head. “No, but she fucking ran me over when I tried to break up some of my siblings who were fighting her partners.”

Huni Buni jumped and pointed a finger. “Were you going to run my wife over?”

The masked prince was silent, turning away from Huni Buni. “We’ll lead you to the Grand Hall, where my mother is waiting.”

“Fine with me. I’m glad we got this all sorted out before it got ugly,” she teased.

“He was going to run you over,” Huni Buni grumbled inside the car.

“He’s a prince,” Mad One chuckled. “It would have been by the books.”

Huni Buni twitched. “Perhaps he would be a good match for a new partner. A prince, and he seems quite handsome.”

“Do you see the pink, too?” Mad One smirked.

“We would make a matching set,” Huni Buni said smugly.

Mad One put on shades as they drove into the center of Neon City. “Pink is my favorite color.”

The Grand Hall was in the exact center of the city, surrounded by purple lights that outlined the entire building. It was made to be the centerpiece of the entire city, a violet jewel.

The masked prince opened Mad One’s car door for her, then offered his hand. “Is it too bright for you here?”

Mad One touched her shades. “Just a bit. It’s been a few years since I’ve visited.”

“I had a feeling you were familiar,” the prince replied cryptically. “Come inside. Mother is waiting.”

He led her inside, followed closely by Huni Buni. The interior of the Grand Hall was all dark purple, and the floors, the walls, even the lights burned violet. “I’m surprised it’s so dark here,” Mad One murmured.

“It’s to help my mother.” The masked prince dipped his head to remove his helmet. Long, fuzzy antenna stood straight up from his head, which was surrounded by a mane of pale fluff. His eyes were large and glossy, and there were small incisors protruding from either side of his mouth.

“Oh no, not another handsome prince,” Mad One joked.

“You don’t recognize me?” he laughed.

Mad One shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive me. Usually when I visited here I was blissed out on Rotting Nectar.”

The prince just chuckled. “This way.”

Huni Buni came up beside Mad One as they walked down the hall. “You know him?”

“Possibly. He knows me, I think.” Mad One gave Huni Buni a look. “What matters now is being able to access the Neon City’s port. It’s the quickest way to the Island of One Thousand Corpses.” They stepped into a large room which smelled thickly of potent incense. It made Mad One cough a few times, and already a headache was brewing. The room was almost completely dark except for the light of a few candles, and the dull embers of the incense.

“Red Witch is dead, is she?” A voice came from every direction. “Such a sad day. She was a powerful woman.”

“You must be Mazza Hemlock.” Mad One closed her eyes, focusing solely on the voice. The headache became a flicker behind her eyelids. There was a violet flash, then a dull glow. She then could see the face of Mazza inside the glow.

“I’ve been expecting you Madelyn.”

Mad One frowned. “Only my mother could call me that.”

Mazza smoked, blowing out lavender smoke. “You are after your sister, but you are also looking to become worthy of your mother’s mantle. I was told you’d be searching for a partner among my court.”

Mad One fanned away the billowing smoke from her face. “I hope you were also told that I am seeking access to your port and one of your vessels, Mazza.”

“Your wish for a partner means more to me than water and a ship. Due to my current state of being, I have very few children. And I do not want to give up one of my partners to you without first knowing you, Madelyn.”

More smoke blew from Mazza’s mouth, making Mad One cough and sniffle. The glow behind Mad One’s eyes became brighter as the headache spread. “Mazza, I will not ask for one of your partners,” she insisted. “Meeting and getting to know a prospective partner will take time, and truly, I am in a hurry.”

Mazza filled the back of Mad One’s eyelids with lavender smoke. “You sister will wait on that fetid island for you for as long as it takes. She lusts for your blood twice as much as you lust for hers. The debris doesn’t hide anything.”

Mad One was taken aback. “So she does know?”

Mazza leaned closer to Mad One, taking her face into her hand and turning it this way and that. The lavender smoke was making the headache turn into a building pressure. “You still love her.”

Mad One froze, shrinking under Mazza’s gaze. She stared up as Mazza bore down on her. “You lost everything to Slasher because she was your favorite. You admired her, but you outshone her.” Mad One became smaller and smaller, looking no more than four in Mazza’s grip. “She killed your mother, and still, you adore her.”

“Huni Buni?” Mad One whimpered in a small voice.

“No, no,” Mazza replied. “You wish to defeat your sister, but you can’t until you let go of that affection.”

Little Mad One began to weep.

“You can’t save her, Madelyn. Your mother tried, and you let her kill you and nothing changed. To save her is to grant her final mercy.”

“Mother!”

Mad One opened her eyes, coughing out lavender smoke. Huni Buni held her up as she choked out thick clouds. “Hades, you interrupted me,” Mazza scolded.

“I’ll marry Mad One,” Hades spoke up boldly. “There’s no sense in dragging this out. I might as well.”

“You are my only son. I have to be careful with you,” Mazza’s voice came from everywhere again.

Mad One collapsed in Huni Buni’s arms, still breathing out smoke. He picked her up, glaring through the darkness to where Mazza was suspended in the air, her large wings outstretched, revealing a skeletal face in the pattern.

“I know her already,” Hades admitted. “It was a long time ago.”

Huni Buni’s face flashed a scowl. “How long ago?”

Hades tilted his head to the side. “We were both young, she was coming here for pleasure, and I thought she was cute.”

“Is she the girl who pegged you?” Mazza asked.

“Mother!” Hades snapped at her. “You promised to stop smoking my mind!”

“Curious, curious,” Mazza clicked.

Huni Buni frowned again, lifting Mad One up in his arms. “Where can I take her?”

“She needed sleep. She’s not been allowing herself any comfort or rest,” Mazza scolded. “Take her to your chambers, Hades, since it seems she’s already acquainted with them.”

“Mom!” Hades snapped as he led Huni Buni away.

Huni Buni took Mad One to the bed in Hades’ bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her, watching her pinched brow slowly relax as she succumbed to a gentle slumber. Hades sat down in a chair, sighing deeply as his antennae drooped. “You know I must ask you to explain yourself,” Huni Buni spoke with a serious tone. “How long ago did you know Mad One?”

“Ages upon ages,” he grumbled. “I was a young man, twenty years old. Then there she was, a hulking beauty arm-wrestling for free drinks. She said it was her nineteenth birthday, I think, and she wanted to celebrate by kicking ass and getting drunk.” He chuckled at the far-off memory. “She had huge arms that just made me weak in the knees. I wanted her to throw me around. I never get to feel small or cute.”

“Then how come she doesn’t remember you?” Huni Buni scoffed.

“It’s been a long time, probably twenty years or so. And it was brief.” Hades waved his hand, and the light turned red. “Red keeps my mother away.”

“I see.” Huni Buni got off the bed and stood before Hades. “But you know, I thought I was my wife’s first.”

Hades chuckled. “You mean… when you married, she told you she was a virgin?”

“No! I knew my wife was active. I mean, I thought I was the first she ever pegged. We probably married shortly after your little rendezvous.”

Hades chuckled again, his antenna picking back up. “She must have a type. You and I are basically the same color.”

“Pink is her favorite color.” Huni Buni stated simply. “You know all of her partners left her before right?”

Hades’ brow pinched. “All of them?”

Huni Buni’s visor glowed like a flame. “Except me, and I won’t allow her to get married to clingers and users. If you want to marry Mad One, then you will be married to me too, and I won’t let you rest if you only see her as a means to an end.”

“I want to help,” Hades confessed. “I’m growing bored here. Mad One was fun.”

“She’s hurt,” Huni Buni growled.

“I said I wanted to help,” Hades murmured. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I don’t know what she’s looking for in a partner, but I would like to know.”

“You’re already pink, so you have that working for you,” Huni Buni huffed, taking a seat again. “I can’t speak for her, but I will protect her.”

Hades smirked. “You’re doing a good job of it.”

“Ever since she was nearly killed, I have been in a panic I will lose her again. She vanished from me for a long time, and all I could do was watch. But bit by bit I pulled her out and got her somewhere she felt safe. I protected her when all the others...” Huni Buni stopped. “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, but she’s vulnerable too. I think losing her partners hurt her worse than her sister did.”

“I can’t imagine,” Hades said softly. “I’ve never been married. You met my mother,” he scoffed. “But if you’ll let me prove it, both of you, I’m willing to be a partner that does it all.”

“Why? Because she pegged you once?”

“It’s been a long time, but I’ve never forgotten the way she made me feel. Maybe it’s selfish to chase that feeling. But it’s her,” Hades insisted. “And as soon as I saw her again, I felt it. I’m nervous, I’m goofy, and she did it to me.”

Huni Buni nodded. “You felt it in your debris, like she had been there all along.”

Hades’ smile began to grow, and his incisors grew more pronounced with it. “Yeah. Like our debris came from the same stuff.”

A smile appeared on Huni Buni’s screen as well. “Good, that’s important.” He stretched out his long legs and posed. “Now, what do you think about La-Pin Units?”

Hades chuckled, throwing his head back as he tried to keep from laughing too loudly. “I’ve enjoyed many lovers, and as long as I liked them it didn’t matter to me who or what they were. I certainly wouldn’t say no to someone as cute as you.”

A big heart flashed on Huni Buni’s screen. “A very good answer, you flirt.”

“I’m a bit of a sweet talker,” Hades laughed.

“Sweet,” Mad One snored from the bed.

Huni Buni’s shoulders slouched as he fixed his gaze on his wife. “Do you know what your mother was saying to her in the smoke?” he asked.

Hades shook his head. “I can’t say. My mother’s abilities as a thaumaturgist aren’t the same as my own, and she’s been honing hers for decades while in her suspended state. From experience I know that her smoking abilities can read minds, even show prophetic visions. But it’s her preferred way of talking to people while she keeps Neon City in the shroud.”

Huni Buni went to Mad One’s side, touching her head and petting her hair away from her face. The bags under Mad One’s eyes looked more purple than usual, and there were faint stains of the same color around her mouth from coughing out the smoke. “How did you meet her?” Hades asked quietly.

Huni Buni’s head tilted up while his screen went blank. “I was a gift for her twentieth birthday. Specially made to her specifications.”

Hades smirked. “You were made for her, huh?”

“My appearance was tailored to her, yes. But once magic debris started to power my cells, I was my own person. I still fell for her, of course. It was her first marriage.” Huni Buni pulled the blankets over Mad One as she slept.

Hades bowed his head as a serious look shadowed his eyes. He was understanding that Huni Buni wasn’t just protective of Mad One, but that he was also protecting himself. “So I take it you were close with some of her other partners?”

Huni Buni’s ears twitched from side to side, rotated in a circle and then became still again. “Of course. They were my family too.”

“I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Huni Buni sniffed, taking his seat again. “It won’t happen again, I can promise you that.”

“I know marrying me would be advantageous to Mad One’s goal of hunting down her sister. And it would also help me spread my wings, so to speak. So yes, perhaps I do have selfish reasons for wanting to marry.”

“Tired of being a mama’s boy?”

Hades scowled at Huni Buni, who winked at him. “Being the only son is exhausting in a way. I’m not given the responsibilities my sisters receive. I don’t have magic like them. I’m told I matter, but I’m always behind the scenes. I feel that with Mad One I may have some importance, even in a city like Red Tide.”

Huni Buni whirled a finger around in the air. “But?”

“But,” Hades sighed, “I feel that same stuff with Mad One, it makes me want to be with her regardless.”

Huni Buni’s visor went blank for a moment before turning blue. “It’s late, so you should get some rest yourself.”

“How do you know it’s late? It’s always dark here.” Hades slouched back in the chair.

Huni Buni smirked. “That’s the great thing about being a LA-Pin Unit, I have a clock. I don’t need the sun.”

While Hades and Huni Buni were chatting away, Mad One was also having a long discussion. Still small from Mazza Hemlock’s influence, little baby Mad One was sitting alone, playing with blocks of varying shades of color. Her long hair was messy, falling out of its plaits. Even at a young age she loved to use her strength to roughhouse with anyone who got in her way. She was a terror in the Grand Hall during her youth, but her charm always won people over. “There we go.” Little Mad One finished building her dream castle with the blocks, able to stack it high due to her growth spurt. In her mind, this would be what the Grand Hall looked like when she became queen after her mother.

“That’s stupid!” The tower was swept aside, the blocks scattering along the dark ground and turning red as they clattered away.

Mad One stared as her sister Sasha came into view. Sasha was the eldest sister, but she was much smaller than Mad One, very thin, very short, with hair so straight it looked like a blade. She was born from the union between Red Witch and one of her lower husbands, while Mad One had been the daughter of Red Witch and her favorite husband, Adlai. “Sasha, that wasn’t nice!” Mad One pouted.

“It’s stupid,” Sasha snapped. “You can’t change the Grand Hall just because you’re a queen. That’s not how it works!”

Mad One left her play area to pick up the blocks in the darkness. As she reached for one of the red squares, her finger sank into it so that it bulged from between her fingers in a gooey, sticky mess. Mad One grimaced, shaking it from her hand until it splattered against the floor. While her back was turned, Sasha continued to knock down the block building. “Sasha, stop!” Mad One whined.

“Make me!” Sasha swiped down another tower, causing most of her structure to topple. Sasha stood in the center of the mess with a huge scowl on her face. Mad One had always thought her sister was the most beautiful. She didn’t have the cute babyface like she did, instead she exuded loveliness like their mother, even when she had on such an ugly grimace.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sasha,” Mad One insisted.

“You have to!” Sasha screamed. She looked bigger than Mad One now, older. “You are my sister! My little sister! You have to fight me!”

Mad One shook her head, taking a step back. “I don’t want to.”

Sasha towered above Mad One, looking like she did the day she challenged Mad One to the fight that nearly killed her. She had her head shaved, including her brows. Dark red makeup was smeared around her eyes like a mask, and her lips were painted black with pink shimmer. “Why won’t you fight me when you’ll fight everyone else around you, Mad One? Do you really think that little of me? Do you really think I am that pathetic?”

Little Mad One was sobbing. “No, Sasha!”

“Slasher!” she screamed, bending over to yell in her face. “I am Slasher! I am neither your sister or a princess! I am a blade! No gender, and no connections until I make you bleed!”

Mad One was sobbing uncontrollably. “I don’t want to fight you!”

Slasher raised their hand to strike, rage filling their eyes and turning to thick clouds of debris. “You have to!”

Mad One closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, but when nothing happened she slowly opened her eyes. She whimpered pitifully as she clutched a pink rabbit toy in her arms.

“I see now,” a low, soft voice rippled through the room. “I always knew the tension between you and your sister was always near snapping. I just never realized Slasher’s side of it.”

“Mama?” Mad One whimpered.

Red Witch stepped out, surrounded by flowing red light that clung to her body like a robe. She stood before Mad One, looking down at her. “What is this? My Mad One is not such a little thing.”

Mad One blubbered.

“You grew out of being a crybaby when you were five. What happened?” Red Witch knelt down in front of her. “Come now, you grew up long ago.”

“I don’t want to hurt Sasha,” Mad One pouted.

“Sasha is long gone, my child,” Red Witch murmured sympathetically. “Slasher is what exists in her place.”

“But Slasher is still...” Mad One was stopped by Red Witch’s glare. “Mama, what do I do?”

Red Witch stood up, crossing her arms in defiance. “You need to grow up before you wake up again. Do you think it is easy for me to materialize like this? Even in a dream?”

“I’m dreaming?”

Red Witch scowled. “Oh, come now, you’re almost forty.” She snapped her fingers, and the pink bunny was thrown from Mad One’s arms. “You don’t need toys. You need partners, allies. You need to wake up and realize sometimes you cannot save people. Your sister is no more. She released those bonds and became Slasher. And while Slasher would have come to be anyway, which you must respect, they have severed all ties to us. Blood does not connect family. We give blood to make family, but it does not keep us. You have to sever your ties to Slasher if you ever wish to save the family that survives. They won’t stop until your life is destroyed.”

“But, Mama...” Mad One’s voiced choked off as she cried.

“It hurts me too. I loved Slasher and Sasha with all my heart. I know they did horrible things, but love is hard to shatter.” Red Witch placed her hand on Mad One’s head. “But sometimes, the greatest act of love is to let go.”

Mad One sniffled and looked at her, level with her eyes again. Red Witch’s smile became soft and lovely. “Even when you were a terror, you were always my sweet little girl.”

“Sweet?” Mad One hiccuped.

Everything went red, the air, the light, surrounding Mad One but not touching her. She looked up through the haze to see dark clouds hovering above her head. Thunder rumbled, and then the rain fell. It hit her face, cooling her skin and flattening her hair against it. She breathed in deeply, turning her face up towards the sky. She woke, and Huni Buni pulled back the cool damp rag from her face. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Huni Buni?” Mad One croaked. “What happened?”

“You had a conversation with Queen Mazza Hemlock and fainted.” Huni Buni replied. “Hades brought you here to rest.”

Mad One sat up, hand clutched around her throat. “I need something to drink. Is there any water?”

Huni Buni already had a glass in his hand, which Mad One guzzled until the cup was dry. She sighed heavily, slowly breathing out the strangeness of the dream. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Are you alright?” Huni Buni sat down beside her, cupping her cheek.

“I haven’t woken up enough to know,” she murmured.

Huni Buni pressed his visor to her forehead. “It’s okay now.”

Mad One wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her hands against his glossy body for comfort. Then it clicked. “Did you say Hades?”

“Yes. He’s the prince here. Do you remember him?”

Mad One sat back. “Yeah, it was ages ago,” she whispered. “Was he the guy from last night? The one who wanted to run me over?”

Huni Buni tilted his head to the side. “Did you really not recognize him?”

“I couldn’t see him due to all the stinking purple!” Mad One rubbed her face. “Did he say he wanted to marry me?”

“He’s talking with Queen Mazza about it now.” Huni Buni rubbed her back in circles. “He would be a good match, and it would allow us access to their port. Not to mention support from the Neon City when we go to face your sister.”

Mad One grumbled. “No. Slasher isn’t my sister.”

Huni Buni’s ears rotated.

“I kept clinging to Sasha, but she doesn’t exist anymore. I have to respect that.” Mad One stood up from the bed, combing her fingers through her hair. “But Slasher is still family to me.”

A big red stop sign flashed on Huni Buni’s visor. “They killed your mother and almost you. They took all your husbands!”

“Love is hard to shatter,” Mad One sighed. “I know it’s ridiculous. I can’t explain it.” She grimaced as her stomach growled loudly.

Huni Buni held his hand up. “Let’s go find you something to eat. We don’t have to discuss this now.”

Hades was coming up the hall as they left. He approached, looking over Mad One as he tried to organize the thoughts in his head. Mad One’s stomach growled again, and she placed her hand over it. “Oh, uh...” It was an out for Hades, an easy way to strike a conversation. “If you’re hungry, it’s best to go out into the city. We don’t have much food here except nectar.”

“I’ll take anything.” Mad One smiled at him. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

Hades shook his head. “It’s been awhile. I wouldn’t have recognized you if I didn’t know you were coming.”

Mad One took his hand as he led them from the Grand Hall. Outside, Huni Buni unlocked their car and took the backseat while Mad One drove. Hades looked out the window, and finally, outside the neon lights, Mad One could make out the soft pinks and pale yellows of his form. He had the same markings as his mother, including the skeletal face in his wings and the little skull mark on the back of his head. But he was obviously the same colors as his father.

“It’s been a long time,” she murmured.

“Yes, yes, we know this,” Huni Buni scoffed from the backseat. “You’re aware I know now I wasn’t your first, right?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would ever come up.” Mad One glanced at Hades with a small smile on her face. “You should be grateful I got to practice on Hades.”

“Yes, well, there is time for that later. What did your mother say?” Huni Buni directed at Hades. “You talked for a long time.”

“We did,” Hades sighed. “She said she would be willing to accept a marriage, but first Mad One would have to offer a proper dowry.”

“You’re kidding,” Mad One scoffed.

Hades shook his head. “I wish she was. She said that because I am her only son, special measures must be taken to assure I will be well taken care of.”

Huni Buni leaned into the front seat. “What does she consider to be a proper dowry?”

Hades turned to look as Mad One, whose brow was pinched with concern. She knew already that the permission to marry wasn’t going to be something easy to obtain. “She wants a vial of Red Witch’s debris,” he finally answered.

Mad One slammed her foot down on the brakes. She gripped the steering wheel, her eyes focused upon the road and beyond it. “That’s impossible! I didn’t keep any when it left her, it’s all gone!” Huni Buni made a high-pitched whirring noise behind her. “My mother is gone. Her debris has gone out into the world to repay our ancestors. I didn’t know that this would…” Mad One jerked her arms back and forth from frustration as she gripped the wheel tight in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Hades murmured. “But that’s what she wants.”

Mad One took a deep breath and leaned back into the seat, straightening her arms out and flexing them. “Even if I did have it, I don’t think I could give it to her.”

Huni Buni made the sound again. “If you have something to say, say it,” Mad One scoffed.

Hanging his head, Huni Buni fidgeted with his hands. “You said it didn’t matter if you had it or not. But...” Huni Buni undid the buttons on his top. Once his chest was exposed, he opened up a cavity to show that one of his power cells was glowing bright red. “Before we left, I was able to gather some of your mother’s magic debris.”

“It’s in your power cell, though,” Mad One murmured. “If we took it that cell could be damaged and you could...” She shut her mouth, afraid to speak the rest.

“What if we could replace it, inundate the cells so he could expel your mother’s debris?” Hades turned around in his seat, leaning back towards Huni Buni. “I could force out some debris. It comes off us as dust naturally, but I can work myself up to produce more.”

Mad One tried to push him back into his seat. “You’d grow exhausted before you could get it to that. You could pass out.”

“You know from experience the stamina I have,” Hades replied with a wink.

Mad One scowled. “Don’t make jokes! This is serious. Even if that did work, it’s still a risk to both of you, and I am not one to play those kinds of games with either of you!”

“You would really be willing to do that?” Huni Buni murmured.

Hades smiled at him. “Yeah.”

Huni Buni huffed. “Alright, but if we’re going to do this, we’re going to need space.” Mad One’s stomach snarled viciously in hunger. “And she needs breakfast.”

After finding food, they found a place that was private. Mad One finished off her meal, while Huni Buni stripped down so his vents would all be exposed to receive Hades’ debris. Hades stripped as well, to assure as much dust floated off his fur as possible. Huni Buni opened his vents along his ears, and he breathed in as Hades shook his wings. Mad One sat close, concentrating so that she could gather Red Witch’s debris. Huni Buni began to whir and beep as he focused, lights flashing all over his body. Hades shivered his wings, shaking them so his body fluffed up and the debris could float free. He grunted with effort, and the soft pink dust floated around him before being inhaled by Huni Buni.

Mad One’s eyes glowed red as debris began to fill the vial. “It’s working,” she breathed.

“I’m getting hot,” Huni Buni panted. “Hurry.”

“I’m trying! Hold on.” Hades took hold of Huni Buni’s hand.

Mad One felt the heat coming off of Huni Buni as she pulled the vial back. “That’s enough!” She pushed Huni Buni down, and his visor blinked off. Hades rose but quickly fell to his knees, exhausted.

“He needs to cool down. He’ll be sleeping for a bit, ” Mad One sighed after inspecting Huni Buni. She knelt, helping Hades to sit up. “Are you okay?”

“Dizzy, but...” He shook his head. “I need a minute.”

Mad One kissed him, pressing a bit of her magic into him. “Thank you. You could have really hurt yourself doing that.”

Hades returned the kiss, pressing it to her cheek and neck. “I wanted you both to know I’d be there for you. I know what you lost must have hurt.”

“Your incisors tickle,” Mad One giggled. She gazed at him with a smile. “Lie back, and I’ll give you a nice thank-you if you like.”

Hades lay on the ground, looking up at Mad One as she removed her top. “You’re still as beautiful as I remember.” His hand stroked down her muscular arm and onto her stomach. “You look like you could really toss me around.”

“Not today.” She knelt between his legs, rubbing her hand through his fluff until she came to his hips. His cock was already becoming hard, pink with small yellow bumps all over it. Mad One kissed him there, her lips greeted by his pulse. Ficking her eyes towards him, she watched his chest rise with excited breathing, his hands clamping over his face. Delighted moans reached her ears and she took his tumescent cock between her lips, stroking the rest in her strong hand.

“Fuck,” Hades moaned deeply above her. “Oh, fuck.” Mad One moaned against him, pressing her tongue against the base while she rubbed the hood against her cheek. Her drool dribbled down, wetting her fingers and splashing against his scrotum.

Hades’ hand clasped the back of her head. “That’s amazing.” His fingers ran through her short hair, grasping at the roof and making Mad One moan in pleasure. “Good girl. You’re so fucking beautiful. You take my breath away, your gorgeous creature.”

Mad One lifted her head with a smile. “Always with the compliments. You’re only asking for it.” She sucked her fingers, leaving them wet, then prodded between his cheeks, finding his anus eager. She slipped her fingers inside easily and grinned. “Is this what you wanted?”

Hades rolled his head back. “Yes!”

“You and Huni Buni would get along so well.” She cooed sweetly as she moved her fingers. “Both of you are such slutty little boys.”

Hades cried out, writhing until his back came off the floor.

“I must admit, I have a very specific type.” She leaned back down again, kissing his shaft and lapping at the tip.

“Oh, fuck! You’re so good. You’re amazing. So beautiful!” Hades panted.

Mad One kissed his shaft from tip to base. “Are you gonna come for me?” she giggled while adding another finger to his ass. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Hades cried out.

Mad One took him back into her mouth, thrusting her fingers at the same time so she caught his release. Hades stretched out his wings and roared, his whole body tensing so her fingers became trapped inside him. He gasped, he writhed, overcome in so much pleasure he completely forgot his exhaustion. His release overflowed Mad One’s mouth, dribbling down the sides and onto her chest. Mad One sat up, cheeks full until she swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she let out a haughty laugh. “Oh yes, I remember you vividly.” She stroked her palm down his chest as he breathed raggedly. “And with any luck, I won’t have a chance to forget you.”

She picked up the vial containing Red Witch’s debris and sat there looking at it, while both boys recovered. It would be hard for her to give up, but she knew she had to in order to stop Slasher.

Once Huni Buni revived and Hades could walk, Mad One delivered the vial to Mazza Hemlock, who gave her blessing to the union. But it would be a short-lived celebration. There wasn’t much time to waste, as the journey to the Island of One Thousand Corpses took precedence. They were given a ship to cross the sea between the mainland and the island, filled with supplies, a small crew, and reinforcements for the fight against Slasher. “Are you afraid?” Hades asked her as the ship left port.

Mad One looked into the distance and took a deep breath. “I am.”

#monsterxhuman #monster boyfriend #monster lover #polyamory #mothman #my writing #momolady monsters #monster fudger

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | summon

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The Devil and his right-hand demon are forcibly yanked from Hell to encounter a power they've never seen before, a power that everyone thought was only a rumor. In chains and unable to break free, they are asked to give up part of their souls. And they do. For science. But, mostly, to fuck.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; short graphic descriptions of sexual acts; supernatural and horror (and it gets way creepier during the smut, you have been warned); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs; they don't have your best interests at heart and neither do you.

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

there’s not a word for what i wanna do to you

One second, the Devil, also known as Min Yoongi, was frowning as he gazed up at his right-hand demon Jeon Jungkook, pondering the whereabouts of the missing soul-shards. The next second, the volcanic ground below him exploded, multiple giant red-black rings adorned with symbols and images creating a circle, expanding a larger and larger surface area, crackles of red lighting and tendrils of black smoke shooting everywhere. It consumed everything, bleeding into every nook and cranny of the throne room, saturating the air with summoning intent. It was happening far too quickly for the Devil to stop, the ground splitting and black chains shooting out, surrounded by a deadly ice-silver signature of the kind of magic you don’t bring home to your mother.

“Fuck–!”

That was Jungkook.

“Ah.”

That was the Devil.

The black chains snapped around their bodies and bound them in an instant. Jungkook snarled and fought with all of his power, black wings flaring out that were instantly crushed and shredded by the enchantment, his curved black horns protruding from his head and being forced back by the power. In contrast, the Devil merely sat there. Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop it, not this kind of magic, if it could even be called that, so he didn’t try. He let the chains wrap around him and shackle him. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tried to trace the source, tried to find the purpose. In order to defeat an enemy, you must be informed. Yoongi lived by this philosophy, which was why he was the Devil.

He could not trace it.

That was very disheartening.

But he didn’t need to worry earlier, because the red-black summoning circle was closing in, and he would find out very, very soon who it was. He had nothing to worry about.

Yoongi was the Devil, after all.

You inspected your nails.

Matte black, pointed. You had just done them. You liked to look nice for your guests.

“Hm, the Devil works hard, but I work harder,” you chuckled.

This was not what the Devil expected.

Yoongi expected a dark cave, a crowd of hooded figures, lots of candles. Maybe a Bible or a Koran. Devil worshippers, Satanists, cultists, or whatever they liked to call themselves. He fully expected to fight, to kill, to maim, and to fucking enjoy it, because he was the Devil and he served no one.

That was the whole fucking point of leaving Heaven in the first place.

He did not expect this.

You.

“Oh? A new development.”

Yoongi had seen many things in his time. He thought he could no longer be surprised.

He was wrong.

You stood over the two figures chained to the ground, peering curiously at them. A plain black dress with a flared skirt and a lace high collar. Long-sleeved with small ruffled cuffs at the end. No socks or shoes, just long, beautifully sinful legs and pretty feet. Pointed, matte black fingernails at the ends of lovely hands. A single nail was on one of your full dark lips, small amused smile dancing on that pouty mouth.

Your nail pressed into your flesh.

Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that mocking smirk.

Sharp, distinctive eyes. Unforgettable. Yoongi would not forget the eyes of the fool who summoned him anyway, but your eyes… They were different. They held no malice. No innocence either. No, your eyes were the greatest mystery of all.

They were an enigma, revealing nothing to the one who could tell everything.

Yoongi did not like this. He did not like how him, an all-powerful being, one who could poison the minds of all other beings, was being confronted with a human who seemed very not human.

You were holding something on the crook of your arm. He narrowed his eyes. A black plush goat-man with horns and an upside-down red pentagram stitched on his head. It had little leather hooves for feet and hands. Black leathery wings as well. Another common misconception of the Devil. As if he wanted to be an ugly goat for all eternity. Hmph. But there was something about the way you held it that made Yoongi think it wasn’t an homage to him.

No, you held it close to your breast, next to your heart, squeezing the plush goat-man’s little arm lovingly.

It made him ache with longing.

They were in a bedroom, on the floor next to the bed. Black sheets, fluffy blankets with white stars all over them. Black walls with posters all over them, cute animated characters, haunting imagery, various musical artists, sinful and innocent, a vast plethora that told him nothing of true intent. Modern, sleek furniture. A high-end desktop with multiple monitors. A nice flat-screen television. Many soft plushies of adorable and strange characters, stacked on shelves and in corners, both popular and niche.

Who was this person?

With every passing second, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

Jungkook was beside him, disheveled and disoriented, chained down with black. The demon sat up, growling in his chest, trying to exert his power.

“Who do you think–”

“Ah, little Satan, they shouldn’t talk until I allow them, isn’t that right?”

The Devil was not a fool. You were not talking to him. You were talking to the little goat-man in your arms. Yoongi heard a choking sound and he turned his head to see a very large black ball gag ramming itself in between Jungkook’s teeth, snapping closed with a black chain strap behind his pretty head. Jungkook looked livid, trying to bite through it, but Yoongi doubted he could break it.

You smiled at him.

Yes, indeed, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

In some ways.

Seeing Jungkook in a ball gag was a pleasant image.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out this way. I was aiming for him first,” you said to Yoongi, lowering the little goat-man and holding him by a hoof. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip apart the plush or be it. He decided that wasn’t important right now.

“Ah, well, this might be better,” you mused nonchalantly. Jungkook was still fighting his restraints, but neither you nor Yoongi acknowledged it. You crouched down, a delicate flash of inner thigh and black velvet panty in his view. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. You cocked a brow, smirk widening. “Two birds with one stone, no?”

You set the little goat-man in front of him.

Sat down, spreading your legs to squeeze the little goat-man with your inner thighs.

There was no question now.

Yoongi wanted to both be the plush goat-man and rip him to shreds.

“I’ll let you speak to me, Devil. You seem polite.” Conversational, calm. Not condescending, which somehow made it worse. At least if you spoke to him with hostility, he would know how to turn it against you.

“You have magic that doesn’t belong to you, human,” he said softly, a raspy renounce in his voice. He festered it with sweetness and warning at the same time, accenting it with a discerning stare.

You grinned.

Even he, the Devil, was unsettled.

“Nothing belongs to anybody. You only borrow it for a short while and then the powers far beyond even you take it back.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop and race at the same time. As he suspected. This was not the work of his father or some a wayward demon. Magic, power, illusionism, these were all words to describe things that could not be described. Entropy holds no bounds and there is no meaning behind it. It exists only to cause anarchy. For some reason, perhaps simply chaos alone, you, a human, was in possession of something even he could not control or understand.

Shit.

He stared into your eyes and they reflected his expression back to him. He tried to search for it, the desires within the heart, the small tendrils of pain that asked to be soothed, the soul begging to be freed. An ordinary demon could be fended off by a strong-willed human for a while, but Min Yoongi was no ordinary demon.

He was the Devil, even if he was bound by your chains.

You tilted your head at him, hair curling around your cheeks and lashes.

Yoongi could take even the weakest flame of desire and stroke it into a blazing fire. Even the holiest of saints could not fight him. Everyone wanted something, even if it was, disgustingly, in the name of his father. And humans, well, they were the masters of wanting things they couldn't have. Easily manipulated, even by each other. The Devil hardly needed to do anything at all. It was only a matter of whether or not Yoongi cared to do it and, most of the time, he didn't give a single shit.

You tilted your head the other way, smiling.

Yoongi did not find a maze or a barrier preventing him from the soul. He found the soul within seconds. It was there, all right.

The Devil just didn't know what the fuck he was looking at.

Why was your soul just you sitting there in the abyss, looking up at him with the same smile you were giving him right now?

And why did he feel nothing emitting from it?

He pulled back, looking into your eyes again. He did not like this.

You leaned forward and touched his horns.

His eyes widened as your fingertips brushed against the large curved black-red horns against the sides of his head. He hasn't even realized they had protruded. How? His horns were a sign of his power, a symbol he used for fear, for appearance, and for the moments of when he was exercising a great deal of his influence. Your fingertips brushed against the second set, the ones that bloomed upwards into wicked black-red spikes. Both sets? His soul-search had him reflexively procure both?

Shit.

He started into your eyes, seeing himself reflected back. Min Yoongi was the Devil. Emotion was no stranger to him. He harnessed it all, consumed himself in the passions and wonders of emotion. There were ones he felt less, simply because of who he was. For instance, there was not much that made him afraid.

You smiled.

Fear. He could feel it rise within him.

Yoongi grinned back.

Was this what he thought it was? He had heard of such things, rumors and whispers, even amongst the angels themselves. The hidden truth that Heaven and Hell belonged in a specific dimension or realm, Order. That there was another realm, the mirror, the reflection trapped, the unknown.

Disorder.

His kind, the high-above, and those between angels and insects, the humans, none of these belonged in the realm of Disorder. There were rumors that Order was merely a concoction of Disorder and that their realm could collapse any moment, erasing all of existence without a trace. Entropy was waiting for them all.

Yoongi understood now.

This was chaos.

The Devil was a master of desire. And a master of deliberately doing exactly what he shouldn't. He should not be tempted by a glimpse of chaos. His father would warn him to stay away from it.

His father could fuck right off.

Yoongi leaned forward, still bound, his horns disappearing. The chains clanged around him, his power rattling underneath. He wasn't doing it to fight them. He wanted to feel it. To understand what could not be understood, to touch the untouchable, because it was there, there right in front of him and he wanted it, he wanted it, and the Devil feeds off desire, even his own.

He wanted those lips.

You backed up.

The denial only made his desire stronger.

You left the plush goat-man sitting there right in front of him.

Jungkook was pissed.

Absolutely furious, jaw and head aching from this ridiculously large ball gag, fuming that he had no idea what was going on and that a single human was doing this bullshit. There was no way you were working alone. There had to be other beings behind this. He couldn't figure it out right now, but he would and he would tear them apart, right after he fucked your pathetic human body and tore you apart.

You must be a fool, thinking you could shackle him, Jeon Jungkook, the right hand of the Devil himself, the epitome of pure sin and free will.

He continued fighting the magic, trying to exert his strength, rattling the black chains, ice-silver lashes beating him back down. He tried to release his wings, but they were ensnared, pain shooting up his back. Jungkook cared not for pain. He had felt pain for millions of years. A few seconds was nothing. He tried to release his horns, but he could not, as if the very air neutralized him.

He was enraged.

Maybe would simply kill you so he could spend an eternity torturing you for your insolence.

Then the Devil's horns appeared.

How did he–?

Then you touched the Devil.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

He did, deep in his chest, muffled rage, jealousy, hate, all at once, and both of you ignored him, your fingers grazing Yoongi's horns, fucking smiling, looking unflinchingly into the Devil's eyes, and Jungkook wanted to erase you from existence, destroy every single shred of your soul for not groveling at the feet of Min Yoongi.

The horns disappeared and your hands hovered around Yoongi's head, fingers splayed out around the black hair like a shining halo.

Ironic.

The Devil leaned forward.

Don't you fucking kiss her, hyung!

But you moved away, backing up, gaze lingering on Yoongi before closing your eyes and reopening them slowly, a gradual shift to Jungkook's face.

He snarled at you through the gag.

He had you now. Eye contact and Jungkook could exert at least part of his power, the soul-search to find your deepest desires, your hidden gems, the calamity within that would call to him. He would find it and manipulate it, bend you to his will, turn you into his puppet. Play with you until you begged to die, only to find yourself in his arms once more, his plaything for all eternity.

All he had to do was find it.

You slid to your hands and knees, crawling to him. He felt it inside his chest, his own desire, watching the curve of your back to ass, his cock twitching at the sight, his mind conjuring images of your pretty body on a leash. Jungkook didn't have preferences when it came to bodies. A body was a body. In his hands, all bodies became prettier. You already had the base and he already had the wrath to want it. You stopped in front of him, the black skirt of your dress flaring out. He could see parts of your bare body.

Legs, knuckles, knees.

A small, amused smile on your lips.

Eyes that Jungkook searched valiantly, looking for malice, for innocence, for desire, for the darkest shadows and the lightest light.

Why couldn't he see anything?

This must be part of your magic. No matter. Jungkook had other ways. He was creative and cunning. You would break under his hand. He wouldn't stop until it was done. He was a demon that saw things through, even to his detriment.

His jaw was suddenly released from its prison, ball gag disappearing, fading into ice-silver smoke. He coughed, snapping his teeth, glaring at you.

"You dumb bitch," he hissed, violent resonance in his voice, oppressive and intense. "Do you think you humans are above us with your tricks and schemes? Kneel before those who invented such things."

You tilted your head.

Yoongi chuckled beside him.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. What–?

Your body trickled down like liquid, laying against the dark wood floor, looking up at him. Jungkook froze, maddening desire rising, infuriated at your face looking up at him, plush dark lips parted, hands on your chest, fingers spread out and molded to your flesh under the plain black dress. Sinking in, making him clench his jaw.

Your smile like a Cheshire Cat, eyes reflecting his rage.

Jungkook wanted to straddle your face and shove his cock into that smirking mouth, bulge your throat and cheeks with his girth.

"Is he always like this?" you asked, still not looking away.

"He pretends to be nice when he wants something out of you," the Devil answered calmly.

"Isn't that you?"

You still didn't look away from Jungkook. Why couldn't he find what he needed from your eyes?

"I'm always nice."

"That means you always want something out of someone."

Yoongi laughed, raspy and deep, the sound echoing in the bedroom, filling it up with his sound. Why couldn't Jungkook find it? His rage began to become infested with something else. Your eyes reflected only him.

Like a mirror.

No matter. The demons had other ways.

"Come here," Jungkook purred.

"I wouldn't do that."

That wasn't you. That was the Devil.

Your body lifted as if it was on a string from the center of your chest, fingers and black fingernails trailing against the dark hardwood, head tipped back, the line of your neck hidden by the high collar of lace, shielded from his hungry gaze. Legs curling up, skirt pooling around your thighs, his rage molding with carnal need, festering with something else.

Fear.

You rose to your knees, in prayer position in front of him, almost as if you were about to reach out and touch faith. Jungkook furrowed his brow, watching your presence near, wanting it, ready to coax or rip your desires from your lips themselves. It didn't matter if he was bound, it didn't matter if his black suit was torn up and ugly, it didn't matter if he was bleeding from his efforts to escape this magic.

You were still a human.

He was a demon and he would taint you.

Closer, your lids lowering, entranced by his spell. Jungkook smirked. Too easy. Humans were so, so easy. He craned his neck, lips parting, the palpable lust of his breath exhaling. So close to those pretty, dark, fuckable lips.

"You're really falling for it, hm?"

Jungkook paused. His eyes shifted to Yoongi. The Devil had turned his body to watch, clad in a tailored black suit. In contrast, Yoongi's was unmaimed, as he hadn't fought his restraints. The Devil had black hair like him, parted slightly, with shadowy dark brown, cat-like eyes that glinted with something sinister. Pale skin, almost luminescent. Exposed neck, elegantly laid black silk tie, unlike Jungkook, who preferred not to wear one. Lips that demanded you to plead for your life.

A body that made Jungkook want to sin for him.

That was the power of the Devil.

His eyes shifted from Yoongi to you, who had stilled in front of him. Hands beneath you and knuckles pressed to the floor like an obedient pet. What was Yoongi talking about? He had you right where he wanted you. And yet, he hesitated.

Then you spoke.

Delicate and calm, with no resonance. Human.

"I thought demons had free will?" you whispered. "That not even the Devil could control a demon."

Or was it?

Jungkook watched your lips form the words.

"If he is powerful enough, that is."

Yoongi didn't bother warning Jungkook anymore.

The Chaos knew what it was doing.

Clever girl.

Jungkook growled, leaning back a little, letting the passion of emotion course through him, wrath, lust, pride. Fear. All of it. Drawing from it, his power pulsing, singing through his muscles.

"Come here, human."

You had to crawl into his lap, his thighs against your thighs, hardness against softness, bringing your lips to his, sudden and sweet with your legs, knuckles, knees. Jungkook smirked, white teeth and canines flashing, urging you to him.

"What a good little girl,” he breathed softly. “I can be anything you desire. All you need to do is tell me."

Your eyes locked with his.

"A kiss, please."

He groaned at the small plea, finally getting it out of you, finally, and he would make you regret doing this, sow every seed of desire within you and reap it all, turn you into his pet on a leash. All he had to do was kiss you.

Jungkook kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours, ravenous to consume what you had, eager to claim his offering.

You smiled against his lips, a small, amused smile.

It was instant, his hunger to your plushness, the rush euphoric and wild, immediate lust and power dominating him and now he could taste your tongue and fling open the doors, clawing for the soul within, the moment so close he could taste it, taste your moan sliding into his throat, his favorite treat, intoxicating in the way you sucked in his breath to fill your longs.

Jungkook arrived at the last gate, tearing through the door. Looked down into the abyss, triumphant.

You looked back up at him from below.

A small, amused smile.

A nothingness like he had never felt before.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the reflective glass of yours, his chest constricted. He had never felt this. Your lips still on his, tongue flicking, taking his breath, and then he felt a strange kind of compression, like everything was being pressurized, tighter, tighter, suffocating, and he gasped in your mouth, recoiling.

The kiss broke, your eyes still on his, lips shiny with his saliva. Your hand was outstretched, hovering in the air, fingers coated with black tendrils mixed with ice-silver, right above his chest.

Your eyes, void of anything but himself.

“What…” Jungkook breathed, hard cock straining against his slacks. “Are you?”

He didn’t understand. You were only a human. Only a human who had done a very stupid thing, summoning the Devil and his right-hand demon to your bedroom. Just a stupid, foolish human. You tilted your head. Lowered your hand and placed both hands on Jungkook’s thighs. He tensed. You pressed your fingers into his slacks, kneading the firm flesh underneath.

Where was your fear? Your malice? Your innocence?

Where was your desire?

He could only feel his own, rising, rearing its beautiful head, teeth bared and ready to strike as your fingers drummed against the fabric of his pants. You had tried to take something from him in midst of the kiss.

Part of his soul.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed, forceful and direct.

You stopped moving your fingers. He wanted to scream in dismay.

“Only a small thing.” Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “A token to remember our fateful meeting.”

Now, only now, did Jungkook not like this.

You removed one hand from his leg and Jungkook clenched his jaw, watching it rise, nearing his heaving chest, the black chains spreading apart, links snapping with ice-silver sparks, but he was still bound, still chained, and he did now know why and not knowing infuriated him. You stopped, right above his heart, the heart he forgot was there sometimes.

The true irony of this world was that angels gave up their hearts to serve the one above and demons kept them to serve themselves.

Jungkook felt it again, the compression of his insides, making his breath hitch and his teeth grind, the sensation unbearable. Your expression remained the same, the small, airless smile. Eyes reflecting his terror.

“I could take it just like this.”

Not a threat, only a statement. Only a testament to the power within you, a power that Jungkook was beginning to think wasn’t something he knew or understood. The Devil could take souls. He could reap them, he could tear them, he could wring them dry. But not like this.

“I will give you a choice,” you murmured, hand retreating, releasing him from the uncomfortable pressure. “Because everyone deserves a choice, don’t they?”

The chains were lessening, slowly slipping off Jungkook’s body.

“I’ll let you give it to me willingly.”

Your hand on his pants caressed the fabric.

“If you have the power to take it,” Jungkook snarled. “Why not take it?”

Your other hand found his other thigh, squeezing lightly, sparks of heat flying through his veins. The chains slid off him, clashing into the hardwood floor and turning to ice-silver liquid that faded to nothing.

“I do not want to take.”

You stopped your touches and Jungkook wanted to scream.

“It will feel better for you if you give.”

He raised on eyebrow. “Considerate of you.”

You smiled wider. He stared into your eyes and only saw himself.

“What do you think, Jeon Jungkook, the Devil’s right-hand man?”

He felt the tendons on his neck tense, expression twisting into anger. You shouldn’t know his name. You were a human. You would only know if he told you directly. Someone else was behind this. Someone who wanted to kill him and the Devil, thereby putting Hell itself in imbalance.

“How do you know my name?” he seethed.

“You told me.”

What?

“When you looked into her eyes, you told her your name,” confirmed a deep, cavernous voice.

Jungkook started, whipping his head to the Devil beside him. No longer chained, simply sitting lazily on the ground, one knee raised to rest an elbow on it. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Getting soft, Jungkookie?” the Devil taunted.

How…? Was he so absorbed in his own lust and deceiving you that he did not realize? He looked back at you. Your eyes lowered to his slacks and then back up to his eyes.

“Pants can always come off.”

Jungkook raised a hand, running it through his black hair, jaw set. “You are too greedy, human. Do you even know what you’re doing?” he sneered.

Your hands jerked down a few centimeters closer to his crotch, making Jungkook hiss. Your tongue slid out, feathering against the plush dark mauve of your lips. His cock throbbed with need, demanding to abuse the mouth presented. You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, welcome weight that Jungkook wanted all over him. He was a demon, after all. He was no stranger to carnal desire.

“I do,” you murmured softly. “You and me and the Devil makes three.”

Jungkook sharpened his gaze. “You couldn’t handle that, human.”

You said nothing.

You simply removed your heat and turned to the Devil, where Yoongi held the little goat-man plush by a single hoof, dangling it next to his lap, making your crawl into it to reach the doll. It was almost an innocent gesture, the way you took it and tucked it into your lap before looking up at Yoongi’s face, lips parted slightly, nearly curious, childlike awe decorating your features.

Jungkook growled like a hurt animal.

Your eyes shifted to him, looking at him under lowered lashes. Dismissive, vacant gaze.

“Yes or no, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

The thin black string between you and him darkened, searing with ice-silver, a contract made. He didn’t even know the terms. He didn’t care. No human could outsmart him. And you, you must have been human once.

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t know if you were human anymore.

Yoongi watched your eyes return to him. The little black goat-man plush was tucked between your legs, pressed against your core. Slowly but surely, he was understanding. The original vessel was human, now tainted by someone, something, or simply bad luck. It made you something else entirely. You were a creature from the realm of Order polluted by the realm of Disorder. How long could this last? Would you die eventually from it? When you died, what would be left? Was the soul still there? Would he be able to collect it? Contain it? Study it?

Yoongi didn’t know the answers to these questions.

He wanted to know.

“Your turn,” you whispered to his chin, warm breath against his skin. “What is your answer, my Devil?”

Yoongi chuckled. “A shard of soul is all you ask for?” he purred. “What for?”

You tilted your head. “I want to complete my collection.”

The Devil doubted that. He doubted you wanted anything. Something was driving the entropy in a direction, a purpose given to the original human you long ago, and now you did it because it was the only thing left in the shell, a memory of a purpose, the human determination so strong that it could not be killed or erased, even though this body was now only a container for the power within.

The Devil had spent a lot of his time lately doing nothing. Nothing fun, nothing exciting, nothing worthy of his attention. Yoongi already knew everything there was to know about humans. He cared not for those above. But this.

This was new.

This was different.

This was something he wasn’t supposed to know.

He raised his hand, fingers tracing your jaw, staring into the eyes of Chaos. The Entropy. The Vessel.

You.

“I’ll be part of your collection, little one,” Yoongi purred.

And you will be mine, he vowed as the black string between you and the Devil glowed, ice-silver magic contaminating it with the power of Disorder.

part ii the collection. if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

Text

Postscript. Part 1 of 3.

Loki x Sylvie "Our divorce never went through" Modern AU. Angst with a happy ending, Rated T. For Sylki Week day 7: Free day @sylkiweek

Masterlist of my fics here.

The last thing he wants to do is call up the woman who tore his heart into pieces. But it has to be done. His business partner and his lawyer both insist on it.

[[MORE]]

And he agrees. They are about to land a huge contract that will put them at the top, and he has no intention of letting the woman who left him broken claim any share of his upcoming financial success.

Not that he thinks she would. But he didn't think she'd leave him either, so what does he know?

It's been ten years, but he remembers her number all too well. He wonders briefly if she has changed it by now, but he dials anyway.

Six rings later, she picks up. "Hello?"

It's the familiar voice, warm and irritated, but older, mature, and more jaded. It is clear from her tone that she has forgotten his number, and it stings a bit. "Hi. It's me, Loki."

There's silence, and he has to check to see if she hung up on him. When she recovers, she speaks softly. "Loki? Hi... How are you? I wasn't expecting your call."

"I wasn't expecting to call either", he says matter-of-factly. He called her so many times over the first one year, left her so many messages. But she never replied, and he eventually stopped, vowing to never call her ever again. "But it couldn't be helped. It's an urgent matter."

"Okay?" She asks, confused.

"Do you remember your lovely divorce lawyer?"

Sylvie grimaces. That divorce was a complete mess. She wanted out, Loki didn't, and it dragged on for months. They both had rich parents, but they had married hastily against their wishes, and they were not going to take their parents' help and hear the "I told you so". They were both college students, barely in their 20s, barely married for a few months. They both relied on their limited funds to find lawyers that best represented their interests. Sylvie's was particularly cheap, and particularly inefficient. "Yes, Lacey. What about her?"

"Oh, nothing much." Loki says in a taunting voice. "It's just that, she messed up the paperwork. It turns out our divorce never went through."

She's silent again, and he waits for an outburst, for an accusation that this is his doing, since this is what he wanted. Instead, her reaction is shocked, but controlled, far from the woman who used to fight with him on everything in those last few days. "What? How is that possible?"

"You'll have to ask Lacey that." He replies. "But my lawyer has confirmed that we are indeed still married."

The silence returns, and Loki grimaces. It was better when she had a retort for everything he said. "This time, I do have a competent lawyer, and he will make sure the divorce goes through, I promise you. I just need your signature."

"Okay", she says quietly.

"If you can just send me your address, I will mail the papers over." Then he adds, because his lawyer insists. It's been ten years, surely you're over her, he has said. "Or we can meet and do it in person, make sure this time the process actually goes through properly. Whichever you would prefer." He would prefer never to see her again, but it can't be helped.

"We can meet." Her voice is shaky, something that's rare. "Where are you, these days?"

"I'm still in London." He says casually. "But I'd be happy to drive to wherever you are."

"I'm in London too."

Convenient. At least he won't have to undergo a long trip now.

"Perfect". He says smoothly. "Let's set up a meeting and get this over with then."

---

"I don't believe you." She tells him bluntly.

Tears rolls down his cheek, and he clutches her hands helplessly. "I promise you from my heart, this isn't about your money."

She snatches her hands back from his grasp angrily. "What was I thinking trusting you? Has this whole marriage been a con?"

Something in him breaks, and it shows on his face. "Really? That's what you think of me... after all this time? Sure. Why not? Evil Loki's master plan comes together. Well, you never trusted me, did you? What was the point?"

Sylvie takes a step back. She heard the rumors from a friend who heard it from a friend, and of course she didn't believe them. There is no way Loki married her for her inheritance. But she found her mother's expensive pen hidden in his pocket one night after dinner with her parents, and he didn't have a good explanation for why he had it. He said he didn't recall slipping it in, but there was no way that was true.

The pen isn't everything, but it is the last straw. Combined with all the fights they have been having lately, and all the ways she feels suffocated in the marriage, unable to do the things she wants to do, the pen is what seals the last nail in the coffin.

"Why aren't we seeing this the same way?" She asks desperately.

"Because you can't trust", he says with the saddest smile and the saltiest tears, "and I can't be trusted."

Her hands grip the handle of her suitcase. "Then I guess we're in a pickle."

"Sylvie, wait." He begs, but she's already at the door. "Wait!" He screams, but she's hailed a cab. "Sylvie. Sylvie!" He calls out as her cab disappears around the corner.

And that's it. That's the end of their marriage.

---

They decide to meet in a small cafeteria on their old campus ground on Saturday evening. Neutral location, safe, and with the comfort of familiarity, it is the perfect meeting spot.

Loki gets there early and waits. Every second is tortorous, everything around him bringing back a memory that he wishes he had forgotten. He feels himself tapping his feet restlessly as he orders two coffees. He wonders if her preferences have changed, if he should have waited and asked her first.

"Hi". There's her voice, followed by a burst of blonde. She has cut her hair short, into a tidy little bob, dyed it back to her natural blonde instead of the dark black from her goth days, and her make-up is quieter now, in neutral tones. She would be hard to recognise now, if he hadn't spent countless nights worshipping every inch of that face.

"Hi". He says politely, and hands her a cup. "Two sugars, extra cream, no milk. Is that alright?"

"Yes, perfectly." She says just as politely, with a hint of surprise in her voice. "You remembered."

He tries to brush it off like it's not a big deal. It really isn't. When you spend so much time learning every single thing about a person, all that information doesn't just leave your brain when it's no longer useful. It all stays, and it comes back in unexpected ways, from words of strangers and friends, every little thing triggering a memory he pretends to have forgotten. He shakes his head, willing the inner monologue away for another time. "I remembered the papers too." He swiftly transitions into the matter at hand. He digs into his briefcase, and pulls out a bundle of papers, placing them into the table.

"Right." She says, a little taken aback at how quickly he wants to get this over with. The Loki she remembers from ten years ago wanted to stretch every brief conversation into hours, in the vain hope that she would change her mind. She didn't.

She takes a seat next to him, and glances down at the papers. A question forms in her mind, one she shouldn't be asking, because she's not sure whether she can deal with the response. "Why now? Why the sudden need? Are you getting married?"

He wants to say yes, just to spite her, just to show her he has moved on and found happiness. But he has never been able to lie to her, and he can't start now. "No." He doesn't explain further, has been warned against it by his lawyer.

The man who never shut up is talking so little. It baffles her. She reaches inside her purse to pull out a pen.

Loki shakes his head, his face suddenly contorted in veiled rage. "Don't. I might steal that one too. Use this." He supplies her with a pen he brought himself.

It stings. She didn't expect him to forget about it, but she had hoped nevertheless. She owes him an apology about it, about everything. "I'm sorry I accused you of stealing." She says sincerely. "Dad told me later that you were doing crosswords that night, and you must have mixed up your pens. But at that point, I just really wanted out of the marriage. I just couldn't-"

"Sylvie." He doesn't raise his voice at all, but it's so commanding, that it makes her stop abruptly mid-sentence. "I don't need you to recount the ways I suffocated you. I just need you to sign the papers."

"Right." She says, a little unnerved and suddenly parched. She reaches for her cup, feels her fingers shake, and then-

"Shit!"

There's coffee spilt all over the divorce papers.

"I am so sorry." She says quickly, wiping at the papers with tissues desperately.

He takes in a deep breath to calm himself. He's never going to hear the end of this from his lawyer, is he? "It's okay." He assures her. "I'll get fresh papers ready and get them to you."

"I don't want to inconvenience you again." She says apologetically. "Maybe I can meet you this time? At your place? Or maybe at work?"

"No, that's not necessary." He says in a measured tone. "I will meet you here again when the papers are ready."

"Okay." She says quietly.

He gets up, and she follows. She reaches for his hand, then hesitates when she sees the cold look in his eyes, and just smiles. "It's really good to see you again, Loki."

He nods, doesn't return the compliment, and he leaves, not even bothering to walk her to her car. Why should he, anyway?

#fanfiction #sylki fanfic #sylvie x loki #pro sylki #sylki #loki x sylvie #loki disney+

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

battleground — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

request: could i kindly request a draco x reader where they get into a fight before the war, and draco chooses to stay a hogwarts and voldemort but reader pushes herself in front of him to save him? but they both survive 🥺 if it's too complicated dw about it :)

a/n: i tweaked the request a little bit but this is set when the slytherins are sent to the dungeons during the battle of hogwarts! also it isn’t explicitly stated in the text so just in case there’s some confusion, the reader’s parents are death eaters

The cold stone hallway leading to the Slytherin common room is eerily quiet despite the hundred or so Slytherin students trickling into their common room. No one bothers to quell the uneasy tension hanging in the air or makes a move to address the sounds of chaos coming from just up above them, a mere stone floor away.

But at the very middle of the pack, there is someone shoving past people on her way back towards the way they came. Back to the first-floor corridor; back to the war. No one pays her much heed. Everyone is too busy lost in their own conflicted thoughts, and even if they do register the fact that there is a girl among them turning back to head into the very battle they were kicked out of, they make no move to stop her.

Somewhere along the back of the group, she catches sight of a face that brings with it a sudden rush of relief. [Y/N] pushes past the crowd of students clad in green until she stops right in front of him, grabs onto his wrist and drags him along.

The last of the Slytherins have filed into the common room. [Y/N] and Draco stand in the middle of the cold dungeon hall, illuminated only dully by the torches hanging on the walls.

[Y/N] wastes no time. She leans in and presses her lips to his, and it's all force; there is no time for passion or tears or dramatic farewell. She kisses Draco like a starved man, lips all pressure and no tenderness, and Draco kisses her back with just as much fervor, hands gripping onto her waist almost desperately as he holds her to him as close as he can.

And they would stay like that for as long as they can if only they are allowed to, but there is a war to be fought and there are people to be saved. So [Y/N] pulls away, breathless, forehead on Draco's and their lips mere centimeters apart as they breathe in each other's air the same way they have done so many times before.

Draco can think of no words to say; all that leaves his lips is a breathless exhale of her name. Just her name.

[Y/N] nods just a fraction of an inch as though she understands completely, and in a way, she does.

Against her will, she pulls away, fingers gently gliding down his shoulders and down to his middle, where they rest almost hesitantly. In a voice just as quiet as his, she whispers, "I need to go up there, Draco."

Silence. She opens her eyes only to find that he is already looking at her, gaze unreadable. A feeling of uneasiness settles in her stomach.

"Up where?" He's frowning. His hold on her waist has tensed.

"I'm going to fight," [Y/N] says, and her voice is throatier than usual, like a lump has already formed in her throat.

Draco blinks. There's a crease in between his brows; she reaches up to smoothen it out with her fingers out of habit, but his hand flies to her wrist and holds it there, hovering just above his lips.

"You're going to fight," he repeats, still frowning.

[Y/N] swallows. Nods. "And you should, too."

Draco stares at her, brows furrowed. It's at rare times like these that [Y/N] can't quite figure out what he's thinking, but she guesses that it's something along the lines of—

"You can't," Draco says, shaking his head. "You can't. I won't let you."

She reaches up and gently pries his fingers away from her wrist, but his grip on her only tightens. "Draco."

"I'm not letting you risk your life."

She stares at him for a moment, brows drawing together in the middle just like his, but the way she is looking at him is a sharp contrast to his suddenly stern gaze—she looks incredulous, like she can't believe what she's hearing.

"I thought you'd understand," she says, tugging her wrist out of his grasp and taking a step back. A foot of space rests between them, but for some reason it suddenly feels like they are thousands of miles apart. "I can't just hide here while people risk their lives to save—"

"What—to save ours?" Draco cuts her off, scowling. It's unimaginable to think that mere moments ago they were entangled in each other's arms, kissing as though the other will slip away if they don't hold on tight enough. Coldly, Draco says, "They'd throw us to the wolves if they had a chance."

"To save everyone's."

"Don't be ridiculous. If they saw you fighting alongside them, they wouldn't hesitate to turn their wands on you."

"And how do you know that?"

He advances towards her, and for a brief split-second [Y/N] thinks that he's about to kiss her again, but all he does is grab the black and green necktie hanging around her collar and hold it up for her to see.

"Because of this," he snarls. "The moment anyone fighting against the Dark Lord sees you're a Slytherin, they'll think you're an enemy. And the moment any of the Death Eaters see you fighting against them, they'll think you're a traitor—which you are—and they'll kill you. You'd be fighting against both sides."

She scoffs, the first few traces of anger surfacing. "You are making assumptions."

"It's the truth and you know it. You have no choice. Stay here and save your life." He grabs her hand and tugs her towards the direction of the Slytherin common room. The dungeon door has closed. There is no one left in the cold stone corridor but them.

But [Y/N] wrenches herself away from Draco's hold. "I can take care of myself and I am fighting," she says sharply, a sense of finality in her tone. "And I would have asked you to fight by my side but it seems like you'd rather stay and hide here like a coward." The final word escapes the confines of her lips without her even realizing, but the anger in her chest makes it hard for her to feel guilty for it.

"If wanting the love of my life to live makes me a coward then so be it." Draco turns to face her, jaw taut and his eyes flashing. "You're asking me to let you put your life on the line—"

"I'm asking you to trust me—"

"And what happens if you die? What do you suppose I do?" he hisses, and then, his face contorting into a sneer, "I apologize for my selfishness, [Y/N] but I'd much prefer other people die than you."

She scoffs in disbelief. "Always a selfish prick, aren't you, Draco?"

[Y/N] doesn't mean it. Of course she doesn't. But the frustration in her chest is reaching boiling point and the words that leave her lips do so without her even pausing to think about them.

Doing little to mask her scorn, she snaps, "I'd rather die in battle than sit back doing nothing while innocent children are slaughtered."

"Those innocent children hated us for the house we were sorted in," Draco sneers. "They saw the green on our robes and they made sure to stay away from us—they spoke ill of us and spread vile rumors about our families and you're willing to sacrifice yourself for them?"

"And you want to let them die just because they disliked us." She doesn't phrase it like a question.

Draco clenches his jaw. She would have been able to feel the slightest empathy for him if he showed even a tiny bit of guilt, but he holds his gaze in hers resolutely and shakes his head. "I don't want to die for them. And you shouldn't, either."

Her lip curls. "You disgust me."

And it scares her because she isn't sure whether she means it or not.

In one swift movement, [Y/N] reaches up and roughly yanks the green Slytherin tie hanging around her neck. "I don't care what they think about us or what you think about them," she seethes through bared teeth, throwing the necktie at Draco's feet as she holds his gaze with just as much fieriness as she sees in his. "But I refuse to stay here while those people risk their lives fighting for what they believe is right—what is right."

Draco narrows his eyes at her, lips drooping downwards in a scowl. "Even if it means fighting against your parents?"

Her parents. The people who had raised her her entire life and made her believe in things she held true not so long ago. Things that entailed the uselessness of Muggles and Muggleborns alike. Her mother and father, who once cruelly punished her for helping a lost Muggle boy when she was no more than a mere child eager to offer a helping hand.

Parents—do they really deserve to be called that?

With her jaw set, she nods. "I'm done doing things for them. It's time I make decisions for myself."

A cold glare is all she has left to offer Draco before she turns her back on him and walks away, wand in hand.

Part of her understands. She knows that Draco is not much different from her. He has told her stories based on his own experience; stories just like hers that tell tales of pureblooded prejudice and exiled blood-traitors in the vicinity of his own home. But even if he hadn't found enough comfort in her to tell her, she still would have known.

She recognized the look in his eyes the very moment they first met. It was the very same one she saw whenever she looked in the mirror.

But [Y/N] has been luckier than most. Somewhere along her journey to what some would call self-discovery, she'd found something a great deal more important than bloodlines and family trees. Though hesitant at first, she met and came to know people whose blood was perhaps not as magical as hers but whose hearts were purer than any other she had ever seen. Purer than hers, certainly.

She came to know Muggleborns who viewed her as an equal, and everyone else along with her. Muggleborns who treated everyone with kindness not because of the blood in their veins but because it was right.

And because of them [Y/N] has learned to differentiate what is right and what is wrong; what is important and what is not. Now she knows fully well which category one's blood type falls under. She may have been a little late on the uptake, but if risking her life is what it takes to redeem herself, then so be it.

But Draco has a harder time wrapping his head around things. [Y/N] understands; truly, she does. He has been raised to think a certain way and so has she—but if she can break out of the box that her parents have caged her in for so long, why can't he?

Just before she disappears behind the staircase leading away from the dungeons, she stops, and with her gaze fixated on the stone steps, takes a deep breath.

"People like us—" she begins in what was meant to be a stone-cold voice, but her voice is shaky for the first time that day. "They think we're a lost cause. They think we're cold-hearted and we're rotten to the core because of our last names—and you're right—because we're in Slytherin. But if you don't want to fight against the Dark Lord because of your hatred for the people who looked at us as though we were devil's spawn, then at least fight because you want to prove them wrong."

From here, she can make out the sound of spells hurtling through the air and people screaming from up above. She hears panicked voices of people a tiny part of her feels as though she recognizes. Voices she must have heard in her classes. Voices she could have heard in the hallways or in the Great Hall. And despite the fear in her chest and the voice in her lovesick heart telling her to stay with Draco, it's those voices that urge her to put one foot in front of the other until she emerges in the middle of the first-floor corridor, right in the heart of the battle.

—

Death. Chaos. Destruction. She sees it everywhere around her—in the corridors and the classrooms she grew up in, and in the Great Hall, where the large glass windows have been reduced to mere shards and the long house tables have been flipped over and cracked to splinters.

Why take this away from her—from everyone who has lived their childhood in that castle?

For so long Hogwarts has been her sanctuary. Her safe place. The only place in the world where she feels as though she could be at peace. And now it is nothing more than crumbling stone foundations and broken glass and soot and dust.

Jets of red and green light whiz past her almost every step she takes. Fear: she feels it in every fiber of her body like a parasite waiting for the right moment to consume her whole and render her immobile. Part of her wants to run back down the dungeons and join Draco and the rest of the Slytherins—it is so much safer down there—she doesn't have to narrowly dodge recklessly-aimed curses every corner she turns, wondering which one will finally hit her—which one will kill her—

But then she sees none other than Colin Creevey amongst the blur of destruction around her, and just like that she remembers why she's here.

"Colin!" she yells, darting forward. He stands in the middle of the corridor, wand drawn in front of him but looking so lost and confused he might as well have just been an innocent passerby unfortunate enough to come across the Battle of Hogwarts. From this distance [Y/N] can tell he is shaking but no one seems to notice him amongst all the madness; "Colin!"

His name tears out of her throat again as she wills her legs to move as fast as they can, weaving through all the dueling and in some cases, brawling—and she doesn't know what she aims to do, exactly, but she just knows that she has to protect this timid little fifth-year Gryffindor who she has treated like her brother for so many years. The same one who, despite her infamous blood-smattered family tree, was one of the first ones outside of Slytherin to treat her like a normal human being.

She shouts his name again, and somehow, despite all of the noise and the yelling and the sounds of spells being cast all around them, Colin hears her; his eyes meet hers and they flood with relief and recognition, flood with the same bright light [Y/N] has grown so familiar with—

And then the light dies out.

[Y/N]'s entire world freezes.

"No," she gasps.

From behind Colin, a jet of bright green light hurtles straight towards him and hits him in the back—he jolts forward at the impact, and then falls to his knees. A half-moment later, Colin Creevey crumples to the ground, lifeless.

She skids to a stop. A dry sob leaves her lips as the hand holding her wand falls to her side.

No.

—

Five minutes.

Draco spends five minutes in the chilly dungeon corridor, staring at the stone steps [Y/N] had disappeared through only moments before.

If he walks up those steps, it will be to the sight of the school he has come to call his home destroyed. He will see numerous spells hurtling through the air, some finding their targets and others lodging themselves into stone and causing walls to crumble in on themselves. He knows that he will bear witness to a nightmarish scene, but that is not what has Draco hesitating: what stops him is the thought of fighting alongside students just like him who will give him mistrustful glares, as though they are waiting for him to jinx them when their backs are turned.

And perhaps worst of it all is the fact that he will have to fight against familiar faces. He will recognize his aunt, his uncle, his best friend's father, his own parents. And he will point his wand at them and hope that his curse hits them before theirs hits him.

Draco is scared.

He doesn't know if he has enough courage to climb those steps and fight alongside people who barely trust him, and fight against the people who have raised him.

But he can't lose her.

He may be scared, but he can't lose [Y/N].

So Draco unravels his Slytherin tie from his neck, takes a deep breath and walks up the stone steps. He can't lose her—not in this lifetime. He loves her far too much to care about who he has to kill and who he has to fight alongside.

The rest of the world be damned, so long as he doesn't lose her.

—

"You killed him," she whispers. Tears are in her eyes but they haven't quite fallen yet, and despite the invisible hands that have reached into her chest and started squeezing her lungs to a pulp, she manages to say louder, "You killed Colin."

[Y/N] looks up at the Death Eater standing amidst the countless fierce duels. She thinks she hears him laugh behind his mask; cruel and jeering and oddly familiar.

She doesn't pause to think. As soon as the feeling floods back into her arms, she cries "Stupefy!" and a burst of red light explodes out of the end of her wand.

But the Death Eater deflects it with little to no effort. He lets out another laugh, this time louder.

[Y/N] is sure of it this time: she knows that voice. She catches sight of a strand of long platinum blond hair trailing beneath his hood and recognizes him even before he reaches up with one hand and wrenches the mask off of his face.

"Foolish girl," Lucius Malfoy snarls, stopping a mere few feet away from her. "Instead of saving your own skin, you decide to betray the Dark Lord and your own family along with him."

He brandishes his wand; a jet of green light rushes straight towards [Y/N] and she cries "Protego!" at the very last moment, stumbling a little upon impact.

Lucius advances forward, long black robes billowing behind him as [Y/N] backs away, wand trembling slightly in her hand. "You care far too much for those who do not deserve your sympathy," his face contorts into an ugly, spiteful glare, "For Muggles and Mudbloods and filthy blood-traitors—"

"Stupefy!"

Just like the one before it, Lucius deflects this one effortlessly. His upper lip curling contemptuously, he stops in his tracks, wand still pointed at [Y/N] as her chest heaves with deep, heavy breaths of both anger and grief that hasn't quite gone away. "I have always wondered why my son adores you so much."

Another jet of red light bursts from [Y/N]'s wand, but her attempts are futile.

"But he will move on," continues Lucius. "He will forget you and wed someone who is worthy of being a Malfoy." And then the jeering smile on his face droops and intent floods his features as he sneers, "I just have to get rid of you first—Avada K—"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

This time, the spell hits Lucius and his limbs snap to his sides before he topples to the ground, spine rigid.

But [Y/N] hasn't even opened her mouth.

Standing right behind Lucius Malfoy is the last person she would have expected to see—

"Draco," she breathes.

Draco's wand is still drawn and his eyes are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as he stares at his father, who lies face-down on the ground unbeknownst to the fact that it was his own son who had cursed him.

Shock is etched into every inch of Draco's face. He is just as stunned at his actions as [Y/N] is. But when he snaps himself out of his trance and finds it in him to tear his gaze away from his father, the first thing he does is stride towards [Y/N], pull her to him, and hold her with the desperation of a man who has been longing for his lover for centuries.

"You—your father—"

"I know."

"Draco," she exhales into his shoulder, breathless. "Draco—"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No—no, I'm okay."

Draco takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. Keeps nodding.

And when he takes her hand in his and runs with her to the courtyard, where there are more Death Eaters to fight and more innocent lives to protect, he can't help but look back and catch a last glimpse of his father on the floor. His father, who is still rigid and unmoving, at the mercy of Order members who might stumble upon him.

Draco doesn't regret it.

The rest of the world be damned—including his own father—so long as he doesn't lose her.

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