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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

inventory, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You’re missing a piece of inventory from your erotica shop. Surprisingly, you find it in the same day. It’s around your boyfriend’s neck, who also happens to be your sub. Hm, well, you have to act accordingly, don’t you?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; non-idol!AU; dom/sub dynamic; feels and there’s a decent bit of buildup; smut (mirror kink, spitting, cock ring usage, cock-slapping, scratching, spanking, vibrator use, overstimulation, edging, m-masturbation, cum eating, f-receiving oral); fluff; noona dom!reader x sub!Jungkook

technically part iv of ‘customer service’ series, but can be read alone

–

customer service part i | part ii | part iii

Jeon Jungkook was a problem.

Technically, your problem.

You tapped your pen against your recordkeeping book. No one was in the store. It was the middle of the week. Not usually the time to get freaky. People got freaky on the weekends. You usually spent these times doing the boring stuff. Setting up the deliveries for the rich customers that purchased clothing from you. Cleaning the store from top to bottom and finding some interesting fluids in interesting places. Typical. Answering emails, accounting, taking inventory. You were missing one piece of inventory, but those things always turned up eventually. You weren’t worried.

Eh, wasn’t a big problem.

Your big problem was Jeon Jungkook.

He wanted to be exclusive. Okay. He wanted it to be a relationship. Slightly less in your comfort zone, but you were willing to give it a shot. Unfortunately, Jungkook also wanted one more thing.

He wanted you to lose you temper at him.

Now, there were several things you, personally, did not do anymore. And number one on the list was losing your temper. You did not want to be in power and actively angry at the person you were fucking at the same time. It was dangerous. It was irresponsible. You’ve gone too far before and hurt your sub. You weren’t going to repeat it.

Not with Jungkook, no matter how much he tried to rile you up.

And he tried. Disobeyed you outright. Talked back. Taunted you. It took a lot of your skill and redirection to focus his attention elsewhere and not at his ultimate goal of pissing you off so much that you used sex as a weapon, because quite frankly, that was a fucked-up thing to do and you were not going to do it. You would rather leave than become that.

You told him this. You told him that he should not try to provoke you, especially not this early in the relationship. His body couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t handle it mentally, and you didn’t want to end up emotionally and sexually abusing him, even if it was an accident. Because it was your responsibility to not do that and you took that shit very seriously.

Jungkook had agreed reluctantly and he still tried.

Sigh.

You rubbed your forehead. If he was an experienced sub, then maybe you could be less strict. But he wasn’t. And yeah, maybe you were a little scared. Because your last relationship had ended very, very badly, because you had gone too far and your sub had been too scared to use the safe word even when it was too much and that really, really fucked you up. You regretted it, even after all this time, even after all the apologizing, even after your sub had forgiven you, multiple times.

You had never forgiven yourself for it.

The whole relationship had fallen apart because of that one time.

After that, you didn’t really date. All you did was have one-night stands with subs you already knew. It was easy having sex with no strings attached. Now you were dating Jungkook. Yeah, that. The dating bit. It was messing you up. It was making you overly cautious. You didn’t want to repeat your mistakes.

You let out a tense exhale.

You didn’t tell Jungkook about this, mostly because you didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to admit your sub had been too scared of you to use their safe word. You were ashamed. Scared of yourself and what you were capable of.

Sometimes, when you thought about it, you wondered if you should stop. Give up on the dom/sub thing and have vanilla sex instead with some nice guy who had a normal job and raise some babies and fucking chill out. Seemed nice. Life wasn’t about needing a power complex when being intimate after all. You could have a perfectly satisfying sex life with two people in equal power. Could even still be kinky without the whole ‘I’m the authority and you have to listen to me’ thing.

Yeah, well. Before you could commit to that, Jeon Jungkook decided to fucking seduce you in your own damn sex shop.

You placed your hands on your head and let out a big sigh.

Damn you, Jungkook.

You found your missing piece of inventory.

It was around Jeon Jungkook’s neck when he opened his apartment door for you.

Your face was completely neutral, one hand in the pocket of your black trench coat. The other holding your black leather briefcase. Underneath the coat, you wore a simple floor-length black skirt. Black heels. Nothing but your face and hands uncovered. In one second, you took in every detail upon seeing Jungkook.

One, his long black hair was tied back, his bangs framing his large brown eyes. Two, he was wearing a little bit of makeup. Slight amount of eyeshadow and liner, lip balm to make his lips pinker. Three, he was wearing a very low V-necked black t-shirt that was quite obviously meant to show off his shapely collarbones and sculpted pecs. The ink-black tattoos in his right arm stood out against his tan skin. Fourth, he was wearing leather pants – not the ones you made him, that would be indecent exposure showing up to the door like that – but, still, black tight faux leather trousers that he half-tucked his shirt in so his crotch was visible.

And.

Fifth.

He was wearing a black leather collar around his neck, one with a large silver ring hanging down at the center. It had silver studs with in the shape of a diamond pattern punched into the leather. It closed in the back with a silver buckle.

How did you know this?

It was your missing piece of inventory, of course.

You clicked your tongue.

“Oh! Noona,” Jungkook said nervously, biting his lip.

You little shit, don’t you ‘oh, noona’ me. You almost turned around and left. Almost. Irritation was putting it mildly. You were pissed. He had stolen from your shop. Became an actual fucking thief to get a rise out of you. You two weren’t going out on a date. It was already late, so both of you had intended on having a nice night in. He’d dressed up for it, as one does. Made himself pretty for you to ruin. Jungkook knew what he wanted. And he wasn’t being subtle about it, wearing the stolen inventory right in front of your face the second he opened the door.

He wanted you mad and he wanted you mad from the start.

You did not look at the collar. Instead, you stared into his eyes, furious internally, but completely placid on the outside. His brown orbs were observing you in anticipation. He wanted it. Bad. You had refused to let him cum last time because he had talked back to you. That was a week ago. You wondered if he had jacked off or not. You put no such restrictions on him even though he asked you to. You were curious on how far Jungkook was willing to go, so you let him choose.

And, clearly, Jungkook choose death.

Just kidding. But he was really testing you here. And so, you made up your mind.

You waited, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook flushed and backed up, holding the door with two hands.

“C-Come in.”

You stepped inside, heels clicking on the hardwood. Jungkook closed the door behind you. The large, floor-length mirror was in the living room again. The incident in the fitting room must have really had an impact on him. Maybe he was developing a mirror kink because of it.

You felt Jungkook slide up next to you, his breath against your ear. Shallow, needy, already horny. You weren’t surprised. Nobody dresses like that and doesn’t want to be fucked.

“N-noona…” He was making his voice desperate and breathy, already submissive for you. “I really missed you.”

“That’s lovely to hear.”

You kept your tone light, no pet names, stepping out of your heels and walking towards the couch. Jungkook followed you like a shadow, still chewing on his lip, messing up his own hard work of making himself pretty for you. You placed your briefcase on the coffee table. He hovered as you undid your trench coat slowly, pulling open the tie and unbuttoning it deftly, fingers dancing on the placket.

“I can help you?” Jungkook offered, holding his hands out.

Your eyes gradually lifted, locking your gaze with his. You saw him visibly shiver in excitement.

“No need.”

You saw Jungkook pout as you slipped out of the coat, one arm, then the other, revealing the white dress shirt that was neatly tucked into your black skirt. It had pleated detailing down the front and silver collar pins, completed by the silver cuff links you used to close the sleeves. You folded the coat elegantly and laid it over the back of his couch.

“Are you mad, noona?”

You want me to be mad. Thankfully, at this point you had calmed a little. Yes, Jungkook was an idiot for doing such a thing, but he wasn’t doing it because he was trying to hurt you or actually steal from you. Maybe it was something he’d seen or read in porn. Maybe it was something his brain devised because he felt some weird need to prove to you that he was a good and obedient sub, because he knew you had previous partners and he wanted to outdo them or something. Maybe he wanted to see how much of a dom you really were.

And, most likely, it was all of those things.

“Jungkook.”

This time, you said his name with a sharper tone.

“Y… yes?”

You turned your right hand upwards, entirely aware of the placement of your fingers. Pinky, ring, middle curled inwards. Index up, thumb out. Poised, elegant, almost haughty. You flicked your cuff link, straightening the backing to slip it out. It was a diamond-shaped accessory, completely unnecessary for everyday life and completely necessary to force Jungkook to wait on you one more second. One more heart-stopping moment.

You glanced at his crotch. Hm. Interesting. Then you blinked and your eyes were on his. Hair hanging around his cheekbones, pupils dilating, swollen lips parted as he let out light pants of desire. He was slowly but surely losing it.

Maybe it was because his erection was suffocating in his leather pants.

You twirled your cuff link in your fingers. Jungkook watched the action, entranced by the dexterity of your digits. You knew what he wanted. He’d been texting you all day, trying to work you up. You had made him wait. Just like how you were making him wait now.

“What is your safe word?”

That was the question you used to start off the scene.

Instantly, you saw the relief, the hunger, the absolute need to serve flood his dark brown eyes. Now you were the dom. Now he was the sub.

“Euphoria,” Jungkook nearly moaned.

You nodded slowly, placing the cuff link on his coffee table. You upturned your other wrist, removing the other with a swift flick. You heard him whimper at the quick action. You almost smiled. He really wanted it. Ah, but you are a bad, bad boy, Jungkook. The metal clinked as it touched the walnut wood of the tabletop.

And there are consequences for being a bad, bad boy.

Your gaze connected with his once again. His eyes were practically begging for instruction.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” you drawled. His teeth sunk into his lower lip once more, the tiny mole underneath winking at you. “Go ahead.”

His eyes flitted about, trying to search for the trap. He swallowed, straining against the collar.

“Do… do you notice anything different about me?” Jungkook asked hesitantly, taking a step towards you.

You didn’t move from your position, observing him closely. His hands by his sides were antsy, itching to touch you or be caged with rope. You hooked your thumb at the base of your cuff and rolled it down. Once. Twice. Three times.

“You’re wearing makeup for me,” you replied, letting a small smile drift to your lips.

“A-ah…” He blushed. “Is it… is it too unmanly?”

Who the fuck put these ideas in Jeon Jungkook’s head? You just wanted to talk to them. And by talk, you meant flog the living daylights out of them. You had a big one at home. It could be arranged.

“No, of course not. You look very handsome.” Pause. “And fuckable.”

No reason not to tell the truth.

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a dark pink. “T-Thank you, noona.”

During the entire conversation, you had folded the sleeves of your dress shirt up to your elbows. The stiff, crisp fabric held, and suddenly you were imposing, sleeves rolled up, black skirt skimming the hardwood floor. The neutral façade you had upheld for so long dropped away. Jungkook noticed the change instantly, even though you hadn’t actually said anything yet. His eyes widened a little, shoulders tensing.

Your eyes flashed, chin lifting.

“Or is that not what you meant, pretty boy?”

You did not hide the irritation in your voice this time. His breathing hitched, the muscles his arms ripped and Jungkook very, very much wanted to be punished.

“Um…” He fiddled with his hands guiltily, eyes skirting about. “It’s not what I was referring to, no…”

“Look at me.”

He snapped his head up, gulping. So obvious. His neck strained against the leather. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What were you referring to?” you questioned icily.

Jungkook was shaking all over. He lifted his hand slowly, reaching up to his neck, hooking two fingers around the metal ring of the collar. He tightened them, tugging down a little, eyelashes fluttering, a tiny moan rumbling in his throat. You were going insane on the inside. Fuck, did he know how submissive he was? Did he know how his small, cute little actions made him look so fucking appetizing?

“T-This.”

“Ah, yes,” you finally acknowledged. You waved a hand and he removed his, biting his lip again. “I did notice that. A nice touch. Is it for me?”

He nodded quickly. He seemed to forget for a second that he stole it from you. “Yes, noona, it’s for you.”

You sighed. Jungkook’s expression changed, becoming slightly confused.

“Pause.”

The indication that there was an intermission in the scene. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You are testing me, Jungkook, and I do not like it.”

Jungkook’s brows knitted together, looking down. “I’m sorry, noona.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t try to make me angry on purpose.”

He closed the distance between you two, placing his hands on your elbows. His brown orbs anxiously found yours. “I… I just… please…” His fingers pressed into your skin, his breathing deepening. “I want to see how far I can go. How far you can take me. You won’t…” Jungkook shook his head, hair flying everywhere, ponytail bouncing. “You’re holding back, but I can take it, noona, I promise. I promise I can.” His fingertips caressed you, determination in his eyes.

Hm. Jungkook could tell. You breathed in deeply, inhaling his clean scent.

You are aware of your mistakes. You have learned.

You pursed your lips.

I really, really do not want to hurt you, Jungkook.

“You must promise me.” You looked deep into his eyes. “You must promise me, that if it is too much, if you cannot handle it, if it is not something you want, you must use your safe word.”

He nodded quickly. “I promise.”

And then you crumpled a little bit, your strict demeanor falling, the fears rising, the vulnerability making your voice quiver as you unfurled your arms and grabbed his t-shirt, shaking him roughly.

“No, Jungkook,” you pleaded. “You must promise me.” And you couldn’t explain, couldn’t bring yourself to say why, but he could tell how serious you were because you were suddenly weak, suddenly the parts of yourself that you kept under wraps revealed themselves, the parts you were ashamed of appearing, and you were letting him witness it. Because he said he wanted you. Not just dom you, but you.

And this, well, this was you too.

Jungkook’s eyes softened and he smiled. He leaned in and kissed you, long, sweet, delicate. It was like time stopped. As if the world froze and there was nothing but Jungkook’s lips on yours, reassuring and comforting. He drew back and opened his eyes slowly, warmth in his chocolate orbs.

“I promise.”

You looked up at him, stunned. He grinned at you, showing off his teeth, a little cheeky and embarrassed all at once. You removed your hands from his shirt, lowering them gradually.

“Sorry, I…”

Jungkook’s hands dropped and held yours tightly. He shook his head.

“No, noona. I understand. I know you are looking out for me,” he said brightly. “Because I’m always trying to get into trouble.”

A muscle in your eye twitched. At least he admitted it.

His teeth caught his lip, still smiling. Less nervous now, more playful.

You removed your hands from his. Okay. Okay, fine. Jungkook wanted you to be the dom. Not a dom, the dom. You let out a breath, controlled, clean. Step back into your role. You are in control. You can do this.

“What is your safe word?”

You cracked your neck, a sharp pop that made Jungkook jump.

“Euphoria,” he replied automatically.

“Very good.”

A beat passed. Jungkook remained close to you, unsure what was going to happen. His eyes wide and flighty, chin trembling, hands in front of his chest. You lowered yours, placing them behind your back. Piercing gaze on him, taking a step. His eyes followed you as you slowly circled him, speaking carefully and deliberately.

“So, Jungkook, tell me,” you began, skirt grazing the floor as your glided around him. “What makes you think you’re wearing the collar for me?”

Jungkook’s head whipped around quickly, following your movement with darting eyes. Damn, his ass looked great in these leather pants. He looked unconfident, brows furrowing, trying to conjure the right answer to get what he wanted.

“Um… I thought… maybe you might like it…” He stumbled through his words. “B-Because you like controlling me…”

You smiled at him. Jungkook brightened.

“I do.”

The eagerness beamed off his face as you stopped in front of him, still smiling pleasantly.

“I love controlling you.”

Then the smile dropped. The air around you became ten degrees colder with your shift in demeanor. Jungkook barely had a half-second to realize the change before your hand shot out and gripped the silver ring, yanking down harshly. He yelped, arms flying out, falling to his knees hard, gripping your skirt for balance. Your other arm was still behind you, folded into the small of your back. You narrowed your eyes, holding the collar ring so tightly that your knuckles were white.

His eyes flew up, pain and surprise.

You ticked your head. “But clearly, I’ve done a poor job, because you’ve gone and stole from me, you bad boy.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, scooting himself forward, clutching your skirt tightly. “N-No, please, noona, I only–”

You yanked the ring up and Jungkook gasped, words cut off from the sudden jerk of his head snapping back. “You only what? Pickpocketed? Broke the law? Took my hard-earned money from right under my nose, to hurt me?”

“No, no, never,” Jungkook whimpered, looking up at you, blinking rapidly. “I don’t want to hurt you, noona. Never.”

“Then explain yourself,” you barked severely.

His eyes were turning teary, pleading. “I only… I only wanted to borrow it. So you could punish me and so I could show you I could be a good boy and take what I deserve.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your other punishments weren’t enough?”

Jungkook’s lower lip quivered. The shame of his true intent was creeping in his eyes now.

“I… I wanted to see you angry, noona.”

“Even after I told you that you shouldn’t?”

He nodded, scurrying himself even closer on his now, most likely, bruised knees. Eyes on you, holding onto your skirt, whole body trembling. He angled his hips forward, showing you how hard he was in his pants, straining it even more by pressing his erection into the zipper of the leather. His lips open, black curls hanging around his face, almost pathetic but not quite, because you knew Jungkook was acutely aware of exactly what he looked like. Doing it to entice you, doing it to assure you that he wanted it.

“Y-Yes,” he admitted.

You forcefully let go of the ring, flinging him away from you. Jungkook squeaked, releasing your clothes as his body twisted to the side from your sharp movement. You swept your skirts away and took a step back.

“Noona, w-wait!”

Jungkook tried to scramble to his feet, but you snarled deep in your chest, making him freeze.

“Crawl.”

He looked startled, looking at you with wide puppy eyes. You took another step back. Jungkook followed you, on hands and knees, his bangs flared out, the low neckline of his shirt hanging down, revealing his chest. You could see his back muscles rippling under the fabric. Fuck, he was so handsome. You weren’t heading for the front door. You watched his mind calculate the angle of your body, mood lightening as he realized that was the direction of the bedroom. You, however, stopped at the floor-length mirror in the living room. Pointed to the patch of floor at your feet.

“Here. Now.”

Jungkook immediately complied, getting on his knees in front of you, hands between his legs, keen to please, facing you.

“Other way,” you clarified, sounding disappointed.

He lowered his head at his mistake and spun around, now facing his reflection. You glared through the mirror, making eye contact. He looked very sorry and very dejected. You almost forgave him just like that. Maybe Jungkook didn’t like this. Maybe you were being too harsh.

“Do you want to use your safe word?”

His eyes on yours. He shook his head lightly, not breaking your gaze.

“No, noona.” Your heart thudded in your chest at his tone of voice. “I’ve been a very bad boy.”

Jungkook licked his lips slowly, not looking away, the tip of his pink tongue lingering before sliding back into his mouth. He kept the same look in his eyes, but his actions were giving you the go ahead.

Shit.

You raised an eyebrow and lowered your hands. They floated above his shoulders and you were reminded of the first time, in the fitting room of your erotica shop, the moment he seduced you and pulled you into his pace. Jungkook tipped his head back, long hair sliding to his ears, the reflection of the stolen collar taunting you.

This brat.

Slowly, finger by finger, you placed your hands on his face. Fingertips pressing into his jaw, cheek, temple, into his soft skin, nails slightly digging in. Scratching up his pretty face a little, claiming it as yours. Jungkook had perfect bone structure, high cheekbones, sharp jaw, pretty forehead. He was panting, mouth open, hot breath drifting down. Hands on his thighs, clutching them tight.

You bent down, chin above his head so he could feel your hot breath on his scalp.

“My pretty boy,” you murmured softly. “Why must you be so bad? Do I not treat you well enough? Do I not give you what you love?”

“You do,” Jungkook whined in your hands, the guilt creeping into his voice. “You do, noona. Your pretty boy is… g-greedy.” He rolled his hips a little, spreading his thighs more, staring at his own reflection of his low-necked shirt and his thighs open, cock bulging in his leather pants.

Your fingers slipped down, down, tracing the leather collar. You let your index finger circle around the metal, not yet touching his chest, so close but so far. Jungkook kept trying to raise it into your touch. Your other hand reached back and grabbed his ponytail, yanking his head back. He moaned right into your chin, too turned on to pretend he was hurt.

“I am going to my briefcase,” you stated, not looking at him under you and instead staring at his reflection, torso straining from how sharply you were forcing him to arch his back. “You are to remove your clothes. Whatever is left on you will remain for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, noona.”

You abruptly let him go, striding to your briefcase swiftly, hearing a flurry of noise as Jungkook flung all of his clothes off. Snap, open, grab. You had already packed a black velvet bag holding the things you intended to use on him tonight. You spun around to see him practically ripping his leather pants off, the panic and regret evident on his face as he tried to shove them down his muscular calves. Smart boy had removed his underwear with his pants, smearing trails of pre-cum down his legs and onto the floor. You waited half a second for Jungkook to pop them over his ankles and he threw the pants to the far wall, so hard they made a loud slapping noise. Jungkook was on his hands and knees, panting, beads of sweat on his forehead.

It was actually hilarious to watch, but now was not the time to laugh.

Jungkook snapped his head towards you, eyes wide, his hard cock smacking his thigh. You raised an eyebrow at him. He gulped. Wearing nothing but the collar. Oh, he looked so good. You could tell him to get into position.

Or.

Tease him.

“Want to put my mouth on you, handsome boy.”

His cock twitched as his jaw dropped.

Your tongue slid out and stayed at the side of your lips as you spoke. “You look so tasty for me. When was the last time you came, Jungkook?”

His hands curled into fists on the hardwood floor, legs falling open, cock throbbing. The veins stood out against the hardness, head swollen and red.

“F-Fifteen days ago…” he whimpered.

He had denied himself. So cute. What a good boy. You smiled at him, still holding the velvet bag. “Really? You didn’t cum, not even once, without me?”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, hair flying everywhere. “Wa… wanted to be tasty for you.”

You pouted a little. “Hm, that’s half a month. You waited so long.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing on his lip. You gestured for him to adjust his position and he turned his body to fully face you.

“Eyes on the mirror.”

He turned his head to face his reflection. Hands on the floor next to his ass, slightly leaning back, legs open.

“Look away and I’ll walk away,” you warned.

“Y-yes, noona.”

You floated down to the floor. He couldn’t exactly see you, but you slid into the frame of the mirror, right between his legs. The velvet bag was out of his sight, next to his leg, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at his stiff cock and your proximity to it, holding his breath. You collected your saliva on your tongue and opened your mouth. It dripped down in a thin, slim line, hitting the angry red head of his cock and causing it to jerk at the sudden impact, coating it.

“A-ah, s-so good…”

“What do we say?” you purred, collecting more.

“T-thank you, noona,” Jungkook moaned, watching as you dropped more onto his aching cock, splattering onto his crotch. You lowered your head, closer. Closer. Jungkook sucked in a breath, waiting, needing, trying not to move. You made eye contact with him in the mirror.

“You’re a bad boy, Jungkook.”

And then you spat on his balls.

His head tipped back as he groaned, eyes barely open as he watched himself, chest shuddering as he felt it trickle down and onto the floor below. You spat on his genitals again, more force this time, spraying it across his cock and stomach. He cried out, slamming one of his fists onto the hardwood.

“Y-yes, noona, I’m a bad boy.”

And then you produced a cock ring seemingly out of nowhere, eyebrow raised as he wailed loudly.

“N-no, please, please don’t,” Jungkook panicked as you brought the black silicone ring closer and closer to his now saliva-drenched cock. “Please, I promise to be a good boy, please don’t do it…”

You said nothing, simply placing it on the engorged head and using three fingers to hold it, pushing down slowly.

“Noona, a-ah… no…” His eyelids fluttered, eyes on the reflection of his thick cock being viciously squeezed into the silicone ring. He let out a choked sob as it popped over the bottom of the head, sliding down, down, all the way to the base. You barely touched him, removing your hand as Jungkook shuddered, his pulsating length now bound by the black band.

You raised your head. He was still, very obediently, staring at the mirror.

You smacked his cock with your palm.

Not hard, but enough to make it bounce and for Jungkook to squeal, hips rising as his dick shook from side to side, unable to move much from the tight cock ring. He was making it move more by rocking his hips, heightening the feeling of being bound.

You waited until it stopped swaying.

“Your neighbors will hear you, Jungkook,” you said calmly. You turned your head and looked into the mirror. His eyes locked on yours, pupils dilated, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty face. “Should I gag you?”

“N-no, noona,” he whispered hotly, breathing shallow and tight. “They have to know I’m being punished. B-Because I’ve been b-bad.”

Good gracious, Jungkook.

Your panties instantly soaked. Who was losing it here? Was it him or was it you? Fuck.

You slowly smacked his cock back and forth, back and forth, staring at his face in the mirror. His head tipped back, not closing his eyes, moaning wantonly as his stiff length was roughly shoved around, barely any pressure and too much at once because of how hard he was. You stopped, watching his cock bob, almost purple-red now. Pre-cum beaded at the tip.

You couldn’t help it.

You leaned down, tucking your hair behind your ear so he could see, and gave the slit a tiny kitten lick.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Jungkook lost control, eyes rolling back into his head, and you almost moaned, his strong, intense taste all over your tongue. He tasted so good. So fucking delicious. You pulled back, pretending not to notice that Jungkook had looked away from the mirror as he quickly collected himself, back to staring at his reflection. You grabbed his hips and dug your nails into his skin, dragging him so his body was tilted.

“Flip over,” you growled.

You backed up, taking the velvet pouch with you as Jungkook obeyed, on his hands and knees now.

“On your face.”

Jungkook whimpered, lowering his cheek to the cool floor, leaning against it. Now his ass was up in the air, vulnerable and exposed.

“Both hands on the ring.”

His teeth sank into his lower lip, scooting his hands so he held the silver collar ring with fingers on both hands, arms against the floor to hold him up. His cock stuck straight down, stiff and swollen, trapped in the silicone circle. You waited to let Jungkook readjust his knees to be more comfortable and so he could see everything. The muscles on his back tensed with anticipation.

“I didn’t cover your mouth for a reason.”

“Yes, noona,” Jungkook breathed.

You raised your hands and raked your nails over his back, all the way to his ass. Hard, deep, leaving lines of pink and red, almost breaking the skin. Jungkook moaned, tongue sliding out, body shaking, eyelids fluttering. You did it again, and again, creating your pattern of lust on his back.

“Mine,” you growled possessively. Your eyes locked with his.

Thump.

Had anyone ever looked at you with so much adoration before?

Jungkook nodded.

“All yours, noona.”

You slapped his ass with your open palm.

He yelped, shoulders hitting the floor, face sliding a little against the wood. Pupils dilating, whimpering for more. You smacked him again, and again, and again, never the same spot, always with the full palm, all over, causing large red handprints patterned all over his ass. Jungkook was a groaning mess, legs slipping, the head of his cock touching the hardwood.

You stopped.

His ass was bright red, covered in your slaps and scratches.

Jungkook opened his eyes. He seemed to realize he wasn’t looking at his reflection anymore. He panicked, seeing your glare in the mirror, and tried to raise his hips, but your hand stopped him. The tip of his cock was in contact the floor, dripping pre-cum.

You pressed his hips down a little and shifted them from side to side.

Even the little stimulation of the head against the hardwood made Jungkook moan, pleading with you as he desperately clutched the collar.

“Noona, p-please… Please let me c-cum…”

You removed your hand. Jungkook continued rubbing himself in his own puddle of pre-cum on his living room floor, as you predicted. You didn’t stop him. You reached into the velvet pouch again. Jungkook’s eyes had fluttered closed as he continued stimulating himself, probably not enough, but he didn’t seem to care. You pressed the thing in your hand onto his scrotum and turned it on.

“A-ah!”

Jungkook’s hips flew up, balls suddenly shaking violently from the bullet vibrator in your hand. He shut his legs, sticking his ass out into your hand as he gasped, pressing back into the vibrator as you lazily drifted it around his balls.

“Oh, fuck, noona, oh, fuck!”

He was still holding onto the collar somehow as he tried to get more, wiggling his hips, but you were faster, grabbing his ass with one hand and digging your nails into it.

“Stop.”

Jungkook froze, whimpering and panting on the hardwood, cheeks hollowed out, eyes glazed over.

You traced his asshole with the tip of the vibrator.

His eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out.

“Oh, please, noona, put it in me, p-please…”

You drew figure-eights around his asshole and his balls, calmly.

“I bet you would love that, but you’ve been a bad boy, so I don’t think so.”

Jungkook whined, shaking his head, dark curls fluttering, soaked with sweat.

“P-please, I’ll be good, I need it, I need you to do it, fuck, please.”

“No.”

You pressed the vibrator into the cock ring and Jungkook nearly screamed, cutting himself off by snapping his jaw shut and yelling into the floor, hips jerking in your hands. You kept it there for a good five seconds before you removed it and backed up, reaching into the velvet bag again. Jungkook had maybe one shaking inhale before you gripped him under his armpits, hoisting him up.

“Let go of the ring,” you commanded, and his hands dropped, helping you get him to his knees. His bruised knees. Still, he leaned against you, soaking your clothes with his sweat, spreading his legs out more so his body lowered and your head could be seen past his shoulder.

You reached down and removed the cock ring, Jungkook gasping in relief. It rolled away, now forgotten.

“Get yourself off.”

“B-but, noona…”

Your hands appeared and pressed against his nipples, turning on both bullet vibrators at once.

“Get. Yourself. Off.”

“F-fuck!”

His hand immediately flew to his cock, viciously pumping himself as you rubbed his nipples with the toys, his groans rumbling in his chest with the vibrations, so strong, so intense, his tan skin glistening with sweat, arm tattoos dancing as he stroked himself fast, his cock so hard it was purple now, veins popping out.

And, like the masochist he was…

Jungkook grabbed the head and squeezed firmly, cutting off his own orgasm with a wail.

You responded just as fast, dropping your hands and shoving the vibrators against his balls, twice as much stimulation as before. His head fell back against your shoulder, half-moans, half-screams of your name as he bucked into them, working himself up once again, your breath against his neck, your eyes watching Jungkook’s reflection – his shaking legs, his balls cupped in your hands, his abused and overstimulated cock popping in and out of his tattooed hand, his now inflamed nipples, sweat dripping down his neck, long black hair flared out against your cheek, the mole under his lower lip trembling with his cries.

Fuck, he was everything. Everything you ever wanted.

“Ah, noona, yes, yes, you’re so good to me, so good…”

“Cum on the mirror,” you demanded. “Cum all over yourself, pretty boy.”

Jungkook whined, snapping his head back down, feeling you increase the vibration setting on his balls and that was it, the tipping point as he sobbed out your name, shooting all over the mirror in large splatters of white, jerking his hips so it traveled higher, sticking onto the reflective glass, all over his reflection.

And he watched it, moaning, so entranced by his likeness covered in his own cum, dripping down in slow smears, messy and dirty.

You turned off the vibrators, withdrew your hands from him.

“Lick it off.”

Jungkook was exhausted, wheezing, hoarse, and yet he still removed his hand from his cock, crawling to the mess he made, pink tongue flopping out, licking his own cum off the mirror, eating it up with groans of satisfaction. You watched him, fascinated, surprised he even listened to you, surprised he was still going, because honestly at this point, you really thought you had gone too far, but Jungkook was enthusiastically making out with his own face with his orgasm at your command, and loving every second of it.

“Jungkook.”

He pushed himself away from the mirror, immediately coming to you, his dark brown eyes hazy with pleasure. He dumped himself in your lap. You still wearing all your clothes. He looked up at you, lips curving into a naughty grin.

“I love it when you turn me into your plaything.”

This guy.

“What do you want?” Jungkook panted. “I’ll do anything. Anything for you.”

Oh, that’s right. You had spent so much focus and energy on Jungkook that you completely forgot about yourself. How did that happen? Ah, but you were so tired now. You let out a puff of disbelief and slid down to the floor.

“I want a nap. Get back to me tomorrow morning.”

You woke up slowly to something wet and hot between your legs.

Can I wake you up by eating you out tomorrow morning?

If you brush your teeth.

Really?!

If you brush your teeth, yes.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, breathing in Jungkook’s scent. His bed. His tongue against your opening, softly lapping, burying his nose into your core. You pursed your lips, sighing softly. The tip of the wet muscle slid up, licking at your clit. You pressed your hips into his face and the large hands around your thighs tightened, holding you closer.

He moaned, so hot, right into your pussy.

Your hands released the sheets, sliding across the fabric, up your hip, tracing his fingers. Eyes still closed, feeling for his long hair, clean, fluffy, wild from sleep. Burying your fingers in the strands, pressing him down into you.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

He licked faster, lips closing around your clit, pushing his head into you as he pressed your thighs into the sides of his face. You could feel his cheekbones, his jaw rubbing against your skin. Felt his wet warmth, rapidly rubbing your sensitive nub.

“That’s a good boy,” you purred and he whined, vibrating your pussy with the sound.

Your fingers tightened in his hair and you hissed, gliding into your orgasm, dripping into his mouth as your clit throbbed against his tongue, pleasure flooding you like a warm blanket.

You finally opened your eyes, breathing out as you saw Jungkook’s handsome face between your legs, cleaning you up. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nuzzling your skin. He seemed to feel you watching him and his eyes looked up, bright, doe-like, chocolatey. His pink lips glistened with your release.

“Noona?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I keep the collar?”

You raised an eyebrow. He smiled at you, playful, naughty.

“If you pay for it,” you replied, half-joking.

His tongue flashed out.

“I can pay in cash and in orgasms.”

You laughed as Jungkook dove down between your legs once again.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jk x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jk smut

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mellowasinyellow · 3 years

Text

100daysofwriting - Day 1

So I thought for the first day I might just briefly outline all of the WIPs I have actually made a start on and that might help me to decide where I want to focus some energy. I have some for Katniss/Peeta in THG fandom and some for Natasha/Clint in the MCU.

Everlark

folklore series - so I started this series of fics inspired by songs from Taylor Swift's album folklore because honestly those songs just immediately bring to mind so many scenarios that made me think of Katniss and Peeta. I made a start on chapters based on peace, my tears ricochet, invisible string, this is me trying, and mad woman. I also have a bit of an outline for continuing the story that was started in 'the 1'.

I've had this one WIP ongoing since about 2015(?) which is a bit of a monster that has grown beyond me but basically it involves Katniss and Gale being raised in the Capitol in relative poverty after their fathers are conscripted into the peacekeepers because of traitorous activity. Mrs Everdeen is still from 12 but was moved to the Captiol to be married (this part is sketchy) and she still had a little childhood romance with Mr Mellark. Peeta gets reaped and Mrs Everdeen reacts to this as he looks like his father. Katniss gets a crush on him as she watches him prepare for the games. She hates herself for it but finds herself checking up on how he is doing even during non-mandatory viewing.

Arranged Marriage - I feel like this is such a cliche for thg fandom, but I just imagined my own way that the pairings happen but I'm so bad at writing slow burn so this will probably never materialise, but if you want a semi-decent thought out pairing/arranged marriage system I would be happy to lend you mine.

Miscarriage fic - I will never post this, but it's in my WIP folder. It's full of nasty feelings that feel a little better when they are written about.

Modern AU Pandemic Quarantine! - ofc, this is essential. Katniss and Peeta end up as the only people not to move home from their dorm for the quarantine. Slow burn that I can't fucking write should ensue.

Canon Pandemic Quarantine AU - pandemic a few years after the end of the war forces Katniss to admit she wants Peeta as more than a friend with whom she hunts, bakes, rebuilds the district. Cue sexy pandemic times and a resentful Haymitch that keeps accidentally breaking the rules.

Divorced but co-parenting Everlark - obviously finding their way back together

Another classic of their children being reaped and dying - I don't know why I write things this depressing. They just tend to come out in one big rush and then I never address them again.

Real weird teen pregnancy modern day AU - don't know where it's going or why...

Modern day AU dead Prim - Peeta and Katniss just met each other through mutual friends and are kind of flirting. Peeta is a bit infatuated. Katniss stops going to mutual friend parties and he finds out it's because her sister died. Instead of staying away he gets tangled up in her grief and does all sorts of practical things while Katniss wallows. Also it's E rated but not that much fun... can't entirely explain where this one came from either...

Single Parent AU where Finnick and Annie play match maker. Probably my fave Everlark in the works but it's another one that has grown so big for the 20 minutes I can dedicate to it each week.

Clintasha

Red Room Take Down - Nat and Clint are retired and living a quiet family life with their child. SHIELD appears asking for Nat's help in taking down the red room and dealing with the fall out, specifically what to do with the girls that they get out. Nat is torn but chooses to go. Chaos ensues with the 'rescued' girls. I need to actually develop some OCs a little if I ever want this to be good but tbh the pending Black Widow movie is kind of holding me back on this one too because I hope we find out more about the red room.

So I have a weird habit of writing from Lila Barton's POV. I can't explain it. I have AoU and like to pretend it never happened but anyway I have a WIP about Lila detailing the collapse of her parents' marriage after Clint retires and he and Laura actually have to spend time together without Natasha. She then goes on to describe the custody settlement and her utter joy that Auntie Nat sleepovers with them at her dad's place. She feels utterly betrayed when she finds out they are getting engaged.

Fluffy AU - Clint and Natasha in an established relationship with a son born between infinity war and endgame. Natasha still sacrifices on Vormir, but Steve gets her back no bother and it's so nice and happy and fluffy and Clint and Natasha are together and they have a son who has both parents back and Steve gets to make all this happen and he is so happy too and they have a barbecue and go swimming in a lake and clint/natasha have private time, and their kid wants to be captain america, and did I mention how HAPPY everyone is?

Another fic similar to the above just about everyone being so HAPPY. Endgame reverses the snap and instead of weird farm family coming back Clint and Natasha get their daughter back and it's just a cute moment about her reappearance and their race back to the spot she disintegrated from. (Steve/Bucky go to Vormir and Steve is sacrificed, but that fucker CHOSE to leave).

This is another one that has just grown bigger than my brain. it's based off the idea that Natasha helped with coordinating fosterings during the blip time. Clint loses his mind when he loses his family and crashes in BedStuy but finds a neighbour girl (Kate Bishop) who is fending for herself in post-apocalyptic Brooklyn. He helps her out and tries to get children's services involved but it has collapsed. Finds out Natasha is the one getting everything in order. He gets in touch. She's at the end of her tether and asks why he can't keep looking after her. In the end he does and she ends up getting involved and all three get overly attached to each other. I haven't got as far as the events of endgame and idk what's going to happen. It might be tragic.

Pregnant Natasha but nobody knows what is wrong with her because they don't even suspect her being pregnant is possible. Just a real vivid description of the early unpleasant pregnancy symptoms.

Another absolute monster - Sort of canon compliant to begin with aside from before the farm family disappear. Clint and Laura are in the middle of separating and tensions are running quite high at the farm. Snap happens. Nat and Clint accidentally run into each other while both a bit low during the blip and get drunk and share home truths. Begin working together from HQ and both get a little less sad. He convinces her she doesn't have to be responsible for the world's fate every moment of every day. Clint has a break down at Morgan's 1st birthday and realises that things will have to change. Nat has this realisation later. They begin sleeping together. Accidental pregnancy. More feelings come out between them. They enter a more conventional relationship and have baby. Baby is really hard work (colic) and they struggle with comparisons and feelings of inadequacy. Pepper helps them to identify the colic and improves everything greatly. Happy times with baby while also running the avengers. Opportunity to reverse snap. Some good scenes between Nat and Tony. A big conversation between Nat and Clint about what it will mean. Steve and Nat end up going to Vormir together. Nat is obviously about to commit suicide. Steve over powers her and gives her a pep talk about the situation she is running away from and how to deal with it. He self-sacrifices. Clint goes back to farm fam and Natasha goes back to BedStuy with baby. Clint has to tell Laura and then the kids about the last 5 years and their new siblings. Nate is super into it. Cooper is a bit aloof and cynical. Lila is confused. Laura is quietly seething. Clint helps put the farm back together about 5 years of neglect and the kids meet baby. Family gets happier. Laura and Nat eventually meet again and it's civil/friendly.

My own version of what happened in Budapest.

The Call - inspired by a post here on tumblr. Nat calls Clint as she bleeds out. Just needs a beta reader and then I would consider publishing.

AoU reimagined but with Clintasha - I'm not sure where this one is going it's like a massive spider web right now with lots of ideas shooting off, but basically it is inspired by this post and just involves a lot of hoodwinking the other avengers.

Accidental Baby Acquisition - Natasha becomes Yelena's child's legal guardian after Yelena gets taken out. Natasha and Yelena are estranged at this point and Natasha things the whole thing is a trap and brings Clint along. He is surprisingly good with the baby so she ropes him in to teach her. The three of them end up bonding.

5 times there's only 1 bed + 1 time they choose to sleep in the same bed.

non-superhero AU Clint and Nat both think they have adopted a stay cat but actually the cat has owners and just likes strokes and eats a lot so has many 'families'. They get into an argument over which of them the cat belongs to only to find out the cat has owners and they are moving away. They decide to adopt a cat between them as both are not hope that much and the shelter refused them as single people. Slow burn ensues, which I am shit at writing.

#100daysofwriting #everlark #clintasha #thg #mcu #clintasha fanfic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fic #everlark fic #everlark fanfic #everlark fanfiction #natasha romanoff #clint barton #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

A Cup of Something Better

Ch9: Given a Moment with You

Hank wound up going back to the cafe again, then again. Now he knew all of the baristas by name and instead of asking what drink he wanted they would ask if it was two or four that day. It was nice, he'd gotten a lot more done since he had started coming around. He came in the afternoon and usually didn't get to see Connor, but the other three were good company too.

North had a sharp tongue, she gave Hank shit every time he came in while she was on the clock, and just because he could, he gave it back. Simon was soft spoken, but seemed to love people, especially kids, he'd brought up an idea for a children's book and Hank was trying to encourage him to get it down on paper, make it real. Josh was a philosopher and a peace keeper, a middle ground between North and Simon that was refreshing.

He'd even struck up a friendship with another customer. Markus was a personal care nurse, and just like Connor had worked here while he was going to school. He was kind and passionate, he had humanitarian views when it came to politics. He believed that peaceful protest was the way to go, but when that didn't work he understood that attack would be the next best step. They had interesting conversations while they waited on their drinks. Hank enjoyed it, it allowed for his days to have a refreshing start.

On the days he arrived at the cafe early enough that he got to see Connor, they made idle conversation. They avoided talk of college and of the Cafe forging a tentative friendship. Hank learned a few things about Connor over these conversations, little things, but he cherished them. Things like despite being a twin, he considered himself the oldest of his siblings. He wanted to become a nurse, and was going to try and test into the program when this semester ended. Connor loved dogs, he didn't have one but he wanted to get one eventually. He did have two fish though, Flourish and Louis, that he was proud of.

Hank had offered information about himself as well. His main profession being that he was an author, he enjoyed writing historical fiction, although his current series that was in the works was science fiction. He taught night classes because he liked being able sharing his knowledge with others. That he did have a dog, Sumo, his beloved Saint Bernard.

Hank's routine for Saturdays was a little different. He made his way to Hand Brewed Hope in the morning and worked on either his manuscript or one of his smaller projects for a few hours before going home. Using coffee as liquid motivation, a bad habit he carried with him from his college days.

Like every other Saturday he walked into the cafe and took his place in line. In front of him was a familiar mop of brown curls attached to relaxed but proper posture he had learned to recognize. It was Connor. Hank found it a little odd that he would spend his day off in his workplace, but in the long run it was none of Hank's business.

"I never thought I'd see you on this side of the counter," Hank found himself saying in way of greeting, watching Connor startle with slight amusement. It wasn't easy to catch the brunette off guard, so Hank took delight in the small victory.

"It happens sometimes," came Connors reply when he had collected himself again, "I'm studying for my nurses exam, and I would rather do that here than at home."

Studying on his day off, Hank wasn't surprised and couldn't help but crack a smile. "You know days off are for taking a break right?"

"I am taking a break, I'm getting a coffee," the smartass remarked as he stepped up to order. Using Sign Language and then adding something verbally almost as an afterthought, "oh. And a cranberry citrus scone too, please Simon."

"You're only ordering that so you don't get lectured for not eating," Simon admonished.

Connor shrugged and headed for the far counter. Simon smiled at Hank when he approached, "two or four today Hank?"

"Just two today." Hank replied, paying for the drink and joining Connor at the second counter, "taking a break to order coffee is hardly a break." Hank gave him a half smile, then asked, "mind if I join you at your table?"

"Sure. It would be nice to have the company." Connor replied after a moment.

Simon had a smirk when he came with Connor's drink and Hank got the feeling there was more going on than he knew about, but he wasn't too worried about it.

"So why nursing if you don't mind my asking," Hank prodded when Connor got back.

"I enjoy taking care of people," he gestured to the counter, "and I've always loved medical science so I thought I'd combine the two."

Hank nodded to show that he was listening when he stepped up to the counter for his drink. Simon handed him his drink as well as Connor's pastry. He turned back to Connor handing him the paper bag, "alright, lead the way."

Connor nodded and lead Hank to a table that was tucked away from the others beside the wall of windows. Connor took the side with the street view, so Hank took the other side. He set up his laptop, making sure the old thing was plugged in. He looked up to find Connor already pouring over a medical text book with what looked to be notes. Hank opened his manuscript and got to work, but it didn't take him long to open a new document, starting another personal project. He was pulled put of his thoughts by Connor's voice.

"So what made you become an English professor Hank?" Connor asked pulling part the pastry he had bought, "no offense, but you don't seem the type."

Hank couldn't help the laughing fit that escaped him, though he tried to keep quiet at least. When he caught his breath again he spoke, "I get that a lot actually. I've always loved writing and in college one of my professors helped me nurture the skill. So I thought that once I got my feet under me as an author, I would do the same, and here we are."

"That's a sweet story." Connor commented, finally taking a bite of his murdered pastry, "that's also the reason you're encouraging Simon to get started on his kids' book."

Hank hummed in agreement,, "that and he has a unique idea. I want to see it do well."

They fell into another comfortable silence, both of them busy with their own work but not overly consumed by it. It was easy to be like this with him, there was no pressure to make conversation, but the absence of it wasn't awkward. Hank felt like he would enjoy talking with Connor for hours on end, but he felt like he enjoyed the silence just as much.

When small conversations did pop up Hank found them just as easy as the silences, like talking with an old friend. A few hours had passed when Hank checked the time again, he needed to get home and let Sumo out. He got his things together and packed them back into his messenger bag. He said his goodbyes to Connor and headed home.

Throughout the day, his morning with Connor would come back into his thoughts. It had felt almost romantic, and Hank had a difficult time not thinking about it that way when it snuck up on him. He knew Connor didn't see it that way, they were tentative friends at best, and Hank would be happy with that for as long as he was allowed to have it.

#A Cup of Something Better #dbh #d:bh #hank x connor #hankcon #dbh hannor #hannor #hank anderson #dbh hank #d:bh hank #connor rk800 #rk800 #d:bh connor #dbh connor

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sheyshen · 3 years

Text

My FanFic compilation

I figured I have written quite a lot over the years and especially this year, that putting together something like this, that has everything I’ve written so far in one place all organized would be a good idea! So please! Enjoy!

There’s quite a lot so they’ll all be listed under the read more, They’re all organized by series (fairy tail, swtor, mass effect, dragon age, greedfall, anthem, and smut fics) as well as by pair with a short description, starting with the first fic I wrote (fairy tail) and the latest (fictober 2020 prompts) :D

Fairy Tail: (Leading off with this because it’s my first ever fic) -Shall We Dance, Pair: Laxus/Lucy: 38 chapters, Finished https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351550/chapters/9870611

Swtor: Main fic: -Breaking the Bad News (aka BTBN), multi-pair, main focus is shan trio: currently 70 chapters, Ongoing. https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340892/chapters/21164699

Side Fics: Kara Hawke’s Backstory(s):

Pre-Class story: -A Smuggler’s Tyr, no pairing, intro to Kara’s first crew: Currently 1 chapter, Complete (Might add more eventually)

During Class Story: -Adventure of a Lifetime, no pairing focus but will mention Darmas, meant to build on what we have of the in game class story: Currently 1 chapter, hiatus (plan to work on more with 2021)

Post Class Story: -Hawke Legacy: While Kara Sleeps, mentioned Theron/Kara, focus’s on Koro delivering the news of Marr’s ship being attacked to Theron. 1 chapter, Complete -Downtime, Theron/Kara, Post arrival on Odessen but prior to chapter 9 on kotfe, 1 chapter, complete -Desert Reunion, Theron/Kara, Introducing Kara’s dad and bringing him into the Alliance, 3 chapters, complete -A Moment, Theron/Kara, but starting to poke at the idea of Arcann being involved, 1 chapter, complete

Prompts: -Fictober 2018, day 1: Can you feel this?, Kara/Arcann/Theron, post-umbara/pre-copero so theron’s only mentioned -Fictober 2018, day 3: How can I trust you?, Kara/Arcann/Theron, post-Nathema, and a bit on the trio +kids, dealing with Theron’s return -Fictober 2018, day 5: Take what you need, mentioned Kara/Caleb (her first husband from her original crew), takes place before the class stories, short story about a job she had done -Fictober 2018, day 6: I’ve heard enough, this ends now. Kara/Arcann (sometime pre-nathema so sorry Theron’s not really in this one), bit of covering a reoccuring nightmare Kara had for a few months -Fictober 2018, day 7: No Worries, we still have time, Kara/Arcann/Theron (Arcann’s not present tho, just mentioned), little bit of the pair of workaholics +kids taking a break -Fictober 2018, day 12/13: Who could do this/Try harder next time, Kara/Arcann/Theron & Koren/Trey (Will have this in both pairs), sometime post-nathema probably, little adventure with Kara involving having to save her sons -Prompt: I Care about You, Theron/Kara, little bit of a rebuild of their kotfe reuinion -Prompt: Come Cuddle, Kara/Arcann/Theron, Short fluff story of one of their movie nights with some bad jokes -Promptless idea: Arcann Singing, Kara/Arcann/Theron, I’ve always had this idea that Arcann can sing at least as well as Senya does, so here’s a bit of him singing to kara’s boys, and also kara. -Fictober 2019, day 2: Just Follow me, I know the area, Kara/Arcann mainly, post onslaught so Theron’s involved but just not featured in this prompt. Little bit of a romantic night out. -Fictober 2019, day 3: Now? Now you listen to me?, Kara/Arcann/Theron, follow-up to the fictober 2018 day 6 prompt, and resolution to the chronic nightmares Kara was having -Fictober 2020, day 7: Yes I did, what about it?, Kara/Arcann/Theron, post-nathema, small bit of theron and kara heart to heart about a choice she made (involving Valss because I’m still bitter we didn’t get a save option for him) and both prosthetic users in the trio are sore (maybe there’s a storm moving in) -Fictober 2020, day 15: Not interested, thank you, Kara/Arcann/Theron (Arcann isn’t present for this), one of a handful of reminders that Kara and Theron are parents, connor just really wants to make his lightsaber -Fictober 2020, day 18: You don’t see it?, Kara/Arcann/Theron (post umbara pre Nathema so theron is only mentioned), something of a pep-talk from arcann.

Nora Hawke/Mikael Hawke: -That Time Back When We First Met, backstory on how my sith warrior and pub trooper met before they started their relationship: currently 2 chapters, hiatus (plan to work on more with 2021) -Fictober 2018, day 4: Will that be all?, little bit after they first met, can be considered a continuation chapter... technically

Koren Gates/Trey Hawke: -Fictober 2018, day 2: People Like you have no imagination, Koren/Trey & Shey/Torian (will put it for both pairs), little adventure of my bounty hunter squad +sith BF -Fictober 2018, day 12/13: Who could do this/Try harder next time, Kara/Arcann/Theron & Koren/Trey (Will have this in both pairs), sometime post-nathema probably, little adventure with Kara involving having to save her sons -Fictober 2020, day 13: I missed this, Koren/Trey, bit of fluff between my overly caring hunter who could use a day off and his grump of a sith boyfriend. -Fictober 2020, day 28: Do I have to do everything here?, Kara/Arcann/Theron, Arcann and Koth decide to play a co-op holonet game, with only minor arguing. -Fictober 2020, day 30: Just say it, Kara/Arcann/Theron, Kara gets a little time to herself and the trio’s weekly movie night ends up being a bit more than just the three of them.

Shey Shen/Torian Cadera: -Fictober 2018, day 2: People Like you have no imagination, Koren/Trey & Shey/Torian (will put it for both pairs), little adventure of my bounty hunter squad +sith BF -Prompt: I’m Right Where I Belong, Shey/Torian sometime post kotet, a rare time that I bring up the fact that she has amnesia and still can’t remember anything prior to about 2 years prior to the class stories starting. -Prompt: ... out of habit (kiss), former Shey/Koro mention as well as Shey/Torian, because Koro is a mess and while him and Shey have been divorced for years habits die hard. -Fictober 2020, day 8: I’m not doing that again, Shey/Torian & Kurana/Andronikos (will be under both pairs), Little bit of a fun idea of who would win in a fight, our dear pirate or mando

Kurana Knight/Andronikos Revel: -Prompt: One Falling Asleep with their head in the other’s lap, Kurana/Andronikos, I keep thinking of this prompt now and then because writing Niko being soft for his wife is a lot of fun. -Fictober 2020, day 8: I’m not doing that again, Shey/Torian & Kurana/Andronikos (will be under both pairs), Little bit of a fun idea of who would win in a fight, our dear pirate or mando

Lyra Hawke/Doc: -Fictober 2020, day 1: No, Come Back!, Lyra/Doc, little adventure on an unnamed planet that I honestly love the idea of -Fictober 2020, day 6: That was Impressive, Lyra/Doc, Another little adventure of information gathering featuring Kara’s youngest son, Connor. -Fictober 2020, day 22: And neither should you, Lyra/Doc, little bit of fluff and doc trying to get his wife to take a day off

Ren Hawke/Vinn Atrius: -Fictober 2020, day 9: Will you Look at this?, Ren/Vinn, I need to write more of them outside of btbn so this was a start to hopefully more building on my didn’t plan to ship this as strongly as I ended up doing pair.

Ava Reiner/Jonas Balkar: -Fictober 2020, day 20: Did I ask?, Ava/Jonas, Small job featuring a couple of SIS agents, and including a bounty hunter I got attached to in a hurry.

Kyri Dennan/Arn Peralun: -Fictober 2020, day 21: This, this makes it all worth it, Kyri/Arn, little build up for another pair that I didn’t expect to get attached to, featuring some implant maintanence.

Airi/Theron (one off because disaster spy/spy pairing I had to write at least once): -Admittance, 1 chapter, complete

WoW: Aulara Stormdawn/Kieran Grimmarrow: -Lunar Eclipse, (Technically my first fic but I didn’t post it until after Shall We Dance), A story involving Aulara (an orphaned night elf priestess), Koren Haven (her brother from the orphanage, a human paladin), Kieran (a blood elf noble, hunter who doesn’t have much people skills), and the friends they meet including Rokar an old orc shaman and Sen a orc huntress, that navigates through the warcraft story starting with vanilla wow. Currently 7 chapters, on hiatus but planning on picking it up again in 2021! -Fictober 2020, day 4: That didn’t stop you before, Aulara/Kieran, A quest during Legion and a bit of a flashback from one of their first quests together around when they first started fighting side by side during BC -Fictober 2020, day 25: Sometimes you can even see, Aulara/Kieran, The burning of Teldrassil and Kieran deciding he’s willing to risk everything he’s ever known to be with his wife. Koren is there to give him a hand. -Fictober 2020, day 26: How about you trust me for once?, Aulara/Kieran, early BC before they became a couple, Kieran and Aulara get a moment to talk alone in Nagrand, involves something close to an awkward confession. >:3

Shey Wrynn/Varian Wrynn: -Prompt: Are you testing me?, Shey/Varian, post WoD but pre-Legion, little walk through elwynn turning into an adventure between the king and his wife, Shey is not amused when he charges in head first. -Fictober 2020, day 2: That’s the easy part, Shey/Varian, mid to late WoD, bit of fluff while planning the push towards hellfire citadel, bit of fluff and bit of proposal. >:3 -Fictober 2020, day 10: All I ever wanted, Shey/Varian, post-BFA Pre-Shadowlands, proof I can write at least a little bit angsty, some platonic Shey & Anduin. -Fictober 2020, day 16: I never wanted anything else, Shey/Varian, something short around late Cata early MoP involving Shey having a birthday. -Fictober 2020, day 27: Give me that, Shey/Varian, probably what I consider the most ooc i’ve written him but honestly i had a lot of fun writing them being dorks. -Fictober 2020, day 31: I trust you, Shey/Varian, sometime early Cata soon after they started a relationship. The one and probably only time I’ll ever mention Shey’s old house, and a touch on the fact that i’m 100% certain that Varian would try and sneak out of the city time to time.

Shey & Anduin (platonic, it’s always platonic/familial between them) -Fictober 2020, day 19: I can’t do this anymore, Shey & Anduin, because sometimes a girl just needs to sneak her son out of the city to give him a break and maybe check out a ruin or something.

Shey Wrynn/Aethas Sunreaver: -Prompt: By your side, Shey/Aethas. Post legion, a bit of a moment between them early BFA. I started writing them as a potential pair before settling as friends with benefits that might form into more, so this is a possible hinting at them becoming “more”

Mass Effect: John Shepard/Kaidan Alenko: -Prompt: War’s End Kiss, Shenko, Post ME3 when they’re just a couple of retired old soldiers and John’s slowly recovering from his injuries from the final push. -Fictober 2019, day 4: I know you didn’t ask for this, Shenko, Post ME3, a bit of a heart to heart between them and tending to slowly healing injuries. -Fictober 2020, day 3: You did this?, Shenko, Post ME3, Kaidan runs across some old footage of John over the years from before they met to the reaper war. -Fictober 2020, day 14: You better leave now, Shenko, during ME3, short mission against a hold out of mercs, featuring James. -Fictober 2020, day 24: Are you kidding me?, Shenko, during ME3 probably, featuring Kaidan “my headache doesn’t hurt that bad” Alenko and John “please just take a nap” Shepard. -Fictober 2020, day 29: Back up!, Shenko, during ME3, mission to clear out a cerberus warehouse including some battle flirting and James lending a gun.

Scott Ryder/Gil Brodie: -Fictober 2020, day 12: Watch me, Ryder/Gil, Post main MEA story, something short of Scott looking forward to getting out and exploring while Gil (and eventually Sara) work on the Nomad. (Sara is my pathfinder)

Dragon Age: Garrett Hawke/Fenris: -Dawning, Fenhawke, Short bit of fluff and my firt step into writing dragon age. Late or post DA2.

Lia Hawke/Fenris (a one off when I was debating on canon hawkes & romances for them): -Fictober 2020 day 5: Unacceptable, try again. Fenhawke, little bit of teasing and bad taste in books.

Rana Cousland/Alistair Theirin: -Promptless ramble, Rana/Alistair, Set during DAO with Rana reflecting on those she’s lost, worrying for her brother and realizing just how in love she’s fallen with Alistair. -Fictober 2020, day 23: Do we have to?, Rana/Alistair, set post DAO, pre-DAI, little romantic picnic between the king and queen of ferelden before she heads off on her next mission. (hints at Nathaniel being involved with the both of them.)

Greedfall: Lydia de Sardet/Kurt -Fictober 2020, day 11: I told you so, Lydia/Kurt, short bit trying to get my footing writing these two, Lydia thinks she can still climb trees like she used to as a kid. -Fictober 2020, day 17: Give me a minute or an hour, Lydia/Kurt, short bit, and Kurt not being as subtle about his feelings about Lydia as he probably thinks he has.

Anthem: Raya Auren/Matti (1 of the 3 Matthias Sumner) -Fictober 2019 day 1: It’ll be fun, trust me, Raya/Matti, Bit of an adventure involving Raya taking her favorite arcanist out of fort tarsis to see something very special. (also involving me having no clue how they transport people when there’s only one javelin and winging it)

Smut: (all of them are swtor so far) -A Moment Reprised, Kara/Arcann, takes place post-umbara and pre-nathema, and sometime late in BtBN, no plot. -Moving on, Koren/Trey, takes place right before chap 35 of BtBN, featuring my dorks of a hunter and sith setting in stone they’re serious about each other. no plot -Just a short vacation, Kara/Theron, takes place post-nathema pre-onslaught, A moment in Kara and Theron’s honeymoon at a lovely resort and the closest to taking a day off Theron will ever probably take. No plot -Welcome Home, Kara/Arcann/Theron, unlike the other 3 doesn’t have a specific time that it takes place other than post nathema. No plot

#my writing #this took forever i didn't realize i've written so much over the years #going forward i'm going to just add new ones onto this so they just stay connected without me having to redo this

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asotin · 4 years

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Five Stages

This was an early draft of Seven Steps that didn’t quite work, but I got attached to it. It’s still messier than I’d like, but I think this is as good as I’m going to get it. So here’s 3.7k of an AU where Tobirama died instead of Izuna, which comes with its own problems

Hashirama has never forgiven Izuna.

Madara watches them together, and while Hashirama is never less than polite, there's a distance between them even strangers from other clans can see.

There's a distance between Hashirama and Madara as well. It’s new in the scale of the time they've known each other, but it's older than the shrine in Hashirama’s house.

They don't talk about the shrine.

Other than the practicalities of growing their village, they hardly talk at all. The growing silence is making Madara nervous.

He needs to know what this means, and if Hashirama won't say anything on his own, Madara will make him.

They’re up on the cliff where they first imagined Konoha, away from the rest of the village. When he wasn't in his office or at home, Madara knew Hashirama would be here.

Bracing himself, Madara asks, “You’re thinking about Tobirama, aren't you?”

Sitting beside him, their legs hanging over the edge like when they were children, Hashirama nods.

“Izuna bore him no ill will,” Madara continues when Hashirama says nothing. “Your brother died because our clans were at war and Izuna was stronger.”

It's true, and it isn't.

Madara’s brother knew what Hashirama seems not to understand- Tobirama loved him.

After years of deadlock, all it took for Izuna to get the upper hand was a feint toward Hashirama.

From the way Hashirama has been acting, he doesn't know that, and if Tobirama decided not to tell him, Madara has no reason to speak up.

“I know he didn't,” Hashirama says. “People die during war. That's why I worked so hard to end it.”

Madara tilts his head, studying Hashirama. “Then you also know you keep Izuna at a distance, don't you? The rest of the village can see it, and they avoid him.”

“And the rest of the village understands why,” Hashirama points out. There's an edge to his voice that appeared when Tobirama died. It's a legacy of sorts- Tobirama died, but his standoffishness took root in his brother. “He was my only remaining brother, Madara. Would you have welcomed Tobirama if he'd killed Izuna?”

“No, but you're a better man than I am,” Madara says. He won't pretend to be benevolent. They both know better.

“I'm not.”

“Aren't you? Izuna lives. You won't welcome him, but you won't hate him either.” He shrugs. “You won't even send him out on missions where he'd be in danger. As your brother must have told you, we’re prone to self-destruction. If you set him on the path, Izuna would get himself killed.

“Yet you don't. You won't accept him, and you won't make use of him. Make up your mind.”

Hashirama draws a long breath in. “What purpose does this serve, Madara? We've made peace. Our families are flourishing in the village we built. Why are you trying to make me fight with you?”

“You're too quiet,” Madara says simply.

He could elaborate. He could list the signs he’s seen of Hashirama losing his confidence. He could tell Hashirama that even other Senjus are beginning to worry. He could look Hashirama in the eye and tell him that no one can understand why he's mourning so hard for a brother he didn't love.

He never feared Hashirama on the battlefield, but he doesn't want to show his guts to this man who won't show his own.

Madara has tried to have this conversation before, but Hashirama has always dodged it.

Out here, they don't avoid each other.

Hashirama sighs. “I miss Tobirama.”

“And?”

Hashirama frowns at him. “And? That's all. Tobirama was here, and now he isn't. So I miss him.”

“It can't be that simple.”

You didn't actually love him.

“Why not?” Leaning forward, Hashirama looks out over their village. “You only knew Tobirama as an enemy, so I don't blame you for having no love for him. He was stubborn and too smart for his own good. He saw the world as it is, not as it could be. He didn't know how to make peace, and I don't think he wanted to. But he was still a good man.”

Madara shakes his head. “I'm not questioning that you loved him.”

“Aren't you? You're a poor liar, Madara.” Without waiting for Madara to answer, Hashirama sighs. “You don't understand why his death bothers me.”

“We’ve both buried far younger brothers. What is it about this one that's so special?”

“You're still trying to provoke me into a fight.” Hashirama closes his eyes. “I understand now. Thank you, Madara, but I can't be angered out of this.”

The longer Madara looks at him, the worse the prickles of fear grow. “You'll stay like this, then?”

“Not forever.”

Unsettled, Madara says, “I've never heard you talk like this.”

“You've never heard me talk about Tobirama.”

“Can you blame me? You're the hokage. My clan’s position-”

“Is secure!” Hashirama snaps, eyes snapping open. His voice is loud enough for the words to echo, and his forehead is furrowed in anger when he turns to glare at Madara. “I've encouraged the other clans to extend their welcome to the Uchihas. Already, there are friendships forming between your clan and the others, mine included.

“In what way, short of embracing Izuna, have I not shown our village that I want your clan here, Madara? Tell me so I can address it.”

Madara considers the question.

“There aren't any,” he admits slowly.

“Then let me have this.” Hashirama rubs his face. “I just need time to stop feeling like I’m holding Tobirama's body.”

Madara remembers the way dread crept up his chest when Hashirama noticed Izuna standing over his brother.

Tobirama had caught Izuna’s fireball squarely, but he hadn't died immediately. Izuna had been intending to drive his sword through Tobirama in an act of mercy.

Madara had called him away before he could, unwilling to risk Hashirama misunderstanding, and Izuna had run to him before Hashirama reached Tobirama.

Being touched must have been excruciating, but Tobirama had only let out a single, agonized whine as Hashirama gathered him up, ignoring the way his own body was being burned by Tobirama’s nearly molten armor. His skin had cycled between burning and healing.

Tobirama’s head had lolled unnaturally against Hashirama’s shoulder, his breath rattling. Hashirama had begun to walk away, only to pause when Tobirama said something, his voice too low to reach Madara or any other Uchiha. Whatever it was, Hashirama’s eyes had gone wide before he took another step.

Madara had felt the same sense of foreboding the rest of his clan must have as Hashirama carried Tobirama away.

As one, the rest of the Senjus had retreated silently.

They'd met on the same battlefield the next morning, and if Madara hadn't known Hashirama, he would have thought the look on Hashirama’s face was simple exhaustion.

Hashirama hadn't called for a truce like he had in the past. He'd sprinted forward alone, his clan hanging back as his hands formed a series of seals Madara hadn't seen before, and in the space of a second, a massive wall of roots had erupted from the ground, throwing nearly every Uchiha into the air and wrapping around them before dragging them back to the earth. Madara had been the only one who'd escaped it. He'd braced himself for Hashirama’s next move, but he'd had no way of preparing for what Hashirama had actually done.

Tobirama must have taught his brother something new before he died because as Hashirama ran toward Madara, a second Hashirama had materialized behind Madara and forced him to the ground.

It hadn't been a clone; clones have no substance. Madara’s Sharingan can see through them easily.

Pinned to the ground, legs bound by roots and hands pinned by this second Hashirama, Madara had found himself at the mercy of a stranger.

“Yield,” the original Hashirama had said when he arrived. He'd looked down at Madara over his double’s shoulder, features pinched. “Please, Madara. Don't make me lose you, too.”

As Madara lay on the ground, immobilized, he’d known one thing with absolute clarity.

If he refused, Hashirama would kill him.

In the present, Hashirama rubs his forehead. “I’m sorry, Madara, but I'd like to be on my own now.”

The look on his face is eerily similar to that day, so Madara nods and leaves.

Madara crouches in the brush near Hashirama and waits.

Hashirama has a habit of talking to himself aloud; eavesdropping on him when he thinks he's alone is the easiest way to figure out what he's thinking.

It doesn't take long.

“Well, Tobirama,” Hashirama says, squinting up at the clouds, “the impossible dream wasn't so impossible.

“I found the scrolls you told me about, and I think I picked the right people to make your plans real. The Academy I wanted to build is almost ready to open, and the children have already begun to adjust to their new playmates. The adults will take time, but even Madara is optimistic.”

Madara fights a snort. Optimistic is overly generous.

That's Hashirama, though, isn't it? Always seeing the best outcome. Tobirama must know to account for that.

“But you should know,” Hashirama says, tone darkening, “I had to destroy some of what you left. I know you made them as a last resort, but, Tobirama, some of what you created was evil.” He shakes his head. “I'm glad you died before I saw them, because I would've had to ask you if you'd tested them and you would've told me that you had.

“You always did take after Father.” Tilting his head back, Hashirama sighs. “Was it my fault? Was I so consumed with making peace with Madara, I didn't notice how far you’d gone? Or were you always going to go this far?

“Konoha may be safer without you. Do you know how much that hurts? To be relieved my own brother is dead? You were the only one left, Tobirama. You were the only one who became an adult, and I can't even mourn you properly.”

Hashirama hits the ground next to his hip with a fist. “And you had the audacity to tell me as you died that you wanted me to make the life with Madara that I wanted. How long did you know? Could you really only tell me to be happy with him because you were dying?”

Recognizing an opportunity when he sees it, Madara gets to his feet and emerges from his hiding spot. “No, he said it years ago.”

Hashirama looks over sharply. “Madara? Didn't you leave?”

“Obviously not. You should pay more attention,” Madara chastises as he returns to Hashirama's side. He sits down heavily. “As I said before, I have no ill will toward your brother, so it costs me nothing to tell you he said nearly the same thing to me.”

“When did you and Tobirama see each other when I wasn't nearby?” Hashirama asks. His brow is furrowed again, but without anger to make it threatening, he only looks confused.

Madara chuckles; the memory is a favorite of his. “It must have been a decade ago. I was feeling nostalgic, so I went back to the river. Your brother was there, washing up. I didn't recognize him at first.”

“You didn't recognize Tobirama?” Hashirama asks, suspicion heavy in his voice. “Even without the ruff, he wasn't difficult to identify.”

He gestures at his face and waves his hand above his head.

“I couldn't see his face, Hashirama.”

“Oh of course.” Hashirama nods. “He would have been washing it.”

Madara lays his hand on Hashirama’s shoulder. Hashirama’s brain is trying so hard not to accept the obvious. “I came up behind him, Hashirama. That part of him didn't match his face.”

“Madara!”

“He didn't notice me at first either, oddly. He must have been too absorbed in what he was doing around front-”

“Madara!” Hashirama hisses.

“He was cleaning that stupid mantle while he bathed,” Madara tells him, having a good time now that Hashirama isn't so distant. “I saw his back, nothing more. Don't be disgusting.”

“Could you please get to the point?” Hashirama asks, pained.

“The point, Hashirama, is that Tobirama was naked in a river, I caught him by surprise, and he wasn't stupid enough to try to fight me unarmed and undressed. So he glared at me pissily. He’d already squeaked when he spotted me, unfortunately, and there's no coming back from that.”

Madara had spent years poking fun at Izuna about not being able to beat a sensor type who got so caught up washing his clothes that Madara could have killed him.

The joke isn't funny anymore, but for a time, Madara had finally had a rejoinder for being unable to outwit Hashirama.

“I don't know why I didn't try to kill him,” Madara continues. “Regardless, I didn't, and he told me that if you and I made peace, I should remember how happy you and I had been together. If there was a way to make you happy like that again, I better take it. He was quite emphatic about that.”

A high, miserable sound bursts out of Hashirama.

Madara lifts a hand and squeezes his shoulder. “Izuna told me once that he wishes he hadn't told our father about you. He was trying to protect our clan, but who knows? Maybe if he'd spoken to me first, you and I could have made peace in our own way.”

“You think Tobirama felt the same way.”

“I didn't know your brother, but it seems likely.”

Hashirama leans into Madara, safe from the knowledge of how much Tobirama loved him. “Is it terrible to wish he'd lived because he'd do paperwork for me?”

Madara snorts. “I've heard your cousins express a similar wish. It was Tobirama who kept your work in order when our clans were at war, wasn't it?”

“He was so organized,” Hashirama says wistfully. “He was a pain in the ass, but he was a good second in command. Everything I came up with, he improved. Our clan became more dangerous simply by becoming more effective.”

“This is the most pathetic thing I've ever heard, Hashirama, and I heard you ask me out.”

Hashirama slumps over with a whine, leaning into Madara heavily. “It wasn't that bad!”

Madara huffs. “It was mortifying. I almost said no just to preserve my own dignity.”

Hashirama whines again, leaning into him harder, and Madara shakes his head.

“You could argue that the hokage making a fool of himself to ask me if I'd like to get dinner wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to me, and you did pick a nice place.”

Madara moves his arm so he can rest his hand on Hashirama’s waist.

“And you made a fool of yourself after dinner,” Hashirama says smugly. The tables turned, he perks up. “Having to be escorted home, how embarrassing.”

“Shut up!” Madara hisses. “I'd been drinking.”

“Perhaps because you were nervous about being on a date with me?”

“Don't think you're too old for me to throw you in the river.”

“But you're so small, Madara. Are you certain you could lift me? I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

Temples throbbing, Madara gives Hashirama a pointed shove, and Hashirama yelps in surprise as he tips over.

“I could have fallen off the edge!” he complains from the ground.

“If you couldn’t recover from a little nudge, you'd deserve whatever happened.”

Eyes narrowing, Hashirama asks, “Is that so?”

Madara nods. “Of course.”

“I see.”

Madara sees the counterattack coming, so when Hashirama flies at him, Madara is ready for it.

They wrestle on the edge of the cliff like they did years ago. Madara resists the urge to cheat and pick Hashirama up- he's so big, no one tries to lift him, so he doesn't know how to get free.

Madara has a suspicion that isn't the real reason Hashirama’s eyes go wide when Madara manhandles him, but that's a theory for another time.

He pins Hashirama in the end anyway.

“What's with that face?” he asks, poking Hashirama’s cheek.

Hashirama’s expression shifts from distant to rueful. “I was just remembering that the other kage think I’m incompetent.”

Madara hums. He went to the kage summit with Hashirama; he saw everything Hashirama did. “A mistake on their part.”

“A potentially lethal one for our people. If Tobirama were alive, they wouldn't think they could take advantage of us.”

He's probably right.

Sitting up, Madara puts his hands on his hips. “I'm smart, you know, and I’m not hamstrung by liking people. That's why people think you aren't smart. You're too friendly.”

“That does seem to be the problem. Unfortunately, you get this look that says you're thinking about doing something reckless, and everyone knows you're impulsive,” Hashirama adds pointedly.

Madara lifts his chin. “I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are. I know you.”

He does and he doesn't. Hashirama doesn't see darkness, only places where light could be. He refuses to accept that there are places that have to be kept in the dark.

Tobirama understood that. He, like Madara, lived in the world where men like Hashirama can't go. He saw the necessity of violence and didn't try to reason with it.

Madara can only guess at the contents of the scrolls Hashirama inherited. Perhaps they were indeed unconscionable, but perhaps they were practical plans for surviving the inevitable threats that will come to them. He doubts Hashirama will ever tell him.

“You know me well enough, I suppose,” Madara allows.

He’ll do the things in the dark that Hashirama can't.

Hashirama reaches for him, and Madara lets himself be tugged down until he's lying on top of Hashirama. He doesn't like the position; it leaves him vulnerable.

The weight of Hashirama’s arms resting on his back has slowly begun to feel more like a shield than a restraint.

“Tobirama kept a list of all our dead,” Hashirama says slowly, his chin brushing the top of Madara’s head. “Not just that they'd died but how they'd died and where they were buried. Our father used to tell him it was pointless. I thought he was keeping a tally of lives to get revenge for. We both told him to stop, but from the stack of scrolls I found, he never did.” He takes a slow, deep breath in. “Looking back, I think it was just his way of accounting for them. He wasn't good at showing love, but he did feel it.”

“You want to continue what he started,” Madara surmises, “and you want Tobirama to be the first name.”

“That’s right. Although, I was thinking of doing something public and less detailed. This is everyone’s village. I want our names to be recorded beside each other as comrades.”

Madara thinks it over. A public record of all the ninjas who died for their village feels right, and to mix their clans would build camaraderie.

“Individual clans would still keep track of their dead?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“And the recording of names- how would it be done?”

“By when they died. If we don't have a precise order, we’ll go by name.”

Nodding to himself, Madara accepts that Hashirama’s idea for the memorial is a good one.

The problem is Tobirama.

The Senju name is all over the village. Giving Tobirama, who died before Konoha was more than a wish, such a place of honor would further tilt the scales toward Hashirama's clan, but denying Hashirama a way of acknowledging his brother will only upset him, which Madara has no interest in doing.

“Dedicate the memorial to him,” Madara suggests after a long moment. “This wasn't his home, but the tradition came from him.”

Hashirama hums thoughtfully. “Instead of inscribing his name on it first, you mean.”

Madara nods. “Let the honor of being recorded first go to someone who belonged to Konoha. If it's a Senju, so be it, but it shouldn't be your brother.”

Hashirama squeezes Madara hard.

“This is a new world,” he says, voice rough, “but none of the brothers I wanted it for got to see it.”

Madara thinks back to the brothers he and Izuna don't talk about. None of them will see Konoha either. They aren't even water to nurture Konoha’s growing roots. They're just dead, buried without ceremony or a name on their hasty graves.

“That's the cost of surviving,” Madara reminds Hashirama. “Even in this village, we’ll have to carry our dead as we move ahead.”

“I should live for them as well as myself, you mean?”

Madara scoffs. “Don't be absurd. Are you going to make every choice according to your dead brothers’ desires? What will you do when those desires conflict?” He lays his head on Hashirama's chest. He doesn't know what his other brothers would have wanted; they died too young to live on in anything more than name. “You carry them by remembering them.”

How does Hashirama remember his brother? What love does he have for Tobirama that's so small he let Izuna live?

“Then I’ll make sure Konoha flourishes,” Hashirama says, his voice low and determined. “So long as someone who calls Konoha home survives, Tobirama will, too.” He squeezes Madara too hard for comfort. “We’ll all live on in each other.”

Madara lets Hashirama keep this dream. Leaving things to others has never been in Madara’s nature; the future is too important to be delegated so flippantly.

“Did you know that when you disagree with me, your nose wrinkles?”

Hashirama sounds tired, so Madara only nods. They can argue later.

It's the middle of the afternoon. The hokage shouldn't be out of his village’s sight for long, but Madara is going to keep Hashirama here for a while. No one else can stop Hashirama, and for the moment, that's what he's going to be.

“Let's go drinking tonight,” Hashirama suggests. “As war buddies.”

Madara hums his agreement. They'll remember the dead, rib each other for strategic fumbles, ramble about the future, then stumble home together. They'll crawl into their shared futon and fall asleep together, and when they wake up in the morning, Hashirama healthy and Madara hung over, they'll continue living.

They'll carry all they have and more because a good shinobi endures.

#aptxt #naruto #hashimada #notaficbutmaybe #long post

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zenithlux · 4 years

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Only the Best (VergilxReader)

In which you decide to celebrate a special Valentine’s Day with a certain, blue devil and with what you hope is an equally special gift.

Happy Valentine’s Day Ya’ll ^^ Hope you enjoy

You've been with Vergil for almost eight months, yet Valentine's Day felt like it was going to be the most terrifying day of your life.

You had yet to decide if that qualified as being over-dramatic.

After a year and a half as Vergil’s “confidant” (the word “friend” apparently didn’t exist in his dictionary), you knew that Vergil didn’t care for holidays. Dante claimed that his brother often forgot them entirely, as he never had a reason to celebrate. And while you understood that, you were very different. Holidays were a chance to try something new, unwind, and just spend time with others. It was probably something you got from your father, who always found the craziest reasons - usually an obscure celebration of some kind - to come home with your favorite food and simple presents.

So, when you did start dating Vergil (which had surprised even you, as you evolved from “acquaintance” to “companion” after a rather honest, late-night conversation), you’d often wondered how you would handle this particular difference between you two. Every holiday since that night had been filled with excited people and other things to do. Halloween had come and gone, and you were happy to help with a costume party at the orphanage (and had been quite amused at the Batman costume the kids had begged Vergil to wear). Thanksgiving had been completely out of your hands, as Kyrie and Nico cooked everything while you were stuck at work. It had been Vergil who had dragged you out of bed after your overly long shift to join them at a rather impressive dinner. You expected Christmas to be the most difficult, as it involved presents (which Vergil always claimed he didn’t want). But his family had kept him busy on that one, and he'd actually accepted your gift in private; chocolate strawberries (you never told his family of that one) and a silver star charm for Yamato; a reminder of your first real date to the planetarium.

You were thrilled to find that attached to Yamato’s hilt the very next day.

But Valentine's Day was something else entirely. There was no family to back you up (though Dante had cheekily offered). No chaos to hide behind. Just you and Vergil and some kind of present because you really just couldn't help yourself. And as much as he adamantly declared that he didn't need gifts… he'd never declined the few you’d given him.

But you've also never tried to give him something so… frivolous. You’d considered buying another series present - books had been your go-to for your random bouts of gift-giving - but that seemed too simple. Too obvious. And it wasn’t often that you’d had a significant other on Valentine’s Day, and you were (mostly) certain that Vergil wouldn’t remember it. So, as you wandered the seasonal aisle at your favorite store, you were bouncing with nervous energy, determined to find something that would work.

Except nothing felt right. It didn’t help that Vergil despised the color red on anything that wasn’t Dante’s jacket. 80% of everything you saw was already out of the question. The teddy bears were too bright. The larger stuffed animals were too cumbersome. The chocolate wouldn’t fit his tastes (you had to go far out of your way for that). He wasn’t interested in any other candies (a real shame, though you were happy to enjoy whatever sweets he passed on). The cards were all too impersonal. And the longer you circled these three aisles, the more frustrated you got.

There had to be something. Anything that would earn that rare, adorable, and sincere smile you only saw when others weren’t around. But you couldn’t imagine giving any of these things to him… and you were quickly running out of time. Maybe if you’d thought about it sooner you could’ve done something more personal. A handwritten letter an option, though you’d only given him one of those, and you hadn’t actually seen anything but a curious, raised eyebrow when you handed it to him. The bookstore wasn’t too far away… you could always fall back on that…

“Hey!”

Nero’s voice almost startled you, and you weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more embarrassed. Fortunately, his knowing smile was all you needed to wave back. “Last minute shopping?” You said.

Nero sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? I almost forgot about it.”

You laughed. Like father like son. “Well, Kyrie seems easy to shop for. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Easier than finding something for my old man, huh?”

Yep. You’d be caught. Though you really shouldn’t have been surprised. While Vergil never outright announced your relationship, everyone in the family knew. Maybe it was the way he’d started sitting beside you at every outing or leaving early to walk you home. Or possibly the nights he spent at your house instead of Devil May Cry, watching TV (which he hated in any other circumstance), or talking over tea (which he hated a little less). The most obvious sign was his lack of response to Dante’s teasing after months of harsh denial. That had been the metaphorical nail in the coffin that confirmed what everyone you knew already assumed.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. “You’re not… wrong.”

Nero laughed. “Whatcha thinking of getting him?”

You sigh. “Nothing at the moment.”

“Then you’re overthinking it.”

You blink in surprise. “What do you…?”

“He’ll love anything you buy,” Nero said with a shrug.

“...Are we talking about the same man?”

Nero laughed as he picked through the top row of teddy bears. “I’ve only known him for a few years, but even I can tell when he’s committed.” You blushed at that, though Nero didn’t notice as he pulled down a light pink bear holding a white heart. “Trust me. Find something that speaks to you or whatever, and it’ll be enough.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

And after another loop around the aisle, you found it. The perfect gift. And that’s when the wheels started turning, piecing together all the ways to make it a Valentine’s Day he might actually enjoy.

After all, only the best was acceptable for your handsome, blue devil.

Two days later, you couldn’t contain the painful bundle of nerves that had your stomach in knots and your heart nearly bursting from your chest. It was the first time that you’d officially invited him to your apartment, as he often just showed up on your doorstep whenever he wanted. Granted, he always conveniently knew when you were there, and you’d never had a reason (or a desire) to turn him away. But those impromptu meetings were usually dictated by him. So even he had been a bit surprised when you asked him directly with a specific time in mind, and a promise of a good meal.

You didn’t mention the holiday, and you’d glared Dante into submission before he had a chance to spoil it. But you didn’t miss the smirk on the younger twin’s face, or the subtle thumbs up he gave you when Vergil wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, Dante’s “encouragement” hadn’t helped your nerves in the slightest. Neither had an entire day of cooking, or the panic trip to the store when you realized that you’d bought the wrong wine. Then you’d spent way too long debating if you should or shouldn’t put the rose petals on the table, or light the strawberry-scented candles, or…

A gentle knock at the door brought your thoughts to a screeching halt. You took a long, deep breath, smoothed down your blue dress, and greeted your partner with the most genuine smile you could muster. “Welcome!”

That ever familiar, curious eyebrow raise shot back at you, but you merely stepped aside to let him in. “Just in time,” You said as you wandered back to the kitchen. “The steak’s almost done.” Why were you so nervous? You felt like a teenager on a first date, not a full-grown woman having dinner with someone you’ve cooked for at least a dozen times by now. But then your thoughts strayed to the present and you swallowed another bout of nerves.

“Are you alright?”

You jumped much further than you meant to and flushed likely as bright as a strawberry when he had to grab you before you tumbled straight to the floor. “Fine!” You said. “I’m… fine.”

He wasn’t fooled (was he ever?). “Are you…” He paused, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really.” You said. “Honest. I’m just…” The words ‘Losing it’ crossed your mind, and you sighed as he gently pulled yourself away. “I guess I should just get it over with, huh?” You could feel his eyes on you as you half-scurried out of the kitchen, only to return with a small, blue box with a simple, black bow. “I know, I know,” You said hastily as his eyes flickered between you and it at least twice. “You don’t like gifts. But today’s special.” You held it out to him. “So… here.”

It felt like an eternity before he took it from you, though it could’ve only been around thirty seconds, tops. Mercifully, he didn’t waste time opening it, and your heart twisted when his eyes widened ever so slightly. The blue dragon plush was a bit larger than your hand, so you knew it would fit perfectly in his palm… if he’d actually take it out of the box. Instead, he simply stared at it, as if he wasn’t certain what it was. “When I was out shopping,” you said. “I kept thinking of what would mean the most to you.” His eyes flickered to yours. Still, he said nothing. After another deep breath, you continued with as much confidence as you could muster. “So I thought you would want something small that your brother won’t see, that can keep you company when I’m not around.”

After another quiet moment, which wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as the last one, he finally lifted it. You smiled, relieved when it did, in fact, fit perfectly in his hands, its little legs dangling just off the sides. “Your perfume,” He said in a very matter-of-fact way. But you didn’t miss the slight twitch of his lips. So close.

“I may have slept with it the last few days,” You said. “And wearing your favorite perfume. Of course.” Finally, as the last of your nerves slipped away, you gave him a rather cheeky grin. “If you ever need more, you’ll have to come back for it.”

Finally, finally, it happened. He smiled. That genuine, relaxed, Vergil smile that you would give anything to see every day of your life. And it wasn’t a grin like Dante or Nero, but a gentle show of emotion that fit him just right. “This is very thoughtful, my love.”

Your heart fluttered in a mix of surprise and adoration. You couldn’t recall if he’d ever called you that. Maybe you missed it? Unlikely, as you had a feeling you’d never forget such a thing. Especially not when it was said with such astounding tenderness; the kind of tone that only he could ever pull off. “I’m glad you like it.”

Then a much smaller box practically appeared in your hands, and it took far too long for you to realize it. “I’ve been informed numerous times this month that today is Valentine’s Day,” He said. Your eyes snapped to his in surprise, and you felt your cheeks flush as his fingers brushed yours when pulled his hand away from yours. “My brother stayed out of this purchase, of that much I can assure you.”

You couldn’t hide your gasp when you saw it; a silver heart necklace with glittering sapphires in the shape of a V. “Vergil…”

“It hasn’t been long,” he said as he slowly took your hand. There was a hint of nerves in his voice, something that you’d never heard before. But it made your heart swell as he pushed through it, and brushed his thumb along your check. “But you’ve already managed to steal my heart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Now that’s something Dante did have a hand in, yes?”

Vergil snorted but didn’t deny it. “He may have mentioned kicking me out soon. I can’t fathom why.”

You paused for a moment, even though you already knew what you wanted to say. “There’s plenty of room here,” you said as you confidently met his gaze again. “I wouldn’t mind having someone else around more often if you’d like. And your little dragon would probably prefer this place to your brother’s.”

He watched you, expression calm, face unreadable. You tilted your head. “Is everything…”

The world stopped when his lips brushed yours, but he pulled away long before your heart found its way back to its body. “I would happily live here with you, my love,” He said, smirking when he saw how much he’d caught you off guard. But, in a surge of unprecedented confidence, you practically crashed back into him with a much deeper kiss than his had been. This time, he didn’t pull away, and you knew you’d be more than happy if he never did again.

#Vergil x Reader #Valentine's Day #2020 #Thank you for the request!#My first official reader fic #It's nice writing some fluff with all the angst I'm working on.#I cannot wait until ya'll see the fic I'm working on after A/O is done.#VergilxReader #VergilxYou #Devil May Cry

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 05: Two Way Mirror

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,784

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg,

AN: Just a reminder that this series is going to be updated slowly. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“You have to look beyond the mirror to see yourself.” - Kimto Oche Emmanuel

The palace was full of so much noise. Servants were running around, preparing for the banquet that would take place later that afternoon. Yoon wasn’t overly fond of all the fuss and fanfare, but he knew it was something that his parents preferred to indulge in for his sake. He would be making a long journey soon and it would be weeks before he would be able to return home. While he had no doubt that he would be able to reside in comfort at the embassy in Ming, there was the off chance that he would be homesick.

Sighing, he lowered the philosophical text he was perusing in order to give his eyes a break. The weight that sank in the far corner of his heart was knowing that he would not be able to see Kalina as he pleased. Sure, he could send word for her and the sorceress would most likely appear like he wished. But he also knew that she was not a being that would come at every beck and call. She was no pet and he was not her master.

“Cheo-ha! Minister Jang has arrived.”

Lifting his head up, Yoon sat up properly and closed the book. “Show him in.”

The doors to his chambers slid open and he watched the Minister enter. Yoon pulled himself up to a proper standing position, waiting for the minister to bow before he lowered his own head respectfully. The Minister was a fairly tall man, largely built and with a long beard that was well-groomed. Wearing his lavender and opal silk robes, Yoon was curious as to why he was in the palace without his official robes on. It went against palace etiquette and put a hamper on security.

Simply put: it was pompous and disgraceful.

Yoon then eased himself back down on his silk cushion, a polite smile forming on his face. “Father-in-Law, what brings you to my palace so early in the day?” Yoon peered at his attire, raising his brows in question. “You aren’t wearing your official robes today. Was the Royal Advisory meeting not held this morning?”

Minister Jang stroked his beard and chuckled. “It was, Your Highness. We adjourned early in light of your banquet this afternoon.”

“I see.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued to smile. “Are you stepping out of the palace before the festivities begin?”

“Indeed. I have to retrieve a few things from my estate.” Minister Jang grinned. “Gifts for you, Your Highness.”

Yoon smirked, leaning back until his spine was straight. “What is the occasion? Surely it cannot be because of my trip to Ming?”

“There are other things to celebrate, Your Highness.” Clearing his throat, he placed a hand on his knee. “Things such as golden opportunities.”

The Crown Prince bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he placed his hand on his desk, drumming his fingers along the surface. He wouldn’t humor his father-in-law with posturing or feigned curiosities. He was sure the Minister appreciated these things as well. Subtlety was a skill Yoon excelled in, but one Minister Jang sorely lacked.

Taking the hint, the Minister continued. “There are a few merchants in Ming that will attempt to make contact with you a few days after your arrival. They have advice that Your Highness might be eager to hear.”

Yoon’s smile fell slightly. “What makes you so sure, Father-in-law?”

“Cheo-ha,” he said through his smile, “I know how intelligent you are. Even more than everyone else in the palace. You are not ignorant of the strained relations between Ming and Japan.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Yoon expelled a bit of breath from his teeth. “Is this not something that is already in discussion with the Privy Council? Why bring me into this?”

He already did not like where this conversation was headed. Yoon was merely a Crown Prince, the heir apparent. But he was not king. Having these talks without his father present was borderline treasonous.

Because it was these sorts of conversations that led to bloodshed within the palace walls.

“Your Highness, don’t you see that His Majesty is testing you?” Minister Jang leaned forward, bracing his hands on both knees. “This is the first step to slowly granting more power into your hands, determining if you are prepared to rule this country.”

Yoon frowned but said nothing.

“If you do well during this trip, then His Majesty will place foreign relations with Ming entirely at your disposal!”

Suddenly, Yoon slammed his hand on his desk, causing his father-in-law to shrink back a measure. The Minister may have been his elder and also his relative through marriage, but he wouldn’t stand for this underhanded way of speaking to him. This was blatant disrespect to the crown.

However, he didn’t let his anger come unhinged. Not yet. Taking a moment to slowly inhale, he canted his head to the side as a smile returned to his face. It must have unsettled his father-in-law greatly, seeing as how he leaned back away from Yoon.

“Forgive my rudeness, Father-in-law,” Yoon spoke slowly, his voice dropping a full octave, “but do you intend to use me to secure financial gain in Ming?”

The Minister balked. Having never heard Yoon speak to him in such a manner, his surprise was well-warranted. “S-Seja Cheo-ha!”

Drumming his fingers along the desk, he averted his gaze to peer at the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He removed all expression from his face, save for boredom. Yoon didn’t want to believe the rumors of how sickeningly devious his father-in-law was. But he now heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.

“You married your daughter off to the Crown Prince, the future King of this country. Doing so allocated you wealth and even your position in court was elevated at the behest of the Crown Princess and out of obligation from the King.” Yoon cut his eyes back to look at the Minister. “And if that wasn’t enough, you now want me to enable you access to Ming’s trading circuit?” A slow smile spread over his lips as he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Father-in-law, are you not fond of your head being attached to your neck?”

Genuine fear glossed over the Minister’s eyes as he visibly shuddered. Yoon knew that this wasn’t the normal demeanor he showcased to Minister Jang. In fact, he hardly revealed this side of himself to anyone. He wore the face of a calm, kind and understanding Crown Prince. He was sincerely objective in discussions and open to all manners of opinions to help broaden and strengthen his worldview. He wasn’t the sort to resort to violence to solve problems, preferring diplomacy above all else.

But a fool the Crown Prince was not.

Anyone who thought otherwise would be in for a world of pain.

And like nothing happened, Yoon put on a happy smile and laughed heartily. “Do not take my words so seriously, Father-in-law! You look as though you are ready to jump off the Golden Mountains as we speak.” Again, he laughed, and the Minister gave a half-hearted chuckle to accompany the pleasant sounds. Once their laughter subsided, he looked pointedly back at the older man. “Ming may be our ally now, but that could always change. It has been proven time and again throughout this nation’s history, has it not? Do not be so quick to join hands with people who have always thought of our country as beneath them.”

The Minister lowered his head. “Forgive my loose lips, Crown Prince.”

“All is well.” Yoon rose from his seat and the Minister quickly followed suit. Gesturing toward the door, he stepped out from around his desk. “I’m sure you haven’t visited the Crown Princess yet. Why don’t we go greet her together before you return to your estate to conduct your business? I’m sure she will be elated to see you.”

“O-Of course, Your Highness.”

Exiting his chambers, they walked side-by-side as the rest of the Crown Prince’s attendants followed closely behind. It truly was a beautiful day and he could only hope for the weather to be just as pleasant for the start of his journey tomorrow. But Kalina predicted that his journey would be fine, so foul weather shouldn’t have been an issue.

“Are you looking forward to the festivities today, Your Highness?”

Yoon peered at the Minister with a curious expression. “Isn’t it just like any other banquet held within the palace? I would have figured you would be bored of them by now.”

Minister Jang chuckled as he stroked his beard. “It is a chance for the people to take a break and celebrate with you.” He placed a hand behind his back. “And there are a group of performance troupes who are going to compete for a slot to perform regularly in the palace.”

The Crown Prince lofted a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Minister said while nodding, “so it will be exceptionally entertaining today.”

“Will I have a hand in this?” He hoped not.

“They will be judged on how well you like each performance, Your Highness. You needn’t do anything extra.”

Yoon smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi kept his arms extended so that he could balance himself on the tightrope. The other members of the troupe seemed to be holding their breaths, anticipating what he was going to do. Clasped in one hand was a paper fan, unfurled to showcase the black calligraphy stroke for the character “Fate”. The morning sun beat down overhead and a single bead of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose, dangling from the tip and threatening to fall.

Even though he was several feet off the ground, he could hear the whispered conversations playing out beneath him. Well, for the ones who weren’t focusing on holding their breaths anyway.

“Wow,” a voice said from below, “I can’t believe that he’s never been part of a performance troupe before.”

“He’s good at martial arts though, right? That means he’s got some acrobatic skills naturally.”

“...but how long is he going to just stand there?”

“He hasn’t moved in the last ten minutes.”

“Do you think he’s scared of heights?”

“Idiot! If he was scared, how the hell did he get up there in the first place?!”

“No one helped him?”

“Not that I know of. I think he jumped up there all on his own.”

“Honestly, I can’t hold it in anymore. I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t do something soon.”

“Ya! Min Yoongi! Are you taking us for a ride or are you going to actually do something?!”

Yoongi craned his neck so he could glare down at Seokjin jumbled amongst the troupe. Snapping the fan closed, he pointed it directly at them and everyone grew silent. “Shut your mouth, will you?” He unfurled the fan roughly again and steadied himself. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Oi! Hyung-nim!” Looking down, he saw it was Park Jimin calling up to him this time. There was a bright smile on his face as he gave him two thumbs up. “Just do whatever feels natural. Don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Sighing, Yoongi nodded and then focused his attention back in front of him. Jimin was right. There was nothing to this. If Namjoon could do it, why couldn’t he? It didn’t matter that he’d sprained his ankle walking up the mountain. The point was that Kim Namjoon could make this tightrope obey his command.

Yoongi would be no different.

Sliding his foot along the rope, the world came to a raw tilt for only a split second. Using his back leg, he launched himself up into the air. He ignored everyone below as they all gasped at how high he sailed into the sky. Throwing his arms back, he felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. Kicking his legs up, Yoongi back somersaulted twice before landing safely back on the tightrope. His entire body trembled as he attempted to stabilize himself.

The cheers from below encouraged him to keep going. Kicking off the rope, he did a double front flip before he fell onto the rope in a crouched position. He continued to keep his arms extended, the fan perfectly held open as he wobbled back and forth on the tightrope. Rolling forward, he curled his legs under him and bounced back off the rope again, curling his body and angling it to the side until he did a perfect dismount off the rope and onto the grass. The speed of his descent was used to roll his body until he was safely brought to a halt by his right knee.

Taehyung screamed in delight as he raced over to Yoongi’s side, Hoseok and Jungkook not far behind him as they began patting his shoulders furiously in praise. He scratched at his nose, feeling a soft warmth creep around his cheeks as the rest of the troupe members all crowded around him, telling him how wonderful of a job he did.

“You’re a natural at this, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin said as he patted his head, causing him to frown slightly, “maybe you should convince your father to let you come off the mountain and join the troupe.”

Yoongi batted his hand away as Jimin took the fan from his hand. “Quiet, you.”

“Seriously, he’s not wrong, Hyung-nim!” Taehyung was practically beaming. “You’re a natural at this!”

He didn’t know what to say in response to his words so he cleared his throat loudly instead.

Namjoon clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. “You’re a lifesaver, Hyung-nim. We would’ve been in big trouble without your help.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he eyed the bandage around Namjoon’s ankle. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Namjoon, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, “keep it up and they’ll replace me with you in no time.”

Hoseok laughed loudly. “We could never replace you! You’re important!”

A sigh escaped Namjoon’s lips as he shifted his eyes toward the grass. “I feel like I let you guys down.”

Jimin placed a comforting hand on the back of Namjoon’s neck, giving it a firm shake. “Stop that, Hyung-nim. These things happen.” He lifted his gaze to peer at Yoongi who blinked back at him in mild surprise. “Yoongi Hyung-nim is here to pick up the slack just for today.” He turned to face Namjoon. “But you have to make up for it as soon as you’re all better, okay?”

Namjoon said nothing. He only gave a weak smile until Taehyung came barreling through, his arms draping over Jungkook and Yoongi’s necks. They both stumbled forward, grunting at how hard he threw his own body against theirs. “Practice is done, right?” Everyone mumbled something akin to ascent and he flashed his trademark boxy smile at them. “Then let’s hit the city and get a drink!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. “You haven’t even performed yet.”

“Aw, c’mon. Nothing wrong with a little pre-performance celebration, right?” Taehyung shook Jungkook and Yoongi's shoulders again for good measure. “It’ll loosen us up.”

Hoseok pouted. “You just want an excuse to drink. You’re hopeless.”

Managing to pry himself away from Taehyung, Yoongi was about to catch his breath until something fell on top of his head. Suddenly everyone else was obscured from view, save for the few slivers of light that managed to peek through the straw. Tilting his head, he craned his neck to see Jimin was now bent over, peering up at him from under the hat.

“What’s this?” Yoongi removed the hat off his head, taking note of the wide and angled brim.

“It's for when we’re walking around the city streets.” Jimin smiled. “You’re worried about running into your father while in the Capital, right?”

Eyeing the hat for a moment, Yoongi replaced the item back onto his head. It was wide and dipped low, which meant that it would perfectly conceal his face. Until he could securely cover his face with the mask during the performance at the palace, this would ensure that no one could recognize him while they were meandering through the crowds. Tilting the brim back, he flashed a small grin toward Jimin who merely laughed at how embarrassed he probably appeared.

“Thanks, Jimin-ah.”

Leaving their horses to graze in the fields, they all raced toward the Crown City gates - mentally preparing themselves for what excitement lay beyond.

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theonceoverthinker · 4 years

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When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 5/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.

AO3

Tumblr: (1) (2) (B1) (3) (4) (B2)

A/N: I know I keep saying these chapters just barely get done on time, but BOY was this one a last minute struggle! I hope you all enjoy it!

()()()()()()

Qrow Branwen’s life was full of things that made him feel alive.

The splash of water that hit his face as he washed up for the day made him feel alive.

The touch of hot eggs on his tongue after spending the first hour of his day hungry made him feel alive.

The wind in his face while he pondered over exactly how he’d spend his day made him feel alive.

But there was nothing that made Qrow feel more alive quite like an escape after a successful heist.

Qrow could hear his heart pumping in his chest like a hammer against a nail as he and Mercury crossed the threshold between the kingdom’s capital and the forest.

...There were worse ways to end one’s morning.

Guards were on their tails -- close to a dozen of them, with more joining by the minute.

Gods, was this village packed to the brim with guards.

Though Qrow was confident he was smarter than the lot of them, he knew intelligence only meant so much when one was face to face with a dozen of them at the same time.

Thankfully though, if everything continued well with this escape, he wouldn’t be put in such a position.

One of the features of the forest they traversed through was a series of splitting paths, plentiful roads that went every which way.

Qrow took pride in being halfway decent at navigating them.

A fork in the road emerged relatively early into their rush through the forest.

“You go left! I’ll go right!” Qrow called out to Mercury, gesturing to their respective paths with his head as he spoke.

“And leave you alone with that brooch?” Mercury sneered. “Not a chance.”

Qrow bit his lip.

Damnit.

He was hoping that would work, but hey -- that was life.

It sure as hell didn’t mean he wouldn’t find an opportunity to ditch him sooner or later.

Quickly, Qrow directed them both on the right most path, and then on the left most path in the fork that followed not long after the first.

When they were far enough down their new path, Qrow ushered them towards a small clearing. He knew the real chase wasn’t over quite yet, but a successful escape necessitated taking breaks when they could afford to be taken. After all, who knew when their next chance to breathe would be?

Qrow pushed his left hand into one of the nearby trees as he caught his breath.

He looked at Mercury. The kid was far more winded than he was -- his whole form pressed up against the tree he rested against as he huffed labored breaths one after the other. That said, Qrow didn’t delude himself into thinking now was the best time to make a clean getaway from him with the brooch -- Mercury was tired, but he wasn’t that tired.

No, his exit plan would reveal itself soon.

It wasn’t that Qrow wasn’t one to share when it was called for. He didn't trust many, especially in his line of work, but when he partnered up with someone, he gave and was given his fair share without complaint. It was just how his kind operated -- almost like a loyalty among savagery.

But Mercury...was different. He may not have had a long-standing reputation that matched Qrow’s, but he was garnering something of one for himself nevertheless. His schemes were growing more ambitious. Sure, he stole meals, trinkets, small pieces of jewelry, pocket change -- all of the regular things thieves stole. But he was also going after bigger things from men and women in power, and only in the short span of a few weeks.

And yet, his own situation never seemed to change. He seemed to live the same way as he ever did -- stealing the same old paltry sums day after day. No one who pilfered the things he did would ever get back to that kind of work in anything resembling a hurry, but Mercury didn’t seem to ever take a day off, nor would he ever offer up an explanation as to why.

That meant he was working for someone, and whoever it was wasn’t too keen on sharing all that much of the profits of whatever heist he was pulling.

With money like this on the line, Qrow wasn’t about to settle for chump change...that is, if Mercury or whoever Mercury was working for was all that willing to give him anything at all.

Yes, something about Mercury’s current situation that told Qrow in no uncertain terms that as far as he was concerned, only one of them was leaving this scheme with the brooch and its asking price on their person, and it was going to be him.

Well, Qrow guessed they’d see about that soon enough.

Suddenly, Qrow felt a sharp burst of pain in his ring finger, cutting his thoughts short. Qrow winced. He recognized the source of the pain instantly -- a paper cut.

Carefully, without moving, he then glided his pinky finger over the surface it rested on.

Indeed, it was paper -- smooth, yet lumpy as a result of the bark it rested on.

Qrow turned around to have a look at the paper. He had an idea of what he might see -- there were only so many reasons a sheet of paper would be attached to a tree in the middle of the woods.

But what he had no idea about was exactly how bad what was exposed on the paper would be.

There, against the tree, were wanted posters -- among the many that resided on the tree and its nearby neighbors was one for Mercury, and one for himself.

Qrow studied his poster.

It couldn’t be…

It just couldn’t be…

“No, no, no,” Qrow said, starting out with panicked mutters and ending far louder.

Mercury, clearly unaware of the posters, turned to look at him, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“This is bad,” Qrow continued to say, pointing to the posters. “This is really, really bad.” He then walked up to the poster, glaring at the single most egregious part.

Remnant could be a cruel place to live -- he knew that well -- but the kingdom really crossed a line this time.

“They’ve seriously got to stop listing me as a thief!” Qrow huffed, pointing out the error to Mercury. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold!” He turned to the poster once more, poking it angrily with his finger as if it could answer for its markings. “I’m a bandit! Ban-dit! It’s not that hard!”

Qrow turned to Mercury, incredulous at the audacity of Remnant’s lazy poster makers, only to be met with the single dryest look he’d ever received in his life.

“Seriously?” Mercury said, his voice absolutely deadpan. “This is what you’re focusing on now? And as I said before, thieves and bandits are the same.”

“No, they’re not!” Qrow looked back to the poster. “And they also got my hair wrong. It’s not that messy!”

“Yes, they are, and yeah -- it really is,” Mercury pointed out, snorting. Qrow was about to retort, but before he could Mercury shushed him.

“No, you sh-!”

Mercury shushed him again, causing Qrow to glare at him. “They’re getting closer. Break time’s over.”

Focused completely on his mission once more, Qrow nodded, and off he and Mercury ran deeper into the forest.

Minutes upon minutes -- at least twenty of them -- passed as the two of them tried to get away from the kingdom’s guards.

Qrow had to be honest with himself -- he was good enough at navigating the forest, but even he had his failings the further he got into the thick of it. Once he was deep enough into the firest, much like he and Mercury now were, his knowledge ran a bit thin, and he elected to take random paths to throw his pursuers off his scent.

However, that type of decision making came with its own drawbacks.

One of those drawbacks wasted little time making itself known through a dead end.

A cliff, one too tall and too smooth for either of them to climb on their own stood between the two of them and the rest of their escape.

Crap.

They couldn’t turn back -- the guards were getting too close to safely do so, and while none of them were geniuses, they weren’t idiots either. If they tried to hide, they’d be found.

That meant the only way out was up.

Qrow looked at the cliff. Neither of them could climb it alone...but one of them could with a lift from the other.

He turned to Mercury, who clearly had reached the same conclusion.

“Give me a boost,” Qrow said.

Mercury gave him a flat look.

“Give me the satchel.”

Qrow returned the dry look.

“You have some real trust issues, you know that, right?” he shot back, a deadpan tone.

Mercury simply shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call watching my ass around a thief, then sure -- I have trust issues. Now, hand over the satchel.”

Qrow was about to argue once again that there was a difference between thieves and bandits, but then he got an idea in his head.

How about instead of telling Mercury the difference...he showed him?

Without letting his face betray him, he took a good look at Mercury.

Yeah...he could pull off what he was thinking of.

Just as Mercury saw it, Qrow did too -- only one of them was leaving this scheme with its prize in hand, and now, Qrow had just the means of making sure it was him.

Looks like he found his opportunity.

Qrow forced out a grunt as he passed Mercury the satchel, to which Mercury smirked at, clearly satisfied with the apparent results of his ultimatum -- the overly cocky bastard. Only after attaching the satchel to his person did Mercury at last give Qrow the chance to climb him up.

As Qrow made his way up Mercury’s form, he made sure to keep his movements slow and in a way that would cause a nice deal of pain. After all, if Mercury’s focus was on his pain, it would be away from a certain satchel and the brooch that was held in it.

“Can you hurry up?” Mercury snarled through grit teeth.

“Do you want to get out of here or not?” Qrow shot back. “If I fall, it’s over for both of us, so shut up and make sure I don’t lose my balance.”

Mercury groaned, and just as he did, Qrow undid the satchel from his person.

And with that, the distractor had become the distracted.

Qrow accelerated his way up the rest of Mercury, much to Mercury’s evident relief. From atop him, Qrow was able to grab onto the top of the cliff relatively easily. He pulled himself up, at last relieving the both of them of their awkward situation.

His help -- albeit reluctant -- made Qrow feel just a little bad about leaving Mercury to deal with another awkward situation -- his arrest by the royal guards.

But hey -- crime didn’t pay...unless you could pass the punishment along, that is.

Then it could pay quite a lot.

“Now pull me up,” Mercury demanded.

Qrow smirked at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “My hands are full.”

There were few treasures in all of Remnant that could come close to the look on Mercury’s face as Qrow showed him the satchel, and Qrow relished the sight of it.

“You see,” he continued, “this is the difference between a bandit and a thief. So, I’ll be taking this satchel with me, and you’ll be taking a valuable lesson about the nuances of words with you. I think in our own ways, we’ll both go home richer for the experience.”

With that, Qrow took off in the direction opposite the cliff, with shouts of aggravation and threats from his former partner right behind him like the wind flowing against his back. Mercury had seemingly tried to launch some sort of projectile in Qrow’s direction with his boots, but without any visual of him to help him aim, it was pointless.

Still, he did get pretty close.

Gods, did a successful heist make him feel alive!

And as the call of another group of approaching guards and their horses entered his earshot with a very close proximity, Qrow felt even more alive.

Qrow could hear Harriet’s voice calling out in the distance.

“Vine! Marrow! Elm! Don’t let Branwen get away!”

Looks like she’d managed to escape from the support beam.

That must’ve been a fun job for the unfortunate sap who had to free her.

Judging by the sounds both close to her and far from her, Harriet was stationed on a horse, clearly in no place to utilize her semblance at the moment, or not fully, in any case.

Otherwise, Qrow knew he would’ve been good as dead long before now.

Qrow ran further into the forest. While he didn’t seem to have to worry about Harriet and her semblance, the rest of the Ace Ops and their semblances could prove to be quite the challenge to contend with, and he’d had more than his fair share of obstacles for the day, thank you very much.

He backed himself up, moving to lean onto the vine-covered stone wall behind him to get his bearings as he planned his next move.

However, what he thought was a stone wall...wasn’t a wall at all, and Qrow’s form fell into the canopy of vines.

A hushed yelp couldn’t help but surface from Qrow’s throat, though he rushed to silence himself.

What the hell?

But Qrow immediately realized what he’d inadvertently stumbled upon: A hiding spot, and a damn good one too.

If he hadn’t expected to find it, the other Ace Ops might not. Even still though, Qrow thought it better to settle deeper into the newly discovered hideaway.

On the other side of the vine canopy he entered through, there was a small, dark cave. Qrow snuck through it, cautious of any twigs that could step on that would give his location away. When he was at the end of it, a lush clearing exposed itself.

And there, standing right before him in the center of the clearing...was a tower.

Qrow studied the tower closely as he slowly approached it.

The tower was tall, about forty feet so if he had to guess. Graced with a quaint purple roof, it sat on a small hill with greenery running up the ivory bricks that it was composed of.

He should’ve turned back -- after all, Gods only knew who was the kind of person to live in a giant tower in the middle of nowhere, but the distant, yet still audible sounds of horses and calls from the Ace Ops kept Qrow moving forward towards the tower.

It wasn’t the most conventional choice of a hideout, but it would have to do for now.

As Qrow continued to get closer to it, he noticed that he couldn’t see a door at the tower’s base, and the path beside it showed no sign of one on the other side either.

However, while there was no entry point to the tower at its base, there was a single open window at its top.

Well...the day had already proven itself to be a good one for climbing -- it wouldn’t hurt to keep at it.

Qrow took out Harbinger, keeping the weapon in its unfolded state. The tower was strong -- of that he had no doubt -- but there was space between the binding of the bricks for him to grip onto, and with Harbinger’s assistance, his grip wouldn’t be compromised, even if his hand's grip faltered.

Slowly and carefully, Qrow inched his way up the tower.

He’d climbed all manner of buildings before in his line of work, but this tower was the biggest structure he’d ever scaled. The air felt just a bit thinner the higher up he got, and the wind that tickled the hairs behind his neck silently advised him to not turn around and take in the view, not while he was still climbing it. Qrow had no objections to taking that advice.

Fifteen long minutes passed before he was at last atop the tower, and Qrow wasted no time jumping through the window to safety.

Qrow took a moment to catch his breath.

That was one hell of a climb he’d just made.

As he closed the window, Qrow took a brief look outside it. There was no sign of the Ace Ops, not even the faint sounds of their horses.

He gazed at his satchel, relieved as he felt its sole trinket through the bag’s fabric.

He’d done it.

The brooch was at last all his and his alone, and Qrow Branwen had seldom felt more alive before in his life than he did in that moment.

And then, with a pull from his suddenly bound ankles, he fell to the floor on his side, with wooden planks being the last thing he saw before hitting his head and succumbing to the subsequent darkness.

#fair game #qrow branwen #mercury black #rwby #tangled au

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

About a boy (Part-7)

Word count: 3.4K

Warning: Suspense, feels, physical abuse, child-trafficking and bullying

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: I know I am repeating, but I truly live for the reblogs <3

All my love to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this story <3

About a boy masterlist

“Don’t do this!” Cas said for what felt like the hundredth time in an anguished voice.

For the hundredth time, Dean ignored, shrugging on a jacket and wincing all the same.

“What do you have to prove by going in?” Cas asked, a hint of anger clear in his voice now.

Dean turned and smiled at his friend, hiding the wince at the pain in his shoulders. His body was screaming with it, muscles rebelling against any movement. Dean suspected the thrashing of the night before might have ended up in at least one cracked bone in his rib cage. At least.

“I have nothing to prove,” he said, “But I ain’t sticking around here alone all day.”

He could technically take the day off, roll around in bed all day, but Dean didn’t know how last night was going to affect everyone. After all the smoke, there had been chaos and screaming, and after an hour of bated breath wait, blaring fire trucks. It was all too much; the light, the sounds… especially for the little kids. Dean felt bad about it. After all, the whole thing had been staged for him, so he could get away from Michael’s goons. The thought both made his stomach lurch, and his heart light.

Will.

That kid had done something. And whatever it was, it had saved Dean and Cas. The warmth he felt in his heart was settling in when Cas huffed.

“You’re a stubborn piece of work,” Cas said, but extended his hand nevertheless. “Come, let me help you with the stairs.”

Dean grinned. He knew he was forgiven, at least for now.

Cas was patient, letting Dean take his time with them. Dean, meanwhile observed Cas. The right side of his face was swollen and busted, and he had a black eye. Despite having arrived at the scene quite late, Cas looked pretty bad, too.

“You didn’t have to come looking for me yesterday,” Dean said quietly.

Cas gave him a disbelieving look. “How can you even say that?”

“They’re like your family. Michael’s like your older brother, isn’t he?”

“That doesn’t make him immune to being a jerk,” Cas said as a matter of fact. He looked at Dean intently. “And isn’t that what friends do? Help each other.”

Just like that Dean’s argument went out of the window. Cas smiled knowingly.

Dean swallowed through a thick throat, silently letting Cas help him through the rest of the way to school.

It was sad how easy it was to recognise the kids from the orphanage in the campus. They made up a good percentage of the population, and today, they were all tired and sleepy and restless. Staying up till 4 in the morning would do that to anybody, and these were just kids. It had been the early hours of morning when the SWOT team, after assessing the condition, had let the kids in after declaring that the building had, in fact, never been set on fire. While climbing up the stairs then, Dean had noticed a very harassed Andy answering questions from the fire officers. Dean would be lying if he said that it hadn’t given him satisfaction to see Andy in a tight spot like that. It’s what he deserved for locking up kids like that. Words like ‘escape plan’ and ‘enquiry’ had been thrown around. Dean had grinned to himself.

The day was slower than usual, and that was saying something. Cas had already fallen asleep twice. Once in Literature and once in their history class. Dean didn’t blame him. Learning about war indemnity in America for the 40th time was enough to put anyone to sleep even on their best day, let alone after a sleepless night full of thrashing. So, it was with sluggish feet that they made their way towards the canteen in the break.

Dean passed Gary in the hall, and with immense satisfaction noted the band aids across his nose and cheek. A muscle twitched in Gary’s jaw as he took in Dean’s smug expression.

“Cut it!” Cas said under his breath and Dean looked away.

They fell into a line in front of the counter and instinctively Dean glanced around the room, as he had done everyday since he’d walked into this school. For a kid about 11 years of age, someone who looked like him…. For Sam. Instead, his gaze landed at the far end of the canteen, where one hunched over person cut a solitary figure. Benny.

Dean could never make out how he really looked. Whether he was thin or buffed up, what color his eyes were, or even the exact color of his skin. He always seemed so elusive, that it was hard to grasp a clear image. The multiple layers of clothes and the low slung cap made him into a mysterious wannabe Sherlock Holmes. The sort who’d sell drugs under the bleachers and never get caught.

Dean caught hold of Cas’s sleeve and tugged, “What’s the deal with this Benny dude?”

Cas looked straight ahead, purposely avoiding Dean’s eye. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s something up with him. Don’t try to deny it,” Dean warned, before Cas could open his mouth. “I know you know something.”

Cas sighed. Under all the bruises, he looked tired. Not just in the obvious way, like he hadn’t slept much the night before… which he hadn’t. But like he had been fighting against something for a long time and that it was finally getting to him. Dean felt a spike of empathy. It can’t be easy questioning all your loyalties, seeing your family in a bad light. Cas was fighting a battle with himself, Dean realised. He wanted to put his arms around his friend.

Presently, Cas simply sighed once more. “It’s hard, Dean.”

With a jolt Dean realised that Cas wasn’t talking about himself but about Benny.

“It’s not been easy for him,” Cas said. “He was friendly enough once. In fact, he had a really close friend, Diego, who was transferred. Those two were attached at the hip. Kinda like-”

“- like you and me?” Dean smirked.

Cas smiled, one tired tug of his lips, but it touched his eyes. “Since Diego, he’s not been the same.” He frowned.

Dean mirrored his friend’s expression, wondering whether Cas was thinking the same thing. Transferred.

They finished the rest of their lunch in silence, though neither was any good at it. Cas was peeling his badgel absentmindedly and Dean could barely open his mouth, much less chew thanks to the swollen lips and bruised jaw.

“You think we might be able to bail on Spanish and sneak back?” Dean asked as they dragged their feet across the cafeteria after dumping the almost full trays.

“And then what? Go back to Andy’s scrutinising gaze? Especially after last night?” Cas asked.

Dean was about to reply that at least lying face down in a bed might mean he wasn’t dragging his aching body all over the place, when a crashing sound made him stop in his tracks.

They were walking along an open corridor between the cafeteria and the main building, which ran along the side of a patch of ground fenced on the other side. Along the chain linked fence were a few long benches, which Dean assumed was for when the crowd in the cafeteria spilled over. The crash had been made by flingin one of the tables across the patch on the fence. The long wooden table lay lopsided along the fence, with one leg splintered and next to it, a huge boy was standing with a wide stance. He was dressed in an overly large striped T-shirt and shorts. It was hard to tell what color his hair was because of the dirty blue caps, but his neck was definitely red. He seemed to be shaking with anger.

“Hey, what’s the deal with him, Ca-” But before he could complete the sentence, he noticed a small mousy boy with brown hair cowering in the shadows of the huge boy, shivering against the broken side of the upturned table.

“How dare you eat it?” Thundered the big guy, and the kid folded himself further, his eyes and tiny nose red were watering. The round glasses resting against his nose were sliding down.

“But D- Dirk, it was m-my sandwich,” he sniffed.

Dirk bellowed, and the kid cowered further, closing his eyes and crying out, raising his hands to cover his face.

Without thinking, Dean moved forward. A crowd had gathered to witness what was happening and it was making it hard to get to the boy. Dean’s aching ribs, and bruised body was protesting at the contact with other bodies, but he still trudged on.

“Dean. Dean, wait!” Cas’s voice trailed from behind, but Dean wasn’t going to just stand there.

On the ground, still quite away from Dean, Dirk yelled and raised his hand. Seeing this, Dean doubled his struggle to get through the crowd, wincing when someone’s arm or elbow hit a sore spot. But clearly it was too late as Dirk’s hand sailed down in an arc. Dean braced for the kid’s scream, but it didn’t come.

Instead, another loud bellow echoed in the opening. Dean pushed the guy in front of him almost roughly to reach the front line. The scene that met his eyes was almost unbelievable.

The bespectacled little kid was still crying on the ground, and Dirk’s strike had been blocked midblow. A boy was standing in between them, facing Dirk, gripping his arm. “Leave Barry alone, Dirk,” he said in a calm, restrained voice, spitting out the last word. Chills ran up Dean’s arm.

The boy was about 11 or 12 years of age; tall and lanky… almost to the point of skinny. He had long brown hair that fell into his warm brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to be blazing.

“Move aside, you pest.” Dirk shoved the boy, and because of the sheer force of Dirk’s mass, he was flung to the side next to Barry.

“No,” Dean whispered, starting to move again, but the boy moved expertly, anticipating Dirk’s next slam and slid from underneath, even though his knee hit the side of the table, as he parried. Dirk hissed completely ignoring Barry and roaring at his new target. Dean watched as the boy quickly dodged all of Dirk’s attempts at kicks, although he was still scrambling on the ground. He was quick and sure footed as he got up. When Dirk charged, the boy ducked low and swiped his foot across the ground, knocking Dirk down on his ass.

A cheer went up from the onlooking crowd as the boy turned and helped a still crying Barry on his feet. He spoke something to Barry that Dean couldn’t quite hear what.

Barry let out another dry sob and then flung his arms around the boys thin shoulders, who placed a hand on Barry’s back.

In all the noise, Dirk was getting up, red faced and angrier than ever. He fisted his hand and aimed a punch, but this time Dean was right there. He reached for Dirk’s arm and yanked him back with all the strength he could muster. Then pushed him aside.

“Don’t ever attack from behind the back,” Dean spat, “You coward!”

Dirk, who couldn’t have been more than 13, paled. He threw another furious look towards the two boys and hurried away from the onlooking crowd.

Dean turned to look at the two of them. Barry seemed to have quieted a little, the other boy was staring at Dean intently. Up close, Dean could see that his hair wasn’t the usual dank brown, but it had a sheen to it, just slightly reddish. And his eyes; up close, his eyes weren’t just a soft brown, there were flecks of dark green and sea blue.

He wore a dark green hoodie, much too large for him. Even the sleeves ended so further below that he had had to fold it over twice so his fingers were visible and the seam of the shoulders fell down to his upper arm. The jeans he wore were grey, now mud splattered from having fallen down. In fact, his lip was split and there was an evident scratch on his cheekbone which was getting bloodier every passing second.

“Thanks,” said the boy, his voice melodious and quiet, and Dean felt a jolt of familiarity.

Acting on an instinct, Dean asked, “Why did you do it? That idiot is twice your size!”

“Barry is my friend,” said the boy. “Besides, I hate bullies.”

A memory from long ago came to Dean, same words, spoken in the same voice in the thick of the night from across a rusted grill.

“Will?” Dean asked, his eyes widening.

A slow grin spread across the boy’s face, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Dean!” he said, “Dean, is that really you?”

As recognition came in, the smile slid, the wonder in Will’s eyes dimming as the anger returned, “What did they do to your face?”

“Hush,” Dean whispered, looking around, then ushered Will away from the crowd, Barry following in his wake.

Noticing, Will stopped around the corner of the building, under the awning. “Dean, this is Barry. Barry,” he turned to the boy, “This is Dean. He’s from the orphanage, too.”

“Thank you,” said Barry, through dry heaves.

“Dean!” It was Cas, coming up from behind. “Where did you disappear?”

“Cas?” Will asked, the smile back in his voice. “It’s Will!”

Cas looked from Will to Dean and back again. “Weren’t you just on the ground getting your ass kicked?”

“Oh no,” said Will genially. “I was doing the ass kicking.”

After another round of introductions that left Barry thoroughly confused, Will whispered some words of assurance and sent Barry to the classrooms. The moment he rounded the corner, Will’s sharp gaze was back to assessing the outwardly damage done to Dean and Cas.

“I was late, wasn’t I?” Will groaned in despair. “I should have set that alarm off sooner. Look at you guys!” He sounded absolutely miserable.

And despite everything, it made Dean smile. He shared a look with Cas who was gazing down at Will kindly, then said. “You did more than we could have asked of you.” Dean clasped a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Thank you. You might have saved us from getting punctured for life.”

“I still wanna punch Gary in the face though,” Will muttered petulantly and Dean laughed.

“C’mere,” he said, beckoning to Will, “Let me look at your face, you got a split lip there and there’s a cut on your cheek there.” Dean gestured.

“Won’t be the first time.”

“I know you hate bullies, but you can’t charge into every fight Han Solo style,” Dean said, taking a look at Will’s bloodied chin. “Chicks stop digging the scar face look after a while.”

Will smirked. “You talk like you’ve had a lot of chicks dump you for the same reason.”

Dean laughed. “C’mon smartass, let’s head back. I think between the three of us, we’re busted up enough to make up a bull story and ditch the rest of the day.”

The school nurse was surprisingly kind. She’d heard about the ‘fire’ at the orphanage and her grey eyes were round with worry as she fretted over them all. Dean got most of her attention, since he looked in the worse shape.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” she clucked her tongue in disapproval as she dabbed a yellow tincture over Dean’s black eye. “I shouldn't be saying anything, but the way they treat you boys up there.” she pursed her lips.

“Look at how your face is swollen,” she said, the corners of her mouth pulling down.

Dean was grateful. It was obvious that he’d been beaten up a while ago and not in school that day. A recent bruise wouldn’t look that black. But she bandaged him all the same. If it had been Dean’s earlier school, such abuse would have warranted counsellors, child services and police complaints. But no one really cared for orphans, did they? He felt sickened at the possibility of Sam having been beat up like this with no one care or look after him.

“There you go, sweetie,” she said briskly patting Dean’s arm. “You,” she gestured to Cas, next worst in line. “You’re next.”

Cas moved forward reluctantly, taking Dean’s place on the chair and Dean shuffled over to Will who was standing awkwardly in the corner. Blood from the scratch on his cheek bone had dripped down on the fabric of his hoodie.

The nurse was fussing over Cas, busy muttering more angry words. She didn’t pay attention as Dean grabbed a piece of the antiseptic soaked cotton and dabbed it over Will’s cheek. He winced, startled. And as he jerked back, the long fringes of his hair fell into his eyes.

“Ouch! What’d you do that for?”

“So you don’t get an infection out of it, dumbass.”

“It burns,” Will muttered, touching his face.

Dean smiled. Will, who had tripped the fire system of the whole building yesterday; Will, who had thoughtlessly jumped to his friend’s defence was mad about an antiseptic burn.

He didn’t say anything, though. Rather, he beckoned Will forward, “Here. let me help you with a bandaid at least. It’s not deep, so that should do.”

Will went on, and let Dean help him. There was something about the boy’s face Dean thought. Something so inherently familiar that his chest ached. With tenderness and longing. A needy want, but want of what, he didn’t know.

“There you go, you’re all fixed now,” Dean said.

Will stared, an odd expression on his face. His eyes darted from Dean’s hand bloodied with his blood, to Dean’s face.

Dean jerked his chin, a questioning look in his eyes, as if to ask what he was thinking, but Will simply shook his head, then turned away.

It was beyond easy to slip out of school. The nurse had been more than forthcoming and had given them the permission without batting an eye. God bless her soul, Dean thought. It did, admittedly, take a long time to walk even with both Cas and Will supporting his weight. At least they had some prescribed painkillers with them that would let him support his own weight once they kicked in. There was so much Dean wanted to ask Will. About how he had achieved what he had achieved the night before, about that jerk who was beating up Barry, even about the freaking Olympiad, but his lungs couldn’t produce sound as he walked. Most of his effort just went into putting one feet in front of another.

At long last, they reached the gates of the orphanage. Dean withdrew his arm from over Will’s shoulder. Cas adjusted his stance, bracing for more weight, but Dean stood upright, withdrawing all support.

“Will…” he started through a thick throat, suddenly recalling the panic from the night before, when standing right here in the front lawn, his eyes had been racking to crowd to find the unknown face of this very boy. A face that wasn’t unknown anymore.

Will raised his hand, palm facing Dean, then smiled. “Save it; whatever you’re gonna say. Cause if you’re gonna thank me, don’t.”

“But…” Dean started to say again, and he could see Cas nodding in vehement agreement on the side.

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me,” Will challenged. “And then you can thank me all you want.”

For once Dean was speechless. Will grinned conspiratorially, first at Dean and then at Cas. “I’ll see guys at dinner. Better check on what Barry is up to,” he said before running up the stairs. At the last minute, at the top, he turned and winked at them, then ducked inside.

“That kid is something else,” Cas whistled. Dean said nothing. He just grabbed on to Cas’s hand moving forward, still rankled by Will’s words.

Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for me.

But more than Will’s challenge, his own thoughts rankled him. He would have gone ahead and beyond to help, to protect this strange, brave boy.

******************************

A/N 2: Is this what you guys had been waiting for? Finally Dean met Will!. Please tell me what you thought of the chapter?

If you wanna be tagged, please send me an ask

About a Boy taglist:

@sdavid09 @deanssweetheart23 @blacktithe7 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @cosicas-cuquis @chalicia @anathewierdo @mrswhozeewhatsis @protectteamfreewill @firefly124-writing @spnbaby-67 @hoboal87 @rizlow1 @donnaintx @starmission @gh0stgurl @tftumblin @emily-a-c11 @ericaprice2008 @jotink78 @charliebradbury1104 @ohgodwhybloggg @i-dont-get-cold @bobbie3939 @samsexualdeancurious @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @cookiechipdough @wildfirewinchester

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #weechesters #weechesters fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn #aab7 #Ana writes aab #Ana writes Dean #anawrites #anawritesspn

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mautadite · 4 years

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april book round up

20 books this month, which i didn’t see coming. i had more free time than expected, even with working from home and *makes vague hand gestures*. i still have a scribd membership so almost all these books came from there. also i’m putting some thought into reviewing on netgalley, so a couple from there as well.

american fairy tale - adriana herrera ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary m/m romance in herrera’s dreamers series that follows immigrants and children of immigrants. this second book was fun, a kind of fairy tale romance as the title suggests. a rich guy/poor guy situation which isn’t usually my cup of tea, and the domineering, throw-money-at-every-situation personality of the rich guy got on my nerves, and i wasn’t totally sold on the way the conflict was resolved? but i enjoyed it. herrera’s books just have this down to earth vibe that i love.

unfit to print - k.j. charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ historical m/m romance. vikram, a young lawyer doing a lot of pro-bono work in the indian community in london, lost touch with his childhood friend gil years and years ago, is pretty sure he’s dead. so imagine his surprise when he comes across him in an unlikely occupation in an unlikely place. this was a charming, touching novella, really interesting historically, with a lot of cool titbits about porn in the 19th century. very sweet romance-wise.

american love story - adriana herrera ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ another dreamers novel, this one about a black professor and political activist and a white ADA who had a fling a while back and are now living in the same town. and same apartment building. lol. it did get into real world politics, which i know some people don’t like, but i honestly thought it well done? there were some great bits in this, good insight, one really harrowing moment, and just really great chemistry and character moments.

wanted, a gentleman - k.j. charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ more historical m/m romance from k.j. charles, which i always like, but this one i REALLY liked. which surprised me, because it’s a novella, and with novellas you never spend enough time with characters to really know them and their story and get attached? but that’s exactly what happened here. a well-to-do ex-slave and a poor gazette owner team up to untangle a young love affair. i seriously loved this, the characters are so good together. T__T

far from the world we know - harper bliss ⭐️⭐️ contemporary f/f romance about a young widow with a traumatic past who moves to a tiny new town to take care of her ailing aunt, and slowly falls into a relationship with the owner of the local newspaper. the premise was good, but this honestly felt like every single harper bliss book i’ve ever read, except it had nothing to recommend it. ask me why these characters even like each other. i can’t answer!

the hound of justice - claire o'dell ⭐️⭐️ the second book in a series that re-imagines the sherlock holmes universe, except as near-future scifi set during a civil war, and both holmes and watson are black lesbians. i LOVED the first book (with a few caveats) and i’ve been looking forward to this one for so long... but it was disappointing. in terms of the writing, in terms of the direction the characters took, in terms of the plot... i have to wonder if i read the first one with rose-tinted glasses. :/ won’t be continuing this series.

the vintner's luck - elizabeth knox ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ *CLUTCHES MY CHEST WITH BOTH HANDS* in my goodreads review i said i didn’t know how to talk about this novel, and i still don’t. but i ADORED IT. so completely. in early 19th century france, the young son of a winegrower climbs a hill on his father’s property, and there, meets an angel. this is the story of them falling in love, but also about family and friendship, love and death. it’s written SO beautifully, and i’ll be thinking about it for a long time.

the family fang - kevin wilson ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ OOOF. i went into this knowing that several friends loved it so i knew i probably was gonna too and i DID. it’s about two siblings whose parents have been obsessed (since before the birth of their children, and until the present day where they’re both grown) with the idea of creating perfect art, and how the kids survive that. i actually didn’t enjoy reading many parts of this, but only because it was so well written, if that makes sense? like, it took me right in there with some of the shitty emotions and just made me feel. OOOF.

mrs. martin's incomparable adventure - courtney milan ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a VERY sweet and charming historical f/f romance between a wealthy 74-yo widow and the cute young 69 (nice) yo landlady who comes to ask for her help. and then they have an adventure! i read it at a great time, because i was beginning to feel really bummed out about how people are trivialising and discounting the lives of older people in this crisis, and there was a really great message of like... life not being over until you SAY it’s over, living like you have 20 more years left. i loved it a lot.

his convenient husband - robin covington ⭐️⭐️ m/m contemporary fake marriage story, about a russian ballet dancer and the widowed american football player he marries to get citizenship. and then they fall in love for realsies. i love fake marriage as a trope, it can be so cute but this was very meh. if a book is gonna handle racism/homophobia in such a shallow way... i’d honestly prefer if the book just pretended those things don’t exist lol. :/ it’s also very very rushed and not well plotted at all. alas.

once ghosted, twice shy - alyssa cole ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ alyssa cole is like my good luck charm, because starting here, i read a bunch of lesbian romance novels that i really liked. this one is part of a series about reluctant royals, and follows the dapper assistant to a prince as she falls for a girl who seemingly ghosts her, and then meets her again months later. it’s a novella, and sort of relies on the fact that you would have met one of the characters in a previous book (which i did read). but i really really liked it, thought it was super cute, and the mcs had great chemistry. it was almost insta-love, which i really don’t like... but i still like this book so much. also best cover?? BEST COVER.

who'd have thought - g. benson ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ now THIS is fake marriage done right!!! f/f contemporary romance about a struggling nurse who comes across an ad offering a chunk of money in exchange for one year of marriage... and the person on the offering end turns out to be the cold, stuck-up but brilliant doctor at the hospital where she works. this was the perfect slow burn, with great character writing, really good set-up, very believable arc as they slowly fall in love. it got me so emotional at times. definitely gonna make sure i read more from this author.

three reasons to say yes - jaime clevenger ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ f/f contemporary about two women who strike up a romance while on vacation in hawaii; one an overworked professional, one a doctor-mom of twin girls. another winner for me. just an extremely cute, very genuine butch/femme romance. it’s funny because i definitely nitpicked on a lot of things in this book, but i only remember the parts of if that made me so fond.

we set the dark on fire - tehlor kay meija ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ f/f YA fantasy in a world deeply divided by class. in the upper echelons of society, girls are trained either to become one of the two wives of upper class men; the primera and the segunda. the story follows a girl who has faked her social class becoming the primera of a very powerful man, getting involved with revolutionaries, and developing a surprising relationship with her husband’s segunda. really interesting world-building, some lovely writing, a really heart-felt core. i had my nitpicks with the plot but i still super enjoyed it, really want to read the second part.

a tale of two mommies - vanita oelschlager ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ netgalley book. a cute children’s story about a kid with two moms. <3

crier's war - nina varela ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ more f/f fantasy YA, this one with the added benefit of being about something that i ADORE reading about in fiction: artificial life. in this fantasy world, automae were created, perfected, became aware of their place in society, fought a war for their autonomy... and won. the story opens up 50 years later, in a society ruled by robots, where humans are subjugated. it follows the current robot ruler’s created daughter and a young human rebel whose one goal is to kill said daughter. i loved this SO much, the enemies to lovers trope was peeeerfect. i wish the writing was tighter, and some plot elements could have used cleaning up, but i enjoyed this so much. the ROMANCE especially was... gah! <3 the second book comes out soon, but i want it like, now.

second dad summer - benjamin klas ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ another netgalley book. a fun and charming primary/middle school story about a kid spending the summer with his father, and his father’s new boyfriend, who he doesn’t quite get along with. over the summer he makes new friends, nurtures some plants, learns some lessons. i thought this was well-written, touching, and does a pretty good job of telling kids about queer stuff.

tempting fate - sloane kennedy ⭐️⭐️ contemporary m/m novella (short story honestly) about two ranch hands realising their feelings for one another. it was fine, i read it because i was in the mood for a quick HEA and i got that, but it was also kinda flat and there were several kinda irksome things about it. i reeeeeally don’t like overly possessive characters, lol.

all the reasons i need - jaime clevenger ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ more contemporary f/f romance, this one about long time friends who have been in love for ages, slowly coming to a place where they can finally admit their feelings and try to embark upon a relationship. again, while on vacation! this was a lot more sombre than the previous clevenger book, as it deals with past abuse and eating disorders. but i also found the writing to be better in general, and the relationship between the two women was just... so great. the writing definitely isn’t pulitzer prize-winning or anything, but there are so few good butch/femme books out there, i ate this up, and will def. be reading more from this author.

interpreter of maladies - jhumpa lahiri ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ speaking of pulitzer prize-winning authors... i’ve had this author and this book specifically at the back of my mind since secondary school; one of my literature teachers really loved it and would bring it up all the time. i really enjoyed it! it’s a collection of stories about the indian diaspora in america, as well as life on the subcontinent. i really like her writing (very simple, very precise, but very evocative) and there were a few really striking stories.

and that’s it for april. look at me, actually writing this entry on time, lol. for may i’m just gonna... keep reading whatever catches my eye on scribd i guess. i remember vaguely saying that by this time of the year i would have moved on to reading the books on my physical bookshelf that i haven’t gotten to yet but... i go where the wind takes me etc. currently reading silver moon, about women who turn into werewolves once they hit menopause? absolutely metal.

#book talk #long post

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abri-chan · 5 years

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Subversive play between sexual and platonic in Gangsta. (case: Alex’s and Worick’s interaction)

I love how Kohske uses a subversive play between sexual and platonic, to further develop the chemistry (non otp) between characters. Take for example the early interactions between Worick and Alex. We’re lead to believe that worlex will be a thing. This also thanks to the overused trope that in a trio, two of them will end up together (for example, Harry Potter series).

The nightmare bedroom scene starts off with shipping potential. You have Alex hugging Worick, who sleeps naked, in the intimacy of his bedroom. And the pornstar poster on the wall doesn’t help. But the ambiance quickly changes into family themes, with Worick being like the child Alex was, when her mom would comfort her. Alex knows it’s silly to believe adults can be comforted that easily, but it’s better than doing nothing. So she extends her family’s’ way of showing kindness/comfort to her new family (the benriya). The scene also provides a way for the two characters to get a deeper understanding of one another. So far, they’ve been tiptoeing around each other, unsure of what was appropriate to ask. In a way, Alex isn’t unlike their new sibling. When a new child is born, they are thrown into a family they didn’t choose (circumstances lead Alex to meet the duo). The older siblings share history, and now they have to learn to live with the new child. The entire dynamic of the family changes as a result, which is why benriya as a duo is different from the new trio benriya. It’s also interesting that while Alex reveals something about her past, Worick doesn’t. When Alex comments that in a sense she felt she couldn’t talk about her past, because Worick doesn’t either (”You never talk about those things, so we’re even”), he changes the topic to asking where Nic is. As weird as it is, since Worick is the friendliest of the three, he never opens up his heart to anyone. He wants to help Alex, but won’t let Alex help him. To push the family motive even further, the scene prompts Alex to remember more down the line. It wasn’t her mother that would comfort her. Instead it was Alex comforting her little brother, whom she had forgotten about (due to drugs).

The rain scene also starts off with baiting the audience towards expected shipping of two characters. But we quickly learn that there is nothing romantic about the kiss. Alex is hallucinating that Worick is her pimp, and she will do anything so her pimp doesn’t beat her. Worick doesn’t even do anything during the kiss; he’s just frozen in confusion, because Alex’s actions make no sense. The scene deescalates to platonic and comedic tones, because Worick is concerned with making Alex “come back” to reality. And reassuring her that her pimp his dead, because Worick killed the man himself. It’s true that Worick continues to be flirty during the scene (”a guy doesn’t like it when you mention other men when alone”, “my day sucked so much, but if I get to grope your backside, i’ll be okay”). But I would argue that Worick has flirted with almost any woman or man in the series; flirting is just part of his personality (he teases Chad, acts heartbroken when Delico talks bad about humans, calls Nic cute, etc). He’s comforting Alex in the only way he knows how to. He has a kind heart deep down, but because of his escort/gigolo job, sexual undertones are just ingrained in him by now. With regards to his comment about Alex’s backside, he never actually gropes her in the scene. I think he was using that comment to drop the tension of the scene even further. Now Alex won’t be concerned with thinking about her hallucinations, but instead, she will laugh at how stupid Worick sounds at times. In the greater scheme of things, I also think Worick has learned to use flirting as a way to divert attention. If someone pries too much, he can start making some comments about how he likes their appearance. And the other person will think it’s useless to talk to him, because Worick has to turn everything sexual. For example, the scene right after fighting Striker, when he’s at Theo’s clinic. Alex is worried about him, but because Worick starts flirting at important moments in the conversation, she just drops the topic (”why did I even worry about you?”). It’s his way of either keeping people at a distance when they get too close (his interaction with Alex, because he thinks it’s not healthy for Alex to be attached to him). Or just diverting the conversation elsewhere, if the person gets distracted by his charms.

I think both scenes come to a full circle. In the first one, Alex comforts Worick in the only way she knows. And in the second, Worick comfort Alex in his own way. The interaction between the two is very endearing and sweet. I wonder if Kohske plays with our expectations on purpose. She knows what we have been primed by media to expect certain things when it comes to a trio or duo interaction. And she starts with those expectations, only to turn them upside down. To me, the benriya being a family is a breath of fresh air, when it comes to manga. Also the fact that Kohske can create respectable chemistry between her characters, without throwing away their sexuality. I personally did see signs of attraction between Worick and Alex. Worick can probably become attracted to any woman, and that helps with his side job. Alex has commented on how handsome he is. But, just because you find someone attractive, doesn’t mean that has to become your main concern, or you end up with them. This is important especially for female characters, who are usually shown as overly concerned with their crushes (real women aren’t like that). Alex is more realistic, because while she acknowledges once that her new companions are attractive men, that issue has no weight in how she interacts with them. Respectively, the guys are aware that she’s an attractive woman, but that really doesn’t matter in how they interact with her. I really like how Kohske handled the chemistry of the trio, because in other series, once a character finds another attractive, their fate is sealed. They’re either to end up together, or become overly obsessed with how the person looks (this stereotype especially hurts female characters).

#anime manga rambles #nicolas brown #worick arcangelo #alex benedetto #gangsta #gangsta.

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agirlinjapan · 5 years

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Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars (Week 23)

Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Miss the last piece? Read it here!

Check out the RDG Translation twitter!

Help me pay for my next translation project on Ko-fi.

It’s nearly summer! There’s another twenty or so days left of school and then we’re done! I think we’re all ready for the vacation (students and teachers), but we still have some fun things to do before we say goodbye including a major class trip and the musical. It should be a good last few days!

RDG will be going back to a weekly posting schedule starting on June 23 and going through the end of August.

We will be finishing RDG early in September!

Last year, Noriko Ogiwara, the author, published a book of RDG short stories titled Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes. I bought this while I was in Japan last summer, and I do plan to translate it like I have the rest of the series. However, I’d like to start a new project after RDG 6 ends and then speckle those short stories in here and there as I go.

I’ll have more information on what that next project will be as we get closer to the end of RDG. I tend to post more detailed information about my translation on my RDG translation twitter. Click the link above and follow if you’d like to hear more.

Finally, happy 5 year anniversary to the RDG translation! I can’t believe it’s been this long!

Translation notes:

This is what a Heian era nobleman would wear.

This is an ascetic monk/mountain monk outfit.

Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars By Noriko Ogiwara Chapter 3: Winter Solstice Part 3 (1 of 2)

With Mayura’s help, Izumiko quickly decided on what she would wear to Saturday’s party.

Coming to the conclusion that buying something that could only be worn to a party would be a waste, they had decided to buy outfits they could wear on a normal day out and then accented them with corsages and jewelry. During the holiday season, any accessory shop was full to the brim with cute items. Izumiko and Mayura had gone from one to another, enjoying themselves, and buying things here and there.

But then, two days before the party, it was time to carry the decorations over to the space where the party would occur. Hoshino, the planning chief, declared their new outfits unnecessary.

“We placed a rental order with the same group we used for the festival, so we have professionals to help us set up and break down. Plus, we get ten costume rentals included in the price. We have the teachers’ permission to use those rentals, and we’re planning to have the student government wear them. Claus has dibs on the Santa Claus costume, but we have costumes for the rest of the members, too. This is my decision as planning chief.”

The only people looking at each other in surprise were the first years. The second years appeared to somehow already be aware of this decision. They all looked calm.

Angelica was also at the meeting that day. “I always planned to go to the party in costume, so I’ll be attending in my own outfit,” she said brightly. “My highly esteemed father brought me one.”

The first year student government members looked at each other again. It was becoming clearer that Angelica’s showy Warring States era costume from the festival had been a product of her father’s interest in anime. They were sure her next costume would be something amazing, too.

“Will we be able to… choose the costume we like?” Shimamoto asked the chief nervously.

“You can choose from what’s being ordered,” Hoshino replied sternly. “Choice number one is the Cinderella series. Choice two, the Little Red Riding Hood series. Choice three, animal costumes. That’s it.”

“What? Just those three?”

“During the school festival, we could only dress as kuroko, right? This time instead of just that, we’re all going to work at this party in the showiest costumes possible. It’s important that we make our guests feel welcome.”

Once Hoshino was finished speaking, Honoka spoke up, her voice serious as well. “Right. Obviously, Ichijo Takayanagi will be planning to talk himself up in one way or another while Izumiko does her best to not draw attention to herself. I think it would be good for Izumiko to choose an animal costume so that she can hide her braids. Everyone else will choose whatever showy costume they want, and do their best to make it hard for Takayanagi to stand out. President Murakami can’t make it on Saturday, but those are the instructions he’s left for us.”

Mayura appeared to automatically agree with the plan. “I get it. So that’s how we’re going to do it,” she murmured enthusiastically.

Manatsu raised a hand quickly. “I’ll choose an animal costume, too. I’ve always wanted to try one on.

“What costume are you going to choose, President Kisaragi?”

Once asked, Honoka puffed out her chest, and answered. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to be the prince from Cinderella. I wouldn’t give up that costume to anyone else.”

Knowing that she would have never chosen a princess costume, all eyes turned to Hayakawa who was looking visibly upset over this development. Clearly, he had been hoping for this costume as well.

On the day of the party, once everyone was changed into the costumes they had rented and got a chance to see what everyone else was wearing, it was plain to see that Honoka’s prince costume was far more impressive than anyone had expected. The whole Cinderella series had an early eighteenth century Rococo look to it. The prince costume was comprised of a tailcoat embroidered in gold and silver thread, a frilly shirt, shoes complete with ribbons, and a curly, white wig. No one had ever seen such a formally dressed prince costume before this.

The second-year bespectacled duo had chosen to dress as the prince’s attendants and were wearing something similar to Honoka with black hats tilted far back on their heads. They would walk around carrying a glass shoe, looking for a girl who might be able to fit into it.

It had been decided that Izumiko would wear a reindeer costume. It would go well with Claus’s Santa suit, thus keeping the spotlight off of her.

In a spare room, Izumiko slowly tried to pull the brown costume on over a t-shirt and light pants. Seeing as she was so petite, the pants attached to the bodysuit were far too long, but not so oversized that she wouldn’t be able to walk in it.

“This is the first time I’ve worn an animal costume…”

“Generally, I’d say there aren’t many people who have.” Mayura laughed as she closed the fastener at the back of Izumiko’s costume. She was wearing a kerchief over her hair with a patched blouse that matched a well-worn skirt and apron. There was soot on her face as well. For the second half of the party though, she would change into a Rococo princess dress, which would make her the flashiest person in the room.

“The chairman will probably be on the party floor today, so Sagara and I will make contact with him and try to figure out what the adults here have planned,” Mayura informed Izumiko. “You, on the other hand, should stay as far away from the chairman and the other adults as possible.”

“Right.”

The reindeer head was overly large, and looked as silly on Izumiko as it would have on a child. As a result, there was something charming about the way the antlers and muzzle rested over her head and face. Unfortunately, however, the mask’s big, round eyes were at the height of her forehead, and the only way she could see out was through the mask’s mouth. The opening there had netting stretched across it, creating a small window. That made Izumiko’s line of sight narrow, and when the head shifted even slightly, Izumiko lost her view. All in all, it was difficult for her to see the world beyond the inside of the reindeer head.

The polyurethane crafted head might have been a pain to wear, but at least it wasn’t heavy. Still, it was difficult to move in seeing as she couldn’t see her feet very well. What was more, as she didn’t know how tall she was in the reindeer head and kept bumping into this and that as she made her way out of the empty room. The whole getup was much harder to manage than she had thought it would be. Mayura held her hand all the way to the auditorium where the party was being held.

And so, when they arrived in the hall, they were surprised to see someone in a wolf costume, not unlike Izumiko’s, jumping around excitedly. Obviously, it was Manatsu, but Izumiko still couldn’t believe he could move around like that.

Mayura was also amazed by her brother.

“What’s up with you bouncing around like that? Is it really that fun to wear an animal costume?”

“Nah. That’s not why I’m so happy,” the wolf with its tongue sticking out said in Manatsu’s voice. He pointed towards something with a gloved hand. “If you look at Little Red Riding Hood, you’ll know why the wolf is so excited.”

They turned their heads to see a cute girl wearing a bright red cloak and holding a basket. She was standing nearby, surrounded by second year students. It was Wataru Shimamoto, grinning from ear to ear from all the praise he was getting.

Staring at the very cute Red Riding hood, it sounded very much as if Mayura muttered under her breath, “Oh no. He’s going to get way more attention than me.”

There was someone dressed as an old witch in a black cloak standing next to Shimamoto. It was Rena Akinokawa in the outfit, which only made Shimamoto seem that much more innocent in his own costume.

“The student government went all the way with this. Do you think it’ll be enough that Takayanagi will give up on standing out?”

Manatsu answered his sister’s question, his voice uninterested. “You don’t need to worry about that. Look over there.”

Izumiko reached up and moved the reindeer head with her hand so that she could look in the direction he had indicated. Ichijo Takayanagi had just walked through the entrance to the hall. Indeed, she could see why there was no need for them to worry about him tonight. Takayanagi’s costume was a Heian era noble’s outfit. The overshirt he wore with hakama pants was dark blue and the shirt underneath was red and white. To complete the look, he wore a tall, black, narrow hat on his head. The whole ensemble made Takayanagi’s small frame larger than it normally appeared.

…He went way too far…

Izumiko and Mayura were left speechless as they watched Takayanagi approach. The costume didn’t make any sense in the context of a Christmas party, but it certainly matched the wearer.

“Thank you for dropping your barrier today,” Takayanagi said in his Heian attire. He stared straight at Izumiko in her reindeer costume. “I knew as soon as it disappeared this morning. I made a new shikigami. Isn’t that great?”

“…Ah, sure.” Izumiko emphasized her words with a careful nod of the reindeer head. First thing that morning, she had recited the charm Miyuki had taught her. However, as she hadn’t sensed anything change, this was the first time since then that she knew for sure that it had worked.

Right… There are going to be shikigami around today, and I’m going to have to deal with them.

“Don’t use your shikigami for anything so big that you make trouble for the people around you,” Izumiko said, intending to sound firm, but Takayanagi was unfazed.

“I can’t really guarantee that. No matter what you might tell me, I’m the one in charge today.”

Mayura, standing there in her housekeeper’s costume complete with a long broom, scowled. “If Izumiko says to do something, you do it,” she broke in. “You’re just a diviner who uses minions to do your bidding. If you do what you want to do, we’ll kick you out of here.”

Takayanagi ignored Mayura. He turned back to Izumiko and continued on in the same tone as before. “Izumiko, you should be more receptive towards shikigami. We diviners are well versed in using spirits. You should know more about what we do just in case you ever want to join us. True cooperation cannot be achieved where there is no understanding, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m guessing you want me to say that from here on out, I’ll let you use shikigami anytime you want on campus?” Izumiko responded cautiously.

“I’m acting as the top of the school’s public face because of your own strategies, aren’t I? Being who I am, I want to know a little more about you seeing as you’ve hidden yourself away from the public eye all this time. That way, I can be useful to you on my own terms even when you do not lift the seal on my abilities. While you might have sworn that you will not release the bonds you have placed on me, might it be correct that we’ll never fully come to a true understanding of each other as long as we are held within this arrangement?”

What he’s saying is true… Izumiko thought.

No one wanted to be controlled, Izumiko considered vaguely to herself. With that said though, she seemed to be fine being the one controlling someone else. She hadn’t thought about it that way until now, and it made her inwardly cringe.

“That’s true, but… Takayanagi, is there any way that I can convince you to stop using shikigami for good?”

“Using shikigami is the foundation of diviner’s magic. That’s something you’re unwilling to accept, isn’t it? However, like the Soudas, you can’t say that you feel uncomfortable dealing with the spirits of the dead. You’re working with one right now, aren’t you?”

Again, Izumiko couldn’t help but think over the words Takayanagi had said so confidently.

“Izumiko, don’t listen to him,” Mayura said sharply. She had not been tempted to rethink her opinions. “He was born talking garbage.”

Miyuki’s voice was suddenly audible from the side of their small gathering. “That’s so true. Save all those fancy words you’re trying to confuse Izumiko with for after this party. You should know that whatever you say, it’s not going to work anyway.”

Izumiko hadn’t seen Miyuki in the auditorium before now, but it seemed as if he had been close enough to hear the conversation that was going on. She turned the reindeer head to look at him and her eyes instantly went wide.

“Sagara… that costume…”

“It’s just a costume.”

“But it’s…”

“I said, it’s just a costume.”

Miyuki’s appearance was shocking enough to rival Takayanagi’s Heian outfit. He was dressed in full ascetic monk garb, complete with a wide shouldered traditional vest adorned with soft, pom pom looking decorations worn over hakama pants. There were cloth wrist coverings on his arms and straw sandals on his feet. He was wearing a stiff looking hat on his head and a braided cord wrapped around his waist held a small leather pelt in place against his back that would have been useful if he had needed to sit down on wet or dirty ground. And of course, he was holding a staff in his hands.

This was the first time even Izumiko had seen Miyuki dressed in full ascetic monk attire. However, she had absolutely no clue why he had gone to such lengths.

“But that’s not the costume the student government rented,” Izumiko said.

Miyuki answered in a strained voice. “One of the other students grabbed mine before I could get to it and the only costume left was Cinderella’s sister. I wasn’t crazy about either of them, but between the two, this seemed like the better choice.”

“Those are some interesting choices…”

Mayura looked as if she were about to say something, but she held her tongue with Takayanagi there with them.

Shimamoto, standing a bit apart from them, had something to say though.

“Oh man, too bad, Sagara!” he called over. “So I’m really the only guy dressed as a girl here?”

“Shut up. You can’t complain about something while everyone’s complimenting you on it,” Miyuki retorted.

He looked towards Takayanagi next. “I don’t think Izumiko’s power and your magic really have much in common, but if you’re saying you want to work together, we can probably come up with some sort of compromise or agreement. From here on, we need focus on figuring out more about how the goddess works.”

Tayakanagagi took in Miyuki’s outfit with interest, just like everyone else.

“Are you saying that as the ascetic monk’s representative, Sagara?”

“Probably not. Who are the people who are coming to see the World Heritage Candidate student today? Are they parents of exchange students?”

Takayanagi’s tone relaxed at Miyuki’s question. “It’s not necessarily going to be all foreigners. There could be some Japanese inspectors too. Either way, they’ll be people who know a lot about World Heritage.”

“Can they see shikigami?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. People’s understanding of shikigami most likely varies from place to place. A Japanese inspector would be more likely to know the same things we do because they’re Japanese.” Takayanagi readjusted his hat with a hand and then continued. “That’s the case with anything based in history. I don’t believe most average people in the world today can distinguish between diviners and ascetic monks. Therefore, I see nothing wrong with what I said before. It would be possible for Izumiko to join the diviners.”

Keep reading!

#rdg #red data girl #rdg 6 #rdg my wish on the night of the shooting stars #rdg 6 week 23 #translation

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samspicturesandwords · 5 years

Text

Next Assassin’s Creed Game

Predictions about the next Assassin’s Creed game

(Please note that I am not a journalist and I have no insider info about the Assassin’s Creed series or Ubisoft. This is all speculation for fun. Also, FYI this is not a history paper! I am looking up some facts and dates, but also just discussing things I’ve read and heard before and am hoping I’ve remembered correctly. Don’t take this as a good source of history. I apologize for any mistakes this post may contain and encourage you to do your own research into the topics mentioned if you’re interested in them. Sources I consulted for the history I discuss here include Encyclopedia Britannica and Wikipedia.)

It’s a safe bet that the Assassin’s creed series will be around for a while yet, but what’s less certain is the form that the next installment will take. It has long been rumored that there will be title set in ancient Rome, and it seems likely that the next release will be exactly that – Rome would be a nice way to close out a loose “trilogy” of games set in the classical/Hellenistic Mediterranean after Egypt and Greece. But the history of Rome is long and complex.

In early times, Rome was a kingdom; it then became a republic from 509 BCE to 27 BCE, and then an empire that stood until the late 400s AD (in the west – the eastern half survived much longer). The period between the traditional date of the city’s founding in 753 BCE and the fall of the western part of the empire around 476-480 covers more than 1,200 years, and though the empire is long gone, Rome itself still remains, a beautiful and remarkable city I have had the pleasure of visiting. Obviously, a lot changed over more than one thousand years of Roman history, and saying that a game is set in Rome or the Roman Empire would be quite vague, so I’ll attempt to narrow it down.

I once thought that an Assassin’s Creed game set in ancient Rome would likely make Julius Caesar the main antagonist, because (spoilers for Origins and for real history!) he was famously assassinated after becoming something of an autocrat in what was supposed to be a republic. In Brotherhood, players can find the armor and writings of Brutus, one of the conspirators who killed Caesar. It could be fun to play as Brutus, or, as I suspected, to at least have him as a major character, as a way to tie the game to Ezio’s story. However, as those of us who have played Origins know, Caesar is assassinated by Aya at the end of that game, so it would make little sense to re-visit that exact time period since Caesar has already been used as an antagonist.

What if we look back further in history? My best guess now is that an Assassin’s Creed game set in Rome will take place during the second Punic war, which raged from 218-201 BCE. It was a particularly fierce and dramatic conflict fought between Rome and Carthage, a state founded by in north Africa by Phoenicians. Rome had defeated them once before – we are talking about the second Punic war here after all. Although their earlier loss had undoubtedly weakened Carthage, by the time of the second war with Rome they were still formidable.

While there may be no Romans from this period who are as famous to us today as some later emperors are, this is the war Hannibal Barca fought in. Most of you have probably at least heard of his daring invasion of Italy, in which he and his army, including elephants, crossed the Alps to attack the Romans from the north. Hannibal was a great military leader and has a lot of name recognition (more than Scipio Africanus does these days at least). Imagine fighting an army of Phoenician soldiers, their ranks bolstered by northern “Barbarians” who had joined the cause, and by a bunch of elephants. Elephants were already present as optional bosses in Origins, but imagine if they were integrated into field battles like the conquest battles of Odyssey. Historically, Hannibal had a fairly limited number of elephants at his disposal during his invasion, but they could appear as occasional bosses during story missions.

The Battle of Cannae, in particular, is one of the most famous battles in all of history and saw Hannibal defeat a larger Roman force. It could be a spectacular set piece.

One strike against my theory is that some prominent works of Roman architecture, like the Coliseum, were built after this time period, and would therefore have to be omitted if any semblance of historical accuracy was being observed. Then again, many of us already climbed the Coliseum and the Pantheon as Ezio in the Renaissance and wouldn’t miss them too much if they don’t show up in this game.

What would gameplay be like in this setting? Well, probably similar to the last two games in many respects. One way they could differentiate melee combat could be to re-introduce shields, which were present in Origins and absent (for the player character at least) in Odyssey. Shields were very important to Roman infantry (though as Blue from Overly Sarcastic Productions on YouTube has pointed out in his video “Historical Realism Review: Assassin's Creed Odyssey,” shields are an odd omission in that game, so who knows). The Romans also made use of javelins – could they be integrated, perhaps having higher damage than bows but also a shorter range?

Speaking of Blue from OSP, in the same video he mentions that it was unrealistic to see Greeks fighting in a disorganized melee when they actually relied so heavily on the phalanx formation. He said that he wished the game had been able to “bridge the gap” between a rigid formation and a “Battle royale.” In the unrelated game “Ryse: Son of Rome,” battles are split between sections in formation and sections of free-for-all fighting on your own. The latter type of gameplay is by far more common, but there are a few points at which the player character forms up with other soldiers and commands them to advance, brace behind shields to withstand incoming arrows, or throw javelins. An Assassin’s Creed game could do something similar, with some story missions embedding the player within a formation of soldiers and controlling them as a unit. This type of combat would likely be less engaging than the freer one-person army whirling through the battlefield, but it could be used occasionally in story missions to show a more realistic version of combat tactics at the time and to change up the pace of gameplay.

Naval combat could return with a twist: why not give the player’s ship a corvus? This Roman innovation is a type of spiked drawbridge that could be swung down onto a nearby enemy ship, allowing the Roman infantry to storm across and capture the vessel rather than destroy it. Historically, the Romans used the corvus in the first Punic war and it fell out of favour before the time we’re examining, but it is historically possible that at least the player’s ship could make use of this existing technology. Then naval battles could become deeper (no pun intended): players could decide whether to ram an enemy vessel or set it ablaze with flaming arrows, or attach the ships and engage in melee combat. Boarding already exists in Assassin’s Creed games, but the corvus could be a way to differentiate boarding a ship from destroying it. In Odyssey, boarding was only possible once a ship had been disabled and was nearly sinking from battle damage. What if in the next game, ramming or burning an enemy vessel would destroy it, while using the corvus would allow it to be not only boarded and raided, but captured? Troops on board your ship could be a resource, expended to board and subsequently sail enemy ships. I can imagine a system in which it was possible to capture enemy ships during battle, have your soldiers take control of them, and then have those ships assist you as AI companions. Maybe only one or two ships could be taken over before you run out of troops, and maybe they’d only assist until the battle was over, or perhaps they’d have to be manually dismissed to regain your full count of troops onboard your own ship. I think this would add a new dimension to naval combat.

The nation struggle system is likely to return, especially if the game is set during a period of intense warfare. I have written the preceding sections under the assumption that the player character would be on the Roman side. I do not know, of course, if the player character would be loyal to one side or the other, and if so, to which. I hope that they will fight for one side, because being a mercenary with no allegiance or real moral code irritated me in Odyssey. I feel that if the protagonist is loyal to one side, it will likely be Rome, partly because Rome would actually feel like the underdog in this conflict in which their territory is invaded, and partly because of Eurocentrism and the greater pop-culture familiarity with Rome compared to Carthage. Maybe we’d even go back to a system with two playable characters, like in Syndicate, but this time with one on each side of the conflict, but that might be too complicated to implement.

And now, just for fun, what could the title for this hypothetical Roman Assassin’s Creed game be? I’ve seen “Assassin’s Creed Legion” floated as a possibility by someone online. I also think that “Empire,” the rumoured title of Origins, could be appropriate. What do you think?

Again, I only looked up a few things here (and hoped I’m remembering the rest correctly), so I apologize if I’ve gotten some historical facts wrong. I mean, I’m just spitballing about what a video game might be, I’m not doing much research. Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your theories and hopes for the game as well!

#assassin's creed #gaming #rome #ancient rome #prediction #ubisoft #assassin's creed odyssey #punic wars #history #predictions

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be-dazzled · 6 years

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SHE’S IN YOUR COURT Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser FFnet link: click here #SIYC, #Gruvia

Summary: Gray Fullbuster is a player both in love and in life. He plays Professional Basketball and is being groomed to be in line with Basketball Legends Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Stephen Curry. There’s just one problem, Gray Fullbuster is a play-ah. His life is a giant mess of crazy parties, waking up with random women and waking up in random women’s apartments. Just living the life.

The opinion of the public on him is waning. To save the million-dollar endorsements in the verge of disappearing, Gray needs to change his image. Therefore, Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and Most Valuable Player, will be in the next season of “My Star Can Dance”.

There’s another problem: it seems like his star isn’t that bright since his partner, one of Fiore’s prominent ballerinas, doesn’t know him? His billboard is hanging in front of her dancing school! And it was a good billboard since all he was wearing was his six-pack and an Aztec bandana. How come she didn’t notice?

Writer’s Corner: I prefer you guys read at fanfiction.net because it’s easier to read and much more organized. I’m an idiot on tumblr. Don’t know how to use it. lol. Anyways, leave comments loves. Gruvia for life!

Oh my love, love is beginning We have found something worth living for I've got my head in the clouds Oh my love, love is beginning now

“There’s less than two minutes in the clock.”

“Will he make it?”

“The ball is in their court, George. He just needs to make this count.”

Two round voices filtered through the loudspeakers. Their commentaries came after another.

The tension was so thick that the raven-haired boy at the center of the Crocus Arena could taste it. Bullets of sweat dropped on the floor. Stubborn black bangs clung to his forehead. Gray Fullbuster’s heart drummed along the sound of the ball hitting the floor. He caught his breath looking for an opening. His eyes darted to the number on the score-board: 72-68. His team was on the lead but he wanted, no, needed to put a difference between the scores.

Gray kept a low stance; his trained feet, along with his body, rocked back and forth as he bounced the ball with good and precise control. He faked a step to the left only to change direction but two tall fellows quickly blocked him.

“You guys like me that much, huh?”

The two have been following him since the beginning of the game. They made it their mission not to allow the Captain near the ring.

“Sorry but this is not the threesome I was looking for.”

He patted himself internally; proud at the witty quip he threw at his guards. He congratulated himself then when he saw their faces twitched in anger.

Early on his career, when Gray was still a rookie, he has learned the magic of trash talk.

However, he had to admit, the two tall guards were hard to shake off. He was struggling but he wasn’t going to show it. Not to Overly Attached Ex-Girlfriend No. 1 and No. 2.

Before the Fiore Knights became a big name in basketball, they were just pretty faces fresh from High School. The first championship Gray’s team bagged was when he was just a rookie. His last minute three-point shot won them the most coveted Earthland Cup of 20X1. From then on, Gray became the “Last Minute Miracle Worker”; pulling off three pointers in under a minute. Now, he was Team Captain.

Player No. 23 tried to steal the ball from the Captain but the latter had the reflexes of a cat; he successfully evaded the steal.

“Whoa, slow down Sharon.”

“Let go of the ball, Dufus. They’re not your testicles.”

Gray had to admit, that was a little funny but he wasn’t going to laugh.

Gray glimpsed at the giant scoreboard and eyed the giant numbers that kept decreasing. The clock was ticking and the ball was still in his hands. He needed to make a move or they would be penalized. The side that kept cheering ‘defense’ became louder and wilder. Maybe because he realized that the Team Captain was struggling. However, the two seasons MVP ignored them. He only had one thing in mind: Win.

Come to think of it, he had nothing to lose. Fiore Knights was on the lead and even if the Alvarez Spriggans managed to steal the ball they couldn’t catch up with Gray’s team. Best they could was reduce the score difference. But then again the Captain had to keep up appearances. He was, after all, the Most Valuable Player for two seasons in a row. He wanted to make this his third.

Gray calculated his options. He was too far from the ring to make a shot. If he pushed forward, two jackasses just wouldn’t leave his side. The side of the bleachers that wore red and gold was egging him on; the other side kept chanting defense. He drowned those voices so he could focus on his own. Natsu. He looked around to search for the spiky pink hair and found him blocking a player as tall as him.

As Team Captain, Gray was trained to make split-second decisions and to trust and rely on his teammates. Gray eyed his Point Guard, his dark blue eyes conversing with the latter’s black ones. Taking the hint, Natsu left his post and the Alvarez Shoot Guard guarding him.

Gray then maneuvered the two tall guards blocking him, his physical agility put to test. Constant and religious training never failed him. He managed to push through the Alvarez players. Gray didn’t have second thoughts in grabbing his window of opportunity and quickly made a clean pass. He ran at the side of the court waiting for his next move. All eyes were on the receiver, Gray’s Vice Captain and best friend, Natsu Dragneel.

Natsu pushed forward and ran toward the middle of the court. He abandoned his Captain and aimed towards the center for a basket.

Or so they thought.

Natsu made a turnabout and passed the ball back to his Captain who was left unguarded.

That was the ingenuity of Gray’s plan. Natsu’s position as point guard was common knowledge. Gray was sure that when he passed the ball to Natsu, Fiore Knights’ resident Point Guard, everyone would expect him to attempt the shoot. The Captain banked on that assumption and secretly positioned himself for a basket. His jackass guards were down to one.

Once Natsu passed the ball back to him, Gray wasted no time in attempting and succeeding in making his trademark three-point shot.

And the final buzzer rang.

“That was one hell of a maneuver!” The round voice came out of the speakers.

Gray looked at the score-board: 75-68.

The whole arena bustled in victory. The cheers were almost deafening. Happiness spread over Gray’s chest. Once again, Fiore Knights was bringing home the Earthland Cup.

“This makes this their third year!” informed the voice on the speaker.

Red and gold balloons and paraphernalia rained down the Crocus Arena. The chorus of ‘We Are The Champions’ by the band Queen blasted through the speakers. Gray’s team mates, along with some reporters and photographers rushed to him. His team mates lifted him and the two tallest players, Gajeel and Laxus, carried him on their shoulders toward the center. Fiore Knights chanted his name. Fullbuster. Fullbuster. The audience joined in.

Gray Fullbuster indulged himself in the victory. Amidst the chaos, he never forgot to thank the Boss in heaven and his good ol’ man. He offered each game to his late father – Silver Fullbuster.

A young blonde holding a microphone walked near the celebrating circle. Gray recognized her from the Earthland Sports channel. He saw her talking to their team manager; an equally attractive feisty woman. The blonde reporter whispered something to Briar. Then after, the latter motioned the team to put the Captain down.

As soon as the attractive reporter stood next to him holding the microphone close to her lips, Gray Fullbuster immediately put on his best smile. He knew that part of the program well and he excelled in giving interviews.

“That was quite a maneuver, Fullbuster. You got everyone fooled. And now you’re on your third winning streak. How do you do it?”

Gray was never one to share his tactics and strategies for two reasons. One, he developed them during the game as it progressed. There was no formula. Two, he was not crazy enough to reveal business secrets. So, as rehearsed, he answered an interview deflecting the real issue.

“It’s always been a team effort. The management put together a legendary team. Everyone put in their time for training and did everything they could to bring the Cup to Fiore. Couldn’t have dreamt of a better team and better colleagues.”

There was no one secret to their success. It was a combination of many things: trust, respect, sharing one goal and solid brotherhood. That was why it was easy for Gray to give instructions without really saying them. They conversed with their eyes. Trained like there was no tomorrow. And above all, reaped together what they have sown. There was no ‘I’ in team, Gray would usually say.

“I’m just thankful for being here with these full-grown babies.”

The joke earned a laugh from the team and the audience.

The blonde reporter asked series of questions to which Gray answered with confidence. He never forgot to thank his team, his coach, the team’s manager and all the people involved. He always said the right words. Even laughed at a few jokes and made a few of his own. Gray Fullbuster was the darling of the press; charming audiences all over Earthland and beyond borders.

Lucy listened to the intercom in her ears telling her to wrap up the interview.

“I know you guys are excited to celebrate so I won’t keep you any longer. But before we end, do you have anything to say to your loyal fans?”

Gray almost lost his hearing. He opened his mouth and closed it again until the deafening screams died down. He didn’t mind. They were music to his ears. He even returned the ‘I love you’ coming from the audience.

“Me and the boys, we all want to thank everyone who supported Fiore Knights since Day 1.” He sounded spontaneous and genuine because this time the answer was not rehearsed. “We promise to continue doing our best. So you guys hang in there because in the next season Fiore Knights will still be on top.”

The arena erupted in louder celebration. It was as if Gray just won the Ms. Universe with a captivating answer.

Lucy Heartfilia gave her closing before she said goodnight to the viewers of Earthland Sports. If she wasn’t aware of Gray’s reputation, Lucy would have easily fallen for that devilish wink.

Gray Fullbuster’s headache thumped along the sound of the door bell. He rolled to the side praying that he was just dreaming about the awful dingdong. But it just wouldn’t stop.

Gray cursed and winced when the light from the window hit his eyes once he cracked them open. He shielded his midnight eyes with his arm; regretting his decision to install a floor-to-ceiling glass window. At night it afforded him the view of the breath-taking City of Magnolia with its bright city lights dancing before his eyes. In the morning, the endlessness of the blue sky relaxed him. Not today when he was nursing a merciless hangover.

Gray propped himself up, fighting a splitting headache. This, he thought, was one of the worst hangovers of his life. When his palm touched his mattress though, he felt warm skin instead of the soft material that usually greeted him. His face shifted to confirm his suspicion. Long blonde hair spread over his expensive pillow.

Gray forgot about his headache for a second. His mind wondered how soft her skin was. He stopped himself from tracing a line on the woman’s back. Gray could only stare. The stranger’s bare figure brought some memories of last night, bits and pieces until they slowly come in full.

He had fun.

A sudden stir pulled him back to reality. He heard a low moan. Judging from it, the stranger in his bed was probably dreaming of him too and the things they have done the night before. Looking closely, however, it seemed like the sound was not coming from the woman in front of him. Gray carefully shifted to the right, not wanting to wake her up, only to see another figure lying on his bed: bare and beautiful. His lips curved into a smirk. Gray Fullbuster was pleased with himself.

He had double the fun.

Just thinking about it sent his blood down one area. He was going to oblige himself if not for the persistent ringing of the doorbell.

His head throbbed in pain again. Albeit his body and head protesting, Gray dragged himself out of his bed, out of the comfortable in-between of two heavenly bodies. He was going to beat the hell out of anyone behind that door. Gray got out careful enough not to wake the women sleeping soundly.

He put on his robe, his eyes half closed. He cursed under his breath when he couldn’t tie his robe right. Stupid belt.

He clumsily moved across the hall, bumping into everything he could, and shuffled towards the main door. The impatient ringing caused sharp pains in his head. That was the thing with hangovers; they made sounds a thousand times louder.

Gray jumped when the technical sound of error blasted out of his security machine.

“Dammit.”

Gray rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. He waited for a second for that tightness between his brows subside. Then, he squinted at the monitor like an old man and entered his passcode with force that almost broke through the keypad.

When Gray heard the low click sound, he opened the door to meet the same midnight eyes as his glaring. The judgmental look seemed permanent.

The woman walked past him and invited herself in.

“Mother, please come in.” greeted Gray sarcastically before he locked the door behind him.

Gray watched his mother look around and size up his new apartment. He was quite sure she was judging every nook and cranny of that place. Nothing was ever good for Mika Mine.

The woman with the long black hair dropped some papers on top of Gray’s new coffee table.

“You need to get your act together, Fullbuster.”

Those were the first words his mother spoke. Wow, not even a good morning, he thought.

“Good morning to you too, mother.”

Gray seated himself on the sofa. It was too early in the morning to deal with an unhappy Mika Mine. Whatever reason there was for Mika to drop by this early, on a Sunday of all days, in his place, Gray sure it was no good.

News about his gallivanting should have reached her by now. This was their third championship. Of course, the team went painting the town red for a good whole week. Mika was outspoken about her disapproval with that part of Gray’s professional basketball career.

Gray inspected one of the articles on top of his table. It was open on page six; probably the page his mother was reading on the way to his place. He recognized the man who had his hand around the waist of a B-rated starlet. It was him.

His mother began her lecture. Was she a teacher or something? He listened without really hearing Mika. Instead, he continued reading the articles spread across his table. They were news about him and his team marrying the night. Different nights, different women.

“What can I say, mother? Boys will be boys.”

The pain rang in his ears when Mika smacked Gray in the head. He thought he lost his head for a second and later wished he did. This was how getting hit by lightning probably felt, he thought.

Gray waited for the pain and the throbbing to subside. If he was going to be honest, he was holding his tears back a little too. He felt a little nauseous.

“Here. For that hangover.”

He took the glass with some weird green shake in it. It smelled funny.

“Go. Just drink it up.”

Gray followed obediently; covered his nose and took a sip of the funny drink. He made a face when the green shake made contact with his tongue. He immediately dismissed the drink and replaced it on the table on top of the scattered papers. This was why he hated healthy things. They never tasted good. The forbidden fruit tasted the sweetest.

“Powerade called the office today.”

So she’s here for business.

“They are threatening to pull out from your endorsements.”

“Tell them to go to hell.”

“And you’ll go to the streets because this expensive bachelor’s pad you are living in is an advance for that endorsement.”

With the pain hammering his head, all he could hear from his mother was blah blah blah. But he did pick up the words ‘expensive, bachelor’s and pad’. He smiled at himself. It was indeed an expensive bachelor’s haven. His mind flew to the two naked bodies sprawled over his comfortable king-size.

“Did you hear me?”

He didn’t but his mother had only one favorite topic: his unchecked way of life.

“What do you want me to do, mother?”

“I was in a meeting with the President and he is not happy.”

“When is he ever happy?”

He loved to imagine President Wakaba Mine’s nose flared in anger, smoke coming out of his reddened ears. A vein or two probably popped.

“When his star player is not out in the streets living in sin?”

“Mother, I’m young. What do you expect me to do? Lock myself in a monastery?”

“I expect you to get yourself together, Gray. We are losing sponsorships and endorsements because of your youthful activities.”

“Fine. Fine.”

Gray surrendered. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. All he wanted to do was comeback to bed, sleep between the heavenly naked bodies and maybe later, when he recovered from his hangover, do an encore of last night’s youthful activity.

“That’s what I thought you would say. So, the board has decided-“

“-You brought in the board in this?”

“Your father did. And we all agreed it’s the best course of action for now before you and your ‘youth’ drag Fiore Knights’ name down the mud.”

Wakaba Mine was not his father. He was the President.

She slipped him an open folder. The best he could make out with it was the heading ‘My Star Can Dance’.

“They want you to join next season.”

“Are you out of your mind, woman?”

Gray jumped out of his couch in shock. His vision darkened for a moment from the sudden action. When he recovered, he returned to berating his mother.

“I’m not gonna join that circus!”

He was not going to join that crazy reality dance show. Just the thought of Fiore Knights’ Team Captain, the greatest team in all Earthland, dancing like an idiot in front of cameras made him shudder.

“First of all, it’s not a circus. It’s one of the top-rated shows today.”

Gray had a feeling that Mika Mine was a fan. He also had the feeling it was her idea for him to join the show.

“Second of all, millions of people are watching that show. It’s gaining so much popularity nowadays.”

“Ah yes. Because people find the circus very entertaining.” joked Gray dryly.

Mika ignored him.

“And lastly, this is a good way for you to reach out to the masses. For you to gain more popularity, the good kind. It’s time for people to know your good side.”

“Reality shows are scripted, mother. Don’t get fooled.” He rebutted. “And besides, people already know my good side. Everybody loves me.”

“Everybody loves to talk about you and your crazy sex life.”

Touché.

“Besides…” she continued. “You don’t have a say in the matter. This is to compensate the company for all the sponsorships and endorsements lost because of those scandals.”

It was the best way to change and improve his image. Otherwise, he wouldn’t only be losing his endorsements but his entire career as well. Something he did not want to happen.

Basketball was Gray’s life. He lived and breathed basketball since he felt the rubber in his small hands. It was the only thing he was good at. Well, that and making girls scream in and out of the basketball court. But Gray could never imagine himself outside the court. It was the only place he could be his true self. It was the only place he felt connected with his father.

The picture of his father teaching a four-year old Gray how to dribble flashed before his midnight eyes. It was his first memory of him. The last was him lying on the hospital bed.

“Okay, I’ll fix it.”

Gray sat back and started to talk calmly.

“I’ll lessen my partying. I’ll be a good boy. Good ‘ol boy next door. I’ll show up to every charity events you want me to go to.”

Gray stroke a deal. He grabbed all the papers on the table and displayed them in front of his mother.

“These articles, these scandals? Gone.” He threw them away, proving a point. “I’ll fix everything.” He promised.

He looked into Mika’s eyes, appealing to the mother in her. He made a bargain, something he knew would be a struggle to keep the end of, but he would give his best. It was either that or lose his dignity.

Mika thought about it for a moment. She considered his proposal. It was a fair bargain considering how Gray loved to party and celebrate just about anything. Mika was warming up to the idea and looked like she was leaning on agreeing. One little nudge and she would say yes. No one has ever said no to the Captain, after all.

“Good morning, Captain!”

Until now.

One of the women in his bed was now standing behind him. His mother’s face shifted. Her expression was the same as the one she had when she entered his pad. Uh-oh. Not good. Gray turned around to see a beautiful blonde wearing his Ralph Lauren. Just his Ralph Lauren polo and her shiny bed hair.

He would have gotten away with it if not for the other woman coming out of his bedroom. She had the same shiny bed-hair but only wearing his white duvet. Under different circumstances, Gray would have enjoyed the view and appreciated the fact that the two women kind of looked identical.

Gray could just imagine today’s page six story.

He was in double trouble.

Gray cautiously turned around; hoping in all hopes that his mother was not sporting a murderous aura.

She was.

“Just sign the contract.”

One of man’s greatest fantasies has become Gray’s worst nightmare.

“1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.”

A tall and slender female hit the stick against the railing as she counted in a rhythm. She walked around and observed her young students as they performed the routine she taught them earlier.

The woman’s blue hair was tightly pulled in a bun and she wore tights like second skin. The woman has soft features and tamed look; far from the usual strict and stiff stereotype.

“Bend those knees lower.”

The teacher’s mind flew back when she was their age. Back then she loved wearing her pink tutu and wore it everywhere she went despite her mother’s objections.

“Extend those hands. Yes, like this.”

The lady dropped her stick to the side, extended her left arm with the natural grace of a ballerina and folded it back in a semi-circle. The eager kids followed her example.

The grandfather clock stuck four and the teacher dismissed her young students in pink tutus. She curtsied before them and they did the same like they were greeting a royalty. The young girls bade their farewell. Then, they rushed to their companions waiting at the guardian’s lounge on the other side of the room.

The young dance teacher waved back at the still energetic students of hers who waved her goodbye. Where they got their energy after a whole day of dancing was beyond her. When the room finally cleared, the dance teacher exhaled a satisfied sigh. She massaged the part where the neck and shoulder met. Teaching was exhausting but fulfilling.

“Here you go, Juvia.”

The woman looked a lot like Juvia: long blue hair, average height, porcelain skin and soft and homely features. The years did nothing but ripened her into a classy and elegant woman.

“Thank you, mother.”

Juvia took the fresh towel and unopened Pocari Sweat. She dried her face with the former and quenched her thirst with the latter.

“By the way, someone’s here to see you.”

Juvia’s heart leaped in excitement. The vintage double doors spitted out a young, bandana-waering figure from her past – Levy McGardeen.

“Levy!”

Juvia ran toward her visitor to welcome her. She threw her arms around the slim figure and squeezed her in a tight embrace. Juvia could not explain the excitement she felt to see her best friend from High School.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” said Juvia, her slender arms still hang around Levy’s shoulder.

“I know. Long time no see.” answered Levy.

It was Juvia who let go first. She squeezed her arms and turned the young woman around; looking for any changes the years have done to her. Nothing; which fact she expressly stated.

“You haven’t changed at all. Still short, eh shrimp?”

Juvia’s unexpected but welcomed guest, flustered at the utterance of the nickname she hated in high school. Levy smacked the taller between the two playfully. Both women giggled at the friendly teasing they always did since high school. Nothing much has changed.

“What can I help you with, shrimp?”

Levy glared at Juvia, threatening her to drop the annoying nickname. The latter giggled at the expression her guest made. Levy was so cute, twenty six and still pouting. Juvia then invited her old friend inside the room.

“No pleasantries?” asked Levy.

Juvia had an idea of the real reason McGardeen dropped by her studio. She had called and texted her night and day. For friends who haven’t seen each other for months now it probably wasn’t polite to jump into it right away. Especially that the reason Levy had come down from her busy schedule was to ask a teensy bitsy favor.

“I read your messages. I already said no.”

Juvia read the expression on her friend’s gentle face; a mix of surprise, guilt and embarrassment.

“Well, the last time we saw each other you asked me to join your show again.”

Guilt prevailed. The last time they saw each other was when Levy apologized to Juvia after the latter politely declined the network’s offer for another season as a dance instructor. The one time Juvia agreed to join the show behind the scene was because of Levy. It was a favor she was willing to extend for a friend. When the first season was over, they lost contact again.

Juvia was not the kind that held grudges. She understood completely and she was not mad about the lost contact. The bluenette just wanted to tease her friend a little.

“You know how it is in show business. I’m lucky if I get any sleep at all!” reasoned Levy.

Juvia sighed.

“Levy, you’re a writer. So why are you going around recruiting people to join that show?”

Levy was a talented writer. Juvia believed so much in her. Her best friend was going to be a Magnolia Best Seller and would have book tours just as she was going to have her ballet tours. So, why was the talented writer recruiting her for a dance reality show?

“It’s part of my job. I’m a researcher and a writer.”

“So, I’m guessing you’re here to ask me again? I already said no. Do you know it’s easier to teach kids dancing than adult celebrities?”

Levy knew what she meant. Working with celebrities: big names, big heads, wasn’t only exhausting but also frustrating. Working for them was another level of hell as Juvia put it.

“Yes. But this time it’s different.”

Juvia saw a spark of hope in Levy’s round brown eyes.

Curious, Juvia asked how it was different from the time she almost kicked the hell out of the famous actress who joined the first season of My Star Can Dance.

“This time, you’ll be dancing with them!”

Levy probably thought she could get Juvia excited by announcing it with so much energy and enthusiasm.

How the hell was that better than dancing behind the scene?

She was wrong.

“No way!”

“Please, Juvia.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Levy followed the blue-head around like a begging puppy. She kept asking but the ballerina just kept saying no.

“I’m begging you, Juvia. They will have my head if I can’t make you say yes.”

“You promised me that was the first and last time I’ll be in that show. Look for someone else, Shrimp.”

If it was an option she would have done it. Levy was thankful for Juvia joining the first season; when no one would have expected for the reality dance show to get renewed for the second, third and now its fourth season.

However, the writer witnessed how the young ballerina held back when all she wanted to do was smack that diva she had to deal with the whole season. She felt guilty putting her best friend through all that. She didn’t want to put her through the same ordeal but Levy had specific instruction.

“They only want you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. All they said was that since we’re friends why don’t I convince you to join the next season and they were staring at me with deadly eyes like if I said no they’ll kill me. On the spot.” Answered Levy in one breath.

The fear rounded Levy’s eyes. They were dark like they have seen things - unspeakable things.

“It wasn’t a request, Juvs.”

Levy moved closer to Juvia and in a hushed voice she spoke, “They’ll kill me.”

Of course, she wasn’t referring to literal death but something much worse, career death. Levy’s bright future would have ended before it even started.

“Please. For a friend. And remember you owe me!”

She was desperate to have the yes so the show writer came in prepared. If the ‘we’re best-friends’ card wouldn’t work, she would move to the next: guilt trip.

“Owe you from what?”

Levy turned away from the bunhead to hide her flustered face. She was a nice person. She wasn’t some scheming little devil who would lie to get her way. But desperate times called for desperate measure.

“You bullied me in High School.”

Juvia’s jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“We were friends! It was a friendly teasing.” reasoned Juvia.

It was such a ridiculous notion that she would intentionally hurt her best-friend’s feelings. But if she was being honest, bunhead was more surprised that good ‘ol Levy, the shrimp who cried when their classmates picked on her, would use such an underhanded way.

“I was hurt.”

Levy feigned offense. She wasn’t only a good writer. Apparently, she was a good actress too.

“Still, no.”

Too bad Juvia could see though her lies. She was her best-friend of ten years.

“What can I do to make you say yes?”

Juvia could see her frustration. She missed that Levy. The one she always teased because she pouted and engaged.

“Nothing. I can refer you to some of my friends. I’m sure they’ll enjoy working with celebrities.”

Levy knew she was losing her case. Knowing Juvia, no one could ever make her do something she didn’t want to do. Not even Mrs. Lockser. But the persistent writer still had one more trick up her sleeve.

“Well, too bad.” She pretended surrender.

“We’re not allowed to say anything but…” Levy didn’t want to breach the non-disclosure clause in her contract but this was her last card.

She could deal with legal ramifications but not with her head-writer who looked like she was ready to devour little Levy.

“Guess who the network signed up as Head Judge for this season.”

Juvia’s heart skipped a beat. There was one name that popped in her head. Only one person deserving.

She glared at the scheming shrimp and gave her that ‘it would be very wrong to kid me now’ look.

If they were talking about the only person who had the credibility, skills, experience and merits to judge the dancing competition, only one name came to mind.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

Levy watched as the expression on the bunhead’s face changed. The latter’s face brightened. She was highly considering the offer. It was Juvia’s lifelong dream, after all, to meet her hero.

Juvia made all sorts of scenario in her head. She imagined how she should she react when she finally met Fiore’s Prima Ballerina. She thought about what she should wear, how her hair should be, what should she say first. The fangirl in her jumped in happiness.

When a dreamy smile crept up Juvia’s lips, Levy knew she had sealed the deal. Her bandana-wearing head was safe, for now.

“Okay, okay. I’m in!”

She grabbed Juvia’s hand and eternally thanked her for it. The two jumped around, screaming like fangirls, much like how they did in high school when their favorite show was on.

When their excitement died down a little, Juvia asked the show writer, “So, do you know who they paired me up with?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet since they’re all hush-hush about it but I heard this season’s guest stars are gonna be epic.”

“Epic, huh?”

That was one way to put it. Although the bunhead had bad impression of celebrities, it did not sour her mood. The opportunity to meet Aquarius, Fiore’s Prima Ballerina, came only once in a lifetime and it squashed every reservations Juvia had.

Little did she know epic was going to knock on that door and he would be bringing crazy, disaster and frustrating along with him.

#gray x juvia #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gruvia au #gruvia fanfiction #siyc #she's in your court

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thehomebrood · 6 years

Text

The Turning Blades

Campaign: The Oracle of Tiber Author: Xalthir Pairing: Dryle x Bailey Rating: All Ages Genre: Fluff Trigger Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore. Word Count: 4,686 Canon or AU: Canon Summary: Bailey, a fledgling vampire, has been Lord Dryle’s apprentice for a while now. When she is finally left alone in Dryle’s keep, she can’t resist exploring the places she was never allowed to go. Together, she and Dryle share a rare moment of vulnerability, and she learns a bit more about her mentor.

Commissioned by @blitzybitzy and written by our DM, Xalthir, I hope you enjoy.

Ko-Fi link if you wanna throw a dollar at your friendly neighborhood aspiring author: https://ko-fi.com/xalthir

"No." Dryle said from across the room, his silhouette one of crossed arms pitched up against the wall by the door. Even in the shadows Bailey could make out his smug smile and eye-roll. She glared at him over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out, setting down the idol she'd lifted off of his study.

"So, you're telling me that you're leaving for some 'indefinite amount of time' and won't even let me play with your cool toys?" She asked, emphasizing his words with air quotes. Arms folded her arms under her breasts she gave him a sheepish grin. "Come on, don't be such a hard ass." Her voice carried a tease and there was a twinkle in her eye. She cocked her head playfully to the side.

He rolled his eyes again, this time wholly visible as he stepped into the light. She felt her chest catch, as it did nearly every time she saw him. A devilishly handsome man with a pointed face, accented black facial hair and white locks that cupped pale purple-hued skin. His fangs flashed as he spoke. "Look, I will be back soon, probably within the day. Find somewhere to sit down and stay out of trouble, ok? Kitchen, library, and lab are all on-limits for you." He said, throwing a thumb at the door. "Anything below the main floor that leads down into the mill." He paused, leaning in. "Off."

She pouted, curling into her chest some and he gave her a level stare before shrugging and tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

"Well. See ya kiddo." He said turning heel and stepping out of the door, onto the rails of the fourth floor catwalk, and then off into empty air.

Bailey rushed over and gripped those same rails, leaning over to watch his descent in a mixture of horror and awe. His form shrank before stopping abruptly in a whirlwind of cloaks. Gently the pile of cloth rose and started towards the door, leaving the windmill just as calmly as if he'd simply taken the stairs.

Show off.

For a moment the thought crossed her mind to call after him, beg him to stay with her or take her with him, but common sense and mild curiosity warded against it. After all, alone time wasn't bad, right?

Yeah, she could deal with some alone time.

She looked around the structure and swallowed.

---

The interior of the windmill at Free Station was a massive feat of rural engineering. Down the center of the building was a huge shaft turned by the wind pushing the enormous wind-blades outside. As those blades made their rotation so did the shaft which let out a very low groan. Below the main floor the soft grinding sound of machinery rose like a distant ocean's cry and in the air hung the strangely distinct smell of iron. Bailey had chalked that up to the stain of the combat that had been needed to take this place over, or rusty machinery from below the main-floor.

Either way it didn't really matter to her.

She watched the lower floors and the creatures moving about them. Like motes of black, nearly ant-like at a distance, Dryle's 'ghouls' wandered the various floors from place to place looking for rooms to clean or boxes to move. They were mostly mindless, autonomous things that usually kept to themselves but on rare occasions one would show some personality. She reckoned they might be able to talk but when they did speak it was complete gibberish. Despite their general lax demeanor she had gotten one of them to play tic-tac-toe with her once, though the poor thing didn't seem to grasp the rules very well and insisted on only ever playing circles because it found the 'X' too confusing.

Four floors made up the 'upper level' of the windmill, as Dryle called it, but she wasn't really interested in exploring that since he'd made it clear she was welcome to.

Being allowed places often meant that there wasn't anything of serious worth to be found there. Juicy secrets or otherwise.

Still, she figured she might as well- there was no harm in knowing what was available where you lived since she did live here now.

High above, through the patchwork roof and the openings near the blades, soft light from the day broke through in flickering shafts. The gentle luminescence painted the stairs dim gray and she climbed them before heading across the catwalk at their peak. On her way she passed one of the strange pitch black, shadowy ghouls. Its beady white specks of bright, blistering light, met her gaze before bustling past without a word.

Ahead, to the left, there was a door that was slightly ajar. The whole front of the thing was coated in a dense and overly-intricate gold filigree which Bailey had come to know as 'traditional Dryle'. The man had a penchant for the flashy and gaudy with everything he owned. Excessive was a default to him and she’d picked up on that very quickly as even the walkways were rare oaks and strange bog-woods possessing names she'd never before heard..

A peek into the room, door creaking slightly, had her eyes wide. A collection of books larger than any she’d ever seen.

The library.

Pale daylight leaked inside from tinted windows at the top of the room and dull candlelight flickered from oddly shaped, gothic-style chandeliers. Across the walls sat eight foot tall bookshelves that took up nearly every inch of available space around the room's perimeter. Most of them were filled with tomes bearing unmarked spines, though there were some books that were well labeled. One corner of the room held a glass case that housed several worn journals and at the room’s heart sat two tables accompanied by six chairs each. The centerpiece on each one was made up of flowers, Dryle's favorite, black roses.

Burnt wax, dust, and the smell of those flowers melded into an odd combination, but not something wholly detestable. Though she didn't need warmth anymore, this space was several degrees warmer than the area outside. Probably because of the window panes.

She strode over to the shelves and ran a finger along the spines of the unmarked volumes, feeling the ridges of their binding.

After a moment she paused to read a bit of worn text on an old, brown-leather book: 'A History of Vampirism'.

With a grin she drew it from the shelf and took it to the nearest table, turning open the first few pages eagerly as she sat.

Inside were diagrams, remedies, and old curses that painted the image of 'classical vampirism'. With an amused expression she leaned into her palm, her elbow resting on the table, and turned the pages idly. If only the early scholars of this work had discovered their inaccuracies then perhaps her awful 'disease' would have been cured.

Nearly forty minutes later she closed the tome, bookmarking a section for her next pass through, then stood up and bounced on her heels quickly leaving the room behind.

Farther down the walkway and higher up was the lab. Dim light broke through a series of small stained glass windows which illuminated the stuffy and densely packed room.

Paper, scrolls, books, beakers, test tubes, and nearly everything you'd expect to find in the workstation of a mad scientist had a home in this place. In one corner there was a mortar and pestle with some kind of thick congealed fluid in it and its adjacent company was a series of dense notes that Bailey couldn't make sense of.

Wandering throughout the space she noticed an aquarium tucked away in the far corner of the room. She leaned over, poking at it and noted that it housed six small bats. They blinked awake and hissed, fluttering their discontent and she beamed, waving.

Every shelf and drawer visible was covered in tools, tests, or oddities and her eyes danced from spot to spot trying to take it all in.

One set of wooden shelves bore jars full of jelly that held, in some kind of artificial stasis, small creatures to be studied. Among them were lizards, a frog, and even a bird which she swore blinked at her.

Bailey would have never taken Dryle for the kind of person who cared about this stuff but to be fair most of her experience with the man thus far had been going on walks around the town and taking visits to Bloodcove for trade. Interesting as he was, curious as she was, he did like his secrets. That drew her in. Made her feel warm where she could only feel cold. Made her heart race when she'd sworn it'd frozen over years before.

A part of her worried that the attachment she felt was because of their shared condition and not based in any real emotion. A part of her would always run from the real question: Did she even feel emotion?

Cautiously she pressed two fingers to the soft of her neck where the bite wounds had scarred her dark skin.

No pulse.

She shook her head, closing the door behind her and starting across the catwalks again.

The end of the stairs stopped her ascent. Up here it was several ladders to get to the very top of the windmill which would take her up into a network very tightly packed, thin bridges. Those were used by the ghouls to work on the, currently, loud swinging blades outside. Nearby a set of perpendicular cogs rotated, spinning the shaft of the mill horizontally. The passing of those blades periodically let in the dim light of evening and kissed her with a gentle breeze. A breeze that could not be felt anywhere else in the structure. Instead it would be lost in the volume of the building, big as it was. But here? Right here? You could feel the wind.

She closed her eyes, chest rising and falling with breaths that had no purpose. A gentle gust pushed past her while the light of the falling sun faded and left the sky a cerulean-pitch, wind toying with her hair.

---

At some point in the day she found herself in the dining room inspecting a variety of odd looking dishes and harassing the ghouls for a snack. They brought her a ball made of chocolate and stuffed full of a blood she'd never before tasted. It was delicious and she munched idly, setting down the fine serving tray she'd been analyzing. Her attention instead had shifted to a glass case that sat on a shelf up against the wall. Too decorative, like nearly everything else Dryle owned, the case stood as a glistening beacon in the room, but its contents were modest. Inside it held a red gem. The cut of natural rock was almost identical to the one that Dryle wore on his chest, though this one was much smaller and had a wooden sign beneath that read 'pulse of the world'.

Quietly she popped the rest of her snack into her mouth, mopped her fingers off on her pants, and then opened the case. Setting the glass off to the side she gathered up the gem and chewed passively as she inspected it.

Almost immediately it began to glow a subtle, dim crimson.

"Huh." She muttered, stepping towards the door. It was pretty, deep red with a golden chain wrapped around it. The filigree that embellished it near the clasp curled down into hooks which she assumed would have allowed it to be mounted on something. Exactly like Dryle's. She'd never thought it pressing to ask about the gem before, but with this as some kind of mimic she-

Her foot hit a snag in the rug and she toppled forward, chin slamming into the wooden floor. Stars flooded her vision and she blinked in time to see her open palm spread out towards the catwalk and the golden glitter of the amulet's chain vanishing over the guard rails.

"Shit, no! No no no!" She shouted. Her palms smacked the floor and she sprang forward, snatching at empty air as the charm rolled out of reach and fell.

It hit a lower catwalk with a loud crack and rolled away, several ghouls watched it as it teetered on the edge of that walkway, between two rails, before toppling off and plummeting a few hundred more feet to the ground floor, encircling the bowl at the base of the mill shaft.

It circled once. Twice. Then vanished down, into the darkness.

Bailey knelt, aghast, holding two bars with her head craned between them, body locked in silent terror.

Realization began to flood her as the ghouls that had been watching resumed their silent work.

Oh.

Oh no.

"Oh no!" She shouted, hands flying to her hair, knotting into the mess of strands and pulling at her scalp. "Oh no, no no!" She barked, standing up and rushing to the stairway. Her clamor nearly threw a ghoul off the catwalks and she shoved another one into the wall, turning every corner as rapidly as she could. Only now did she realize how far the object had fallen.

As she hit the bottom floor she dropped her body into a slide, knees scraping the wood, small darts of pain flashing up through them. With a grunt of effort her palms stopped her momentum and she peered over the edge of the bowl and down into the small space between the shaft and the darkness beyond. Could it have even survived that fall?

Even if it had, where would it end up? Lost in the mill?

Bailey stood up and paced for a minute, mind racing. A thousand possibilities coursed through her head until her eyes eventually fell on the hatch that lead to the floors below.

The place Dryle had specifically told her not to go.

Shit.

---

She blinked, eyes adjusting to the new pitch-black of the lower windmill. Her hand came free of the handle she'd used to pull the hatch closed and she scrunched her nose as the scent she'd largely ignored up until now hit her like a rolling cart.

Down here that pungent smell of iron was much worse and was accompanied by a humidity that clung to her skin and clothes. Instinct told her what that smell was now, as strong as it was, and she felt her vision coil and tighten like a starving predator. Her mouth fell open, breath steaming in the air. All senses became starkly aware of how alone she was in that damp dark before she shook it and came back to reality. Monochrome as darkvision was, she was able to see the stairs before her and descend.

---

Two flights down the groan of the windmill's grinders went from a distant wail to a roar. Thunder rolled on each passing that came near the stairway and the smell of iron was growing impossibly stronger.

Another small series of steps and a turn around a stone wall opened the milling room before her. It was like a silo with huge blades that turned and rolled over each other, between them thick chunks of meat were being pressed and squeezed by the weight of the iron. Active as they were the wall near the stairs was painted red with the debris.

"Gross." She muttered, hurrying down further, noting the shaft exit at the bottom of the grinder. An indicator that there was an even deeper level. One that, as she saw it, caused a moment of frozen terror.

Lining every inch of available wall space in the following room were cages where hundreds of people sat in a haze. Hunched over in some kind of languid stasis they bore their arms forward, lacerations across them oozing blood. Grooves in the bottom of the cages led down like some kind of spiral and funneled together with a steady drip of coppery-red fluid from the turning shaft above. Some kind of pressure mechanism must have existed in the bowl where this foul stew collected because, occasionally, when the weight built up enough, something would make a clatter and open to drain the blood.

Bailey was frozen on the stairway and didn't notice the distant rooms against the back wall full of cots with people idly eating and drinking. They spoke, though their eyes seemed distant and entranced. Around the room ghouls roamed and would stop to check on them with their strange chatter-language.

Nearby one such ghoul was taking people out of the cages and letting them get some food and rest before turning to a growing line, lightly cutting a waiting individual, and putting them inside.

Bailey shook her head. What purpose this served she could only guess but she decided not to dwell on it and instead went further into the windmill.

---

Farther down were more rooms including one that had a sign in crudely written scrawl, Dryle's, that read: 'Trap room ain't finished, servant exit, sixth brick, unlit sconce. Don't fuck up my trap.' She snorted but followed the instructions to the sconce and located the switch. A hard click revealed a stairway in the wall after a door slid open and she pushed down it to the bottom floor.

Bailey looked around in a mixture of confusion and awe. As far as she could tell, this was a throne room with an enormous, red, antique looking chair against the far wall on a raised platform. Brick shelving rose off the perimeter of the walls and on their lip sat eight hour glasses. Four on each side with tubes dripping blood into them from above.

So this is where it was going?

Her eyes followed the tubes into the roof and she watched it for a moment before sense of dense panic began to claim her.

Where was that amulet?

This was the last room, there were no more- so if it wasn't here and wasn't in the mill or the cage room...

Bailey idly chewed her nails, staring at the ground for a moment. In her mind the lie was forming. She couldn't tell him the truth, obviously, so she'd have to fib.

One of the ghouls stole it, yes, and they wanted to show her the secret underground torture rooms and shitty trap construction so they used it as leverage to-

A soft slapping sound echoed nearby. Her head spun.

A ghoul stood with a mop cleaning up spilled blood from a recently replaced hourglass. Bits of that shattered glass lay strewn about the ground with thin crimson coating them.

But there, in the middle!

She clapped and rushed over, shooing the ghoul away to retrieve the amulet from the mess. With a quick flourish she dabbed the gore off of it. Good enough. Pocketing the amulet she looked around, searching for the stairs back out.

Her scan caused her to freeze.

Against the far wall, nearly hidden behind some well placed shelving was a door.

A leviathan door. Covered in inscriptions and images. Along the crease she counted six locks, two huge handles shaped like fangs laced symbols of blood and sorrow. Her heart fought to roar a beat of dread and her head pounded in response to the phantom thrum. This was what she had not been meant to see. She could feel it.

Not the rooms of people, mill, or throne-

But this.

And she noticed, biting her lip, that the locks were not closed.

---

The interior was an old wooden room, probably some cellar the vampire had repurposed for storage at first. Over time that had changed and the room had become a display of sorts. Or at least that's what it seemed.

Against the right wall were two shelves full of memorabilia from Dryle's youth, based on a journal she picked through, and with them sat a set of rusted shackles, a crown of twisted gold, and an old pair of well used daggers. They were iron. Peasant's iron.

Her eyes flitted across the relics. Had those shackles been his?

She set the journal down and lifted those iron clasps. They were no larger than the size of a child's wrists. Scratches on the cuff and chains, the lip of the iron worn by sweat.

A story in the lost object.

She had to look away, the intensity of their meaning too much. Instead her eyes turned to the center of the room.

Laid present was an ancient map where spots were marked with pins and bits of scrap paper had been tethered down with notes in a shorthand she couldn't interpret. To the right of the map was a table that held a pile of loose leather spines, the contents of the books they had held together in separate piles nearby. Sections were missing from the pages. Sometimes a name or an event.

Notes nearby indicated that was what he was looking for.

But why?

She found herself moving, noting the walls and the beautiful old art they were covered in. Most of it seemed strange and abstract; but common themes existed. A five-headed dragon, a fire elemental, ships in empty space or gargantuan beasts holding lanterns in the dark. The renderings were marked with dates that covered a span of time longer than she'd been alive. Some of them seemed even older than Dryle, but that couldn't be right. They depicted him, though it was usually with simple shapes and hard lines. As if his image was hard to capture or nearly forgotten.

She moved onward and lost herself for a moment.

More rows of stories, more rows of memories.

And for a moment she could hear his voice.

"This is where we walked when- That's who gave me- This is how I made it out of-"

An echo.

A memory?

Why would that exist.

Her eyes dripped warm blood, chin lined in a thin red trail.

A reminder that she did feel.

But why was it that the only thing she ever felt, pain?

In the back of the room, set up against the wall, was a stand that held a suit of white and gold armor. It was shapely, in some places, where the combat leathers had been set to fit a more feminine figure.

And for a moment she might have considered it Dryle's if not for the colors.

In one hand her fingers were coiled around the amulet and the other was extended, fingers touching the perfectly polished surface of the plate. She traced the spires and ridges. The peaks and valleys and imagined for a moment the woman that must have worn this armor.

"It took me years to find it." Dryle said, softly. His voice traveling the span of the room.

She closed her eyes, turning slowly to face him before opening them again.

His form was laden with shadow, hunched in the dark near the door. He stood from where he leaned, hands in his pockets, and crossed the room.

She watched wordlessly as he adjusted the journal, fixed the angle of the shackles, and drew his fingers slowly over the edge of the map where she'd rest her palms while gazing.

"You've been crying." He said, extending a hand and sending a flick of arcane energy to pick up the blood on the ground, but not her cheeks or chin.

"How long were you there?" She asked, quietly.

She'd expected him to be mad, furious even- but... there was a calm in his eyes. A serenity. A relief.

"Long enough." He said, stopping even with her and reaching out to touch the armor as well. Following the same path her hand had taken, stopping where she'd stopped.

An eternity passed before he spoke. The distance between them a near chasm and Bailey's dead heart begging to rush into action, to fill the silence.

But that was the curse of the dead.

Eternal patience.

Eternal quiet.

When he finally spoke it seemed as if it was coming from some distant tunnel or far-away land. Perhaps one of the forgotten places on the map?

"I have a good memory, Bailey. Flawless almost." He said. "I remember my time in the Shelves, I remember who I was before all this started; but I don't remember them." He said, eyes fixated on the armor. "I can't remember their names, faces, or what they sounded like. Art I find is broken or scarred. Stories are missing pages; something happened." He said softly.

His hand coiled into a fist and he turned to her, eyes like slits of black coal in the darkness. Eyes that could consume. Inside him lied a passionate rage that boiled unfulfilled, questions unanswered. And now, she could see for the first time, a burden shared.

"A lot of what I remember from back then was fuzzy when I showed back up- you know? And ever since I returned I've been spending weeks and months and years trying to figure out if those vague memories I have were even real. If any of it really happened at all." He said, uncurling his coiled fist.

"My friends, the people we saved, the journey we shared, and even her." He said, looking to the helmet of the armor.

Bailey followed his gaze and stepped closer to him. "Who was she?" She asked.

"My mother." He said.

And that silence came again.

"I'm sorry." She said, finally.

"Don't be." He said, pulling his hand away and gently reaching for hers.

Bailey nervously let him grab it and he carefully guided it back to the metal.

"Flatten your palm, Bailey. I want to show you something." He insisted. She nodded.

After a second or two she could feel something.

A soft thrumming.

Familiar, distant.

A heartbeat.

She turned to him with wide eyes and he smiled at her playfully.

"Interesting isn't it? I wondered for years why I could always feel a beating in that little trinket she'd given me." He said, pointing to the crystal in her hand. "Found out that she'd imbued her heartbeat into it and into this armor."

"But isn't she dead?" Bailey asked, drawing her hand off of the metal.

"Yeah, but the world isn't- and that was how she was Bailey. She always had the pulse of the world in her veins." He said opening his palm towards her.

Bailey glanced down to the gem in her hands and Dryle nodded.

She handed it over and followed his motions as he reached up and wrapped it around the neck of the armor, letting it settle on the breastplate.

"I kept it upstairs because I couldn't stand to leave the only memories I have of her, solid inarguable ones, in this dungeon." He said, then turned to her with a grin. "But something tells me you won't let me forget her, will you?" He said.

"Or yourself." Bailey said softly, reaching up to wipe away a bloody tear.

Dryle softened. Posture visibly shaken, but he recomposed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said, stern.

"You can't leave who you were down here to rot, Dryle. You're not dead."

"Honey." Dryle said, lifting her chin and beaming. "I'm a vampire. I've been dead for a long time now."

She opened her mouth to debate but he winked and pushed her jaw closed.

"Come on, kiddo." He said, grabbing her hand and moving her towards the door.

Running, even this slowly, that's what it was.

The feelings, the emotions she wished she had were buried here with his.

Locked away behind a large door with too many rules to be viewed by the silence of the dead.

She wouldn't let him run.

They'd be back.

Because, even as he closed the door behind them and locked it up, she felt something had changed.

He'd shared something.

He'd felt again, felt possibly for the first time in thousands of years.

And so had she.

And she'd never let that die.

No matter how many locks he tried to use.

#dungeons and dragons #d&d #podcast #tabletop #writing #dryle #bailey #drailey

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