#instead of bona -fide?

[rinajjbp]

I bet Two-Bit has called Ponyboy a “pony-fide” genius at some point.

[yinyuedijun]

my worst fear is that the sixth love interest of lads ends up being a blonde and I get back into the game for him. you guys know what to do if that happens

[fideidefenswhore]

Yeah I like to see some quotes please. I can't really get my head round people believing in Mary's bona fides when the law didn't even exist in England. It's like Americans obsessing over a law only Canadians have. But I guess loyalty/sentiment/status quo was a big part of it.

Well, I don't think most noblewo/men were deeply well-versed in succession/inheritance laws of England and all their precedents, unless they'd happened to also study law...the assumption was probably that what was the law in most of Christendom was for England as well, understandably. But, then, that's not even a subject that seems to be well-understood in 21c historiography:

“[Henry VIII] now argued she would would be barred by illegitimacy. This contention puzzled continental contemporaries because elsewhere in western Europe those children born to couples who in good faith believed themselves validly married were treated as legitimate. Nevertheless, Henry was right. After a period of some uncertainty, by the late fourteenth century England had opted out of the bona fides principle. As Sir John Baker notes, 'succession problems were usually debated in legal terms and in accordance with the common law canons of inheritance.’ A successful challenge to his marriage would thus automatically bastardise Mary and leave Henry no direct heir… [although] Mary could have been legitimated by statute.” - JF Hadwin, Katherine of Aragon and the Veil, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History

... so that's, for the 16c, like I said, an understandable assumption. (Also, their source was probably Chapuys, who was familiar with both secular and church law, but espoused many misunderstandings of their precedents, too...so did Fisher, they're enumerated in another article by the same historian, titled Leviticus, Deuteronomy and Henry VIII, I will post those relevant quotes too, if they're of interest to you, asw).

Yeah, the bona fides element was... an interesting one, nevertheless...like, all the interrogations I mentioned, everyone says they've heard Mary was bona fides but won't really explain what it meant, they admit their ignorance on the subject, and won't name the source of where they've heard it (although, like I mentioned, they are willing to point fingers to deflect suspicion off themselves of their former friends in other regards), just assert that they all sort of mindlessly (lol) repeated what they'd heard, all, understandably, to maintain plausible deniability and get themselves out of the hot water they've landed themselves in.

For the Exeter conspiracy, I've posted one relevant in the past, I'll see what else I can scrounge up from my notes of excerpts.

It was, but I don't think courtier opportunism should be underestimated. Just one example, but I always remember that the Marquis of Exeter was one of the delegation of nobles HVIII sent to pressure CoA to relinquish her rights as Queen, tell Charles V to stop interfering in the matter, and one of the conspirators named by Chapuys in the Boleyn downfall. Granted, his wife had been one of Mary's supporters from very early on, so I think that element is there.

Elitism is probably an overestimated element, like while it's true the Boleyns were not born of royalty (neither were the Seymours, tho, so like...); I think what was going on beneath the surface was more intricate. Take Nicholas Carew, for example: originally, he'd been of the Boleyn faction, understandably, since they were cousins (he also, initially at least, seemed to favour a French alliance, so there's that). But I think what began as , well, the King needs a son, and if he's going to marry another wife, it might as well be a woman of my family as anyone else, to my benefit as much as anyone else...well, I think the shine came off this as matters unfolded. The thrust of their expectations were probably that AB was going to have as much, or less, influence as her predecessor with Henry, and her influence and power quickly outstripped those expectations. As the Boleyns gained power, wealth, and influence, and as men like Carew felt their own influence ebb in favour of say, George Boleyn (and I use him as an example, because by early 1536, it's evident many noblemen hated George, Lancelot de Carles' report of those events really crystallizes this)...well, resentment only grew, and their desire for the return of the status quo was thus kindled.

[cartoonrival]

seriously should update my blog theme and pinned but since i cycle through medias very quickly i dont even know what i would put... nothing speaks to me.. also who am i without vaguely lesbian omega

[pokemonfrommemory]

Armored lion

[solxamber]

How to Tame Your Dragon - Malleus Draconia x reader

Since you and Malleus have gotten into a relationship, you've become a bona-fide dragon soother. But whenever you fumble, the entirety of NRC faces the consequences.

aka the 7 times you cause ecological disasters and the 1 time it works out for you.

this is one of my favorite works i hope y'all enjoy it too

Instance 1: The Unbirthday Party Fumble

It all started so innocently, as most disasters do.

You were sitting on a bench in the gardens with Malleus, who was in one of his "look at my shiny things" moods. He had decided to show you his prized possessions from his extensive, possibly cursed, hoard. Usually, this was an easy gig. You’d nod, say something like “Wow, so shiny,” and then give him a kiss. Easy peasy.

But not today.

Because today, your brain decided to take a little vacation while your body stayed behind, stuck on autopilot.

You were half-paying attention, your focus more on the distant ruckus over at Heartslabyul’s tea party, where Ace and Deuce were most definitely in the middle of doing something stupid. Riddle was probably screaming about proper fork placement, Trey was juggling a thousand responsibilities, and Cater was... doing whatever Cater does.

You could hear the faint sounds of plates clinking and people panicking about the sugar cubes being uneven. It was practically a symphony of disaster waiting to happen.

Meanwhile, Malleus was holding up what looked like a teapot. But not just any teapot—this thing was ornate. Gleaming, intricate patterns, probably blessed by some ancient fae god of beverages. You didn’t notice any of that, though.

Instead, when Malleus asked in his deep, romantic, “I’m-giving-you-a-piece-of-my-soul” voice, “Do you like it, my treasure?” you waved him off like he’d just shown you a half-eaten sandwich.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Looks fine.”

Silence.

Not just any silence. The kind of silence where the air pressure changes and you suddenly realize you might’ve done something very, very bad.

You blinked, finally looking over at Malleus, and oh no. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pursed, and a shadow seemed to fall over him—literally. The sky darkened as if the heavens were in on his mood. His grip on the teapot tightened, and you could swear the wind started to howl.

Oh, no no no.

The moment you realized your mistake, the storm was already brewing. Quite literally. The sky went from clear to “about to smite someone” in about two seconds flat. You could feel the temperature drop, and leaves started swirling around like they were auditioning for a role in a natural disaster movie.

You were in for it now.

Meanwhile, at the world’s most cursed tea party:

Riddle was just getting ready to pour the first cup of tea when the wind decided to yeet the tablecloth right off the table. Teacups clattered, pastries took flight, and the entire garden descended into chaos.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN’S LAWS—” Riddle screamed, clutching a teapot like it was his last lifeline.

Ace, currently dodging a rogue scone, looked over at the sky. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Is this a Malleus thing?”

Deuce, who was using a sugar bowl as a makeshift helmet, shouted over the wind. “It’s always a Malleus thing! Why do I even ask anymore?!”

Cater, hair blown sideways and desperately trying to keep his phone in hand, was trying to snap a selfie in the chaos. “Guys, this is prime MagiCam content—wait, no, my phone’s gone!” He dove after it as it got carried away in the wind.

Riddle, already on the verge of a meltdown, turned to Trey, who was trying to shield a cake from the incoming storm. “I demand an explanation!”

Trey, forever the calm one, glanced up. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say the prefect did something to upset Malleus.”

“OF COURSE, THEY DID,” Riddle shrieked, practically levitating with fury. “Why do we suffer every time they breathe near him?!”

“I don’t know, but we need to fix it before Riddle explodes!” Ace said, dodging a flying plate.

Deuce grabbed Ace’s arm. “We need to talk to them! Make them apologize or something!”

And so, in the middle of the flying teapots and pastries of doom, the group sprinted to find you, dodging airborne desserts and Riddle’s wrath.

Back at the epicenter of destruction:

You were still sitting there, eyes wide as you watched Malleus literally brood so hard it summoned a small hurricane. “Uh, Malleus…?”

He didn’t respond. Nope, he was fully in Pouty Dragon Mode™. The sky darkened even more, the wind howling, the trees bending, and you could faintly hear the sound of Ace, Deuce, and the others screaming in the distance.

Your casual dismissal of the teapot had, quite literally, ruined lives.

Before you could say anything else, the chaos squad came barreling toward you like a human avalanche, looking like they’d been through a war zone.

Ace was covered in frosting, Deuce had bits of shattered china stuck in his hair, and Trey was holding onto what looked like the remnants of a cake stand. Cater was still trying to get a selfie in, even though he looked like he’d been through a tornado.

“FIX. THIS.” Ace wheezed, dropping to his knees dramatically. “BEFORE WE ALL DIE.”

“Riddle’s about to combust,” Deuce added, his eyes wide. “Please. We’re begging you.”

Trey just gave you a calm look. “If you don’t make this right soon, I don’t know if we’ll make it to the end of the day.”

You sighed, realizing there was no escape. You’d have to face the storm—literally—and make things right.

Turning back to Malleus, you slid off the bench and stood in front of him, gently tugging on his sleeve. “Malleus?”

His eyes, still stormy, met yours, but he didn’t say anything. The wind continued to howl, the sky still dark.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your teapot. It’s beautiful, really. I was just…distracted.”

Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the wind died down just a little. Progress.

“I’d never intentionally dismiss something that’s important to you,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “Please forgive me? I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”

The storm finally started to calm as Malleus’s expression softened. The sky cleared up, and the wind turned into a gentle breeze.

He sighed dramatically, though it was more theatrical than anything. “Very well, my treasure. I suppose I can forgive you this time. But you owe me proper attention.”

Relieved, you grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I give you all the attention you want right now?”

That did it. The storm completely vanished, and Malleus’s mood visibly brightened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a possessive, yet affectionate embrace. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head.

Behind you, the chaos squad groaned.

“Oh, sure,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “One cute kiss, and suddenly the hurricane stops. What even is our life?”

“Let’s just never bring up teapots again,” Deuce muttered, shaking bits of pastry out of his hair.

Cater, who had finally managed to get a decent selfie, grinned. “Well, at least we survived!”

You chuckled as Malleus nuzzled into your hair, clearly pleased with your apology. At least for now, disaster had been averted. But something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to apologize for accidentally setting off your dragon boyfriend.

But hey, at least you had kisses to fix everything, right?

Instance 2: The compliment conundrum

It started as one of those innocent slip-ups—the kind that makes you wonder why you even opened your mouth in the first place. You were lounging by the side of the spelldrive field, watching NRC’s teams practice. Malleus, busy handling his own royal duties, hadn’t been able to make it to practice today, so you’d spent the afternoon watching Leona and his squad dominate the field.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were just… appreciating talent, right? And Leona was talented. You couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly dodged tackles, sending spells whizzing through the air with precision. The guy was annoying, sure, but he had undeniable skill.

So when you casually mentioned to Jack and Ruggie, “Man, Leona’s got some impressive moves,” you thought nothing of it.

Until you felt the ground crack beneath you.

You froze mid-sentence, glancing around as a creeping, eerie silence settled over the field. The other players stopped in their tracks, confusion spreading across their faces. The once lush, green training grounds were slowly transforming before your very eyes—the grass yellowing, the soil drying, the sky dimming. It was like nature had collectively decided, Nope, we’re out.

Jack blinked at the ground, then at you, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Did… Did you just—?”

Ruggie, a master of putting two and two together, slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, no. Not again.”

Before you could even ask what was happening, you heard the faintest sound of rumbling in the distance, like some ancient, angry being had woken up from its nap. And that’s when the full weight of your mistake hit you.

You’d praised Leona. And Malleus, who was more possessive than a dragon guarding his hoard, definitely heard you.

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, already starting to backpedal. “Oh, crap, crap, crap—”

The drought spread faster, draining every last drop of moisture from the air. The once-pristine spelldrive field now looked like a scene out of some post-apocalyptic desert movie. Cracks snaked across the ground, the once-refreshing breeze now felt like it was straight out of the Sahara, and the remaining players started wheezing from the dry heat.

Leona, of course, was the first to piece things together. He sauntered over, glancing at the parched earth beneath his feet, then back up at you with a deadly glare.

You tried to stammer out an excuse, but Ruggie was already grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the nearest path off the field. Jack, looking somewhere between worried and resigned, trailed after you.

“Listen,” Ruggie said in a panic, “we gotta fix this now, or the whole school’s gonna turn into a wasteland.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you protested as they half-dragged you across the desertified landscape. “It was just a compliment!”

“You can’t just compliment Leona when you’re dating Malleus!” Jack huffed, sweat dripping from his forehead as the oppressive heat intensified. “You should know better by now!”

You felt a bead of sweat trickle down your temple as you tried to keep up with their frantic pace. “I didn’t know he was that possessive!”

“Oh, he is,” Ruggie muttered, glancing nervously at the sky. “And he’s sulking. You know what that means.”

You groaned. Yes, you did know what that meant. A sulking Malleus equaled world-ending storms, natural disasters, and in this case—apocalyptic droughts.

Leona, who had followed you guys, clearly had enough of this nonsense. He stomped up behind you, glaring daggers. “You’ve ruined my field,” he growled, voice dripping with irritation. “Do me a favor and never say anything nice about me again.”

“Don’t worry, Leona,” you sighed, exasperated. “I’ll only insult you from now on. Promise.”

“Good,” Leona grumbled, adjusting his collar. “Now fix your dragon before I lose my mind.”

By the time you reached Malleus, the situation had reached catastrophic levels. The entire island felt like it was one sunny day away from turning into a desert. The sky was an angry, cloudless blue, and even the birds had fled, probably deciding they didn’t want to risk spontaneous combustion.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, sat your dragon boyfriend, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as you’d ever seen him. His aura was practically radiating misery.

“Malleus,” you called out, panting from the trek across the sun-baked campus.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, but didn’t say a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the pout written all over his face.

Ruggie gave you a light shove. “Well, go on. Apologize before we all die of thirst.”

You shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, you stepped closer to Malleus and knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He huffed, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. “You praised another.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only have eyes for you, you know that.”

Malleus remained silent for a moment, but you could feel his mood softening. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly, the heat less intense, the grass no longer crumbling beneath your feet.

“I don’t like sharing your admiration,” he murmured, still not quite looking at you. “Especially with him.”

“Leona’s not a threat,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “He’s too busy napping to notice, anyway.”

That earned a tiny smirk from Malleus, though he was clearly still in sulk mode. You couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled into his neck, placing little butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Come on… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll praise you for hours if you want. No one is more worthy of my compliments than you.”

That finally did the trick. His stiff posture relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he murmured, turning his head to look at you. “I suppose I can forgive you… this time.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Malleus, now fully basking in your affection, wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head. The sky finally returned to normal, the air cooling down, and the earth itself seemed to let out a relieved sigh.

Meanwhile, back on the now-saved-from-death spelldrive field, Leona collapsed onto the cracked ground with an annoyed grunt. “I swear, if they ever break up, I’m moving to a different continent.”

“Honestly, same,” Ruggie groaned, lying down beside him. Jack just nodded in agreement, too tired to even complain.

But as the world finally returned to normal, and you cuddled up against your not-so-grumpy-anymore dragon boyfriend, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be more careful with your compliments from now on.

…Maybe.

Instance 3: Dinner Downpour

It had started out as an innocent evening. Just you, Malleus, and a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge. You figured it was a good idea—a cozy meal, some quiet time away from the usual chaos. Plus, Malleus had never been to the Lounge before, and you wanted to show him a little piece of what passed for fine dining at NRC.

Everything was going smoothly. The candlelight cast a soft glow over the table, and Malleus seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he occasionally side-eyed the giant aquariums and questionable dishes swimming in ink. You were halfway through your meal when it happened. The moment that would soon be known as The Great Mostro Lounge Flood of the Century.

Malleus, eyes warm and his tone utterly princely, leaned toward you as the waiter left the bill on the table. “Allow me to cover this,” he said, reaching for his wallet—or whatever it was that dragons carry their horde in. “I would like to treat you.”

You, not sensing the danger, waved him off with a smile. “No need, Malleus. I’ve got this.”

Oh no.

If you could rewind time, maybe you would’ve noticed the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. The tiniest furrow of his brow, the faint tightening of his grip on his silverware. But you didn’t. You were oblivious. You, poor unfortunate soul, paid the bill yourself.

And that’s when the first clap of thunder rolled through the building.

It didn’t take long for things to go from zero to we’re-all-gonna-die levels of chaos. The sky outside darkened almost instantly, rain pouring down like the heavens had just decided to empty all their buckets at once. But it wasn’t just rain—oh no, this was a full-blown, hurricane-tier downpour. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shocked faces of the Mostro Lounge patrons as water started seeping in through the windows.

Inside, chaos erupted. The once-elegant ambiance of the Mostro Lounge turned into something out of a disaster movie. Jade was frantically trying to keep the dining area dry with what looked like twenty towels, but the water just kept rising. Floyd was sitting on top of a table, cackling at the sheer absurdity of it all, while Azul was on the verge of a mental breakdown, clutching his ledger to his chest as if it could somehow save him from bankruptcy.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Azul’s voice broke through the chaos as he practically teleported to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a maraca.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, still processing the fact that the place was flooding. “We were just having dinner!”

“Oh, you were ‘just having dinner,’” Azul mocked, his voice climbing an octave as the water level rose past your ankles. “Sure, just dinner—and now I’m watching my profits swim away!”

Jade appeared next, a suspiciously calm smile on his face despite the absolute catastrophe around him. “You didn’t happen to upset the prince of Briar Valley, did you?”

Floyd leaned in, grinning like a maniac. “Yeah, did ya snub him or somethin’? This is hilarious.”

Your face paled. Oh no. You replayed the scene in your head—the offer to pay, your refusal—and realization hit you like one of the lightning bolts currently striking outside. “Oh my god. He’s upset because I didn’t let him pay.”

“That’s it?!” Floyd burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “All this ‘cause you didn’t let him foot the bill? Man, that’s rich!”

Azul’s eye twitched. “Fix. This. Now.”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” you protested, feeling the water slosh against your calves as the storm outside intensified. “I just wanted to treat him for once!”

“Clearly, that was a mistake,” Jade said, entirely too serene for someone standing in knee-deep water. “I suggest you… rectify it.”

“Rectify it,” Azul echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Or I swear I’ll have you and your little dragon both in debt until you’re ancient fossils.”

Floyd, still howling with laughter, gave you a light shove toward the entrance. “Better hurry, Shrimpy, before we gotta start charging people for canoe rentals!”

You rushed outside, braving the storm as the winds whipped around you. The ground was already flooded, rain pelting down so hard you could barely see two feet in front of you. But there, standing in the middle of it all like some tragic figure from a gothic romance novel, was Malleus.

He wasn’t even trying to shield himself from the rain—he just stood there, soaked, staring up at the stormy sky as if summoning the wrath of the heavens. His mood was palpable, the air around him crackling with discontent.

“Malleus!” you called out, running over and nearly slipping in a puddle. “Malleus, wait!”

He glanced down at you, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by his usual regal composure. “I thought… I could treat you. It seems you do not trust me to do even that.”

You winced. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. You should’ve known better—Malleus was always thinking about how to show you he cared, and this was just one more way for him to do that. And you’d brushed him off without realizing the significance.

“Hey, that’s not it at all,” you said softly, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “I just… I wanted to treat you this time. But I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”

The storm rumbled ominously overhead, but you could feel his mood starting to shift.

You squeezed his hands, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t appreciate it. You always take such good care of me.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his posture. “I simply wished to show you how much I treasure our time together.”

“And I treasure you,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “So how about this—I’ll let you treat me next time. Dinner, ice cream, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you replied, kissing him again for good measure. “But for now, maybe we could, uh… ease up on the weather a bit? I think Azul’s about to have a heart attack.”

Malleus chuckled softly, the storm clouds above beginning to break apart as the rain slowed to a drizzle. “Very well. I shall spare them—for now.”

Back inside the Lounge, Azul was clinging to his precious ledger like a lifeline, watching with wide eyes as the floodwaters slowly receded. The place was still a soaked mess, but at least it wasn’t Atlantis anymore.

Floyd, leaning against the bar, gave you a lazy grin as you walked back in, hand-in-hand with Malleus. “Well, looks like you managed to cool down your dragon, huh? Good job, Shrimpy.”

Jade smiled pleasantly, though you could tell there was relief in his gaze. “The Lounge owes you a great debt.”

Azul, drenched and looking like he’d aged ten years, just sighed. “Please. Next time… just let him pay.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Noted.”

Malleus, still holding your hand, glanced down at you with a fond expression. “Shall we continue our evening?”

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his affection, even if he had almost accidentally drowned the entire restaurant. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And as you left the Mostro Lounge, water still dripping from the ceiling and Floyd’s laughter echoing behind you, you couldn’t help but think that for all the chaos that came with dating the prince of Briar Valley, it was worth every second.

Instance 4: Deserted Dreams

It all started with an innocent suggestion over breakfast. You and Malleus were sitting at your usual spot in Diasomnia, peacefully munching on breakfast. Things were nice, calm—Malleus was in a good mood, the sun was shining, and there hadn’t been any catastrophic magical incidents for a solid two days.

But, of course, you just had to ruin it.

"So," you said, casually buttering a slice of toast, "I was thinking… maybe for our next vacation, instead of going to Briar Valley again, we could head over to the Scalding Sands? I heard Kalim raving about the heat and all the festivals, and I thought it might be fun to experience a little warmth for a change."

Malleus, who had been sipping his tea, froze. He looked at you, his eyes wide and a bit too intense. "The Scalding Sands?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you know—sun, sand, maybe a beach or two. Something different!" You smiled, clearly not reading the massive red flags flying in the air. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, Briar Valley is great and all, but we always go there. I thought a change of scenery would be nice!"

And that, was when the Dorms of Scarabia and Diasomnia turned into a hellish desert wasteland.

It started slowly—just a bit of extra heat creeping into the room, making you fidget in your seat. Then it escalated. The temperature spiked dramatically, and before you knew it, the dorm felt like someone had thrown open the gates to the underworld and invited the sun to personally burn it all down. You swore you could hear the sound of sand shifting beneath your feet, though you were still indoors. Indoors, for crying out loud!

Malleus sat in silence, clearly displeased. His usual dark, moody aura was now tinged with the kind of slow-boiling frustration that made you realize: you’d made a huge mistake.

Just as you were about to apologize and backpedal your way out of the desertification of Diasomnia and Scarabia, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by a chorus of complaints.

You stepped out of the dorm and were met with chaos. The whole area around Diasomnia had transformed into an arid, sweltering desert. The grass? Gone. The trees? Withered. The nice, cool breeze that used to blow through? Now replaced by blistering heat waves. Students were dragging themselves around, sweating profusely as the once lush grounds became a scorching wasteland.

At the heart of the chaos stood Kalim, as cheerful as ever, while a very sweaty and very done Jamil stood nearby, looking like he had reached the end of his rope.

Jamil spotted you immediately and marched over, steam practically rising off his skin. “What did you do?!” he hissed, looking like he was five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

"I—" you stammered, glancing at Kalim, who was happily waving a fan like he was at a resort.

"Isn’t this great?!" Kalim chirped, smiling ear to ear. "It feels just like home! Now we can have all the desert parties we want! Thanks for the heatwave!"

You blinked. "Um… you’re welcome?"

"No," Jamil interjected, glaring at you like you’d personally set him on fire. “Don’t thank them! What possessed you to turn Scarabia into a furnace?!”

You grimaced, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not my fault! I just suggested we vacation in the Scalding Sands instead of Briar Valley and—"

"You did what?!" Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. "So because you didn’t want to vacation in Briar Valley, this happens? Do you know how long it’s going to take to get the dorm back to normal? Or the fact that I’m now stuck babysitting Kalim in what feels like the surface of the sun?"

Kalim, still oblivious to the suffering around him, beamed. “You should make up with Malleus! Then maybe we can have two vacations!”

Jamil’s eye twitched.

It didn’t take long before you were escorted (dragged) back to Malleus, courtesy of a very sunburned Jamil and a still-chipper Kalim. They deposited you at the door to Diasomnia, giving you the kind of look that screamed fix this, or we’ll make you regret it.

Sighing, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Unsurprisingly, it was even hotter indoors than it had been outside. Malleus was sitting in the corner of the common room, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he was contemplating the deep mysteries of life—or brooding over your vacation suggestion. Probably the latter.

“Malleus?” you called softly, approaching him carefully as the air around him practically sizzled with residual magic.

He didn’t respond, still looking like a dragon that had just been told his gold stash was getting replaced with copper coins.

You sighed and knelt down in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it’d be nice to see a new place, but if you want to go back to Briar Valley, that’s totally fine. We can go wherever you want.”

Malleus blinked, finally looking down at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You wished to travel somewhere unfamiliar,” he murmured, his voice low. “I should have taken your desires into account. But… the thought of you preferring another land over mine… it unsettled me.”

You blinked. “Wait, is that what this is about? Malleus, I love Briar Valley! I just wanted to try something new, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back. We could go anywhere, and I’d be happy as long as I’m with you.”

He softened even more, the heat in the room fading as his magic began to relax. “You mean that?”

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course I do.”

His arms, once tense, reached out to pull you into his lap, holding you close as if the idea of you slipping away to some other land without him had weighed far too heavily on his mind. You snuggled into him, feeling the last traces of heatwave melt away into nothing but warmth and comfort.

Malleus nuzzled his face into your hair, his voice a soft rumble. “Then we shall go wherever your heart desires. As long as we are together.”

You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Okay, deal. But, uh, maybe we avoid any more heatwave-related disasters? Jamil might actually combust next time.”

Malleus chuckled softly, his mood lightening as he held you close. “Very well. I shall spare them from further torment… this time.”

And as you cuddled into him, the remnants of the desert wasteland outside slowly returning to normal, you couldn’t help but think that as long as you had Malleus (and could keep him happy), the world—weather catastrophes included—would be just fine.

Instance 5: Fashion Fiasco

You and Malleus were at one of Vil’s fashion shows, sitting in the audience with everyone else as Vil strutted his stuff on the runway, looking absolutely flawless as per usual. The lights sparkled, the music boomed, and Vil practically radiated beauty and grace in an outfit that could only be described as something plucked straight from a dream.

"Wow," you breathed, eyes wide as you watched Vil pose dramatically at the end of the runway. "Vil really does look amazing, doesn’t he? Like, how is anyone supposed to compete with that level of perfection?"

Malleus, sitting beside you, went absolutely still.

It didn’t register right away. You were too busy marveling at Vil’s next ensemble to notice Malleus stiffening beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But as the next model waltzed down the runway, you felt a sudden chill in the air. Literally.

You blinked. Was it just you, or was it… colder? You glanced up at the ceiling, frowning as tiny snowflakes started to drift down from nowhere. The air grew icy, your breath visible as the temperature plummeted in mere seconds.

"What the—" You stood up, just in time to see the entire fashion show being transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Snow was now falling heavily, frosting over the runway, the lights, and, most importantly, Vil’s perfect hair.

The shriek that followed was one of pure, unbridled horror.

“No! My HAIR!” Vil screeched, desperately clutching his head as snowflakes clung to his golden locks, which were slowly wilting under the weight of the ice. “This is a disaster!”

Models fled the scene, their designer clothes dragging through snowdrifts that were rapidly accumulating on stage. The music cut off, the audience panicked, and Vil looked like he was about five seconds away from declaring the end of the world.

Amidst the chaos, Rook Hunt stood in the middle of the snowy storm, spinning in circles with glee. “Magnifique!” he cried, twirling with open arms as if he were auditioning for a Broadway production of Frozen. “The raw beauty of nature meets the elegance of fashion—oh, how the world has blessed us with this miracle of frost!”

“ROOK!” Vil screeched again, eyes wide and wild as he tried—and failed—to maintain some sense of composure. “This is NOT a miracle! This is a CATASTROPHE! My show—my hair!”

Epel, looking somewhere between terrified and confused, rushed up to you, nearly slipping on the snow-covered floor in his haste. “We need your help!” he gasped, grabbing your arm and shaking it with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake here. “You have to do something! Malleus is causing the storm!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that this wasn’t just some freak weather event but a full-on emotional meltdown from your very moody fae boyfriend.

“Malleus is… mad?” you asked, finally connecting the dots.

“Of course he’s mad!” Epel huffed, snowflakes clinging to his own purple hair. “You complimented Vil! Now he thinks you like Vil more than him! We’re all gonna freeze to death if you don’t fix it!”

“Oh… oh no.”

It took a few minutes (and a shove from a panicked Vil) to find Malleus, who had retreated to the far corner of the room, looking like a grumpy snow dragon with his arms crossed and snowflakes swirling around him. His expression was dark, brooding, and way too dramatic for someone who was causing a blizzard in the middle of a fashion show.

You approached cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice that was now coating the floor. “Malleus?” you called softly, inching closer. “Are you… okay?”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you were quite taken with Vil’s appearance today.”

You blinked, a bit thrown off by the sheer seriousness in his tone. “Uh, I mean… yeah, Vil’s always beautiful. But, um, you know that’s just how he is. It’s his whole thing.”

Malleus’s frown deepened. “So you find him more beautiful than me.”

Oh. Oh.

You nearly facepalmed at the realization. “Malleus, no, that’s not what I meant!” you rushed to say, waving your hands in a flustered manner. “Vil is beautiful, but you—you’re, like, otherworldly! You know, fae beauty and all that. No one could possibly compare!”

Malleus eyed you warily, his lips pursed. “So… you do not prefer him over me?"

“Of course not!” you said quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I know. No one comes close to your level of magnificence, I swear.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, ever so slowly, the storm began to die down. The snowflakes stopped falling, the icy chill in the air dissipated, and the temperature returned to normal. Malleus’s expression softened, his moody sulk fading as he looked down at you with a much gentler gaze.

“Is that truly how you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course, Malleus. You’re my favorite, always.”

Malleus visibly brightened at that, his usual regal aura returning as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a warm embrace. “Very well, then. I shall forgive this transgression. But only because you have reassured me of your affections.”

You giggled, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll make sure to tell you more often how beautiful you are.”

Vil then walks directly up to you and stares you down. "If you're done wrecking my show, could ypu please keep your dragon in check?"

All you can do is grin sheepishly at him.

Instance 6: Gaming Shenanigans

It all started because of that one last raid. You and Idia were deep in an epic gaming marathon, tackling a boss so difficult that even Idia—self-proclaimed gaming god—had to break out his limited-edition controller. It was all good fun, hours flying by without you even noticing, as you spammed attacks and worked together like the perfect gaming duo you were.

That is, until Idia hit you with a question that made your stomach drop.

"So, uh, aren't you supposed to, like... do something tonight?" Idia asked, mid-battle. His voice was a little too casual, almost like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to figure it out yourself.

You froze for a split second, still pressing buttons but no longer fully paying attention. Something... tonight? What could he—

Oh no.

You had plans tonight. With Malleus.

Specifically, your nightly walks around campus, which had become somewhat of a ritual. Every night, you’d stroll through the darkened grounds, hand-in-hand, talking about anything and everything. It was Malleus’s favorite part of the day—something he eagerly looked forward to.

And you’d… forgotten.

Your eyes darted to your phone, which was lying face down on the desk, completely ignored for the last several hours. You didn’t even need to check it to know what you’d find: missed calls, unread messages, probably a voicemail or two from Malleus, wondering where you were.

"Oh no," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of explosions and battle cries on screen.

"Wait, what?" Idia’s character paused for a second as he glanced at you. "Did you just say 'oh no'? What 'oh no'? Are we talking minor 'oh no' or, like, 'I've-angered-a-final-boss-oh-no'?"

You gulped, heart sinking as you realized just how much trouble you were in. "Um... the second one. Definitely the second one."

Before Idia could even react, the room went dark. The power cut out so fast, you barely had time to process it. The glow of the screens, the hum of electronics—all gone, leaving only the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.

Idia's horrified gasp echoed through the sudden silence.

"No. No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening! We were in the middle of a raid!” His hands flew to his hair, the blue flames flickering wildly as panic set in. "Dude, you forgot your dragon?!"

The color drained from your face as the gravity of the situation fully hit. “I—um—got distracted?”

Idia’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast his chair rolled backwards. "Distracted?! You forgot about your nightly walks with the dragon fae, and now we’re sitting in a power outage caused by his emotional spiral?!”

In the faint glow of Idia’s flame-lit hair, you saw Ortho zip into the room, looking far too calm given the circumstances. “I detected a sudden shift in weather patterns around campus. It seems like the storm has caused a widespread blackout. Should I assume it’s related to Malleus Draconia’s emotional state?”

"YES!" Idia practically screeched, pointing at you in betrayal. "They ditched Malleus for gaming, and now we’re all suffering the consequences! Ortho, tell them to fix it, please! I beg you!”

Ortho turned to you with his usual chipper smile. “I suggest you go to Malleus and make amends before the entire campus loses power. I’ve already calculated a 98% chance that further emotional distress will result in structural damage to the dorm.”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is why you never piss off boss-level boyfriends. It’s just common sense.”

So, that’s how you found yourself trudging through the stormy night, rain soaking your clothes as you made your way to find Malleus. The lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling ominously as you approached the usual meeting spot for your nightly walks.

And there he was—standing alone, looking very much like the picture of heartbreak. His tall figure was framed by the pouring rain, his expression a perfect blend of hurt and brooding. The storm seemed to swirl around him, almost as if it were a physical manifestation of his emotions.

“Malleus,” you called out, rushing toward him, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain. “I’m so sorry!”

He turned slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did not answer my calls.”

“I know, I know! I got caught up in a game with Idia, and I didn’t check my phone, and—well, now we have a blackout.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You left me waiting, and the storm came.”

You winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget about our walk. I love spending time with you—I swear.”

Malleus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.”

“Burden?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, the rain pouring down between you. “Malleus, you’re not a burden. I love our walks. I love spending time with you. I just… lost track of time. That’s all.”

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the ground. Then, to your surprise, Malleus looked away, a faint hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Do you… truly mean that?”

Without thinking, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I do. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, and slowly—so slowly—the storm began to quiet. The rain lessened, the wind died down, and the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the campus lifted. He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if looking for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he finally let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile.

“You always manage to calm me,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You smiled back, feeling warmth spread through your chest despite the cold rain. “I guess I’m just good at soothing dragons.”

Malleus raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

The rain had stopped entirely by now, leaving only a light mist in the air. You let out a relieved sigh, brushing some stray raindrops off Malleus’s cheek before standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’ll never forget our walks again,” you whispered against his lips, earning a quiet hum of approval from him.

“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. “Now, shall we take that walk?”

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. The world felt calmer now, the storm gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Malleus’s mood had lifted entirely, and as the two of you strolled through the now-quiet campus, you couldn’t help but feel content.

And, of course, Idia and Ortho’s screens flickered back to life, much to their relief.

Instance 7: Dessert Disaster

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were about to partake in a picnic with none other than Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Everything was perfect. The blanket was laid out beneath a sprawling tree, food arranged carefully across it—courtesy of Malleus himself, who had spent hours in the kitchen the night before, preparing what he considered to be the pièce de résistance: a pie.

Not just any pie. No, this was a Malleus Draconia-crafted masterpiece. The filling was made from rare berries he’d harvested himself, the crust baked to a perfect golden brown. You could practically smell the love (and maybe a little lightning) that had gone into it.

Malleus, with a glint of pride in his eyes, carefully handed you a slice. "I hope it meets your expectations, my love."

You eagerly took a bite, eyes widening as the flavors exploded on your tongue. It was amazing. No, better than amazing—it was downright phenomenal. How did he even manage to bake something this good? A prince of darkness and a master chef? This was unfair.

"This slaps," you declared, totally unaware of the impending doom those words were about to unleash.

The moment the words left your mouth, you noticed a visible shift in Malleus’s expression. The proud smile he’d worn just seconds ago faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. His green eyes darkened, clouds suddenly appearing overhead. You could feel the electricity in the air as the temperature dropped.

"I see," Malleus murmured, voice tight. "So… you dislike it."

Wait. What?

You blinked, realization dawning far too slowly. Oh no.

Before you could correct him, Malleus was already raising his hand, a faint crackle of magic sparking between his fingers. You could practically hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as he stared down at the pie slice in your hand, preparing to smite the poor, innocent pastry.

"No, no, no, no—wait!" You waved your arms frantically, standing up so fast you nearly tripped over the picnic blanket.

Sebek, meanwhile, had already leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you insult Master Malleus’s baking?!" he shouted, fists clenched. "His skill is unmatched, and yet you have the audacity to call his creation—"

"Sebek." Silver’s voice, calm but firm, interrupted the impending tirade. He was still sitting, but his eyes were half-open now, watching the situation unfold with mild concern. "They didn’t mean it that way."

Lilia, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Oh, this is too good!" he cackled, practically rolling on the blanket. "I haven’t seen this much excitement at a picnic in centuries! You modern humans and your strange expressions never fail to entertain!"

You shot him a look that screamed, Please stop encouraging this.

Silver, bless his soul, finally spoke up again, this time turning his attention to you. "You might want to explain before the weather gets worse." He nodded toward the now very ominous-looking clouds gathering above Malleus.

Right. Explaining. You could do that.

You turned back to Malleus, who still looked like he was contemplating whether to zap the pie or not. You could tell his feelings were hurt—his brow was furrowed, his lips set in a tight line. And the thought of him feeling like that, all because of a misunderstanding, made your heart clench.

"Malleus," you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. "When I said ‘this slaps,’ I meant it’s really good. Like, insanely good. Amazing. Best pie I’ve ever had."

Malleus’s stormy expression faltered slightly, though the dark clouds remained. "But you said it ‘slaps.’"

"That’s modern slang," you explained, gently squeezing his hand. "It’s a compliment. I promise."

Malleus blinked, the magic at his fingertips dissipating as he processed your words. "So… you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely. You knocked it out of the park with this pie." You gave him your most reassuring smile. "I could eat the whole thing."

The storm clouds began to thin, sunlight peeking through once more. Malleus tilted his head, considering this new information, and slowly—very slowly—a smile returned to his face.

"It pleases me to hear that," he said, his voice softening.

Meanwhile, Sebek was still standing there, sputtering indignantly. "W-Well, if that’s what they meant, then… of course Master Malleus’s pie is the best! I knew that all along!"

Lilia, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand at Sebek. "Oh, calm down, boy. No harm done. Besides, now we know modern slang! What other fascinating phrases do you have, I wonder?"

Silver sighed, finally sitting up properly. "Maybe let’s avoid any more slang for today."

With the situation calming down, you took the opportunity to lean in closer to Malleus, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "I’m really sorry for the confusion," you murmured. "You’re an amazing baker, and your pie is delicious. I meant that, okay?"

Malleus’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the affection, and he gave a small nod. "I believe you."

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you pressed another kiss to his lips, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his hand gently squeezed yours in return. The last of the clouds above you finally cleared, leaving the sky blue and bright once more. The storm was over, and everything was at peace again.

"Shall we enjoy the rest of our picnic, then?" Malleus asked, his voice much lighter now.

You nodded enthusiastically, sitting back down beside him. "Absolutely. And just so we’re clear—your food? Total banger."

Malleus raised a brow, clearly still unfamiliar with the term but now much more accepting of your strange modern ways. "I see. I shall take that as a compliment."

Sebek, still recovering from his earlier outrage, grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t care. Lilia was still snickering, Silver was finally getting comfortable again, and Malleus was happy. Everything was right in the world.

And hey, now you knew—if you ever wanted to spice things up at a picnic, all it took was a little modern slang.

Instance 8: Destruction of NRC (Well, almost)

Crowley’s “magnanimous nature” was, quite frankly, killing you. Whether it was sorting mountains of paperwork, being sent on endless errands, or handling Grim’s regular chaos, you were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached, your eyes had dark circles deeper than any pit, and you were pretty sure you were on your third day of functioning on nothing but caffeine and sheer spite.

Grim, bless his fiery little heart, watched you from his perch on your bed, tail flicking in irritation as you barely managed to drag yourself into Ramshackle after another long, thankless day.

“Ugh, henchhuman! You look like death warmed over,” Grim sniffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “How long do you plan on letting that featherbrained Crowley walk all over you?”

You groaned, flopping face-first into your pillow. “As long as it takes to survive this semester, Grim. No one else is going to deal with his nonsense. Not like I have a choice.”

Grim was silent for a moment, watching you with uncharacteristic concern. Then, in a low mumble, he said, “Well, I’ve had enough. You’re my henchhuman, and I won’t let him destroy you.”

You thought Grim was just being dramatic. But when you woke up the next morning to the sound of distant thunder rumbling ominously across the sky, you had a very, very bad feeling.

By the time you made it to NRC, the situation was in full swing. You arrived just in time to witness Crowley practically on his knees, looking like a man who had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale—barely.

The sky above NRC was pitch black, clouds swirling and crackling with magic as the wind howled through the campus. A storm of epic proportions had descended, and it wasn’t just any storm. This was a Malleus Draconia-grade storm. The kind that didn’t just bring rain or wind—it brought devastation, and everyone was cowering indoors, peeking through windows, afraid to go outside.

Crowley spotted you immediately, rushing over with his cape flapping dramatically behind him as he stumbled, nearly slipping in the mud.

“Please,” he cried, hands clutching your shoulders as if you were his last lifeline. “Please, you must calm him down! I beg of you, prefect, do something!”

You raised a brow, half-expecting some pitiful excuse, but the Headmaster, in all his avian glory, had gone straight to the begging stage. “What did you do this time?” you sighed, knowing it had to be his fault.

“I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! Well, perhaps I’ve… been a little harsh on you, but that’s no reason for him to destroy the entire campus!” Crowley wailed, looking pitiful as a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance.

“I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you an actual wage! I’ll give you a budget to renovate Ramshackle, and I’ll personally sponsor your vacation! Just please—stop him before there’s nothing left of Night Raven College!”

You blinked. Did… did you just get a salary offer? And a vacation? And a renovation budget? This was new.

Before you could process the sheer absurdity of the situation, Professor Crewel passed by with his coat dramatically billowing in the wind. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “about time that birdbrain faced some consequences for his incompetence.”

Professor Trein, walking with his trusty feline Lucius, shook his head gravely. “At this point, the Headmaster deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Do you not see the storm?!” Crowley shrieked, pointing to the lightning that was now dangerously close to striking the bell tower.

Both professors exchanged a look before continuing on their way, Crewel muttering something about how this was Crowley’s mess to fix.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction seeing the Headmaster squirm. But at the same time, NRC was at risk of being blown off the map if you didn’t act soon. And judging by the way Grim was laughing maniacally in the corner, proudly declaring how he “fixed” your problems, this was going to be on you to clean up.

With a sigh, you gave Crowley a nod. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But if you go back on any of those promises—”

“I won’t!” Crowley promised, hands clasped as if in prayer. “I swear on the very foundation of this school, you will be compensated!”

You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel to head toward Diasomnia. The storm seemed to know you were coming, the wind parting just enough to allow you passage. The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the thunder seemed to quiet, though lightning still flashed ominously in the distance.

And there, standing at the center of it all, was Malleus. His expression was dark, eyes glowing faintly as he stared up at the storm he’d summoned. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even with his composed stance, you could sense the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

You approached carefully, calling out softly, “Malleus?”

His head turned slightly at the sound of your voice, though he didn’t fully look at you. “Ah, my love. I see you’ve arrived.”

You moved closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Grim told you what’s been going on, didn’t he?”

“I cannot stand to see you work yourself to exhaustion for that foolish crow,” Malleus muttered, still staring at the storm. “He takes advantage of your kindness. It is unforgivable.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was genuinely upset—for you. But, you also couldn’t let NRC be reduced to rubble, and you needed to calm him down before it got worse.

With a soft chuckle, you stepped in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay. I appreciate how much you care about me, but you don’t have to destroy the school over this.”

Malleus’s eyes finally met yours, the storm above softening ever so slightly. “But you’re suffering.”

“I was,” you admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But not anymore. Crowley’s going to make it up to me—he promised me a wage, a renovation budget for Ramshackle, and a vacation.”

That seemed to catch his attention, the storm clouds above beginning to dissipate. “A vacation?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning up to brush another kiss against his cheek. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me.”

Malleus blinked, his earlier frustration melting into a look of surprise—and then, a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. The storm overhead faded into nothing, the sky returning to its usual clear blue.

“I would be honored,” he said softly, pulling you closer to him. “A vacation, just the two of us. That sounds… delightful.”

You grinned, pressing a final kiss to his lips, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, the storm was over. NRC was safe, and more importantly, you had managed to calm your dragon—and score a well-deserved vacation in the process.

As for Crowley? Well, you’d make sure to enjoy every moment of watching him squirm while you cashed in those promises.

Masterlist

[spidermanifested]

im really really glad that as a society. weve gone from "everyone sees a nonhuman male character and falls over each other to draw him as a skinny (possibly object headed) guy in a suit", to, "there is a canonical bona fide skinny object head guy in a suit and 50% of the audience sees this, nods their heads solemnly and draws him fat instead"

[slytherin-pen]

Lessons In Discipline

pairing: Azriel x Reader x Cassian

word count: 2.1k

warnings: alludes to smut

a/n: happy valentine’s day to all my brats out there

@sjmromanceweek

Part 2

Azriel was away on a mission while you stayed at home with Cassian. Azriel was only supposed to be gone for a few days but then it turned into a week. You were upset, to say the least. You had half a mind to barge into Rhysand’s office, curse him for sending your mate away, and then demand he order him home. Cassian wouldn’t allow you to get into such trouble though. Your mates knew you well— too well. Cassian could practically smell the defiance on you grow every day that went by. In Azriel’s absence, you were turning into a bona fide brat.

It was just Cassian’s luck that dealing with this sort of attitude from you was more of Azriel’s forte than his. You were usually so sweet and obedient for Cass. But now, he’s convinced a demon has possessed his little angel and he can’t wait for Azriel to get home and handle this. Cassian had been dealing with you the best he could. He was a General for Cauldron’s sake, how could he not get one female to behave?

“Come on, sweetheart. That’s enough. It’s time to go, we’re going to be late,” Cassian said. He was standing at the end of your shared bed looking down at the lump of sheets he called his mate with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t wanna go,” you mumbled into the pillow. And in case he didn’t hear you, you grabbed more blanket and yanked it over your head. There. The message ought to be loud and clear.

Cassian rolled his eyes. He did not have the patience that Azriel did. He was getting fed up with your antics.

Your defiant streak started out simple at first. You wouldn’t come or even respond when Cassian called for you across the house, when he was trying to usher you out the door you’d drag your feet and stomp complaining about Mother knows what, and you even slammed a door or two. Fine, he could handle that. What he can’t handle is you refusing to go to training three days in a row, turning your nose up at every meal in favor of the House sneaking you treats later, and your vicious snarling when he tried to encourage you to do literally anything.

“Alright,” he huffed.

You shrieked as all the blankets were thrown off you and Cassian dragged you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. He threw you over his shoulder and ignored the incessant whacking at his back as he strode into the bathing chamber. He sat you down on the counter, caging you in with his wings, and gripped your chin between his fingers. “Listen here, little miss,” you kicked his shin in a pathetic attempt at escape that only earned you a growl, “If you don’t want to go to training today, fine. I don’t imagine the Valkyries would appreciate your attitude either. But you are going to get dressed, and then you’re going to march your ass downstairs for breakfast. I’ll be back for lunch and then we are going to talk about what’s been going on with you. Understood?”

You crossed your arms and shook your head. “No.”

The General narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. He’d kiss the pout right off your lips if he wasn’t sure that would only be feeding into your behavior. Instead, he placed his hands on your thighs and gave a little squeeze. “No?”

“Mm mm, no,” you shook your head again, more aggressively this time.

The first two days after Azriel left you had acted fine. It wasn’t until the third day when Cassian couldn’t take you to the bookstore in the afternoon, because he was busy training at Windhaven, that you started acting different. Az always took you to the bookstore that day of the week, it was part of your routine. The next day you got your ass kicked in training. You were slow, uncoordinated, and failed to use the blocks that should be ingrained in your muscle memory by now. You felt like a total idiot and just wanted to cry, but Cassian hadn’t even noticed as he supervised two other Valkyries sparring. You’d limped back to the house and licked your wounds alone, and Cass had gone straight to Windhaven after.

That had been the final straw. Your whole routine gets thrown upside down and Cassian can’t even drop off an hour or two of training shifts? He might as well have left with Azriel too, considering how much time he was spending everywhere but at the house with you. You knew it wasn't his fault Rhysand had him so busy, but you were frustrated, feeling trapped at the house with no means of leaving. As a Fae without wings, you were left to wait around, longing for their attention and companionship while they worked. You just wanted your mates back, and if that required you to act like the she-devil incarnate, then so be it.

Cassian dropped his head in momentary defeat. He wasn’t getting anywhere with you and he knew there was only one person that knew how to fix this. You loved both your mates equally but they were their own unique piece of the puzzle. They did not fit in the exact same place. While Cassian may be the General, to you he was your oversized, winged teddy bear. He never raised his voice at you outside of orders during training. He rarely told you no. He was the one you went to for a laugh, to get into trouble, or when you needed comfort only his arms could give. There was a reason there were the three of you and not just two, though. There was a balance, and right now the third piece of this arrangement was away on the Continent. Just as Cassian had his role, Azriel had his. Azriel provided the rules, the structure, and if necessary… the punishment.

“Do I need to tell Rhys to send Azriel home? Tell him that his sweet little mate can’t behave without him?” Cassian asked, leveling his eyes at you.

There was a flicker in your eyes. Of fear or excitement, he couldn't quite decide. But he did feel you squeeze your thighs together. “What do you mean?” you whispered.

He knew he had you then. In a low voice, he asked again, “Is that what you need? Azriel to come home and take care of this bratty attitude? I can't imagine he’ll be happy to be pulled away from his mission because someone doesn't know how to behave, but he will if I ask him to.”

“N-no, you don't need to bother him.” Your thighs clenched again, and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped.

Admittedly, you had never done this before. When it came to breaking rules for fun or to get what you want, that was mostly reserved for the bedroom with Azriel. It was something you two had explored many times, but it was usually Az initiating it. Cassian had witnessed some examples of it during the times the three of you had sex together. He knew you liked it when he and Az were in complete control, but he didn't know how to approach this new development alone.

He hummed, and his eyes glazed over for a moment. “You sure? Az has been gone for a while. It's okay if you need him to come remind you of your manners.”

“I’m sure,” you squeaked. “Please, I’ll be good.”

“I don't know, sweetheart. You had five days to show you could behave, and you didn't.” He tucked his wings in and backed away, finally giving you room to get off the counter. He gestured to the open door with his hand, “Go get dressed. Meet me downstairs when you're done.”

He didn't wait for you to refuse or argue. He just sauntered off out of the room, leaving you with a racing heart.

You managed to gather yourself and quickly pulled on a simple dress, but your heart raced with the anticipation of what would happen next. You made your way downstairs, the tension swirling inside you as Cassian’s words echoed in your mind. He rarely took on this authoritative role, and the thought of Azriel’s impending return had sent a pulse of excitement through you, even as you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him to come home just yet.

Cassian was waiting for you in the kitchen, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you. He raised a brow, and you knew that he was waiting to see if you would keep your promise to behave.

You slipped into a chair, averting your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the heat of his gaze.

“Eat,” he ordered softly, but there was an edge to his voice that made your stomach flip again. You did as told, nibbling on the food set out for you, though it was hard to swallow with the anxiety growing in you.

The morning went by uneventfully after that, but the underlying threat of Azriel’s return lingered in the back of your mind, especially as Cassian kept a close watch on you, his presence more intense than usual.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were jittery, unable to sit still. Cassian walked in from the training grounds, wiping the sweat from his brow, and stopped just inside the doorway when he saw you sitting on the couch, fidgeting with your fingers.

Before he could say anything, the balcony door swung open, and a familiar presence filled the space. Your breath caught in your throat as Azriel stepped inside, the tension in his shoulders palpable. He locked eyes with you immediately, and you knew you were in for it.

“Welcome home,” Cassian said casually, though you noticed the hint of satisfaction in his voice as he glanced between the two of you. Azriel didn’t respond to him. His focus was entirely on you, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place.

“Come here,” Azriel commanded, his voice low and lethal, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated for only a second before you stood and approached him slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. His shadows swirled around him, dark and foreboding, a reminder of the power he he had over you—and the punishment you were about to receive.

Azriel’s gloved fingers brushed your chin, tipping your head up to meet his piercing stare. “Cassian told me everything,” he murmured, his tone sending sparks of both fear and desire through you. “You’ve been a very bad girl.”

You swallowed thickly, trying to maintain your composure, but the truth was, you’d missed this—missed him. His control, his presence, the way he could make you fall apart with just a few words.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whispered, but it sounded weak, even to your own ears.

Azriel’s grip on your chin tightened just slightly. “Sorry won’t cut it this time, pretty girl. You know better than to act out just because I’m not here.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back the mix of excitement and nerves pooling in your stomach.

Without another word, Azriel’s shadows enveloped you, binding your wrists behind your back in a swift motion that left you breathless. He guided you towards the living room, where Cassian had discreetly taken a seat, watching the scene unfold with darkened eyes.

“Since you decided to act like a brat,” Azriel said, his voice smooth but filled with dominance, “I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”

He bent you over the arm of the couch, your cheek pressed against the soft cushion as his hand ran up the back of your thigh, lifting the hem of your dress. “You’ve earned yourself a punishment,” he continued, “and you’ll take every bit of it until you’ve learned your lesson.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape as Azriel’s touch ignited your skin, the anticipation of what was coming sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Cassian’s eyes burned into you from across the room, his presence only heightening your arousal. You knew this was exactly what you needed, what both your mates knew you craved deep down, even if you’d tried to fight it.

As Azriel’s hand came down in a sharp smack against your backside, you couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped your lips. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to be my good girl again.”

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 2.1 Lead us not into temptation

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. It's hard to find gifs so have a pic instead.

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (prev.)

EP. 2.2 And deliver us from evil (cont.)

Synopsis: Mercenaries are hired, and a bounty was put over your heads. Enzo still insists on being your Dad despite it being untrue.

"My God. It's worse that I imagined."

Inside a certain conference room in DARKCOM HQ gathered various kinds of mercenaries, from rugged and scarred to spotless newbies, all waiting for orders about their target. On the other side of the room stood the five members of the DARKCOM Elite Ops, watching guard as they practically sneered at the group of people in front of them.

"An entire horde of—"

"Monsters." A fight broke out between the mercenaries, making one of the Ops members sigh, commenting if this is really the species they are trying to save. Thankfully, the appearance of the Vice President shut the commotion down, leaving the mercs gaping as to why an important person in power is standing in front of them. But as the room dimmed, Baines disregarded their shock, opting to go straight to the point and reveal the primary objective.

A red shard serving as a pendant.

"It is an item of critical importance to our national security." All the mercenaries fell back to their chairs, focused on the briefing of their mission. "However, seeing as this item officially does not exist, we need it retrieved off the books." Baines' expression hardened. After providing the amulet's location, he too revealed the current owner, showing the estimation of his abilities. "He's a man the US government considers a top-level threat."

"He is extremely volatile and prodigiously gifted in combat. Engage him only with the full brunt of your firepower."

Baines' eyeglasses reflected the light from the dim room, and after a pause, raised his head up, showing his grim expression. "His name is Dante."

The sight of Dante's grin all over the screen made the mercenaries guffaw at his ridiculous portraits, clearly underestimating him, saying that this much number of hired men is an overkill. However, a burly man that sat at the farthest corner of the room spoke up, his body littered with metal prosthetics as he looked at his comrades in pity. "Laugh while you can... You won't be much longer."

"I met Dante once. Worked with him on a protection job." This mercenary recounted the events of his previous jobs, confirming that Dante indeed is on a whole another level from the usual men for hire, and that if it wasn't for Dante, he would've been long dead. "And you'll all be dead soon enough if you go after him. No... You won't even be able to take a step within a hundred foot radius if you have the intent to harm him, not when he has that monster with him at all times."

The Vice President's eyes narrowed, and another set of pictures appeared on the screen behind him, showing another hunter that's comparatively calmer in their photos.

You.

"You meant (Y/N)." The sound of your name made the mercenary wince, the memory of your meeting still fresh in his mind. That uncanny smile of yours that did nothing but unsettle seasoned men like him, those that are all too familiar about the underworld, whenever you look their way. You fight well, like you've mapped out every single possibility that could happen, and it creeps him out. You're too prepared.

He still remembers how your eyes bore to him, scrutinizing his worth in mere seconds, like he's nothing but an item for you to appraise. It's like you know too much but chose to keep quiet, waiting for the right time to use your cards, a bona fide information broker within the world of Devil Hunters. "I'm not risking my life by hunting the two crazy bastards." He grunts as he stands up, a look of resignation on his face as he meet eyes with Baines. "Ain't no amount of money you could offer that'd be worth—"

"Five hundred thousand." That much made the mercenary stop himself from opening the door. "The bounty is 500,000 for whoever brings in Dante with the amulet." Baines' expression is unreadable, the light from the screen casting shadows on his face. "An additional 250,000 you also bring in (Y/N)." He fixes his glasses as he continues to negotiate, already knowing how to piqued in their interests. "And a bonus if they're both alive for questioning."

That enough made everyone grin and behave, even the mercenary from earlier became enthusiastic at the amount.

"We will be deploying a civilian asset to keep them distracted as you move in." The screen changes from your face to Enzo's. But the elephant in the room wasn't about the bounty on your heads, it's about the presence of DARKCOM's operatives at the side of the room, barely moving nor reacting to anything. One of the hired men even questioned their use if they'll be doing the all work anyways, having the gall to ridicule them as the rest laughed. The lone hooded soldier narrows her eyes at one of the mercenaries, before breaking into a knowing smile.

"These soldiers will be in the field, overseeing the operation. You'll deliver the package to them." Baines explained while running his eyes around the room, giving one last look at the number of cannon fodder for this mission. "The contract opens as of midnight tonight."

"That's all." The light returned to the room and one by one, the mercenaries stood up to leave. There was shuffling just outside the door, leaving many irritated grunts and huffs from the passing men, the source is the overly eager soldier wearing a DARKCOM Special Ops uniform. It's Anders, having fully recovered from his previous injuries and is now the newest member of the unit despite their Lieutenant's skepticism. He brought along with him the asset that shall be used to aid the extraction mission, a noisy Enzo, who complains about not getting a decent food during his stay.

The broker immediately shut up when he saw the people inside the room he was ushered in, laughing nervously while asking for a clarification about what he should be doing later tonight.

The air was tense around the building that night. Inside your shared apartment was the unnerving stillness, devoid of the sound of the TV or Dante's arrogant claims that has something to do with pizza and arcade while you lounge on the couch, unimpressed. It was too dark and quiet, a sight that only happened whenever the two of you are away on long term missions, usually in another city or so. But Enzo knows that he didn't give you anything after the set-up job, so it's a surprise for him when he opens the door, only to be met with nothing.

"(Y/N)? Dante? You here?" Nothing. The weight of the briefcase felt foreign to him, even if it just houses the usual monetary reward for the job. "(Y/N)...! It's your Pa! I've go—" A gun was shoved to his temple, with an annoyed voice breaking the otherwise stillness. "You are not my Dad."

You sneered at him with faux-disgust as he stumbled backwards in surprise, chuckling nervously while trying to keep you calm, only for another barrel to hit the back of his head as Dante smirks at Enzo's predicament. "Y-you are here! Thank God!" Your "Pa" sputters while raising his hands in surrender, saying that it's a relief since he thought he missed you. But your obvious suspicion remains on your face, before lowering your gun and sighing, Dante didn't, however.

"Hey, Enzo. How've you been?" His sing-song tone betrays his own doubts about the broker's sudden appearance, one that didn't got missed by the latter as he spun towards the young man and tried to get him to lower his weapon with humor.

Dante didn't.

"Wish I could help you out there." Your calm stance greatly contrasts the uneasy atmosphere. Seated on the couch with your legs crossed and an arm lazily draped over the back, you smiled brightly at your mentor. "But see, I've heard something funny from the walls. About his last job."

"Our last job." Dante corrects you without looking, leaning closer to Enzo as he keeps the gun on the man.

"Of course." You chuckled lightly, instead of the usual smugness known to only by close confidants, before returning your gaze to Enzo. "It turned out to be a setup so a shapeshifting demon baby could try to steal my necklace." Dante finished your words, closing in and jamming the barrel of his gun to the older man's neck. The broker turned to you for help but all he saw was your knowing, closed-eyed, smile. "It's the most curious thing, isn't it? You know how possessive he gets with that pendant."

Enzo laughs nervously, finally confessing that he might have set Dante up. But that it wasn't really his fault, no! He's just a middleman, a nobody, he swears! "It was the guy who gave me the job! The White Rabbit!"

The White what? Your face scrunched in confusion as you cocked your head to the side. "Like Alice's?" There are demons with animal-like creatures, but most of them opted to learn to try to pass off as human, so for Enzo to use the word the, it means that this isn't some common demon. Your question made him nod furiously. "He's the one who set the whole thing up!"

"See, he comes into my office, talking all smooth, a-and I'm mesmerized!" Of course, you sighed in exasperation. With how sweating your adoptive father is, you're fairly certain that he's telling the truth. "So you're saying you only sent me into a trap because a demon that looks like a giant rabbit tricked you into doing it?" Dante emphasizes by pushing the gun to Enzo's mouth, despite the broker practically begging the two of you to believe him.

"Dante." You sighed and stood from your seat, going over to them with a disappointed look for Enzo. In response to your words, Dante's previously furrowed brows relaxed as he pulled his gun away and stands up. "All right, that checks out."

"What are you doing here?"

The older man nearly sagged to the floor in relief, before pushing the briefcase to the table, saying that it's the second half of the fee for the setup job. "Just 'cause the job was fake don't mean you don't get paid, right?" Enzo shrugged and beamed at the sight of the wads or cash inside the briefcase after he opened it, caressing the money with such gentleness. "Pure, uncut, American green. And all you have to do was fight a baby for it." He beams at the scowling Dante.

"And my brother." Dante's jaw squared as he frowned. "The shapeshifter showed up again later disguised as him." Meanwhile, you inspected the money the moment Enzo got distracted, closing the lid upon confirming the legitimacy before noticing something off. "Nothing like how he'd actually look now, but still, it was a good effort." There was a blinking device at the bottom of the suitcase. A transmitter or a tracker, you don't know, but you went over to the window to throw it away, catching glimpses of people moving around the rooftops. Typical. And as expected.

Enzo tried comforting Dante by reaching out for his arm but the younger man pulled away. "I keep telling you. What's my only rule?" He looked at the broker with annoyance as he rummaged behind his desk. You walked back to the couch while stretching, donning your coat and grabbing your own briefcase, equipped with weapons you made on your own. "I'll take any job that pays, especially if it involves killing demons. Just long as I can do it with (Y/N), and not care about anything else." Enzo heard it too many times that he parroted it back. "I know, I know. But I have you the job, not them." Dante lifted his head from the table with a deadpan, making the other shrug and drop the argument. "So you and me, we're all good now, yeah?"

"You know I look at you two as my own children." Enzo turned around to beam at you, faltering upon seeing you drawing the curtains close. "Not my dad." You replied with a flat tone, making him slump his shoulders. "I would take a bullet for you two! ...Maybe not a bullet but a blade, like a little jab." He nods and turns back to Dante with such... conviction. "Point is, I would never set you up like that on purpose."

"So there aren't multiple teams of mercenaries outside, closing in around us right now?" You cocked your gun and raised a brow to your adoptive father.

Dante grinned.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie

[thedupshadove]

Make no mistake, Quincy Morris is a wealthy ranch-owner (or possibly a wealthy ranch-owner's son? Hence why he can be gallivanting around the world with his English buddies instead of, you know, running the ranch?) essentially cosplaying as a real cowboy, but what makes that schtick tolerable from him in a way that it isn't from so many others of his type is that I feel like if someone were to point it out, rather than getting defensive and trying to puff up his alleged Grit And Dust Bona Fides, he would just laugh and be like "That's true."

[yinyuedijun]

SINCERITY

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now, not when his blood is all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. If Suo makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry. (Or: Suo, Nirei, and Sakura get into a fight in the red light district and go to you to get patched up. Suo takes the opportunity to tease you mercilessly.)

4.5k words, suo x reader with implied one-sided sakura x reader, sfw with mature themes. set post-canon (they are all 18-19 years old), non-canon backstory details for suo and sakura (speculative as of ch. 146). fem reader – references to gendered professions, e.g. hostessing; reader wears a dress for her job in a girls’ bar. warning for inaccurate depictions of first aid! dividers by @/cafekitsune.

Suo’s never liked your job.

You suppose this is fair. The feeling is mutual. You’ve never liked the fact that Suo chose to go to a delinquent school rather than a proper high school, and he’s never liked the fact that you chose to drop out of your proper high school to go work in the red light district—first at a kyabakura, and now at a girls’ bar. His master, who also happens to be your master, has always told you that this was a natural reaction on his part. Having a secondary school certificate is important, after all. But Suo’s disapproval of your income sources, no matter how politely or subtly phrased, has always felt like it runs deeper than simple concern for your education.

Still, this has never stopped him from visiting you at your place of work, though he only tends to come by under the worst possible circumstances—tonight worse than any other.

When you see the three of them limping through the clamour and heat of the red light district—the neon glow of the street making the blood smeared across Suo’s face shine vibrantly—you entirely forget that you're on the clock. You chuck your sign onto the ground (3000¥ per hour! it reads) as you cut a path toward them, almost tripping in your stiletto heels. Your customer service voice gives way to your regular one, which is so outraged that it startles everyone around you.

“Suo, you motherfucker—are you trying to lose the only eye you have left?!”

Suo is unbothered. His smile is calm and deeply shameless as you approach him. It’s nothing like Nirei, who cringes at the furious look you give him, or Sakura, who looks like a deer caught in headlights when you round on him instead. Like he doesn’t know what to do at the fact that someone is worrying over him, and especially not when that person is wearing an extremely revealing evening gown. For a minute, you think he's going to bolt.

But Suo keeps him there, grip tight on his arm.

“Hi,” he says brightly, like there isn't blood all over his face and shoulder. “Are you busy? We might need to trouble you.”

“Of course I'm busy! I'm in the middle of a shift!” you fume at him. But you still extract Sakura from him, scruffing him by the neck before he can clam up and run. You pull him in the direction of your bar, and gesture for the other two to follow. “Hurry up before my manager sees you.”

Smuggling three delinquents into the washroom of a girls’ bar is not a skill you thought you'd ever need, but it is one that you've become an expert in. This is at least the third time you've done it. The Furin trio rarely ever loses fights, but they occasionally slip up in the part of the red light district that isn't controlled by Roppo-Ichiza. This is somewhat unavoidable, as Keyaki Street is a different beast from Keisei Street. It isn't just delinquents here, but bona fide criminals. “Like, actual fucking Yakuza,” you grouse at Suo for the millionth time. You wipe at the blood remaining on his face—most of it you've already rinsed off, staining the melamine sink with iron—and the paper towel in your hand blooms red.

“But these guys weren't Yakuza,” he says cheerfully.

“They still pulled weapons on you! Bladed weapons!”

“Mm… well, that's true. I'm sorry.”

You scowl at him. “No, you're not.”

“No, I'm not.” He’s still smiling. “In our defense, we didn't have much of a choice. They were about to do something terrible to an innocent person,” he says, and you deflate a little, because you know Suo can't stand to see injustice. This is something you love very dearly about him, and also a quality of his that constantly raises your blood pressure. But then you roll your eyes when he happily adds, “And in my defense, it’s all our Captain’s fault!”

“Oi!” Sakura yells from one of the stalls, where he’s sitting and holding a bag of ice to a knot on his head. “Wasn’t my fault we ended up fighting. They were practically beggin’ to have their asses kicked.”

“You did provoke them, Sakura,” Nirei says. He's in the other stall, trying to stay off his sprained ankle.

“Well, they were dangerous! Not like you wanted to just leave them alone either,” Sakura grumbles, and Nirei apologises, though Suo accurately points out there is no need for him to. After hearing this story, you can't help but agree, and you suppose you shouldn't have expected any differently. After three years at Furin, Sakura is no longer the type to pick fights for no reason. Whatever those guys were up to must have been pretty bad for him to start shit in unfamiliar territory.

Still. The red light district is what it is. Touts, street gangs, and Yakuza are constantly causing problems here, with violence of a scale and nature that Bofurin simply don't see on their own turf. Your street in particular makes someone like Endo look like a joke. “You should still learn to exercise some restraint,” you say to Sakura. “And you”—you give Suo a miserable look—“you know the area. You should have known better. At the very least, you should have called me for backup.”

“But you were on the clock,” Suo points out, and you frown. Despite having absolutely no need, you take out an alcohol wipe and swipe it over his cut. He winces.

“I'm still on the clock now,” you reply, voice dry, “and here you are, distracting me anyway. My boss is going to be on my ass about it if I don't bring in any customers tonight, you know.”

“We can be your customers,” Suo offers.

“You aren't old enough to drink!”

“Neither are you, yet you work here.” His gaze has turned a little sharp. His voice too. You blink, suddenly mollified.

“...okay. If each of you buys a drink after this, I’ll call us even.” Then you glance down at his changshan, which is sliced through, the pearly silk stained red at the shoulder. He’s insisted that the wound is unserious and said that he'd rather clean up his face first, and you're starting to question his priorities. “That is, if you don't have to go to the hospital after this.”

“I don't.”

“I don't know if I believe you.” You pull out some polysporin. “Come closer.”

Suo could do this on his own. His hands aren't incapacitated. But he humours you, as he's always humoured you, and allows you dab his cut with the antibiotic. You feel a little sentimental as you do it, and almost a little sad. Doing this reminds you of when he was a kid who had just started learning martial arts. Granted, he never got any real cuts back then, but sometimes he’d scrape his knees or his elbows or—god forbid—his face, and you would plaster bandaids all over him when he did. But none of those were real injuries.

More than anything, doing this reminds you of when he lost his eye. The state that he was in after the accident. The way his face was bandaged after the surgery. The texture of the gauze against your fingers when you asked to try swapping out the dressings for him.

If Suo notices the way your lip is trembling, he doesn't comment on it.

“You’re so mean—how come you never believe anything I say?” he asks. You press the gauze to his cut with more pressure than necessary, and he blinks. He opens his mouth again, but then the door rattles violently.

“Sorry!” you yell. “Washroom’s closed for cleaning!” You wince as you hear complaints in reply—you’ve been closed for half an hour!—and shoot Suo a sour look as the customer leaves. “I’m really risking it all for you three,” you remark.

“I'll make it up to you,” Suo says. “I'll stick around the whole night and buy as many drinks as you want. Your manager won't be able to hassle you about anything then.”

“No way. You're not wasting that much money on the red light district.” You frown. “Master will kill me if I let you piss away your inheritance like that.”

“I’m not wasting my money on the red light district. I'm wasting it on you.”

“Well, I'm employed at a girls’ bar, so when you waste money on me, you are in fact spending it on the red light district.”

“Then you should quit so I can spend as much money on you as I want.”

“Quit and then live on what income?” You set aside the first aid kit and grab some more paper towel. “Take off your shirt.”

“Oh? Right here? Right now?” His eye goes wide. “How forward.”

Sakura coughs very, very loudly from the stall. If you weren't so used to Suo saying this kind of thing just to mess with you, you'd probably do the same. In fact, you'd probably choke on your spit and die on the spot. But as it is, you only sigh and start unbuttoning Suo’s changshan, starting at the high collar. Any sentimentality or concern you previously felt is quickly drowned out by annoyance.

“Suo.”

“Don’t worry—I don't mind,” he adds. “I thought you'd never ask. I just didn't think it’d happen here. And so suddenly.”

“Don’t do that. I can't do this today.”

“Don’t do what?” he says innocently. He lets you slip his changshan off one shoulder. To your relief, the cut does look very shallow—he’s too quick for anything other than a bullet to land a serious hit on him, you guess—but you still swallow when you see it. It looks like he's bled a lot more than he probably actually has.

Or you hope so, anyway.

“Joke like that,” you reply after a moment. “It's very mean.”

“I’m not joking about anything.” You feel his eye on you as you start dabbing at all the red on his skin, the paper towel in your hands blotting crimson as if with ink. Your breath shakes as you study the wound. He lifts his hand, his knuckle brushing against your cheek. You smack it away, but he doesn't seem bothered. “I was being very serious,” he continues. “Quit working in the red light district and let me support you instead.”

“Suo,” you say, your voice flat, “there is no job you could qualify for on this planet that will let you earn more than what I'm making now. If anything, you should let me support you.”

“Ah,” he says brightly. “I get it now—you want me to be your trophy husband!”

Now you are choking on your spit and you do think you're dying. Sakura sounds like he's not doing much better—something bangs loudly against the washroom stall, and you assume it’s his forehead. Even Nirei is affected, not-so-subtly clearing his throat.

“I do not want you to be my trophy husband.”

“Just a regular husband, then?” he asks. “That’s alright. If I joined the Yakuza, I could make plenty of money. You could even stay at home if you wanted.”

“Suo you motherfucker you are not joining the fucking Yakuza! And I wouldn't be a stay at home wife!”

“Oh? You wouldn't want to be?”

“No, god! Do you know how much I could make if I scored a hostess gig at a high-end place? Why would I ever turn down that kind of money?!”

“Ah, so you want us to be dual income?”

“Of course I would want us to be dual income!”

“You could get a different job and we could still be dual income.”

“There’s no other job that would pay as well.”

Suo sighs, and your brow twitches. You've always been suspicious about why he disapproves of your choice in career. It’s not in his disposition to judge people, but sometimes you still worry that he's doing it to you.

“What,” you ask, “would you be so against marrying a hostess?”

“No, not at all. But I'd be worried if my spouse worked somewhere unsafe. What if you end up at a Yakuza-owned club?”

You pause, startled at the abruptly earnest tone of his voice. Suddenly you feel guilty.

“Oh… well, I wouldn’t work at a Yakuza-owned club.”

“Hm… then I guess it's fine.” Suo nods, as if arriving at a decision. “We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us will work for the Yakuza.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us—” Your eyes go wide as you realize what you're saying. You feel yourself flushing. “Wait.”

“What? Is there a problem?”

“Suo.”

“Don’t tell me you're going to change your mind now. That would just be mean.”

“I'm being mean?” you ask, flabbergasted.

“Well, yes. You don't think it would hurt if you changed your mind about marrying me? And so soon after agreeing, too.”

You stare at him in disbelief. You have a number of possible retorts that cross your mind, and somehow you pick the least relevant one: “You can't trick someone into marrying you.”

“Then can I trick you into dating me?”

“Suo! I said don't do that!”

“Don’t do what?”

“Joke about that kind of thing!”

“I'm not joking about anything.”

“Yes you are? You don't actually want to date me. Stop saying that you do!”

Suo leans in. He stares at you, his gaze distinctly vulpine. It's very attractive, and also intimidating, and you should be used to it by now, but your heart rate ticks up anyway. You swallow thickly as his thumb glides along your cheek again, your skin scorching beneath his fingertips. You forget to bat his hand away this time.

“You’re so mean,” he repeats, voice lilting, “how come you never believe anything I say?”

He's baiting you. He's obviously baiting you, and you consider for a moment whether you want to bite.

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now. His shirt’s stained with such a bright red that it keeps distracting you, just like the blood he's left all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. You think they'd go broke before they could spend enough money here to appease her, were she to discover the four of you. You might even lose your job. Then you wouldn't be able to support yourself anymore, let alone Suo, who cracks jokes as easily about being your trophy husband as he does about being Leonardo DiCaprio.

If he makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry.

“You're not being very gentlemanly right now,” you finally point out. He raises a brow.

“No?”

“No. I'd even say you're being a menace, actually. Doing a very bad job of”—you almost laugh as you say this, because you've heard this speech so many times—“engaging with my feelings. Not being supportive at all. Really falling off the staircase to adulthood, you know.”

Suo studies you. Something complicated passes through his eye before he pulls away, his expression now back to normal. It's deceptive how innocent he looks.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll play nice.”

“No, you won't,” you retort, and Suo smiles at you, not replying. But he does give you a break. You finish cleaning up the cut without incident, although you do get flecks of blood on your evening gown, which you hope won't be too noticeable against the black satin. You bemoan the lost cause of Suo's changshan too—made of Suzhou silk, a gift from your master—and silently make a note to buy him a replacement sometime.

You're in the middle of buttoning up his shirt when the door clicks and swings open. Met face to face with your coworker, you freeze up.

Your stage name leaves her mouth in an angry bark. “What are you doing? I told you you're not supposed to be having sex with customers here, you should be doing that someplace—” She stops, evidently spotting the blood on Suo’s shirt, and then the other two individuals locked up in here with you, one of whom is blushing violently and looks to be on the verge of dying from embarrassment. Beneath your hands, you feel Suo’s body go stiff too.

“Oh,” she says before either of them can comment. “It’s just your delinquent boyfriend and his buddies.” Suo waves at her, and she nods back before squinting at the sink. “Are you going to clean that up?”

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please don't tell our boss.”

“Have I ever ratted you out?” she asks. “Just get out of here soon. People do have to piss, you know.” Then she stops, looking at Suo with a dubious expression. “And make sure your boyfriend doesn't die.”

You're too tired to correct her on the nature of your relationship. “I've been trying,” you say, and she gives you a sympathetic look before retreating. You hear her laughing with a customer about people fooling around in the washroom, and I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, and could you please go downstairs while I clean up. You’re so relieved, you nearly fall to your knees. A calloused hand touches your back as you rub your temples.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Suo says quietly—sincerely—and instead of saying no, you're not, you reply, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Suo’s always hated your job.

He’s always hated your job, your boyfriends, your apartment, and a lot of other things about your life that Sakura doesn’t have any business prying into. And it's just as well. Sakura also hates your shitty job, and your shitty boyfriends, and considering that you live in the same shitty building as him, he isn't a fan of your rental situation either. Nirei’s too polite to say anything about it, but Sakura can tell that he disapproves as well. It’s not like any of them are living the most comfortable lives either—Sakura has personally been living from shithole to shithole, mostly alone, ever since his parents passed—but your lifestyle does make them all feel poorly.

You're just a very easy person to like. And it's very easy to want nice things for you. So Sakura gets it, how Suo feels about you.

What he doesn't quite get is how Suo acts about you.

One thing he’s learned over the years is that Suo is very good at reading people. Sometimes he understands Sakura better than Sakura understands himself, and he can convince Sakura to do things which he himself didn't think were possible for him to do. He's done the same with Nirei, and about half the other people in their grade, and at least a third of the guys in Bofurin. It’s frankly a terrifying skill. But Suo never uses it with you—not to get you to change jobs, or boyfriends, or even apartments.

At first Sakura thought that you were just immune to Suo’s tactics, but he's recently come to realise that Suo simply gets too emotional about you to know how to convince you of anything. He’s even emotional enough to get kind of petty and a little mean with you, which is something that Sakura has only witnessed from Suo during fights. Really bad fights.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, especially when you’re clearly head over heels for Suo.

Sakura doesn't have any business prying into your personal problems. Though truthfully, he’d be happy to thrash some random assholes for you anyway, if that would fix your heartbreak. (He's already done this to at least one of your exes, and it worked shockingly well.) The problem is, Suo is not a random asshole and Sakura isn't sure that you'd want him thrashed in the first place. But it's just fucking painful watching the two of you act like this around each other, so he ends up pulling Suo aside after you kick them out of the girls’ bar, scowling.

Suo looks at him, surprised. “Sakura? What's the matter?”

He doesn't mince words. “How come you were being such a dick to your friend?”

Nirei goes stiff. “Sakura,” he says in his panicked ‘why are you trying to pick a fight now’ voice, “where is this coming from? I don't think Suo was being rude…” But Sakura can tell, as Nirei’s finishing his own sentence, that he's second-guessing himself.

“No,” Suo replies. “I was being a bit terrible, wasn't I?” There’s no humour in either his words or his face, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He actually looks endeared. “I'm surprised you noticed, Sakura.”

“I mean”—Sakura feels himself going red, embarrassed at just the memory of how you looked at Suo; first so worried, then painfully fond, and then like you were going to burst into tears right there in the washroom and ask him to hold you, as if you were in a horrible getsuku drama—“it was kinda hard not to.”

Suo nods. “I suppose it’s natural to be sensitive to the feelings of someone you like.”

Heat floods his face. “I don't like her!”

“Did I say you did?” Suo’s mouth curls when Sakura can't answer. “Don’t be embarrassed. She's a very easy person to like.”

Sakura tries his hardest to ignore Suo—which should be easy, because Suo lies randomly and pointlessly all the time, whenever he thinks it's funny—and says, “If she's an easy person to like, how come you act like you don't like her at all?”

“Was I acting like that? Or was she acting like it was impossible for someone to like her?” Sakura stops. Suo gives him a long look, then smiles. “You would know how difficult it can be to accept being liked, Sakura. And how long it can take to understand that there are people who want to support you unconditionally.”

Sakura opens his mouth once, twice. A third time. Nirei sighs. The two of them watch as Suo—rather than walking in the direction of the subway—steps over to a vending machine and buys a bottle of oolong tea.

“Are you going to wait for her shift to finish?” Nirei asks.

“Mm, I think so.” Suo glances down at his ankle. “But you should go home, Nire-kun. You can’t fight like that. In case those guys come back here, I mean.” He opens the bottle, takes a sip. “They had bladed weapons. It would be bad if you risked it.”

Nirei glances at the entrance to your bar, worried. “But…”

Sakura understands without Nirei finishing his sentence. The security at your bar is terrible, and plenty of people like to exploit that. It was Nirei who noticed a group men eyeing you before anyone else did, following you all the way from Keisei Street to your place of work. And sure, Suo kicked the shit out of them in the end, did much worse to them than vice versa—but who knows if there aren't more of them.

Suo hates your job. All three of them do.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says. “I'm sure the two of us will be enough.”

“...I'll ask Tsubaki if he's free,” Nirei finally relents. “And I'll text Kiryu and Tsugeura too.”

“Thanks, Nire-kun.”

Suo gets a bottle of ramune after Nirei leaves, passes it to Sakura. Tsubaki comes by later, still in his pole outfit, with several pieces of taiyaki for them to share—I’m always snacky after dancing, he explains—and the three of them loiter in front of your bar until four in the morning. Tsubaki asks questions about you in a tone that has Sakura wanting to crawl into an alleyway just to hide, and Suo deflects masterfully with questions about Tsubaki’s new boyfriend. The guys from earlier don't show up. Maybe the sight of Roppo-Ichiza’s top fighter scares them off.

You're surprised to see them there when you emerge a little later. You give Tsubaki a happy but perplexed look as he hugs you.

“Tsubaki? What are you doing here?”

“Keeping these two company,” he replies. “And I wanted to say hi, of course. You should come by the club sometime, you know! I haven't seen you in forever.”

“Sure! That would be nice, but…” You turn to Sakura and Suo, puzzled. “Why are you guys still here?”

Sakura, on instinct, nearly recounts the whole evening to you—about the men tailing you, about how they got into a fight, about the kind of things they said they'd do once they caught you—but Suo answers first.

“Troubling you again,” is all he says. “It’s fine since your shift is over now, right?”

You give the two of them a long, curious look. For a moment, you look worried, but you're eventually disarmed by Suo’s expression.

“I guess it's fine,” you reply. You sound so happy. Suo’s gaze goes soft, and Sakura has to force himself not to look away. “Let's hurry up and go home.”

You smile at them, and it's the kind of smile that makes it very easy to like you. The kind of smile that makes it natural to want nice things for you. The kind of smile that would make anyone emotional, even if they're normally very controlled. It makes something in Sakura squeeze tightly, all knotted up and painful.

He’s starting to understand why Suo acts the way he does around you.

END

this wasn't meant to be a love triangle, my apologies…

this was also meant to be a very short piece (like 500w lol), but I kept thinking about what suo’s backstory might be, and why he was so comfortable in the red light district in the manga, and what these guys might realistically act like in an aged up, romantic context. that all coalesced into this very bizarre fic LOL. I'm not sure how it'll land, but I hope someone out here enjoyed it! I would like to write more about this triangle (+ nirei) but I'm not sure what the level of interest would be, or if it'll even make sense with the manga. I guess we’ll see eventually!

in any case, thank you for reading!! <3

[sneezypeasy]

The Lightning Scene, How Azula Targeted Katara (of All People), and the Doylist Reason Why That Matters

Mention Zuko's sacrifice for Katara in Sozin's Comet Part 3 as part of a pro-Zutara talking point, and invariably you'll get a Pavlovian response of:

"But Zuko would have taken the lightning for anyone."

(Not to be confused with the similar-sounding Pavlovan response, which is "Zuko's sacrifice ain't shit compared to a mouth-watering, strawberry-topped meringue dessert"*, which is actually the only valid counter-argument to how the lightning scene is a bona fide Zutara treasure, but I digress.)

Now, I've talked in depth about how the lightning scene is framed far more romantically than it had any right to be, regardless of how you might interpret the subject on paper; this is an argument which I still stand by 100%. That Zuko would have gotten barbecued for anyone, and that he was at the stage of his arc where his royal kebab-ness represented his final act of redemption, doesn't change the fact that the animators/soundtrack artists decided to pull out all the stops with making this scene hit romantic film tropes bingo by the time it played out on screen.

(I mean, we stan.)

There's also a deeper level to this conundrum, a layer which creeps up on you when you're standing in your kitchen at night, the fridge door open in front of you, your hungry, sleep-deprived brain trying to decide on what to grab for a midnight snack, and quite inexcusably you're struck with the question: Okay, Zuko may indeed have taken the lightning for just anyone, but would Azula have shot the lightning at just anyone?

But there's yet a deeper layer to this question, that I don't recall ever seeing anyone discuss (though if somebody has, mea culpa). And that is: would you have written Zuko taking the lightning for anyone else?

Or in other words, who Zuko would have taken the lightning for is the wrong question to be asking; the question we ought to be asking is who Zuko should have taken the lightning for, instead.

Get your pens out, your Doylist hats on, and turn to page 394. It's time to think like an author for a hot minute.

(If you don't know what I mean by Watsonian vs. Doylist analyses, and/or if you need a refresher course, go have a skim of the first section of this 'ere post and then scoot your ass back to this one.)

So. You're the author. You've written almost the entirety of an animated series (look at you!!) and now you're at the climax, which you've decided is going to be an epic, hero-villain showdown. Classic. Unlike previous battles between these two characters, your hero is going to have a significant advantage in this fight - partly due to his own development as a hero at the height of his strength and moral conviction, and partly because your villain has gone through a bit of a Britney Spears 2007 fiasco, and isn't quite at the top of her game here. If things keep going at this pace, your hero is going to win the fight fairly easily - actually, maybe even too easily. That's okay though, you're a talented writer and you know just what will raise the stakes and give the audience a well-timed "oh shit" moment: you're going to have the villain suddenly switch targets and aim for somebody else. The hero will be thrown off his groove, the villain will gain the upper hand, the turns will have indubitably tabled. Villains playing dirty is the number 1 rule in every villain handbook after all, and each of the last two times your hero's braved this sort of fight he's faced an opponent who ended up fighting dishonourably, so you've got a lovely Rule of Three perfectly lined up for the taking. Impeccable. The warm glow of triumph shines upon you, cherubs sing, your English teachers clap and shed tears of pride. (Except for that one teacher you had in year 8 who hated everybody, but she's a right bitch and we're not talking about her today.)

Now here's the thing: your hero is a hero. Maybe he wasn't always a hero, but he certainly is one now. If the villain goes after an innocent third party, there's basically no-one your hero wouldn't sacrifice himself for. He's a hero! Heroes do be like that, it's kind of their thing. The villain could shoot a bolt of lightning at Bildad the Shuhite, and the only thing that'd stop our boy Redeemed Paladin Bravesoul McGee from shielding his foxy ass is the fact that Bildad the Shuhite has the audacity to exist in a totally different show (disgusten.)

But. You're holding the writer's pen. Minus crossover shenanigans you don't have the licensing or time-travel technology to achieve, you have full control over how this scene plays out. You get to decide which character to target to deliver the greatest emotional impact, the juiciest angst, the most powerful cinematic suspense. You get to decide whose life you'll put at risk, to make this scene the most intense spine-chilling heart-stopper it can possibly be.

This is the climax we're talking about, after all - now is not the time to go easy on the drama.

So.

Do you make the villain target just anyone?

Or do you make the villain target someone the hero cares about?

Perhaps, someone he cares about... a lot?

Maybe even, someone he cares about... more than anybody else?

You are the author. You are the God of this universe. You get to choose.

What would deliver the strongest punch?

If you happen to make the inadvisable decision of browsing through these tropes on TV tropes, aside from wasting the rest of your afternoon (you're welcome), you'll find that the examples listed are littered with threatened and dead love interests, and, well, there's a reason for that. For better or worse, romantic love is often portrayed by authors, and perceived by audiences, as a "true" form of love (often even, "the" true form of love). Which is responsible for the other is a chicken/egg situation, one I'm not going to go into for this post - and while I'm certainly not here to defend this perspective as objectively good, I do think it's worth acknowledging that it not only exists but is culturally rather ubiquitous. (If you're playing the love interest in a story with a hero v. a villain, you might wanna watch your back, is what I'm saying.)

Regardless of whether the vibe you're aiming for is romantic or platonic however, one thing is for certain: if you want maximum oomph, the way to achieve that is by making the villain go after the player whose death would hit the hero the hardest.

And like I said, this doesn't have to be played romantically (although it so often is). There are platonic examples in those trope pages, though it's also important to note that many of the platonic ones do show up in stories where a love interest isn't depicted/available/there's a strong "bromance" element/the hero is low-key ace - and keep in mind too that going that route sometimes runs a related risk of falling into queer-bait territory *coughJohnLockcough*

That said, if there is a canon love-interest available, one who's confessed her love for the hero, one who has since been imprisoned by the villain, one who can easily be written as being at the villain's disposal, and who could quite conveniently be whipped out for a mid-battle surprise round - you might find you have some explaining to do if you choose to wield your authorly powers to have the villain go after... idk, some other sheila instead.

(The fact that this ends up taking the hero out of the fight, and the person he sacrifices himself for subsequently throws herself into the arena risking life and limb to defeat the villain and rescue her saviour, also means the most satisfying way this plays out, narratively speaking, is if both of these characters happen to be the most important person in each other's lives - at least, as of that moment, anyway - but I think this post has gone on long enough, lol)

This is, by and large, a rebuttal post more than anything else, but the tl;dr here is - regardless of whether you want to read the scene as shippy or not, to downplay Zuko's sacrifice for Katara specifically as "not that deep™" because "Zuko would have taken the lightning for anyone anyway", suggests either that a) nobody should be reading into the implications of Katara being chosen as the person nearest and dearest to Zuko, so that putting her life in jeopardy can deliver the most powerful impact possible for an audience you'd bloody well hope are on the edge of their seats during the climax of your story or b) the writers made the inexplicable decision of having the villain threaten the life of... literally who the fuck ever, and ultimately landed on someone who's actually not all that important to the hero in the grand scheme of things - which is a cardinal writing sin if I ever saw one (even disregarding the Choice to then season it with mood lighting and sad violin music, on top of it all), and altogether something I'd be legitimately pissed about if my Zuko-OTP ship paired him with Mai, Sokka, or just about anybody else 😂

Most importantly c) I'm hungry, and I want snacks.

*The Aussies in the fandom will get this one. Everyone else can suffer in united confusion.

[frankensteinzmonstrrr]

The Benefits of Being a Marine Biologist (Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3

Merman x transmasc reader Contains: monster meet cute Warnings: none Length: 1.1K words

After a long day at work, you decide to drive to the beach. You didn't get to work in the field like you'd wanted to, riding out on research boats to observe wildlife and collect specimens; you ended up as the guy analyzing the data and specimens instead. So when you clocked out, you decided you would make a stop at the ocean before heading home.

Parking in your usual spot, you jump out of your car and mindlessly begin the walk down the familiar trail. Just a little ways down the road from your lab there's a tiny beach accessible only by a short hike through the marshland and tall grasses. It seems no one else comes here, at least not at the hours you do, so it is your reliable quiet refuge to be alone with the ocean.

When you reach the sandy trailhead, you are greeted by a group of sand pipers that scurry towards the water away from you. You smile as you watch them dash in and out of the waters edge, looking for something to eat. You would easily choose watching sea birds for hours over microscopes and spreadsheets if you could.

Walking along the short stretch of beach, you make your way to the edge where the soft sand turns into dark stones. The large rocks stretch out into the water quite a bit. You clamber up the shortest boulder and walk down the jagged stone path as you have many times before, extending your arms for balance like a gymnast on a beam.

Reaching the end, you sit down on the flattest rock. At this tide, the water is nearly level with the rocks and the gentle waves will splash your sneakers if you're not careful. You watch the setting sun for awhile, the orange sky dotted with careening seagulls.

Something catches your eye and snaps you out of your meditative trance. There is distant movement in the water, heading towards the shore. As it slowly approaches, you realize it must be an animal from the shape's considerable size. You feel a rush of adrenaline as you try to stay absolutely still on your rocky seat. Could it be a shark? A dolphin? As the shadowy figure gets closer and closer, it becomes clearer that it's heading straight toward you. Shit. If it's a seal or a sea lion come to lay on the rocks, you're not really sure how to deal with that.

The creature finally stops its advance about fifty yards in front of where you sit. It pokes its head out of the water, just as curious about you as you are of it. From a distance it's hard to tell, but it is definitely not a seal. Or a sea lion. It looks like a human face.

"What the fuck..." you whisper as you try to slowly scoot backwards without taking your eyes of the creature, which had ducked back underwater and was swimming towards you again. When it was mere feet from the edge of the rocks, it surfaced again.

You were face to face with something not quite human, not quite animal. It looked like a person, barring the scales and gills. And the long fish-like tail that trailed in the water behind it. You had come to your beach for some post-work relaxation, but instead you have found a bona fide mermaid.

When the creature smiles at you, baring many sharp teeth, and says "Hello!", you yelp with shock.

It tilted its head to the side, its reptilian eyes fixed on you in fascination. "I don't see many humans." Noticing your surprise and tenseness, it added, "Don't be afraid, I don't hurt humans."

You manage to stammer out a question. "How can you speak English?"

"I like to watch and listen. I don't know every word but I think I know a lot." As it speaks, you notice a clear lid blink vertically across its eyes.

Convinced enough that this thing doesn't want to eat you, you move a bit closer to the end of the rocks. It mirrors your movement, swimming a little closer to you.

"I study marine life. How on earth do you even exist?" you ask, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I don't know. I come from the sea. How do you exist?" it said. It made small noises after speaking that you guessed is laughter.

"Fair enough," you replied. You paused for a moment, then asked, "What can you tell me, then? What can you tell me about yourself?"

Before replying, the creature closed the distance between the two of you, resting its arms on the edge of a rock. It answered you pensively, "I am a mer-folk... I am a male... I don't have much to say about me."

You laughed at how human his last statement is. He looks at you strangely, probably like how you did when he laughed. "Well, I can tell you that I'm a scientist, I study the ocean like I said, and this is my favorite beach." You felt a bit stupid as you asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Yes, but not one you could say," he smiled, flashing his teeth again. "My name means Abalone in human language."

"That's beautiful," you say before you can think to stop yourself. You feel your face turning pink as Abalone continues to stare at you inquisitively. "I mean, I don't know if you know, but abalone shells are... I guess coveted by humans. People make jewelry from the interior."

"I know!" he said brightly. "Many of us love human jewels. They lose them so much when swimming."

You marvel again at how normal of a conversation you are having with a merman. Looking at the sky, you are sad to realize that the sun is very low to the horizon. Your mythical chance encounter is going to be ruined by the fact that you don't have a flashlight. "I'm sorry, I need to go home before it gets dark."

You jump a little when his hand shoots forward to touch yours on the rock. His silvery blue-gray skin is cool and smooth, like a stingray or shark, and his fingers end in dark claws for nails. "Will you come back?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "Yes... I can come back tomorrow? At sunset?"

Abalone grinned as he released your hand from his gentle grip. "Tomorrow," he repeated. With a mischievous smile, he said "Don't tell anyone!" and disappeared into the water. The last you saw of him was a swish of his dark tail as he swam away.

You spent your walk back up the trail trying to think of excuses to leave the lab early the next evening.

AN: If you're reading this, thank you for reading! This is my first (posted/shared) fic so I hope anyone who reads it likes it. I'm weirdly nervous to post this, the mortifying ordeal of being known or whatever. I was NOT expecting to write over 2k words at the drop of a hat (edit: my word counter was bugging, I wrote around 1K words :,D). I'm not sure how many parts this will end up being in total, but at least three or four. Tip Jar on Ko-Fi (requests/comms coming soon maybe?)

[nickfromguesswhohateclub]

i read the top gun novel cover to cover. here is what i learned…

aka: character profiles of the top gun characters, as the novel describes them.

99% of these are direct quotations. some — for example, “honest, widely-spaced eyes” in mav’s physical description — are sourced from multiple parts of the novel; his eyes are described as “honest” in one part and “widely-spaced” in another. i just consolidated the descriptions.

the novel is by eileen lottman, pen name “mike cogan.” rest in peace ms. lottman. you were so talented and did an indescribable service to the gays.

trigger warning for reference to suicidal ideation in mav’s characterization.

Maverick

Physical: Clean-cut, all-American face. Honest, widely-spaced eyes. Big, crooked smile that makes his face look like an all-American cheerfulburger. Squarish cheekbones.

Characterization: Naturally rebellious, big-headed punk kid. His teachers called him incorrigible. Bravado manner. Has trouble making friends; he lets Goose make all the friends. Sassy tongue that got him into more trouble than it ever got him out of. Lowkey suicidal but he’s at TOPGUN so he doesn’t really care about that rn. Considers Goose to be his partner.

Lore: Considered being a cowboy when he was five. Dad’s name is Rick — test pilot who test flew the first ever F-14s; died when Pete was twelve. Has an Uncle Fred and a brother named Barney. Defended Cougar when Stinger said he wasn’t going to TOPGUN. Says “we” the first time when talking about being inverted — doesn’t need Goose to ask him. Wears a polo shirt instead of a T-shirt for the date with Charlie. Broke. Tells Carole that she’s the only girl he could ever love. To Charlie, calls Carole “special.” Felt dead after Goose died.

Goose

Physical: Speaks with a jocular, “aw shucks,” down-home drawl. Country boy, mountain man, big tall hick. Gaunt farmer’s face. Grins like a gleeful jack-o-lantern. Long, lanky, tall, and gangly. Every-which-way head.

Characterization: A Southern boy who never seems to be rattled. Says “Lordy” a lot. Has a smart mouth, but also a big, friendly mouth. Genial. Easygoing. Always bright and smiling. Picks up friends quicker than a dog gets fleas. No one can resist him. A bona fide ring knocker. Rarely gets angry.

Lore: Described as “looking to the future” when he makes his “two O’s” crack. The one who corrects Charlie about the inverted MiG-28. Screams as his head hits the canopy.

Carole

Physical: Pretty country woman, direct and earthy. Blossoming with health and warmth.

Characterization: So utterly in love with Goose — love shines from her eyes when she looks at him. Also gets a kick out of watching him flirt with other people.

Lore: Has been married to Goose for four years. They grew up together in Buck Holler; at least one of them owned chickens. Dating in high school. Calls Mav “honey,” kisses his cheek, and says she wants to marry him.

Charlie

Physical: Shiny blonde hair. The most attractive face Maverick had ever seen. Delicate, yet strong, features. Calm and sky-blue eyes. Melodious, freshwater laugh that pours out, hard and honestly, like sunshine. Smells like spring lilacs.

Characterization: “If I see it, I say it.” Very blunt and direct — claims to get it from her Norwegian grandfather.

Lore: Mav thought she was a college student. At the O-Club, she’s writing mathematical formulas in her notebook. Wears big round glasses on the first day of class. Gives Goose the finger before he can. Her dinner with Mav: Steaks, carved baby carrots, arugula and dill salad, fresh-baked bread, and Chablis wine. They listen to Bill Evans music instead of Otis Redding. Owns a cat that she found as a stray on the beach. Gets her mail at a Bethesda, MD P.O. Box; moves around a lot. Leases her car — but is still reckless and runs a red light while chasing Mav. Fucks Mav on the beach. Spends time with Carole and Bradley after Goose dies.

Iceman

Physical: Too handsome, yellow-haired smoothie. Cold, ice-blue eyes; one would get chills just looking at them. Stares like January at the Pole. Immaculate hair. Cold, steady voice.

Characterization: Mister Cool. A very straight fellow. Rarely shows emotion.

Lore: Says “Everyone liked Goose” first, then while turning away, says “I’m sorry” over his shoulder.

Slider

Super specimen of tall, blond muscle. A cool, tall drink of water. Shaggy-headed. Reads the Wall Street Journal.

Wolfman

Big, friendly, bearish. Bear. Teddy bear. Teddy bear with a bite. Big bear. Bearish. Kind, teddy-bear head. Big bear. Midwestern drawl. After getting rescued on the Layton mission, described as looking like “a stuffed toy that had gotten tossed into the washing machine by mistake.”

Hollywood

Perfect profile. Pretty face. Resigned good humor.

Cougar

Blond and deeply tanned. A very human guy. During his in-air panic attack, was convinced that his jet was inverted. On sleeping pills when he quit.

Merlin

Grabbed the photo of Cougar’s wife and kid because Cougar was in shock. Playing a handheld game called Jet Attack while waiting to be launched on the Layton mission.

Viper

Late 40s. Death… the Prince of Darkness. No flaws. Born to be a flying weapon. MiG killer. Mister Death. Has a five year old son named Tim.

Jester

Reddish hair. Last name Candela. Says “yes” when Viper asks him if he’d want to fly with Mav in battle.

[misasimagines]

bathtime w/ Jiro (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Jiro (Yuri visits, but is not the focus)

rating: SFW but suggestive. Reader is Lustful.

warnings: reader is lustful but respectful. Jiro is naked. GN reader. Reader and Yuri are not necessarily besties.

First Tokyo Debunker fic after being a dead blog for months :thumbsup:

He looked worse than he normally did. It was hard to determine his state on appearance alone, given that he normally had dark circles, a pallid tone to his skin, an empty stare, and hair that was several nights past simple bed head. However, you were familiar enough with his movements by now, how calculated and deliberate they usually were, to tell when something was different, and today they were definitely different. You had positioned yourself in Mortkranken to keep an eye on him under the not untrue guise of hiding out from Romeo and Jin, both of whom were demanding your presence for various tasks you had no responsibility to complete. Your phone lit up constantly while Romeo sent you increasingly deranged threats for not answering him. You flipped it over, screen side down.

Jiro stood at the desk in the back of the room preparing Yuri’s tea. He had a teapot in front of him and a few small canisters of tea leaves he was mixing from. You'd watched him do this plenty of times before, his actions, the sounds, even the smell of the tea was like some kind of elevated ASMR video. Today though, instead of relaxation, you felt a grating sense of wrongness. He moved slower, like through something viscous and dense, and took several seconds to decide on what teas to use when it normally seemed arbitrary he was so decisive and instant. And then it happened. He did something you'd never seen him do before. He spilled tea leaves all over the floor.

You let out a soft gasp and sat up instinctively.

He stared, expression unreadable, down at the mess and you felt a little sharp prick in your heart at how absolutely exhausted he seemed. There was no way of knowing what he was thinking, but there was a universal sense of disappointment in that sidelong stare he gave the wasted tea leaves. He stood for a second more and then lumbered across the room for the broom.

“Let me help,” you offered, hopping up from your seat and hurrying over to him.

“Why? It's not your mess,” he responded in that monotone voice of his, grabbing the broom and turning back to clean up.

“Right. I don't have to help you anymore than you have to make Yuri tea every day,” you reached for the broom and grasped the handle, not quite prepared to wrestle it from the man you regularly saw hauling corpses to the morgue over one of his broad shoulders, but threatening nonetheless.

He stared down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose. “He'll complain if I don't. It's a hassle. I won't complain if you don't clean up after me.”

You frowned at his succinct, pragmatic answer. “Maybe I just want to help you because I care about you, then.” You tugged at the broom. To anyone else, you might have felt embarrassed being so forthright, but Jiro’s bluntness rubbed off on you in his presence. Besides, it didn't feel like a great revelation to share. You did care about him, and by this point, he'd have to be in serious denial to not notice it.

Jiro stared at you a few more seconds, then relinquished the broom. “I'll get the dustpan then.” He acquiesced in a way only Jiro could acquiesce. 

You scoffed quietly and started sweeping the mess into a neat pile while he shuffled back across the room to retrieve the dust pan. He returned and crouched down to hold it so you could sweep up the tea and a fair amount of dust. Looking down at him, you saw just how, dare you say, fucked up, his hair was. It was a bona fide rat's nest, there may have been rats living in it currently, and you weren't sure if the slight discoloration on his bangs was dirt or blood. 

Without thinking, you reached out and plucked a little piece of fuzz from his head and flicked it into the dustpan below. He stared up at you, utterly silent. You stared back. Seconds passed as you processed what you just did and he seemed to understand it no more than you did. “When was the last time you bathed?” You finally broke the silence. There was no point in beating around the bush with him, he surely wouldn't with you.

“Hmm,” he stood up and trekked over to a trash can to dump out the pan. “Before we autopsied that anomaly with 5 heads.”

“That was on Monday.” 

“Yes.”

“It's Friday.”

He turned to look at you, “Oh. It's been four days.” 

Did he not know the date?? You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm yourself. “And sleep? When did you last do that?” You pressed.

Jiro blinked slowly at you. 

You were going to kill Yuri, but that was for another time. This time, you had a giant, dirty, and sleep deprived Jiro to take care of. “You HAVE to take a bath and get some sleep.”

He considered this long enough to give you time to take another deep breath and prepare to nag him. “Okay,” he turned and started shuffling towards the bathroom, only to stop suddenly and put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

Rushing over, you put a hand on his arm in case he collapsed. “Jiro!” 

He blinked away the dizziness, nausea, lightheadedness, whatever he was feeling in that barely reanimated body of his, and barely straightened up. He seemed to have the intention to respond to you in some way, but the energy to do so was missing. He shuffled another step forward and you went with him. If this was how it was going to be, you clenched your jaw, this was how it was going to be.

He regained enough strength on the way to the bath that you felt confident he'd be able to survive cleaning up at least. You rushed in and around getting the water up to a warm temperature, grabbing a towel, and pushing him the last few steps towards the tub.

“It would be faster to take a shower,” he commented, kicking off his shoes.

“Do you think you have it in you to stand in a shower long enough to get clean?” You retorted with a raised eyebrow. You lifted the glasses from his face and set them carefully next to the sink.

He let you take his glasses with the familiarity of having had you done it a hundred times before. A hundred times might have been a bit off, but you'd maneuvered them off his head a few times when he was nearly passed out over an operating table and when he had blood all over his hands and couldn't wipe them off himself. It was an action not unusual for you two, which is why the tilt of his head came so naturally when you reached for them. Lifting back up, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “Maybe not. I could also faint and drown in the tub.” 

“That’s why I'll stand guard to check on you every few minutes to make sure you haven't inhaled lungfuls of bathwater,” you promised, avoiding looking too closely at his scarred back as he shrugged out of his shirt. You grabbed it up before it hit the ground and set it aside on the counter.

“Because you care about me?” He asked.

If a person could turn to sand and crumble away or deflate like a balloon and fly around the room making a pitiful little whining sound, you'd have done either. It was one thing to say it yourself to nag and scold him for his poor self care practices. It was another to have it thrown back at you in a way where you couldn't tell if he was teasing you or just earnestly asking. Face flushed an deep red, you turned around to give him privacy (and hide your blush) and stood at the door. “Because I care about you,” you agreed, regardless of the embarrassment.

A minute or two passed and you heard the sound of the water sloshing as he got into the tub. 

You held his towel in your folded arms, facing the door intently. “Just make a noise or something every few seconds so I know you're not drowning, okay?” 

He was quiet.

“Any sound,” you insisted, drumming your fingertips over your arms.

He was quiet, the water was not sloshing.

“Jiro?” You called behind you, suddenly very tense.

He didn't respond and all you could hear was your own heart hammering in your ears. He'd passed out and was currently breathing in water and soap. You'd have to haul him out of the tub and try to perform CPR, but would that work? What if you broke his sternum, could he survive that level of damage when he was already so weak? A million visions of Jiro’s untimely death flashed in your head and made your chest tighten.

You spun around, already halfway towards him before you realized he was fine.

He was resting his head on the back of the tub, looking at you with the smallest curve to his lips, his eyes shut slightly in contented amusement. He might have let out a rare bit of laughter if only he weren't so drained.

Your chest tightened and you considered a few choice words to call him for scaring you like that, but they all caught in your throat. As sweet as he looked, that barely there smile on his face, he looked so worn out and fragile sitting in that tub that could barely even fit him. You took a few steps toward him and set the towel down on the counter. “You scared me,” you admit.

“Sorry.” He responded, his smile had started vanishing, less because his amusement faded and more because the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

You watched him for a second more and he made no move to start scrubbing himself down or washing his hair. With a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and crouched up on your knees next to the tub. You had filled it with an absolutely absurd amount of soap and bubbles, so there was no chance of seeing much more than the top of his chest and his knees that poked out over the water. “I'll wash your hair, so take care of the rest of yourself, alright?” You pushed.

He nodded.

You filled your palm with a bit of shampoo and foamed it up between your hands before diving into his mess of knotted hair. You had seen dolls at second hand shops with fewer knots and less tangled hair, and some of those had gone through the dryer or maybe a wind tunnel. You took your time, scrubbing down to his scalp with your fingers as tenderly but insistently as you could.

Jiro relaxed into your touch, slumped so fully into the bath that you had to gently lift his head to reach the back of it. He let out a quiet hum of satisfaction when you raked your fingers up the nape of his neck. His eyes were fully closed now, his eyelashes thick and dark and brushing the tops of his cheeks. Without his mask hanging down around his chin, you could see the cute little beauty mark under his mouth. Droplets of water rolled down his neck, over the little star shaped scars, down his chest and-

His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at you. It wasn't particularly different from how he usually looked at you, and maybe that's why it felt so much more intimate than you were used to. If you let yourself get caught in these thoughts, it would recontextualize everything between you and nothing would make sense anymore. You felt paralyzed by him, by your thoughts, by your hands in his hair, by the slow rise and fall of chest and the shifting of bubbles. “You stopped,” he announced, his voice not betraying any real tone of displeasure, but you felt it nonetheless.

“Oh!” You got back to scrubbing, carefully working through the knots, carefully controlling your breathing. “Sorry,” you mumbled. You rinsed out the shampoo, dumping little rinse cups of water over his head, your hand over his eyes now both to hide his near unblinking watch and to prevent soap from getting into them.

You rushed through conditioner, getting as much of his hair as saturated as possible (you had no clue when he'd use it again, after all), and pulled your hand back to stand up. “Okay. Just finish cleaning up and then rinse that out and you'll be right as rain,” you lectured as robotically as you could. The bubbles had started to pop and dissipate and any glances down at him were revealing more that you thought appropriate to see at the moment.

He wrapped his fingers around your hand as you retracted it. His hands were wet and his fingers slightly wrinkled from being under the water for so long. He pulled your hand inward just slightly, enough to indicate he was asking you to come back, but not enough to force you or pull you down.

You settled back on your knees in front of him. He looked pitiful, in the cutest way possible. His hair dripped water down his cheeks, his entire body barely fit into this tub and still he was cramped down into it, reaching up for you like he could pull you in with him.

His lips parted slightly and the pins and needles feeling in your calves erupted.

“Jiro- AAARGG!” 

You shot up, Jiro's hand slipping from yours as you turned to see Yuri pointing at and screaming at you. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” Yuri demanded, expression crazed with suspicion.

“I was washing his hair!” You insisted, guilt tinging your tone, and then realized you weren't at fault here. He was the culprit. Plus, he'd interrupted whatever moment you were about to have with Jiro. His second major offense. You clenched your hands into fists. “Which he hasn't done in four days since you never give him any time to take care of himself!” You snapped.

Yuri withdrew in indignation, “How dare you speak to me that way, worm!” His hand pressed to his chest, over his heart. “Jiro has 24/7 care from the world's best doctor and foremost researcher on anomalous medicine. He should be grateful!”

You were ready to throw hands when Jiro spoke up. “Yuri, I'll finish up here in a few minutes and bring you tea after.” If only he knew the amount of blood he just prevented from being spilled.

Yuri bristled and rearranged his lab coat. “You do that. I'll be in the lab and you,” he pointed at you again with distaste, “will be going anywhere but here!”

Waving an annoyed hand at him, you retorted, “Let me just wash my hands and I'll be on my way.”

Yuri glowered at you and opened the door to leave, “Don't forget my tea,” he commanded, slamming the door behind him

You positively steamed while washing your hands in the slightly cool water of the sink. You couldn't even ask “who does he think he is” because he had to announce it every five minutes. Dr. Yuri Isami, genius and visionary. Best doctor ever, blah blah blah. Distracted with frustration, you almost forgot Jiro was soaking in the tub behind you until you turned to dry your hands and leave and caught him sitting up and staring at you again.

He was running a washcloth down his shoulder and arm when he spoke, “I'll let you help me again.”

You snorted. It seemed so flippant a conclusion, and yet… you weren't ready to walk away without one last question. “You're capable of doing this yourself. Why would you let me help you?”

He considered this, wringing the washcloth out over his chest, sending a cascade of soap bubbles and water down his skin that you watched with nothing more than scholarly interest. He didn't even look at you when he answered, his voice as cool and apathetic as always, “It must be because I care about you.”

[angel-writes-here]

Do You Love Me

G-Dragon x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: You meet your ex after his show. Warnings: None really. Some fluff. A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future fics let me know! PART 1

Jiyong practically lept out of bed after your conversation, much to his managers relief. He took a shower, washed his hair and brushed his teeth, he decided it was time to become the bona fide G-Dragon again, even if only for the night.

At the venue, the crowd is cheering, people are bustling back stage and Jiyong’s heart is racing against his ribcage.

“Has she shown up?” His voice is frantic as he puts on his mic pack.

“Not yet, she’ll be here,” his manager tries to reassure him. You had shown up actually, but instead of waiting backstage you chose to sit in the crowd. You hadn’t let anyone know, you didn’t want to be any kind of distraction. You wanted him to know that you aren’t the reason he is who he is.

The lights go down, the music starts and there he is, strong and radiant along side his best friends. You manage to stay out of view of the man you once loved, the one you aren’t sure you’re completely over yet almost until the end of the show.

He scans the crowd constantly looking for you, his smile faltering when he doesn’t find you, until the last song, One Last Dance begins and he spots you. He stops mid stride and stares you down the whole first half of the song.

His gaze is intense, but you can’t look away form him. When his verse comes up, he hops down from the stage and stands right in front of you by the barriers, serenading you in front of everyone, drawing millions of eyes to the both of you in the crowd and on screen.

“Just one last dance.”

He cups your face and fans are screaming around you. His touch feels like velvety and comfortable, something you’ve deeply missed. He smiles at you before returning to the stage for the outro of the song.

-

At the end of the night, you find his manager and he sneaks you back stage. Jiyong is sprinting off the stage instantly looking for you. He goes back to the green room, no sign of you. He looks around back stage, not a single trace you were ever there. It’s not until he finally changes that you knock on his dressing room door. He opens it and freezes. He really hadn’t thought this far, what he’d say or do. He drags his eyes up and down your outfit, one he recognized from your very first date. He doesn’t think, just pulls you to him and shuts the door behind you. His grip is strong, like that of cement. You don’t speak; you just hold each other. You start humming a tune and wrap your arms around his neck, swaying with him in the room.

The two of you dance for a moment before you whisper his name.

“Jiyong.”

He pulls back and looks at you, hands still tight around your waist. He searches your eyes, still bewildered he’s holding you again. He leans his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he chokes out. He couldn’t possibly pull you any closer, and yet somehow, he does. You can feel his breath against your lips, the heat from his body intoxicating in the intimate moment.

“Jagi, I’m so sorry,” he whispers inches from your lips, a stray tear making its way down his cheek.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” before he can finish your lips crash into his, longing and fervent. The kiss is intense, as if neither of you can take being physically separated from a moment longer.

Your lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen so you pull away for a moment, both of you panting, fanning each other with your hard breathing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he tries to explain, “I was drunk and I’m sorry. It’s no excuse but I can’t take it back. Y/n losing you,” you cup his cheek.

“Shh, shh,” you try to comfort him.

“I know, baby. I know you’re sorry.” He sighs in relief, but his body is still tense under your touch.

“I swear if you give me another chance, it won’t happen again. I need you like I need air. This means nothing, all of it pales in comparison to you. If you aren’t here, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Jiyong that’s not true, you did it tonight without knowing if I was even here.”

“It still wasn’t the same,” he mumbles.

“Please tell me you still love me,” his words are small, his voice weak due to fear of your rejection.

“I still love you,” you offer him a small smile.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He says and you can’t help but kiss his soft lips again.

“Come home,” he pleads.

“That was the plan,” you smirk he grins from ear to ear as he pulls you into an almost suffocating hug.

Tags: @breakmeoff