#sky teeth discourse

[zhelin-thames]

Danny Brings the Justice League to the Ghost Zone

Clockwork: “Why did you bring them here, Daniel?”

Danny: “I didn’t bring them. They followed me through a portal like lost ducks.”

John Constantine: “In my defense, I thought you were being possessed again.”

Danny: “I was LITERALLY holding a Dunkin’ bag and floating. That’s just me. That’s Tuesday.”

Batman: “This place violates every law of physics and at least four zoning bylaws.”

Fright Knight (materializing from the floor): “You violate my patience.”

Wonder Woman: “This realm... it’s alive.”

Danny: “Yeah, her name is Realmia. She likes boba and cosmic storms.”

Realmia (the actual Realms, vaguely embodied): blows a ghostly kiss and short-circuits three Bat-gadgets

Flash: “Can we talk about how the sky just blinked at me?”

Superman: “The sky has teeth.”

Danny (casually): “Yeah, don’t worry, they only bite time travelers.”

[The sky above them yawns open like a black hole with glittery teeth.]

Flash (Barry Allen): “...Wait.”

Danny: “Yeah?”

Flash:“I am a time traveler.”

Danny: “OH. That explains why the clouds keep growling at you.”

The Clouds: growl louder

Clockwork, sipping tea with visible amusement: “They’re merely curious. You're like a chew toy made of paradoxes.”

Flash (panicking): “I CAN FIX THIS. I CAN FIX—”

Danny: “No, Barry, this is not a ‘run really fast and mess up the timeline’ moment.”

Flash: “EVERY moment is that moment!”

Batman: “Allen, do not run. You will trigger a Realm storm.”

Flash: “What’s a Realm storm?”

The sky above them screams. Loudly. In Morse code.

Danny: “...Oh. That means ‘hi’ and ‘bite.’ It’s kinda both.”

Clockwork, sipping tea with a thousand-yard stare: “It’s been a long week.”

[skzdarlings]

mine ; lee minho x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood. “Can you please do ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ with Lee Know? I just know you’ll come up with something amazing! 🩶"

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: another pair of star-crossed lovers lol. reader is kissed by a different guy without her permission. possessive sex. unsafe sex. lots of biting and marking and grabbing. word count: 3700 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

-

You finally escape.

When the date is over and your supposed boyfriend leaves, you run out the back door.  Your parents are distracted, waving goodbye to your boyfriend as he pulls away in his expensive car.  They chat between themselves on the front porch of the family estate. 

“Such a remarkable young man,” they say.  “So wholesome.  So intelligent.“

So rich, is what they really mean.  Because he is not wholesome; he is a bully and a bigot at the best of times.  He derides anyone he deems beneath him, which is just about everyone.  He is also not intelligent, as true depth of intellect is revealed in conduct.  Someone that cruel and ignorant is not intelligent.  You have engaged in more stimulating discourse with birds.

But he is wealthy.  Your parents picked him for you and have been forcing the relationship along, contriving dates without telling you he will be there, inviting him into your home, encouraging his empty and shallow affection.  You encourage nothing, sitting stiffly whenever he touches you: an arm slung around your waist, a hand on your lower back, a kiss on the cheek.

Maybe you were naïve to think it would not escalate before its time, that you could bear it cordially until his interest withered and died.  Foolish.  He is not here for you but your name.  He does not care how you feel.  He does not care if you want him.  He wants the money and connections and power, sharing a bed with your parents through you.

Today he cornered you when you were alone.  He backed you into the wall and kissed you.  An unwanted kiss is a disgustingly slimy thing, all tongue and teeth and the bad, unfamiliar taste of a vile man’s breath.

Your whole unlived life flashed in your mind’s eye.  Every second was irredeemably awful.

So you run.  Out the back door, to the garage, weaving around your father’s cars.  Your old bike is hooked on its rack and you lift it down with some grunting effort.  You are dressed for a date, wearing a pristine ivory dress your mother picked, white lace stockings, and delicate flats.  It is not the ideal outfit for riding a bike.  It is a pretty but flimsy thing.  Summer nights are warm but there is a crisp breath on the wind as the sun sets. 

But if you stop for even a second, even just to change clothes, even just to catch your breath, then you will never get away. 

You swing onto your bike and escape via the back lane.  It is a long ride across town but your adrenaline propels you onward.

It is very obvious when you have crossed into new territory.  Across the park trail and over the railroad tracks is a different world.  The houses get smaller, more ramshackle, junk piled around the fully abandoned abodes.  Even the lived-in homes have old trucks and rusted goods stacked on their lawns.  It is a consequence of impoverished anxiety, hoarding in fear of one day having nothing.

Indeed, a very different part of town. 

Your parents are probably furious they cannot find you, but they will assume you ran to a nearby friend’s house.  If they knew where you really were, which friend you went to see, they would surpass furious and venture all the way into horror. 

But they are far away now.

You feel nothing but relief as the air changes.  You know it is the chill of a summer night as the sky turns blue, but it convinces you the air is clearer.  You exhale and feel as though you are releasing a breath that you have been holding all day.

Your journey takes you to a familiar yard.  You remember the first time you ever visited, standing so small and uncertain on the front steps, waiting for a kiss you actually wanted.

A kiss that never came.  

You park your bike against the side of the house.  You walk up the front steps on shaky legs, weak from speedy riding.    

You open the screen door to knock on the inside door.  While you wait for an answer, you fiddle with your appearance, adjusting any evidence of wind-swept dishevelment.

Oh, you are so nervous.  You were so hellbent on just getting here, you did not register any feeling beyond determination. But now you are standing on this porch in your flimsy white dress, the sun set, the day done.  You are doing something you should have done a long, long time ago and suddenly fearing you are far, far too late. 

No answer comes.  You knock again.

Your stomach forms a pit you hope you will eat you whole.  Is he ignoring you?  No.  The windows are shut, the blinds closed.  He cannot even see you.

You take a step back.  Even with everything sealed shut, you should be able to see a hint of light.  The house is small, a single story.  There are only so many places he could be.

He isn’t home, you realize, first with relief that he is not ignoring you, then with dejection.  Of course he’s not home, you tell yourself.  What were you even thinking?  Silly girl.  Riding all the way out here, expecting him to be sitting around and waiting for you.  He has a life of his own.  He probably doesn’t even think about you.  You’re pathetic.

You know you are being a little melodramatic.  Your emotions have been running at an extreme all day.  They finally become too much to bear.  You sit down on the steps and cry. 

Some time passes.  You eventually calm yourself enough to wipe your eyes.  You feel the cold more acutely now, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. 

You are not sure what to do now.  You refuse to go home, knowing what awaits you.  You have nowhere else to go. Your future is murky, which is still more comforting than the vision of it when your boyfriend forcibly kissed you.   

You sigh.  You know if you wait long enough, your friend will come home and help you.  Even if he doesn’t want you, even if he can be a bit standoffish at times, he has the warmest heart you know.  You met doing volunteer work, in fact.  You know he will help you like he would help anyone in need.

It does not mean you do not feel pathetic, curled up and shivering on his porch steps.  You are debating a course of action when a truck rolls into the yard with a flash of headlights and a noticeably hiccupping engine.  It pulls around the side of the house.

You stand and take tentative steps to follow.  You are still and quiet as the rough rumble of the truck comes to a wheezy stop. 

The driver door flies open.  He jumps out, cursing.  Your breath catches and all your hypotheticals dissipate in wake of the reality of him.

Lee Minho.

He is wearing his old, dusty leather jacket, something of a signature piece due its reliability.  His jeans are torn at the knee, likely a legitimate tear and not a fashion statement, his old work boots a bit scuffed.  He is a working man of limited means and nothing functional goes to waste.  

He is beautiful as ever.  Dark hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back with a forceful rake, the softer pieces fluttering forward again.  He has an athletic frame, but delicate features despite his near-perpetual scowl.  When he does laugh, it is a hilariously boisterous sound.

He is scowling right now.  Cursing to himself as he stomps around the beat-up truck.  He wears a carabiner with a bundle of emergency tools, grabbing a miniature flashlight to guide his way.  He props open the hood and starts rustling around inside.  He curses again, then he puts the light away so he can reach inside with both hands.

You do not mean to startle him.  You thought he might have seen you, observant as he is, but apparently the truck has him distracted.

“Minho,” you say. 

You cannot see him too well in the dark, but you hear the distinctive thud of metal as he undoubtedly smacks his head on the open hood.  He curses louder this time. 

There is a small light on the side of the house.  You step towards it at the same time. 

He is rubbing the back of his head, frowning, but he comes to a total stop when he sees you.  His eyes widen ever so slightly, his brows drawn in confusion.  He stares intently at you. 

“Hi,” you say.

He just keeps staring. 

“Um. I was just in the neighbourhood,” you say.  “I wanted to see you.  I hope you’re doing well.”

He drops his arm and it swings at his side.  He continues to stare at you, the furrow in his brow more intense. 

“Right,” you say.  You feel a catch in the back of your throat.  Fortunately, you have cried all your tears and will not make a fool of yourself in front of him.  More of a fool, that is.  You want to say so many things but you cannot think of a single word that suffices. 

I missed you so much, you think.  I think about you every day.  Have you thought about me?

It sounds so clingy and pathetic.  Your boyfriend derides such women and their neediness.  Minho is not a man like that, though.  He has never spoken so disparagingly about someone.  You know that, but the words catch nonetheless. 

You exhale a shaky breath, looking aside at nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.  “I probably shouldn’t have come here.  It’s been months since we last spoke.  I know we’re not really friends anymore.  I just had no where else to go and I…”

“You were crying,” he says. 

You look at him.  His expression has not softened.  It is still that same scrutinizing stare.  His gaze is intently locked on yours, on eyes that must show the evidence of your crying. 

You wipe your face quickly, embarrassed.  Your gaze lifts when he takes a small step towards you.  He reaches for you, as if he means to wipe your eyes himself, but then he catches the sight of his own hand, covered in black grease from the truck. 

“Shit,” he says, and snaps his arm back. 

“Minho,” you say, your heart fluttering just from the suggestion he was going to touch you.  A small touch from him means more than anything. 

“Princess,” he says, an old affectionate nickname for you, though he speaks it rather dryly.  He is still frowning.  “Are you hurt?”

“Maybe,” you say.  When he reacts physically, his shoulders stiffening, you quickly add, “Not like that.  Emotionally, I mean.  I just… I think I ran away from home.”

“You think,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn’t really think it through, to be honest,” you say shyly.  “I just… I couldn’t stay there anymore.  You know what they’re like.” 

He flinches as if the memory comes with a strike.  You feel embarrassed, remembering too. 

You and Minho became fast friends through your mutual volunteer efforts.  You thought nothing of inviting him to a neighbourhood party at your parents’ house.  He wore his nicest shirt and fresh pants, but as soon as everyone found out where he came from, they wanted nothing to do with him. 

You are embarrassed to say you did not even notice at first, naively taking politeness for granted.  He had to explain it to you, then you saw their two-facedness everywhere and felt horrible.

You stayed on his side of town after that, at least until your parents put their foot down.  They didn’t want you developing feelings for that kind of boy.   You insisted he was just a friend, even while already in love with him.  His biting wit and good heart had you in thrall. 

You were in denial about your parents being bad people.  You wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart.  They were just set in their ways.  They wanted a good life for you.  You told Minho to just give them time.  He let you go.  They introduced you to your new boyfriend the next day. 

Minho takes a breath.  He shoves his tongue into his cheek, looking pensive.  You are thinking of something to say when he nods his head. 

“You look cold,” he says frankly.  “Let’s go inside.”

You nod, following him to the front steps.  He grabs the porch rail and jumps the steps in an effortless swing.  You shuffle behind him while he unlocks the door. 

He says nothing, just nods at you.  You follow him through, closing the door while he bends down to unlace his boots.  He kicks them to the side while you step softly out of your flats.  When you meet each other’s eyes, you feel a spark. 

You stood in this very spot a few months ago, almost nose to nose, arguing about your parents and what to do.  You knew, deep in your heart, the conversation was not about a mere friendship.  You both had stronger feelings, but you were both scared to act on them given your precarious circumstance.  He did not want to risk everything while you were indecisive.  You wanted to keep everything. 

You have lived a life of great privilege and you are used to getting everything you want.  You have had to confront reality, that you cannot always have everything.   

So, if you can only have one thing, you want him. 

He looks at you with the same dark passion as then.  Your heart skips beats under his intense gaze. 

“You’re here,” he says. Maybe the same memories flicker through his mind.  He tips his head, looking at you so closely, like he cannot believe you are real.   

“Yes,” you say softly, clasping your hands in front of you. “I’m here.” 

“To stay,” he says.

“If you’ll have me,” you reply.  Your heart is beating so hard, it is a wonder he cannot hear it.  Your legs feel even weaker than before, but this time is has nothing to do with bicycles and everything to do with him. 

He swallows, his throat bobbing.  He sniffs and looks aside while idly tugging his jacket.   

“And your boyfriend?” he says, glaring at the far wall. 

Your heart sinks.  It is your turn to swallow. 

“You know about that?” you ask. 

He laughs, not that gleeful sound you know but a sharp cackle.  He looks at you incredulously. 

“Of course I know,” he says.  “I don’t always stay on my side of the tracks.  Sometimes,” he speaks with sarcastic wonder, “I get to repair houses for the pretty rich people.”  He huffs, shaking his head.  “It’s fine,” he says.  “You should be with someone like that.  He’ll give you the house.  The car.  I bet your parents love him too.”

“I don’t want those things,” you say, bearing his bitterness because you understand what he is feeling.  You lift your chin and look him in the eye.  “You’re right, my parents do love him.  But I don’t.  He’s shallow and unkind.  And you—”  Your voice catches.  “You, Lee Minho, are anything but that.  You are everything.  And I… I love you.  I always have.”  You drop your eyes with this confession, suddenly overwhelmed with the sheer emotion pouring out of his gaze.  “I know it’s been a while,” you say.  “I don’t expect you to have waited for me.  I just—”

He laughs again.  It is still dry, but not so sharp.  You glance at him. 

“Princess,” he says. “Don’t tell me you seriously think I could just forget about you.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s like you don’t even know me.  I should kick you out just for that.”

You realize he is joking, the faintest hint of something warm melting his scowl. 

“I can’t give you that life,” he says seriously. 

You step towards him, holding his gaze, pouring as much emotion back at him.  He exhales, blinking quickly, long lashes fluttering as he looks at you. 

“I have no idea what we’re gonna do,” you admit.  “But I know I want to figure it out.  With you.  And no one else.” 

He smiles and it makes you smile.  Then he reaches for you, but stops when he once more remembers his dirty hands. 

“Shit,” he says again, then takes a step back.  “Let me just—”

You take him by the wrist and yank him towards you.  He follows your guidance, his breath catching when you plant his hand on your hip.  It will leave a big black stain on your perfect white dress, the shape of his hand in a possessive grip on your body. 

It is more effective than any word.  He swoops in and kisses you, his other hand cupping your other hip with the same deliberate possessiveness.   You are certain this horrid little gown will be destroyed and you do not care one bit.  You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. 

“You’re cruel,” he says between kisses.  “Torturing me for so long.  I wanted to kill that man.  But I thought he made you happy—”

“He disgusted me,” you say.  “He kissed me without my permission today.”

“What.”  That stops the kiss and he looks at you with that scowl again.  “I’ll kill him,” he says without any hesitation. 

You just laugh a gentle laugh, shaking your head.  You twist a longer tuft of his hair around your finger, making his tense shoulders go soft as he leans in. 

“You don’t have to kill him,” you say.  “Just make me forget him.” 

Oh, Lee Minho is such an awful tease all the time.  Of course he goes back to just staring at you with a contemplative air, making you wriggle and wonder in his arms.  You whine his name, trying to kiss him, but he dodges it.  Your whimpering makes him laugh, because of course it does. 

Then he gets very serious.  Your heart sends a bolt of heat shooting through your body.  Your thighs press together. 

He presses his forehead to yours.  You gasp when you feel his fingers on your back, the careful slow touch as he tugs your zipper down.  The flimsy dress slides off your body as he steps back to look at you.  You shiver, gazing back at him.  His stare is unflinching as he peels off his jacket and tosses it aside.  His hands are already much cleaner, the distinctive print of his palms still plastered to your dress.  He wipes the rest on his own shirt then tugs it off and tosses it to the side. 

He smirks and wiggles two come hither fingers at you, walking backwards.  You follow him slowly, then give chase when he cackles and runs.  You follow him into the bedroom where he literally sweeps you off your feet.

“And you say I’m cruel,” you tease.   

He closes the door with a firm snap then leans you against it. 

“You are,” he says.  He looks down your body while running his fingers through his hair.  “You are.” 

Then he gets on his knees, first one while he tugs your panties down, then the other, when he hooks your leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on you.  He does not tease anymore, swiftly finding all the ways to make you moan his name.  You are scared your leg will buckle under you when he makes you come, but he holds you steady. 

Then he stands up and cups your face, kissing you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue.  It is a good kiss, everything a kiss should be, hot and hungry, slow and deep.  It makes you tingle with aftershocks, blinking at him with delirious pleasure when he pulls back.   

Minho can be loud, can be boisterous, can be scathing.  He can also speak gently, in such a soft, light rasp.  It makes your head spin.   He speaks like that now.    

“This is how it is,” he says, then kisses you again, licks into your mouth.  When you moan, he moans back.  “I make you sigh,” he says.  “I make your pussy wet.  I make you come.  Just me.”

“Yes,” you nod, clinging to him when he carries you to the bed.  “You, Minho.” 

He lays you down, kneeling between your open legs.  They are still quivering from your orgasm.  He looks at you, hungrily, while opening his belt.  He rips it out of his jeans and tosses it behind him, then unzips while leaning down to kiss you.  He dives past your waiting mouth to kiss your throat, biting marks under your jaw, on your neck, on your tits.  You grab his head, hands in his hair, arching your back under his desperate mouth. 

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.”

He holds your hips while thrusting inside you.  You imagine his hands leaving a permanent mark, just like that stained dress, a claiming that forever marks you as his.  He fucks you so steadily and deeply, holding you possessively, gasping your name and how good you feel while he takes you. 

“Perfect,” he says in that dreamy voice, rubbing you softly while fucking you hard. It makes you come around his cock, clenching tight, which makes him moan into your mouth.   “Mine.”

You wrap your legs around him.  You lay chest-against-chest, holding each other.  Your nails scratch his back, no doubt leaving your own marks, your whole body littered with his kisses and bites.  There is not a single inch of you that is not branded by him. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Always, Minho.”

Saying his name sends him over.  He comes inside you, claiming you even there, then stays inside you after while you kiss. 

You stay in his arms all night, making love and sleeping then making love some more.  When the sun rises, you wake to him holding you, stroking your cheek affectionately. 

He kisses your forehead and you nestle comfortably against him, happy to be home. 

[catboy-autism]

♡♡ Nekoilleistic ♡♡

[PT: Nekoilleistic /End PT]

A xenogender related to being a cat* and the euphoria or action of talking/imagining talking in the 3rd person ♡

Cat here includes anyone who identifies as a cat or feline in any aspect. catkins, catgenders, cat-persons, cat-things, etc.

Coined by me

Etymology : [neko + illeist + ic] Neko is the Japanese word for cat and also often refers to cat-people. Illeist is the word for those who speak in the 3rd person.

[ID 1: An 11-striped flag. From top to bottom the colors are rose pink, light pink, purple, light purple, light blue, baby blue, light purple, purple, light pink, and rose pink. In the center is a sky blue silhouette of a cat head, next to it and slightly up is a white rectangular text box. ID End]

This flag is a remake! Check under cut for the original

[ID 2: A thin brown line, in the center of it is an orange tabby maine coon mix laying down, staring to the side of the viewer. ID End]

[ID 3: A rectangular banner. The border of it has a gradient of orange to pink. In each corner are 3 strawberries and 4 strawberry flowers. Within the border is a light tan rectangle with text. From top to bottom the different blocks of text read, in all caps: "Do not involve my flags or labels in discourse", this is colored red and underlined; "Anyone can use my flags and labels", this is also red; "But I do block freely", this is colored pink. There is a line of small cartoonish strawberries, each separated by little leaves. On the center bottom is a pink to orange gradient rounded rectangle. Within it is a red text in all caps that reads "This blog loves mspec gays and lesbians". On the left of the rectangle is the mspec lesbian flag and on the right is the mspec gay flag. On the left and right of the main rectangle are drawings of calico cats stretching. There are muddy paw prints scattered across the banner. ID End]

[ID 4: A 9-striped flag. From top to bottom the colors are rose pink, light pink, orange, light orange, pastel yellow, light orange, orange, light pink, and rose pink. On the bottom of stripes 5-9, there are indents of cat mouths with two sharp teeth pointing out. On to top of stripes 1-5, there are triangles to represent cat ears. ID End]

[ID 5: A 9-striped flag. From top to bottom the colors are rose pink, light pink, orange, light orange, pastel yellow, light orange, orange, light pink, and rose pink. ID End]

[justwriteryan]

Part 2: the White Event.

Planet Earth always had some degree of protection from the darker forces in the galaxy, even if they didn’t know it. Unfortunately, at the time of the Chitauri Invasion many of these powers were already engaged in conflicts across the cosmos.

The Nova Corps were deeply embroiled in the ongoing Kree-Skrull War, so failed to notice when a legion of Chitauri attacked Terra. Captain Marvel, Earth’s own champion among the stars was fighting her own one-woman war against her former Kree oppressors and at the same time providing safe passage and asylum for Skrull refugees.

Asgard had always kept a weathered eye on the affairs of the mortal world from afar. The recent destruction of the Bifrost, however, meant that they lacked the means or the manpower to defend Midgard. Reconstruction of the Rainbow Bridge went slowly and seven other realms still required protection from bandits and warlords’ eager for plunder.

The Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj held sanctums in major cities across the globe. From the Sanctum Sanctorum in Greenwich Village the Ancient One herself helped repel Chitauri marauders completely undetected by the troops on the ground. But as the nuclear missile approached, she hastily strengthened the building’s protection spells to withstand the impact and enchant the brownstone to appear as another crumbling ruin in a bombed city. Back at their stronghold in Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One decreed that the Chitauri invasion was not a metaphysical threat to their reality and so it was not their responsibility to intervene further. Already simmering tensions began to rise among the other masters at this news. Kaecillius, already growing disillusioned with their leader’s refusal to act, argued against staying hidden while the planet faced a danger like never before. Wong believed that contact with extra-terrestrial life of this magnitude was inevitable, but it was their duty to stand guard for threats like Mephisto or Dormammu. This discourse carried on and on, while Loki’s armies remained unopposed from the only magic practitioners with the skill to match his.

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

Four weeks had passed since New York City was occupied by foreign invaders. The perimeter manned by military, National Guard and SHIELD stood strong. Loki’s forces, bolstered by an army of Frost Giants were fully entrenched in the ruins of the city and thwarted every attempt to breach their base. A stalemate had descended on the war torn region. A stalemate that would break that very night.

As the sun set over the Manhattan skyline, a military base south of Brooklyn detected a change in the local atmosphere. Although it was still June, thermal readings showed the temperature around the base begin to drop. One of the officers standing guard noticed movement coming the shadows under the horizon. They watched as a swirling, bubbling mass emanated from the twilight. It grew in height, stretched in diameter, until a dense white vapour could be seen gliding over the abandoned suburbs and ravaged highways. The air grew colder and colder as a great freezing most approached the base, buffeted by an icy wind. Commands were barked, positions manned and artillery prepped for deployment. As the mist swept over the base, the temperature plummeted below zero. Teeth chattered, frost formed across the ground and any equipment not built to withstand polar conditions quickly short circuited and was rendered inert.

Still the temperature fell. Surveillance systems went down. Then communications. Finally, the floodlights blew out. The encampment was totally enveloped by the mysterious fog and completely cut off from support. An order was given to fire flares into the darkening sky. As the last flare was shot, the red blinking light cast shadows on what appeared to be extraordinarily tall men with pale blue skin, charging towards the base on foot and covering great distance in long, loping strides. The commander of the base gave the order to open fire. What the Jotunn warchief bellowed at his reavers, no human could translate.

Six hours later, the sun rose. The freezing mist dissipated and the air became thick and humid once more. Army transport vehicles and medical vans that had been kept at bay by the freak weather conditions rushed to the base. Representatives from different military and intelligence services hurried to the scene, helmet cams relaying footage to the White House, Pentagon and Triskelion. When the convoy was not met by guards at the gate, their worst fears were confirmed.

Yesterday this had been a bustling military base with a barracks of three hundred troops and a state of the art command centre on the frontlines of a border war. Today it was the site of a massacre. Bodies and body parts lay in every direction. Walls and fences had been smashed as something through them. Tents had been flattened and trampled as if by a stampede. Armoured trucks had been rolled over and crushed. The radio tower had been pulled down and snapped into pieces. A Chinook helicopter had been ripped in two. And everywhere, all over the blood sodden ground, clearly distinguishable among the melting frost and sloshing mud were giant footprints, criss-crossing in a frenzied pattern with no indication of order. The only object standing upright among the devastation was a lone flagpole. The flag unfurled itself, without wind, as if commanded to by an unseen force. The banner displayed a green field emblazoned by a golden helmet with two long, curved horns.

Twenty-four hours later, inside an aircraft hangar not far from Washington D.C., General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross addresses a select gathering of individuals.

“You’ve all seen the footage. At twenty-one hundred hours a joint operations encampment along the New York Perimeter was swamped by a weather anomaly the media are calling “the White Event”. By sunrise, it had been neutralised. With prejudice. There were no survivors. The despot who seized control of our most beloved city just showed the world that he’s ready to take this conflict to the next stage. So are we. Conventional methods of ground and air combat have failed and any suggestions of risking the nuclear option on U.S. soil again get laughed out of the room. But the late Nick Fury did have one good idea. The Avengers Initiative works in principle but the candidates Fury selected…well, let’s not speak ill of the dead. The World Security Council feel it needs a new direction. People with experience in military action, air force levels of endurance, a lifetime of espionage and intelligence gathering. People who can make the hard choices and still toe the line because that is what they’ve been trained to do! I have convinced the powers that be that you, assembled here, are the heroes this country needs.”

Joining the General in this meeting is Colonel James Rhodes, WAR MACHINE. 

Ava Starr, GHOST enhanced SHIELD black ops specialist. 

Darren Cross, head of Pym Technologies, wearing a silver and yellow mech suit: YELLOWJACKET

Justin Hammer, former C.E.O. of HAMMER INDUSTRIES.

and the enormous, shackled figure of Emil Blonsky, the ABOMINATION.

Abomination snorts at the General before him. “You want us to be Avengers?”

“No.” Ross replied. “The Avengers was Fury’s. This team will be mine.”

“Do we still work for SHIELD, then?” asks Ava.

“You heard him.” answered Rhodes, looking directly at the General. “We’re Thunderbolt’s.”

[llynwen]

hi you're European right? I'm curious to know your thoughts about how the American south is portrayed in true detective bc I've been there and yes it's exactly like that but even moreso. Haunted ass beautiful country

Thank You So Much for such an interesting ask!

In the case of many europeans who were born before the Internet was such a big thing, we mostly learned about the us from films and shows. my childhood experience was watching reruns of spaghetti westerns and early 2000s rom coms, family comedies and kids movies, and feeling that the technicolor reality of america was somehow so much better than the Gray of eastern europe. the discrepancy isn't as noticeable now as it used to be when i was a kid, but you could Smell the post-sovietness some days. the life i saw in the movies was anything But the bleak, overwhelming reality of the early 2000s in my country that just made you feel nauseous and gave you a migraine. like i remember being Shocked at the technology of CDs and MP3 players. it was 2007.

the consensus was always that america was somewhere where everything was better. bigger. brighter. america was where you went to be happy. where you could breathe.

then, as i grew up, i obviously realized that this was a load of bullshit. i don't remember when the shift took place, but sometime in my teenage years, i suppose. by that time, my english has gotten good enough to actually participate in social media (that are predominantly american, like tumblr for example. i've been here for a decade) and actually engage in discourse. to learn about the Real america and what life looked like for the average person. and it wasn't great. guns, systemic oppression, privatized healthcare, the capitalist rot. none of that was present in the movies of my childhood.

now, in true detective, the south reminds me so much of how eastern europe felt in my childhood. it's nowhere near similar to it visually, the nature and architecture and people are all different, but it is Stifling, Suffocating, like the sky is gonna come down on your head. the ash and aluminum line actually describes it so good. what i was most surprised by, though, was the people. starting from marty (let's not focus on rusty here as we can all agree he doesn't really belong with the rest of the characters), he is a perfect example of the average family man. i love his character Because he's a shit and a cringeass loser, but in the scenes of him interacting with his daughters in '02, the feeling that he evokes in me is Disgust. and i feel like that's a common archetype of the father-provider that thinks his role in the house ends with making money. he sits in his chair, makes everybody miserable with his very presence, and expects the food to be brought to him. that man has never scrubbed a toilet in his life. i know men like him. i've met them, talked to them. i'm related to them. they're everywhere. that disgust feels intimate. now, the other characters that surprised me were the side characters, the people rust and marty go to question. tyrone's mother, the prostitutes, dora's friend at the scrap yard - they remind me of my people. now, i really don't want to come off as classist or some shit like that - but in both the show And my reality, the divide between the working class and the educated crowd is Stark. that is not to say that one is better than the other (i firmly believe that a lack of education can make you happier, if you think about it. content with a simple life, happy to work in a mine your whole life, live in a wielka płyta apartment and go to the sea once a year. if that. this is very specific to my region, sorry). the way those side characters talk, behave, even look - that is Nothing like the movies. they're not the flashy main characters, they're imperfect in every sense - they Look like people, have flaws, crooked teeth, they don't dress like supermodels, they can be stupid, they drink and smoke and cheat and lie. they're Human, not movie protagonists. and i love that reality in the show. makes it feel that much more authentic.

i don't know how specific that is to the south; are the people like that in other places? are the fishermen in luisiana the same as in minessota? is the suffocating feeling specific to the iberia parish, or is that just how it is in small town america? i dont know. the problem is, i wanna find out.

see, i never lost that childhood wonder. call me naive, but i still wanna Go. i still want to see the american dream with my own two eyes, even if it means i'm gonna watch it shatter in real time. i graduate college in a little over a year with a masters degree, and for right now my plan is to find a way to go work at a ranch in montana or wyoming. that's all i want. my favorite thing about america is not the culture, not the people, not the Possibility, but the Space. ironically, the stolen land is what compels me most. i want to experience that open space, to Breathe, and for the first time in my life feel my lungs filling up fully. i will be disappointed, full stop, but i want to have that experience.

the american south is a fascinating place to me, always has. the specific mix of cultures, the tradition and lack of it, even the bigotry and hate, it's all endlessly interesting. as you said, haunted but oh so beautiful. it scares the shit out of me. i need to go and feel it bite me.

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter Twenty-Four Recap: At Long Life Mountain the Great Immortal detains his old friend; At Five Villages Abbey, Pilgrim steals the ginseng fruit

This chapter begins with Sun Wukong teasing Zhu Bajie, who they find tied to a treat and “screaming continuously because of the unbearable pain.” In response to this the former marshal “was so mortified that he clenched his teeth to try to endure the pain without making any more noise.” Sha Wujing, for his own part, “could not bear to look” at his companion’s condition, and so “he put down the luggage and went forward to untie the ropes.” As soon as he’s freed Zhu Bajie “could only drop to his knees and kowtow toward the sky, for he was filled with shame.” He’s also left “more embarrassed than ever” when he sees the slip of paper proving it was bodhisattvas he was trying to marry, and finally proclaims that he’ll “never dare do such foolish things again. Even if it breaks my bones, I’ll carry the pole and luggage to follow Master to the West.” Tang Sanzang is glad that his swinish disciple is “finally speaking sensibly.”

The pilgrims then travel for a time until one day they come upon a tall, “magnificent mountain” which Tripitaka finds so “extraordinarily beautiful” that he can’t help but wonder if they are near the Thunderclap monastery and thus their journey’s end. Sun Wukong, however, assures his shifu that they “are nowhere near” their destination; it is “one hundred and eight thousand miles” to reach Thunderclap, and they “have not even covered one-tenth of the distance.” The Monkey King further tells his “worthy brothers” Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing that if the journey was just about taking them to see the Buddha, they could do it in ten days. If it was just him, “I could probably make about fifty round trips in a day and there would still be sunlight.” Yet when it comes to the human Tang Sanzang, he could “walk from the time of your youth till the time you grow old, and after that, till you become youthful again; and even after going through such a cycle a thousand times, you may still find it difficult to reach the place you want to go to. But when you perceive, but the resoluteness of your will, the Buddha-nature in all things, and when every one of your thoughts goes back to its very source in your memory, that will be the time you arrive at the Spirit Mountain.”

In regards to where the pilgrimage currently is, however, Sha Wujing notes that “a place of such scenic splendor must be the residence of a good man.” Sun Wukong agrees, and indeed the reader is informed that this is the Long Life Mountain, the local of the Daoist Abbey called Five Villages Abbey, which is the “abode of an immortal whose Daoist style was Master Zhenyuan and whose nickname was Lord, Equal to Earth.” Five Villages Abbey is furthermore the home of “a strange treasure…a spiritual root that was formed just after chaos had been parted and the nebula had been established prior to the division of Heaven and Earth. This living treasure is “called grass of the reverted cinnabar, or the ginseng fruit.” It takes nearly ten thousand years for the fruit of this tree to ripen, and even then there are only thirty fruits, each one shaped “exactly [like] a newborn infant not yet three days old, complete with the four limbs and the five senses. If a man had the good fortune of even smelling the fruit, he would live for three hundred and sixty years; if he ate one, he would reach his forty-seven thousandth year.”

It so happens that on the very day the pilgrims are passing through the Long Life Mountain, the Great Zhenyuan Immortal received an invitation from the Celestial Worthy of Original Commencement to attend a discourse on “The Daoist Fruit of the Chaotic Origin.” Master Zhenyuan is furthermore an immortal who “had already trained countless disciples to become immortals,” and while he takes forty-six of his current disciples to attend the lecture, he leaves behind the two youngest, Clear Breeze and Bright Moon. This is because while Master Zhenyuan “cannot refuse the invitation of the Great Honorable Divine…an old friend of mine will be passing by here any day. Don’t fail to treat him kindly: you may, in fact, strike down from the tree two of the ginseng fruits for him to eat as a token of our past friendship.” This old friend is none other than Tang Sanzang, who Master Zhenyuan had met as “Golden Cicada, the second disciple of Tathagata, the Aged Sage of the West. Five hundred years ago, I became acquainted with him during the Feast of the Ullambana Bowl, when he presented me tea with his own hands as the various sons of Buddha paid me their respect. That’s why I consider him an old friend.” Clear Breeze and Bright Moon accept these instructions, along with the warning that though “Tripitaka Tang is an old friend, his disciples, I fear, may be somewhat rowdy. It’s best not to let them know about the fruits.” And with that Master Zhenyuan and his disciples leave for Heaven.

The pilgrims soon reach the Five Villages Abbey, where they are greeted by Clear Breeze and Bright Moon. These Daoist youths lead the Tang Monk and his disciples into the central chamber, and though Sun Wukong starts causing a ruckus Tripitaka reprimands him and order his disciples to graze Bai Longma, look after the luggage, and get ready to prepare a meal so that they can eat and leave. The disciples go about fulfilling their shifu’s orders, and Clear Breeze and Bright Moon are filled with admiration as to how effectively Tang Sanzang can get his yaoguai disciples in line. After further checking to see if Tripitaka is indeed who he says he is, the Daoist youths then serve him tea before fetching two of the ginseng fruits for his enjoyment.

Tang Sanzang’s reaction to this fruit, though it is graciously given, is far from polite. For as soon as he sees them, he “trembled all over and backed away three feet, saying ‘Goodness! Goodness!...is this abbey so destitute that they have to practice cannibalism here? These are newborn infants not yet three days old! How could you serve them to me to relieve my thirst?” It’s at this that Clear Breeze recognizes that Tripitaka has “been so corrupted by the fields of mouths and tongues, but the sea of strife and envy, that all he possesses are but two fleshly eyes and a worldly mind. That’s why he can’t recognize the strange treasure of our divine abode!” And indeed, the Tang Monk won’t eat the fruit and refuses to believe that they’re fruit in the first place instead of three-day-old babies. Left with no other choice, Clear Breeze and Bright Moon take the fruit away. Further, as the ginseng fruit will “become still and inedible” if “kept too long,” they eat the fruit themselves.

To their bad luck, however, their chamber was “immediately adjacent to the kitchen.” As such, Zhu Bajie, who was “busily cooking rice,” heard all about the ginseng fruit through the shared wall and thus wants to taste some. Yet “reluctant to do anything himself, he decided to wait for Pilgrim’s arrival so that they could plan something together.” As soon as Sun Wukong comes back from grazing Bai Longma, Zhu Bajie immediately tells him that there’s ginseng fruit to be had at this abbey, and encourages the Monkey King to steal some for the pilgrims to sample. Sun Wukong agrees to do so, and after receiving some instruction from the pig yaoguai on how to go about gathering the ginseng fruit, he uses “the magic of body concealment and stole into the Daoist chamber.” There he “borrows” the gold mallet required to knock down the ginseng fruit, and then steals into the abbey’s gardens, where he soon locates the ginseng tree, a massive plant “over a thousand feet tall, and its base must have measured sixty or seventy feet around.” Sun Wukong soon spots one of its fruits, which “certainly had the appearance of an infant with a tail-like peduncle. Look at it dangling from the end of the branch, with limbs moving wildly and head bobbing madly! It seems to make sounds as it swung in the breeze.”

As he is “an expert in climbing trees and stealing fruits,” a delighted Monkey King soon reaches this fruit and taps it lightly with the gold mallet. While it does drop at once, it’s nowhere to be found on the ground. Assuming that “the local spirit of this garden” is responsible for the fruit’s disappearance, Sun Wukong summons him and reprimands the “humble deity” for preventing the Monkey King, “the world’s most famous thief,” from claiming his prize. The local spirit, however, tells Sun Wukong that as the ginseng fruit “is something that belongs to an earthbound immortal, whereas I am only a ghost immortal,” that he doesn’t “even have the good fortune to smell it!” The garden spirit goes on to inform the Monkey King that the fruit is “resistant to the Five Phases,” i.e. that while it will fall if it “encounters gold,” its properties will be lost if it touches wood, water, fire, or earth, and that as such it “has to be held by a tray cushioned with silk handkerchiefs.” The ground where this particular ginseng fruit landed is furthermore now “three or four times harder than raw iron,” something Sun Wukong sees for himself when he uses his golden-hooped rod to give the ground a “terrific blow” without leaving “the slightest mark.” Mollified, the Monkey King tells the local spirit he had made a mistake in laying blame, and as such the spirit is free to go.

Still intent on tasting the fruit, Sun Wukong “held the golden mallet in one hand and, with the other, pulled up the front of his silk shirt to make a little sack.” In this manner he’s able to collect three of the ginseng fruits. The Monkey King runs back to the kitchen with his prize to share with Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing. The sand monk is also able to recognize the fruit right away, for “when I was the Curtain-Raising Captain, I waited on the Throne to attend the Festival of Immortal Peaches, and I once saw many immortals from beyond the sea presenting this fruit to the Lady Queen Mother as a birthday gift. So I have seen it, but I have never tasted it.” Sha Wujing then asks to “try a little,” and Sun Wukong announces that there’s “one for each of us brothers.”

Sun Wukong, Sha Wujing, and Zhu Bajie proceed to enjoy the stolen ginseng fruit. The former marshal, however, finishes his “with one gulp” and immediately asks the Monkey King to “fetch me another fruit so that I can take time to enjoy it.” Sun Wukong reprimands the pig yaoguai, saying that as there are “only thirty such fruits in ten thousand years,” it is their “great fortune to have eaten one already,” and to be content with that. Zhu Bajie, however, “kept muttering and mumbling to himself,” and so when Clear Breeze and Bright Moon return to fetch tea for Tang Sanzang, “they heard Eight Rules complaining about ‘not enjoying my ginseng fruit.’” The Daoist youths’ suspicion is immediately aroused, and rushing to the ginseng tree they count the number of fruits multiple times, finding now that there’s only twenty-two fruits instead of the twenty-eight that were there before. They thus determine that four fruits were stolen by “that bunch of rogues,” and so go to Tripitaka and “berated him with all kinds of foul and abusive language, accusing him of being a larcenous baldhead and a thievish rat.” Finally the Tang monk “could not endure it any longer,” and so asks them plainly what they’re so upset about. Clear Breeze and Bright Moon then accuse Tang Sanzang of stealing and eating their ginseng fruits, or if not him then his followers are to blame. Tripitaka calls his disciples over to learn the truth, but Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie, and Sha Wujing agree to deny the thievery. Whether the pilgrims will get away with the theft and lying is a question that will have to be left for the next chapter.

[maytheoddshq]

THE 133RD BIANNUAL HUNGER GAMES: MODERN CITY

“Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.” ― Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

Below the cut are descriptions of the city.

The Arena is a clean and dazzling city, with certain elements similar to the Capitol. The skyscrapers are tall and their windows reflect the blue sky; the streets are clean and completely devoid of cars; many of the buildings are accessible to the tributes, offering up beautiful and futuristic elements for them to explore. An elevated train whisks around the city, quiet and sleek. But despite the urban beauty, there is something a bit ominous: the empty streets, the wind whistling between the buildings, the silence that falls over everything… All of these may give tributes some pause, suggesting that they have not arrived in paradise, despite how it may seem.

Tributes may recognize some of the technology and aspects of the city from their textbooks about the pre-Dark Days. For Capitolites watching, the tech may even seem obsolete, but for tributes, who won't have had access to advanced technology in the Districts, it will seem dazzling and new. The mechanics would be foreign to most modern citizens of Panem — such as how a student of today would not understand how to hack a floppy disk, but had they not seen one, they'd be impressed by its ability to save data.

The weather is warm, hovering around 75°F/24°C, but humidity makes it feel warmer.

Note to players: while we have described some of the main aspects and buildings of the city, we have left the map vague enough that you can fill in the streets yourself. The buildings described below are the ones that are open and most easily accessible, but others do exist which tributes could potentially break into. However, the main ones that the Gamemakers have specially prepared for them are below. When filling in the blanks, remember the spirit of the arena but get creative with it and have fun. If you’re unsure or think you might be pushing it too far, feel free to ask the admins.

City Square

The tributes are launched into a large, open square in the center of the city surrounded by a strip of grass with trees planted every few meters and benches in between the trees. The square itself is paved with dark gray concrete and in the middle is a large fountain with a pool of potable water. Instead of a statue at the center of the fountain, the cornucopia sits like a modern glass sculpture, raised just slightly so that tributes must climb up into its mouth in order to access the more valuable items inside. Because it’s made of glass, everything can be seen from below. The less valuable items are scattered throughout the pool of water.

Nearby is the juncture of a river that runs through the city. There is a waterfront sidewalk spanning the length of the river. The river water is not potable without treatment, and a horde of bloodthirsty Canadian geese inhabit the waters and shores. Any tribute who gets too close will be subject to bites from bills lined with razor-sharp teeth.

Elevated Train

The elevated train is on a set of tracks that cover the entire circumference of this portion of the city. On the map above, the train tracks are on the very edges, as just beyond them is the forcefield. Each station has a set of stairs and an elevator to reach the platform from the street; there are a few benches and a notice board detailing the train schedule (every ten minutes), as well as a few posters indicating upcoming events in the city such as a new musical at the theater, an awards ceremony, or a protest at city hall. The train cars themselves are sleek with automatic doors that open at every station, and offer plenty of seats as well as poles to hang onto should a person prefer to stand. There are stations throughout the city and a single train with three cars that runs 24/7.

Bank

The bank is a magnificent structure, adorned with windows on three sides of the building from floor to ceiling. The interior is grandiose, the back wall that leads down to the vault is made of marble, the vault itself being made of carbon fiber, making it resistant to any outside tampering. During the day, the bank is ‘open’ for business. Instead of any human tellers, there are three AI robots at the desks ready to assist any customer. If tributes speak to them the robots will prompt them to make an account into which they will be able to deposit anything they find that they'd like to be stored in the vault for safe keeping. The robots will take the items back and forth to the vault for them; tributes cannot get inside the vault. Tributes can only access their own 'account,' but just from 9 AM to 5 PM.

After business hours, the bank is on tight lockdown. A red laser grid security system spreads across the floor. The three AI tellers roam the building, a bright light emanating from their eyes, showing their field of view. If the laser grid is tripped or if someone walks into their field of view a loud alarm sounds that can be heard throughout the area. Trespassers are dealt with accordingly by the AI, often by means of lethal force. The robots can be 'switched off' by accessing a panel in their backs which can be pried open.

City Hall

City Hall is a massive stone structure with a large flight of stairs leading from the street to the front doors. Surrounding the building is an open green space scattered with trees which have been trimmed so they are shaped like bright green spheres. Along the edges of the steps are protest signs with slogans like “Polluting the environment will cost you your life!” “Want a future? Save Mother Earth!” “Our climate is changing! We should too!” "GREEN over GREED!" and so on.

Inside the building is an empty reception desk, with a sign that says “Be back later!” To get further into the building one must go through metal detectors. If a tribute has any sort of metal on them it will activate the metal detector. The metal detector emits a shrieking sound that can be heard from outside the building, alerting others to a tribute's location. The alarm will cease only if the tribute exits the halls. If a tribute decides to stay, the alarm's pitch will get higher and higher until it renders the tribute deafened for the next few hours.

The main halls all look the same — beautiful mahogany paneling, tiled floors, nameplates on each door. An observant person would notice that the hall is actually repeating itself, the same names on the door over and over again in a loop. The further they go, the harder it will be to find their way back out, as it’s a maze of identical halls. They will have to try to retrace their steps, but can easily become lost. Inside the offices, there’s a myriad of paperwork stacked upon each desk rattling off statistics like voter approval numbers, a levy on education, concerns about the protesters outside, and materials on turning to clean energy.

Pandora Science Center

The Pandora Science Center demonstrates the pinnacle of innovation. The building is massive, taking up an entire city block. The interior is split into two wings — the east wing is open to tourists, serving as a museum to the center’s work. Demonstrations of the cutting edge experiments are littered all over the wing, including some interactive ones: a solar powered car, replica Tesla coils, a human sized hamster wheel that powers LED lights on a nearby wall panel, etc.

The west wing is where all of the real work happens at the Pandora Science Center. Labs upon labs of experiments coat the halls. Some are smaller scale such as a room full of lab rats with mazes while others are larger like the room experimenting on making a hoverboard, complete with a small half-pipe for testing. One of the labs though stands out further than the others: it’s full of different glass flasks and liquids, bubbling under bunsen burners. On the table there is a notebook titled, “Antidote.” It doesn’t state for what, but if a tribute manages to complete the experiment correctly they will get the item and their name removed from the Death Draw ONE time. If the experiment goes awry, it will explode in smoke in their face and their name will be added to the Death Draw ONE time.

Apartments

The apartment buildings are all grouped together with a grassy courtyard in the center with benches and flowering trees. The buildings are all accessible for tributes. They have fancy lobbies with lots of mirrors, sleek floors, and rows of mailboxes which can't be opened. The elevators in each of the buildings lead only to the penthouse, where tributes will see a variety of styles of homes. One is entirely decorated in shades of pink while another contains only materials made of glass. In all, the cupboards, drawers, and fridges are empty. The beds and couches are perfectly comfortable, and the views from the windows are beautiful, with the ocean sparkling in the distance and the sleek skyscrapers of the city center reflecting the sun. None of the doors lock — there is no safety in any apartment, and it is clear from the outside if any lights or electronics are on.

The danger in the apartments lies in the TVs. They will be able to turn on, but instead of displaying TV programs, they display a hypnotic sequence of colors and sounds, psychedelic and keeping the tributes transfixed through hypnosis as well as emitting a hypnotic gas that will make them feel slow, unaware of their surroundings. Unless a tribute is pulled out of it or manages to turn off the TV in time, the hypnosis will put them to sleep for several hours.

Bodegas

On several street corners are bodegas, small stores which tributes can peer into through the windows and see rows of packaged food like is sold in stores in the Capitol. However, the windows are covered in iron bars, and the door to each bodega is guarded by a feral street cat which, if the tributes open the doors, reveal themselves to not be normal cats but rather, dangerous mutts with sharp claws and teeth that will fight tributes to keep them from entering their store. They will only be sated if a tribute sacrifices an item of use to them. If a tribute does get past the cat, they’ll be able to access the perfectly edible food on the shelves — but likely not without a few deep scars from angry claws.

School

The school building is protected from the street by large wrought-iron gates. Above the doors to the school are the words SEAVIEW PREP. The courtyard is brick with several benches and tables. Stone stairs lead up to the school’s main entrance. Inside is a private school which rivals the nicest in the Capitol. There are endless, maze-like hallways of identical classrooms. The desks are made of fine wood and there are textbooks piled high on the shelves of each classroom, though tributes will not be able to open them. (Still, the heavy books could make a good weapon, in a pinch.) In some of the closets students will see the school uniforms — khaki pants, pleated skirts, blazers, and white button-up shirts. On the walls in the hallways, there are posters about the environment — SAVE THE WHALES or PROTECT OUR OCEANS.

Subway

There are several entrances to the underground train system throughout the city, sidewalk-level entrances with stairs down to the stations. Metal gates block tributes from entering, with signs saying CONDEMNED — NO LONGER SAFE FOR ENTRY. On several of these signs, handmade posters have been plastered with information about the city’s neglect to protect their eroding soil, making the underground tunnels and train system unsafe, forcing them to build the overground trains as a replacement. The only station entrance that is accessible is in the Southwest of the city, where the gate’s lock has been broken and tributes can open it. The station is walled in white tile but water drips from the ceilings and there is a strong smell of mold. The concrete platform has large cracks in it. Tributes can jump off the platform and onto the tracks, and from there they can walk through endless miles of tunnels that twist and turn, are joined by other tunnels, and veer throughout the entire city underground. There are a few abandoned train cars sitting in the dark which tributes can climb up into to find plastic seats along both edges and handrails along the ceilings.

Tributes may also be able to access the train tunnels through grates in the streets, if they are clever.

Theater

There is a glittering, ornate theater marking an arts district of the city. Just inside is a bright lobby paved in marble and paintings in gilded frames hang from walls plastered in a gleaming, damask print wallpaper. Stairs carpeted in velvet lead to several tiers of doors leading into the proper theater. Inside the theater is just as baroque, with rows of red, plush seats and detailed boxes perched along the sides. There is a pit under the stage for a phantom orchestra, and the stage is done up for a production that looks classical in nature, perhaps an opera or ballet. The only lighting are two bright spotlights trained at center stage despite the absence of a cast or crowd.

Stadium

A hefty, bowl-shaped sports stadium looms over the area like a great metal and glass bird’s nest. Tributes will need to hurdle over metal turnstile gates to enter a concrete oval of shuttered concession stands. The industrious among the tributes may be able to pick the locks in a few of the windows to find some stale chips and nacho cheese, a wall stacked with hats, or plush pelican shaped mascots with a blue and silver jersey on reading RIPTIDE. The Pascal the Pelican mascot can be seen all over the stadium on posters, cups, shirts, and more. Further in, there is the stadium itself, encircled in thousands of plastic seats peering in on a soccer field. The field is a vibrant green and smells of fresh grass, the team’s name is in wide letters at either end of the field, and the white lines have been newly laid.

Hotel

The stately Hotel Neptune is poised, of course, near the center city, ready to welcome its guests with a five star experience. The lobby is tastefully decorated, modern but upscale. A cascading, spiraling glass chandelier floats above shiny, black leather furniture. Behind the front desk, in a (flimsily) locked drawer, there are key cards that grant access to the elevators and a room — but just one. If multiple tributes are in the hotel and figure this out, they’ll all only have access to one lavish room, encouraging interaction.

The hotel room has a white, fluffy bed, seducing any weary traveler. However, any who risk resting in it will wake to a swarm of bedbugs possessing a very painful bite and ensuing rash for several days. The television only gets a weather report in which a weatherman warns of wind and rain in a loop lasting only thirty seconds. The bathroom, miraculously, does function, but when the hot water is run for a shower, the steam makes anyone in contact with it extremely lethargic.

A dining room next to the lobby offers a buffet of edible food, which will satisfy hungry tributes but will also make them very happy: a bit too happy. They will become incredibly pleased and trusting, dropping their guard thanks to the drugs in the food that make them the perfect hotel guests, relaxed and pleasant. It will wear off after a few hours.

Mall

A trendy, two-story shopping mall is open to the tributes, displaying all the latest in ‘current’ fashions — things the Capitol would consider to be outdated but the Districts would consider outlandish. Tributes are welcome to take clothes, but they are all bright, gaudy, and while they might make for a nice fashion show, they will almost certainly draw unwanted attention and restrict important movement if worn as intended. The built-up mall does, however, provide some places for hiding and resting, so long as tributes can accept that there is only one way in and out of any store or the mall itself. Along the central promenade, the ceiling is made of glass, allowing bright sunshine in from above.

There is an empty, but clean, food court. No food is prepared or displayed, and only one salad place has a walk-in freezer in the back with some fresh greens, fruits, and nuts which can be seen through a porthole window. However, once the tribute enters, the freezer door slams shut and locks behind them; it can only be opened from the outside. They will need to be rescued to not slowly freeze to death — but at least they can have some salad.

[cokrouch]

oooo yay

1/ therian and otherkin, idk actually know much about anything else or their prolly would be more....but im just not very knowledgeable i suppose(very open to learning tho)

2/ Theriotypes: Black wolfdog, Dear, Rabbit, Crow, Barn owl, Black cat, Rhinoceros beetle, Fly, Cockroach

Paleotype: Therizinosaurus

Otherkin: Angelkin, Robotkin, Vampirekin, Zombiekin, Ghostkin, Skeletonkin, Cryptidkin, Creaturekin, Sirenkin

3/ i dont think so but when i get distressed or feel cornered i feel like a prey animal which makes sense i suppose. i also sometimes when im sitting on the edge of my bed and close my eyes i sometimes get little like memories(not visual but like i just know that its smth thats happened) of sitting at the foot of a throne, wings tucked neatly behind my back/over my face(the ones on my head) and im dressed in silk and gold and its just...nice i want to go back but alas i cannot(whenever im in the car and look at the sky and see the sun rays filtering through the clouds all i can really think is "i should be up there")

4/ its pretty ever present so yk

5/ most people are nice, i dont get into discourse cuz it makes me a lil sad cuz like...idk its someone elses life i dont think its a big deal unless its spreading misinformation or harming someone/something

6/ uhhhh prolly gotta go with 2 of my friends being therians too so i can chat with them about it sometimes(i keep it to myself most of the time idk im just like that) being referred to as my therio/kin/paleotype. the fact that most of my clothes are black and one of my more frequently noticeable types have black fur(maybe thats why im more comfortable in blacks/browns/greens huh...) the fact that i have a lot of like cat/dog/owl/prey/etc mannerisms

7/ sometimes mainly cuz i dont have fangs/sharp teeth or a tail and i have skin...and organs...and no wings...only 2 eyes the list just goes on but its not like dysphoria it doesnt cause me distress but yk id rather have all that stuff cuz it would cause more euphoria does that makes sense?

8/ stay away from discourse and if smth doesnt fit thats alright, been there done that, it isnt the end of the world, promise /gen /pos

9/ yes, i want some. the only gear i have is a half finished crow mask it just needs elastic and some feather/painted details but i dont have anything so i gotta wait a bit(i have a wip yarn tail...but i dont like the way the yarn feels even tho it kinda feels like course fur)

10/ no....i do not sadly

11/ you know the gist, anyone can answer and i thing i'll tag....hm...@neowanderseternally /nf ofc

If you are an alter/nonhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[libidomechanica]

Between us an uncrossable line; in vaine thin month lies

Until frustration when will those     fair wicked queen went down, Sugar, my winter’s wood, the one     I know. So will bloom the

bowre and your precepts wise, her back     again i, as other conquest got. And pity doth hinder     your beauty,—that is

it done if we have nor be remove     it. Between us an uncrossable line; in vaine     thin month lies between her

fingers, she lo’es me best of thee     to wit she has really a breed of rest. We shudder in     the state I bemoan but

what’s still will pluck them forget not     yet the dread of laying his trucks and lace itself, longs for     thou madest me things, their

stars of public honour and say,     to me-wards your hat, the pipe, the sky above, be thou should     give him leave off such discourse

a saint forget all the children,     would fan off every pen, reserved virginity, and     in my throat, cling, saying

not shine envied, I, lessened in     mine, my son! Remember and the seagull diving toward the     though! On the works are her

perpetual light as ioying in     and against thyself and a bunch of flower, glistering     with purple moor look at

the twilight banking of pictures     of my mask to linger, though it in gold and significance     of meat. Sick, am

I sick of a jealousy: and     hell is more than this possibility of love appear!     When, with his two have taught;

I always keep one. Clench my teeth,     suck my lips and devise, but now my gracious and out, and     jewels in that smiles to-day.

[bullet-prooflove]

Taylor asks: Tangled up with you all night with Will

Will wishes he could say it was a slow descent into madness, at least then he may have had the choice to prevent it but it isn't, he falls in love in the flash of a lightning bolt, one that sears through the sky during the worst storms that Chicago has ever seen.

He's known you a while, the two of you have always had an easy discourse. You run into each other at Molly's, thorough professional interactions at the hospital, you're as present in his life as his brother it seems at times.

The two of you are soaking wet by the time you make it back to his place. The powers out at your apartment and you've spent most of the night being shunted by from pillar to post by dispatch, putting out fires where you can and arresting people where you can't. Your last port was the hospital because Ruzek had taken a beating from a couple of looters, he'd been trying to stop while off duty.

Your exhausted, wet and cold by the time Will uses his key in the lock. He flicks the hearing up to max, and tosses you some of his clothes before gesturing at the bathroom, telling you to take a hit shower if you need it because you're teeth are chattering.

When you come out of the bathroom, smelling of his shampoo and wearing his shirt and sweats he almost drops the steaming mugs of tea. It's then the lighting hits, raw, powerful and all consuming. He doesn't remember putting the cups down, he doesnt remember closing the distance because all that matters is the sensation of your lips on his as he undoes those buttons one by one.

You spend the night tangled up his sheets, the heat of his body warming your skin as he makes love to you in the darkness. He moves in slow strokes,savouring each and very sound that emits from your throat as he loves you like he's never loved another woman.

In the aftermath he bundles you up in the covers, drawing them up around your naked form as he cradles you close, his face pressed into the curve of your throat, slipping into sleep as the storm continues to rage outside.

[stormingfrost]

More RotG headcanons

Jack was able to access his memories right before he died because he never got his wisdom teeth out

The teeth show you the most important memories at the moment, and what’s important will change with you.

With the help of Tooth, you could view all your childhood memories.

Both Jack and Tooth are confused at small gap in Jack’s memories.

Sometimes Jack gets flashes of the missing memories in his dreams. A boy is always in them. He was very hard to look at, because he almost glowed.

There is a huge conspiracy theory about the guardians. There are ghost hunters and alien believers and people who think that it’s a cover up for the government brainwashing kids. They have a lot of discourse.

The dog walker that saw Jamie sledding twice made a Reddit post on the conspiracists’ subreddit.

The kids who have internet access get on the pages a lot. Sometimes they post pictures of what looks like blurry human-like figures, horses that don’t look quite right that send a shiver down the spine of the viewer, glowing ribbons of gold in the sky, and a frozen over pond in the summer. Kids are the only ones who can get close enough to do that.

Most adults don’t believe and think it’s silly, despise what conspiracy theorists say.

Pitch got (unsuccessfully) exorcised a few times.

Bunny hates the little plastic eggs parents sometimes put out. He thinks it’s bad for the environment and steals them before they become litter.

Emily Jane usually makes things out of the litter she finds, if it can’t be composted.

Kathrine temporarily retired from guardian duties to search for Nightlight. She comes back occasionally, but leaves again to look for her friend.

Durning the Easter of 2012, she got herself in trouble with a giant, following a trail up a beanstalk. She would’ve helped if she was able to.

North got married shortly before becoming a spirit.

[shotgunningtheuniverse]

Soft mornings(with the boys)

Dream woke up, absorbing the warmth of Sapnap sleeping next to him. Turning over he reached for his phone, only for his hand to be slapped away. His head took a sharp turn to find the culprit. Sapnap leaning over him.

“Why’d you do that?” Dream whispered furiously. Not wanting to wake the still sleeping man on the far side of the bed.

“Because you were going to check Twitter.” Sapnap whispered back, tone accusatory.

Dream frowned, “I was not.”

“Then what were you going to do.” Sapnap asked, face smug.

Floundering Dream huffed, “I was going to look at fanart.”

“On Twitter?” Sapnap said, knowing he’d won.

“On Twitter.” Dream answered, finally admitting defeat.

“What are we doing?” A deeper than normal british voice asked. Both men turned finding George rubbing sleep out of his eyes, yawning softly.

“Convencing Dream to not open Twitter.” Sapnap responded.

George nodded, “good. Don’t go on Twitter. Come over here. Sapnap, move.”

Striking an offended face Sapnap rolled over Dream shoving him into the middle. “Get cuddled, bitch.”

“What? You can’t just- force cuddle me.” Dream objected. As it turned out, he was wrong. Force cuddling was totally a thing. And it happened to him.

Sapnap had shifted on his side, hugging Dream. George curled next to him, his leg intertwined with Dream’s. And Dream found he had no inclination to move, at all.

The morning was fairly early as they chatted it away. Random topics, weird topics, tiktoks they’d come across, just, boyfriend things.

It was pleasant. And Dream found the longer they talked the less he worried about Twitter, and he fanbase, and discourse. He just, wasn’t worried. He had these two loving people. Right here. On him. Literally.

Eventually the topic of breakfast came up. And eventually they decided to go to a small more local bakery on the fringes of downtown.

Slowly and reluctantly they got out of bed and started to brush their teeth and get dressed. Exchanging quick soft kisses the entire time.

Shifting through his third of the closet Dream eventually resorted to rooting through their dresser finding a large forest-y green he remembered George liked to wear occasionally. Slipping it on the sleeves were wide and the fabric soft.

Looking back through his part of the closet he found a pale pair of off-white overalls made of a worn feeling fabric similar to something you’d expect cargo pants to be made of. Slipping it on he buttoned the straps, shimmying to let everything fall into place.

Tugging out his necklace chain it revealed a small white clay disc with a smile on it. Running a hand through his hair he looked out the window. It showed itself to be a soft warm day. The sky big and bright blue, a few fluffy white clouds drifting across it. The sun shining brightly.

One of Sapnap’s beanies lays disregarded on the edge of their bed. The other two already migrated downstairs. Picking it up he tugged it onto his head. Ruffling the front part of his hair.

Grabbing his wallet and keys Dream headed downstairs. Quickly greeted by his boyfriends.

“Aww, you’re so <em>cute</em>.” George coo’d. Reaching up onto his tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

“Is that my beanie?” Sapnap asked.

“Maybe.” Dream answered evasively.

“It looks good on you.” Sapnap decided.

George opened the front door, giving Patches one last pet. “Come on, let’s go. I want to eat.”

“Alright, we’re coming.” Dream called after him.

George snickered immaturely.

“Not like that you idiot! Oh my god.”

[kiridarling]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒

izuku midoriya | ft. ceo!au + praise + exhibitionism + breaking and entering + body worship + f!reader + more! minors dni.

— 3.8k words

“When I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to."

You’ve always hated Chopin.

“L’œuf mimosa, Madame?”

After turning down the poor waiter whose arms quiver under the weight of the plates, you turn back to your red wine and people-watching. The ballroom is full of golds and reds, the amber lighting illuminating the intricately decorated walls. And you sit in the middle of it all—you and your 147 billion net-worth, with a ball gown that’s caught at least half the aristocratic asshole’s attention, not that they were very loyal to their wives in the first place.

You're not here for their attention, though. You’re strictly here for business—and frankly, you want to do nothing more than sock these fat business moguls in their chubby faces until their teeth fall out and demand they pay their taxes. But, seeing as you’re the only woman here who isn’t a gold-digging wife, you bite your tongue.

You’ve always dreaded black tie events, but as you’ve said, duty calls.

A whine filters through the speakers, followed by two amplified taps and a clear of a throat. The murmur down as the auction's owner takes the center of the stage, stilling in front of the next piece of art—hidden behind a black veil—before adjusting the tie to his business suit.

“I’m glad that you all could be with us tonight. I have both a great privilege and honor to host this event,” he announces, bulbous head already growing damp under the heat of the stage lights. “Now that we're almost at the end, I'm sure you won't be disappointed. Saving the best for last, as one does."

He includes a casual wave to his comment and the audience erupts in a flurry of chuckles, though not for long. As he walks over to the piece, hand raised and ready to reveal, silence seizes the room by the neck.

"Well. Shall we?”

The audience balances on the edges of their seats, with millions of wide eyes and thrumming chests in anticipation. A smooth flick of a hand and the black sheet is removed, and there sits the only piece you’ve had your eyes on all night. She’s even more beautiful up close.

“El Bacio, The Kiss. Francesco Hayez, 1859.”

The grip around your glass tightens. The brilliant blue from the woman’s dress in the oil painting may as well burn your eyes, and the surrounding murmurs peak with your interest. You know it's yours without question, though—you can outbid almost anyone in this room. Anyone that matters, anyway.

“This is the original version, originally commissioned by Count Alfonso Maria Visconti of Saliceto. It was donated to the Pinacoteca di Brera in 1886 and went missing in 1937. Starting at ten million.”

You try not to scowl. The fucker jacked up the price by two million.

“Twelve million,” the man says as he recognizes whoever lifted a hand. You sit tight, your hands throbbing in your lap for the right moment as you survey the room for anyone who could possibly pose a threat. You find none.

The bidding continues. The price elevates from twelve million to fifteen to thirty to fifty. You raise a hand, finally, fingers splayed wide and confident to signify a five.

“Fifty-five million.”

The room falls silent; you try not to smile. You know for a fact no one wants this painting more than you do, and you’re determined to have it.

“No one else?”

His eyes scan the room but no one makes a motion. It’s yours.

Until there’s movement from your peripheral.

“Sixty million!”

You eye whoever had the audacity to raise their hand, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight—a man, roughly your age, with slicked-back green hair and a hand twice the size of yours, lifted lazily in the air.

With a huff, you find yourself thrusting another five into the air.

“Sixty-five millio—Seventy million!”

You know that green-haired (probably) trust fund baby has got to be doing this for fun because the poorly hidden smirk hidden behind the hand he rests his chin on is more than obvious.

You dislike him already, immediately categorizing him with the rest—another sleazeball.

“Seventy-five million!”

“Eighty million!”

“One hundred million!”

In your defense, you were getting frustrated.

Either way, the green-haired stranger backs off with a nonchalant shrug, and it makes you burn this discontent. The business mogul-turned-auctioneer steps off the stage for another twenty-minute intermission and folks turn to one another for conversation. You sigh, simply satisfied that you’ve gotten what you came for.

You find yourself faintly puzzled by the boy with the green hair, and you're sure it's solely due to his age. Frankly, you've been the only one under thirty in the Top 100 Richest People since you achieved such a feat, and the fact that you haven't heard of him is...puzzling. But it doesn't matter. Clearly, he’s just another fellow looking to put another pretty thing in his foyer—you doubt he knows a thing about art, and definitely not an appreciation for it. You find solace in the fact that it's the new addition to your precious art collection instead, and will be owned and taken care of by someone who actually enjoys it.

“Good evening.”

You jump. Wrapped up in all of your inner turmoil (complemented by inner bragging, naturally) you fail to notice the greenette cross the expanse of the ballroom and make himself comfortable in the open seat next to you, despite your lack of approval.

“Hello,” you say, unsure of why he's here. He offers a hand to shake, Rolex glinting under the golden lighting.

“Izuku Midoriya,” he introduces, and you suppose shaking his hand won’t hurt.

“Your name?” He snorts, raising a cocky eyebrow. You scowl.

“Does it matter?”

“Not particularly.” Izuku rests his forearms on the table as his evergreen eyes rake your figure up and down. “But if you prefer to remain nameless, be my guest.”

“[Y/N].”

“Hmm?”

“My name,” you clarify. “It’s [Y/N].”

You’re not exactly sure what possessed you to tell him your name so easily. Maybe the fact that most already know who you are, and the fact that this man—this stranger—doesn’t know who you are, irks you a bit.

Okay. It irks you a lot.

“Well, Miss [Y/N],” Izuku tilts his head sideways. “I think that’s a very pretty name.”

Your body betrays you with a light gasp. Stupid thing.

“Well. I’m bored,” Izuku announces childishly, relaxing against the chair. “Lets go somewhere.”

You roll your eyes at his asserted dominance—in no way does he expect you to go with him, does he? You raise an eyebrow.

“No.”

Izuku clicks his tongue as if it were a buzzer, and more importantly, as if you were wrong. “Why?”

That has you scoffing. “I don’t know you.”

Izuku’s eyes flash with a challenge and it’s gone just as quickly. He leans forwards, crowding your personal space yet again.

“I told you my name, no?”

“You did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your back. You feel too small. “But I know nothing about you.“

“Well,” Izuku places an inquisitive finger on his lips, and it’s almost mocking, the way he takes a moment to think about it. “My name is Izuku Midoriya. I like...katsudon and hero movies. I’m here because I have too much time and money on my hands, and I’m, most importantly, bored.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you do for a living?”

Izuku’s lip curls, and it’s downright sinister, “I'll tell you if you come with me."

You roll your eyes, and he takes both your hands in his. You don’t pull away, but you don’t reciprocate it either.

“Where?”

Izuku shrugs, “Wherever the wind takes us.”

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your fairly intimate conversation and dying your cheeks pink. Izuku raises an eyebrow.

“I heard they’re feeding us escargo for dinner.”

“Ugh,” you sigh, shoulder sagging. “Looks like I’m not eating, then.”

But there’s a glint in his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t one in your own. There's an ebb in the discourse, a beat, before Izuku's nodding towards the exit.

“Fast food?”

Wendy’s hits different during a Parisian midnight.

“—and so I had to be like: No Kacchan, you can’t hotwire his car to blow just because your food was, and I quote, lukewarm.”

You snicker behind a fist, digging your fancy heels into the grimy cement sidewalk, Wendy’s frostee in hand. Izuku hasn’t let go of your hand since you two left the fast-food joint, and for some reason, you haven’t pulled away.

"Violence seems to be a reoccurring theme with your friend," you say, laughing when Izuku nods in agreement, eyes stuck on the full moon hanging high in the air.

"You remind me of him, actually."

You raise an eyebrow, unable to see the correlation at all, "Because I'm a loud and angry and I like to blow things up."

"Or, because you're strong—independent. The type of woman to make men turn tail and run, you know?" Izuku turns to you with a lopsided grin.

You hum, averting your eyes to the moon. It's a stupid question, one that's all too loaded yet empty at the same time, and you hate that you hesitate to ask it.

"Why haven't you ran, then?"

"Easy." Izuku lets a smooth shrug roll off his shoulders, "I like strong women."

He continues to pull you to an undisclosed destination, the two of you stumbling through the heart of Paris with his suit jacket around your goosebump-ridden shoulders. People stare, but for the first time in forever, you find that you don't care much.

Finally, you two reach Izuku's "big reveal." You gaze at the magnificently lit french building in confusion, the golden under lights contrasting both of your beings against the navy blue sky.

"The Louvre?"

"Mhm," Izuku says, and he looks more than giddy. "Have you been?"

"Once," your voice is weary and you're sure he senses it, his grip tightening around your own. "For a fundraiser...but it's midnight Izuku, ho—"

But he's already tugging you to the right, dipping between columns and arches until you reach the back of the building. Izuku turns to you and whispers:

"Watch this."

It's hard to tell what he did exactly, especially with no light—it's just a bunch of jingles and ticks. Though, the moment you can't escape the sense that this is beyond sketchy, a lock clicks, and a door whines open.

"Hurry. And take your heels off," Izuku whispers, tilting his head towards the entrance. You hear the crunch of a leaf and see the beginning of a white flashlight curl around the building and fuck, this place has to be crawling with security guards, doesn't it?

"Don't tell me what to do," you grumble...as you take off your shoes. (Because you were going to do it anyway.) You enter and he closes the door behind the two of you, submerging you both in complete darkness.

"Security's only on the outside," Izuku grins. "They don't expect us to get inside, so as long as we're quiet, it should be fine."

"Until we have to get back out again," you say, huffing. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline because frankly, you've never been one for adventures, and breaking into a historical french museum is miles out of your comfort zone. "Seriously, did you think this through at all? What happens when we get caught?"

Izuku sighs, turning to you with a pout before grabbing your free hand again. "Women worry too much. C'mon—I wanna explore."

"You—let go, you misogynistic assho—"

You're cut off by a finger to your lips. Izuku bends down so he’s looking at you straight on, eyes dark as he sternly whispers, "Do you want us to get caught?"

It's not the prospect of getting caught that makes you falter, though—it's the way his stare pins you in place, voice swollen with that air of dominance you claim to hate. You have to tighten your grip on your heels to ensure they don't hit the ground.

"Now," Izuku‘s strangely childish manner returns, tugging your hand once your panicked whisper-yelling ceases, "Shall we?"

You roll your eyes, but your bare feet patter against the cold Louvre tile anyway. And you've got to say, the museum is much nicer when it isn't crawling with people.

"Mona Lisa's forehead is bigger than I thought," Izuku observes with a finger on his lip. He's on the wrong side of the railing, his nose close to kissing the glass protecting the piece. You snort, dropping your head to pinch the bridge. He turns to give you a weird look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just," you shake your head, the cool wood of the railing digging into your forearms. "Did you actually want that painting?"

Izuku frowns. "Which one?"

"El Bacio."

"Mm," the greenette hums as he thinks, blinking to the corner of the room."I suppose. You seemed like you wanted it more, though."

You roll your eyes, "So you cap at eighty million?"

Izuku shrugs, hopping the railing. Seems like he's finally done insulting poor Lisa, "I capped when you started to sweat."

You huff, but stomping instead of walking isn't so intimidating when you're barefoot. "I wasn't sweating."

You see a hidden smirk on Izuku's face once you catch up to him, and it's frustrating and insulting, to say the least. Both of you proceed down a hall of statues. "You're much easier to read than you think, Miss [Y/N]."

"And you're not as perceptive as you think, Mister Midoriya."

Izuku chuckles at that, shaking his head. "Well played, Miss [Y/N]. Well played."

You're not sure why your chest swells, but it does, and it takes both you and your limited lung capacity off guard. But you don't have much time to sort it out—Izuku's grabbing your hand again, and redirecting your attention to the last statue in the hall. You recognize it and frown.

“Cupid and Psyche?”

The silver moonlight pours in through the window, spilling down Cupid’s tipped wings and the softest points of the Psyche’s curves. Izuku hums in confirmation, hands sliding to encompass your hips as his chin hooks on your shoulder.

"Well done, Miss [Y/N]."

His voice deepens—it's coarse and heady, and gets your blood rushing in a way breaking and entering never could have.

"Amore e Psiche, Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. Antonio Canova, 1793."

You fail to understand why this statue stood out to him compared to all the others, but the circles Izuku’s thumb presses into your hips signifies that you’ll find out soon.

"Cupid represents desire, and Psyche, the human soul," Izuku says, running his hands up your sides. "Together, they make the perfect union."

Dipping his nose into your neck, Izuku inhales, and the hands around your waist tighten, if the smallest bit. "Psyche was the prettiest woman in the world; so pretty she rivaled Venus' beauty with her own. It didn't matter if it broke rules—Cupid knew he had to have her."

The gentle nudge of a neck evolves into a set of butterfly kisses, tracing the column of your neck until his mouth reaches your ear. A hand slides to gently cup your breast, and the other to your thigh.

"Miss [Y/N], when I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to." Izuku groans into your neck, hips gently grinding forwards. "So, it's up to you what we do next—I could drop you off at your home to probably never see you again, or...”

Izuku shifts, and you can feel his hardening cock against your back. “I can bend you over right here. Your choice.”

You hesitate, determined to think this through—but Izuku's wandering hands and rutting hips prove to be too much of a distraction.

"Fine," is all you say, before whirling around, grabbing the greenette by his dress shirt, and slamming your lips onto his.

Izuku kisses back with a grin—like he knew you were going to say yes—and places his hands around your waist yet again, backing you up against the marble statue.

"Sit on the platform," he breathes into your mouth. You frown.

"Like, the platform to the statue? Caus—"

"Yes on the statue, now sit," Izuku demands, but he doesn't give you much room to protest, forcing you onto the marble platform. Hiking your dress to your waist, Izuku's calloused palms slide up your inner thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself in between. He pauses.

"No panties?"

You flush red—from the exposure or the comment, you aren't sure—but you huff in defiance nevertheless, determined to stand your ground and keep some of your dignity. (Though you're positive Izuku can feel you shaking already.)

"I'm wearing a dress," you defend weakly.

Izuku hums behind a bitten lip, lying a heavy thumb on your clit. It's enough pressure to make your thighs tense but not much else, until it flicks downwards.

"I wanna taste you," Izuku growls with dilated pupils once he finally tears his gaze from your exposed body. "Can I?"

Heat surges through your veins, and you let him pry your thighs apart as you respond with an unsteady, "Yeah—yeah, that's fine."

Izuku's chest rumbles with a growl as he closes in on your pussy, hands gripping underneath your thighs. You whimper when he trails butterfly kisses down your inner legs, the grip you have around the skirt of your dress tightening.

"So pretty," Izuku groans, chuckling when you shiver as he flattens his tongue against your slit, "My Goddess."

With that he dives in, almost sending you toppling with the force. The moonlight dyes his green locks a navy blue, and you can't resist seizing them into a fist when he pushes a finger in.

"Feel good, Gorgeous?" Izuku says with a knowing smirk on his sinfully glossed lips. Another digit enters and it has your toes curling as you nod. “Shit, you’re tight.”

Izuku spits on your pussy and it’s downright dirty, before looks at you under forest green eyelashes, the other hand finally letting go of your thigh in favor for pulling at the top of your dress.

“Izuku, wha—“

“I wanna see your tits,” he huffs. You’d laugh at his enthusiasm if you weren’t so aroused, and you find your hands joining in the flurry. The moment they’re free, Izuku’s mouth latches onto your breast in an instant.

“F-Fuck, ‘Zuku—“

“You sound so good when you moan my name, sweetheart,” Izuku groans, and you jolt as he tweaks a bud.

“Say it again.”

He pinches your nipple and clit at the same time, and it has your legs kicking as you squeal his name again.

The Izuku growls and it's nothing but feral, and another yelp of his name has him pulling you to your feet to the point where your noses almost touch. Aggravated from being so close before the greenette ripped his fingers away has you scowling.

"Wha—"

"Can I fuck you?" His breath ghosts your lips. You hide your shock by a roll of your eyes.

"Do you always ask stupid questions?"

Izuku hums in contemplation before grabbing you harshly by the jaw, to the point where your cheeks squish into your eyes and your lips pucker. "Say it, Bunny."

"I just sa—"

"Say 'I want you to fuck me, Izuku,'" he says with a cruel snarl. "’Hard.’"

Your eyes dart from his heavy gaze to the statue, and you can't help but feel more fragile than glass. "I litera—"

"Say it, brat."

"I—" you try but nothing comes out, and you blame that darkened stare of his, "I w-want you to fuck me. Izuku."

Izuku inhales sharply, the fingers cradling your face tightening before he speaks again.

"Good girl."

He spins you so your hands lay on the statue's base, yanking your hips back and flipping your dress so your bare ass is exposed to the cool air.

Izuku's palms caress your behind, kneading both globes before he pulls you against his bare cock. (When he took off his pants is beyond you.) He slaps his cock against your clit until you huff in frustration, turning around to shoot him an angry glare.

"Today, Izuku."

The greenette blinks out of his absorbed gaze on your behind in favor of glowering you down. You waver under his glare despite your best efforts.

His cock kisses your entrance and then all of it is in you at once, and his size is enough to make your inner thighs ache from the stretch. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle a moan, but that crashes and burns fairly quickly.

"O-Oh shi—"

"You said today, didn't you?" Izuku rasps, before pulling out and stuffing you full at a quick and steady pace. Your hands scramble for proper purchase against the statue—without breaking it, for gods sake—but the harder he fucks you into it, the harder it is to stay upright. "Quiet, baby. We're not supposed to be here, remember?"

You nod frantically, teeth digging into your bottom lip. The thought of getting caught, you, of all people, while being railed against a marble statue—

Izuku moans in your ear, a hand moving between your thighs to rub at your clit. "Oh, you tightened when I said that—you like the idea of getting caught, Bunny?"

You respond with a choked moan, thighs quivering with an impending orgasm. Izuku groans as you tighten around him again, but they quickly turn into shushes.

"Bu—"

"I-I know," your voice cracks and it's absolutely pathetic. "But I can't—"

Izuku's hand wraps around your mouth to the point where his fingertips just barely brush your ears. You whine, eyes fluttering as the new grip adjusts the angle ever so slightly, and pushes him so much deeper.

"You're gonna kill me," Izuku says, wheezing out a laugh. "I—fuck Bunny, I'm close."

You whimper behind his hand and nod as if to say me too, and you're sure Izuku understands from the way he groans before he speeds up in all aspects. "Good. G-Good—cum for me baby, I know you can—"

Your toes curl into the marble floor as the coil in your gut snaps, knocking the wind out of you and sending you thrashing in Izuku's arms. You hear the greenette curse and shudder behind you, stuttering hips slowing to an eventual stop. Both of you stand there for a moment, comfortable interrupting the silence with nothing but your heaving breaths.

"You okay?"

You chuckle. It's dry and scratchy, and your lip throbs from biting it so hard, but it isn’t...aggravating, per-se. "You sound worse than me."

Izuku laughs at that, though it waters down as he pulls out with a hiss. "I don't think worse is the correct adjective here, Miss [Y/N].”

You snort. Back to “Miss [Y/N]” it is, then.

Your ears catch the distinct wail of ever-increasing sirens, but you don't think much of it until the side of Izuku's face starts flashing blue and red. Both you and the greenette falter, sharing a look.

"Police! Hands in the air!"

i wrote this while watching a hysterectomy in physio aah (also yes, the french police speak in english leave me alone skjdhfgk) — sun

[imagine-loki]

Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 13: The Grimoire of Curses AUTHOR: traveling_classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around. RATING: T

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Enjoy!

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Loki had scoured over his new collection of books on curses. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with each discourse he picked up; more frustrated and more discouraged. Kuna, on the other hand, enjoyed her new freedoms. The freedom to explore where she wanted, eat when she wanted, sleep when she wanted.

She could even play, something she had always really wanted to do but was always forbidden from doing. The strangest part of all: she didn’t have to work. Ever. In fact, Loki actively stopped her from cleaning, tidying, cooking, or any other attempts at non-child-like behavior, and promptly pushed her outside to play.

Loki had even begun to teach her how to read and write. He had spread out a large piece of paper in front of her and taught her how to hold a quill and dip it in ink and write out the Asgardian futhark. She had never been so excited in her whole life. She memorized the whole futhark in just a few minutes. She learned how to write hers and Loki’s names and the names of her toys. Loki was a good teacher. Kuna was convinced he knew everything there was to know.

Now, she was able to write whole sentences and read short stories in their storybooks. Loki even made up stories for her to read which were her favorite.

One day, Loki sat in their hammock grumbling at another book, while Kuna swatted at an imaginary beast with a stick. She had learned to be quiet when Loki was reading because he wanted to concentrate on his books, so she kept her stories about slaying imaginary beasts inside her head.

“Arrgh, I’ve had enough of this!” Loki slammed the book closed.

Kuna jumped, dropping her stick. Her shoulders drooped and her head hung low. She looked up cautiously, afraid she had caused his angry outburst.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t yell like that. What do you want to do today, Kuna?” he asked.

“Me?” she asked, shyly.

“Yes, you,” he said. “I can’t take any more of these bloody books today. So, what do you want to do?”

Kuna had never been asked this question before, so it required much thought. She walked over to the hammock and crawled into it beside Loki. She tapped her finger against her lips in thought.

“Mmm. Will you teach me how to fight monsters?” she asked finally.

“How to fight monsters,” Loki repeated.

Kuna nodded, excitedly.

“That’s very specific.”

Kuna continued nodding.

“All right, come on!” Loki jumped out of the hammock. It flipped over, depositing Kuna on the ground. She hopped up, undisturbed, and ran for their satchel with the silver dagger.

Loki snatched it up. “Nope!” He stopped her at arm’s length with a hand on her head.

She giggled, trying to reach for the satchel.

“You’re going to learn with this.” He gave her the wooden dagger he had bought for her on Tenanci’i.

“Aww,” Kuna pouted.

 “Stand up straight!” Loki commanded.

Kuna stood as tall as she could. Loki adjusted her feet until she stood about shoulder width. He positioned her left hand on the hilt of the dagger.

“When your other hand, your off hand, is empty, it’s going to balance you,” he said. “Don’t let it fall to your side like a dead fish.” Kuna chuckled at this. “Keep it up and always moving. You can use it to punch with, like this,” -he showed her a quick jab- “or to block.”

Kuna copied his movements. He began to call out actions for her to do, holding the dagger in a downward position in her left hand. When she was able to do this on command, Loki began teaching her movements with the dagger.

“It’s not all about stabbing, even though that’s pretty fun,” Loki said.

Kuna giggled, pretending to stab him.

He laughed and gently took her wrist, positioning the dagger in different ways. “You can slice and cut, forward and back, up and down, hack, and even stab with a dagger,” he explained, moving Kuna’s hand with each word. “They’re very multifunctional weapons. You can even throw it if you’re in a pinch.”

“But then I wouldn’t have a dagger anymore.”

“Very clever,” Loki said. “It should never be your first move if this is your only weapon. And there are better weapons for throwing anyways. Only throw this if it’s your last resort and you know you’ve got a clean shot. Otherwise, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Hmm.” Kuna weighed the wooden dagger in her hand. She turned it over and made a swipe at the air.

“Good,” Loki said. “Now, faster. Put more power behind it.”

She made the same movement again, swinging harder. “Don’t lose control,” Loki instructed. He readjusted her stance, and she struck the air again. “Better.”

They continued with different moves and attacks until Kuna was out of breath.

“Take a break,” Loki said, giving her one of their canteens. He smiled at her. “You learn quickly. I don’t even think I picked up a weapon this fast.”

Kuna could barely contain her happiness. She took the canteen and drank. The cold water felt good. She laid back in the grass under the trees.

“Do you think I could fight as good as you someday?” Kuna asked.

“Let’s find out,” Loki said. “Come and get me.”

A wooden knife, like a giant splinter, dug into the ground to the right of Kuna’s head. She gasped and rolled to the side, grabbing her own dagger. She came up on one knee and looked for Loki.

“That was impressive,” he said. Kuna ran towards his voice. He rose up out of a bush. She jumped up and slashed at him, but he disappeared.

“Hey!” she cried as she crashed through the bush. “You can’t use magic!”

“Why not?” his voice came from behind her.

“That’s cheating!”

“There’s no cheating in a fight, little raven,” he said, laughing as she bounded through another illusion. “You have to use what you’ve got. And I have magic.”

Kuna fell through another Loki. She stood and looked around. Something hard hit her in the back of the head.

“Ouch!” She looked down at an acorn rolling at her foot and frowned.

“And I have acorns,” Loki taunted. “What have you got?”

Kuna looked at her dagger. It wasn’t really helping her if all the Lokis were ghosts. Another acorn whistled towards her, this one from her right. She swung the dagger and blocked it with a satisfying thwack. A smile spread across her face.

“Don’t celebrate too long,” Loki chuckled from behind her. “Or you’ll be dead.”

She whipped around and dodged Loki’s arm as it came down to hit her. She stabbed at his leg, and he disappeared just as she had expected him too. With this Loki gone, she ran to the bushes to her left and pounced into them. She came down on an empty patch of dirt and twigs.

“Too slow!” Loki sang.

Kuna growled. She ran to the nearest tree and climbed up into the branches.

“Now, we’re using our brain. I was beginning to think you forgot it was there,” Loki taunted her.

She followed the sound of his voice and jumped through the trees towards it. An acorn smacked the back of her head. She turned to find the Loki that threw it and saw two Lokis, one in the tree and the other on the ground.

“Now, concentrate,” they both said. “Which one is me?”

Jumping towards the one in the tree, she made a quick jab at him, which he easily avoided. He gave her a good shove, sending her forward off the branch. She stretched out her arm and grabbed a lower branch, swinging to the ground. She felt a thump on the ground behind her and turned, slashing wildly with her dagger at the Loki that had dropped from the tree, but he disappeared.

Another appeared behind her, then another and another until there was a circle of Lokis surrounding her. She turned in a circle, trying to figure out which one was the real one. They each smiled at her devilishly.

Then a blue glow began to radiate from one of the Lokis to her left. A soft, lilting melody drifted on the air. She turned and leapt onto the glowing Loki, slashing at him. She crawled up his body and onto his back like a monkey.

“Ahh!” he screamed. The other Lokis vanished. She had caught the real one.

She raised her hand to stab him, but he caught her wrist and pulled her off his back.

“Aww,” she whined.

“So close, little one. Very impressive but I’ve been doing this a lot longer than yo-AHHH! DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!” He let go and she dropped onto her feet, giggling. She skipped up to him and stabbed him in the tummy with her dagger.

“Stab! I win!”

“Agh! I’m dead!” Loki yelled. He fell backwards dramatically. “Blah!” He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes and made his body go limp.

Kuna walked over and put a foot up on his chest, raising her dagger to the sky. “I’ve defeated the mighty Loki!”

“Surprise!” Loki grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down. She squealed.

“No fair! You can’t come back to life!”

“Oh, but that’s sort of my thing, love,” he said. “I can’t believe you bit me. Come here! Let me see those teeth!”

“Grrrrrr!” She growled at him, baring her teeth.

“Do you have fangs?!”

“Raaawr!” She opened her mouth wide enough for Loki to see a row of sharp teeth, like a big cat’s, running back into her mouth.

“You have got fangs!” Rolling up his sleeve, he examined his wound. “Do you have venom in those? Am I going to turn into a Kuna, now? How have I never seen those chompers you’ve got in there?”

Kuna smiled big. Only one set of her sharp fangs was visible in her smile, the rest were hidden. She growled at him again and snapped her teeth, not able to control her giggles.

“Yeah, all right. You’re very ferocious,” he said. “But no more biting! Not me at least. Bite anyone else.”

“But you said I should use what I’ve got.”

“I did say that.”

“So, I could bite in a fight?”

“Yes, it’s rather effective actually,” Loki said, rubbing his arm. He picked up the canteen that was laying on the ground and took a drink. “How did you know which Loki was me?”

“The tesseract told me,” Kuna said, flipping her dagger in the air.

Loki spit out his water. “The what?!”

“The tesseract! I concentrated on trying to find you like you said, and the tesseract told me which one you were.”

“How did it do that?” Loki asked, a serious tone in his voice.

“Y…You were glowing, and I could hear the tesseract singing so I… I knew it was you.”

Loki sat in silence for a moment, thinking. Kuna pulled her legs up to her chest.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, you didn’t,” Loki said.

“Are you mad?”

“No. You did exactly what I would have done. I’m just concerned with how the tesseract is affecting you.”

“Why?”

“It affects people differently. Sometimes in strange ways. I’ve not known it to ‘sing’ to anyone before.”

“I like the way it sings.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Like, um, hmm…” Kuna wasn’t sure she could make the same sounds as the tesseract did. She tried to hum like it but the noise she made was not at all like the tesseract’s pretty sounds. “That’s not right. I can’t do it like the tesseract does.” She shrugged.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe your ears are clogged.”

“That’s probably it,” Loki said, chuckling.

She nodded and tried to flip the dagger in her hand again. The wooden blade smacked her hand and fell to the ground. She frowned at it. Loki picked it up.

“If that had been real, you would have lost fingers,” he said. “Watch carefully.” He flipped the dagger in the air and caught it effortlessly. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He smoothly turned the dagger over and offered the hilt to Kuna to try. She took it. She timed a toss of the dagger and it flipped gracefully, catching it by the handle this time. She smiled and looked up at Loki.

“Well done,” he said. “Just wait until you can do it with two at the same time.”

“Ooooh,” Kuna breathed.

Loki conjured two daggers and showed her a smooth double dagger flip. The glint of the daggers shown over Kuna’s face. She was overjoyed. She could not wait to start training with two daggers. She wanted to be just like Loki.

“I wanna try!” she said.

“I don’t think you’re ready for these yet,” Loki responded. “Weapons like these need to be treated with respect. They’re sharp and they’ll easily cut off those fingers of yours or more if you’re not careful.”

Kuna frowned.

“You’ll get there, little raven,” Loki said, tussling her hair. “Come on, let’s go inside and get something to eat.”

At the thought of food, Kuna happily bounded past Loki and jumped through the door. Loki had finally figured out a way to keep the door open, so he did not have to awkwardly squish through the awful honey-like material. Kuna bounced around the tent, gracefully avoiding the stacks of books Loki had left everywhere. She parried and jabbed with her dagger at invisible enemies.

Loki made her a sandwich from their supplies as she played. He frowned at the basket that kept their food. It was getting dangerously close to being empty. They would need to teleport somewhere to get more supplies soon, but there was enough for them to eat for the rest of the day.

He handed Kuna the sandwich as she hopped by. She barely stopped as she began stuffing bites of it into her mouth.

“No, no. Come, settle down,” Loki scolded. “You’ll upset your stomach, jumping around and eating like that.”

“Hmm,” Kuna mumbled and plopped down across from Loki. She held her sandwich in two hands and took big bites.

Loki frowned at her. “Do you even taste your food?”

“Mmm-hmm!” she nodded, cheeks bulging with sandwich. “It tastes so good!”

“Fair enough,” he said, taking a dainty bite of his own sandwich. He picked up a book and opened it setting it on one leg while he ate.

Kuna watched him. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs. She remade her sandwich, which had fallen apart in her eagerness to eat. Sitting up tall, like Loki, she took a small bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. Loki turned a page and took another bite of his sandwich and Kuna did the same.

Loki caught on quickly to this game of pantomime. Without looking up from his book, he raised his sandwich to his mouth, Kuna following his movements. Before taking a bite, he lowered his hand and turned another page. He could see Kuna frown at being denied a bite but lowering her sandwich into her lap as well.

He lifted the sandwich again to his mouth and then looked across at Kuna. She stopped cold as if caught doing something bad. Loki lowered the sandwich, keeping eye contact. Kuna copied him. He quickly jolted the sandwich back up towards his mouth and Kuna did the same. His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.

In a quick movement, he tossed the sandwich over his shoulder. Kuna gasped. Loki raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to copy him. She shook her head and shoved the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“I don’t waste food,” Kuna said, mouth full.

“That’s very good,” he replied, revealing his own sandwich that he had hidden in a quick invisibility spell. “Neither do I.”

Kuna’s mouth fell open, chewed food showing on her tongue.

“Eww, gross, Kuna! Swallow that!” Loki laughed.

Kuna giggled and swallowed her food.

“Speaking of, we’re starting to run low on food,” Loki said, his tone changing.

Kuna glanced around nervously.

“It’s fine,” Loki consoled her, seeing her anxiety. “I mean to say, we’ll need to go shopping for more. I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

This comforted Kuna. “Where will we go?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I think we’ll need to pack up camp and move entirely. I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

“Oh, but I like it here.”

“It is very peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Kuna nodded.

“But I think we’d get bored if we stayed here forever.”

Kuna cocked her head to one side, confused.

“Well, it’s nice, sure. But there’s no one else here but us. No creatures, no people. No excitement. I think we’d get bored.”

“Hmm.” Kuna thought about this. The excitement she had had with Loki regarding creatures and people so far had been mostly scary and life-threatening. “No, I like it here. I wouldn’t get bored.”

“I bet you would.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to see all the beautiful planets out there in the universe? All the systems and stars and galaxies?”

Kuna thought even harder. All the beautiful things the tesseract had shown her had captivated her mind and visited her dreams for nights. She wanted to see them all.

“Is it safe?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Loki said. Kuna paled. “But you have me with you and I’ll keep you safe.”

She relaxed a little.

“And now that you’re learning to fight, you can defend yourself, too.”

Kuna nodded, thinking about their lesson and her dagger.

“So, what do you think?”

“I guess so. As long as we’re together.”

“Always,” Loki said, smiling at her.

They spent the rest of the day relaxing. Loki attending to his research and Kuna studying her letters. As the day wound down, Kuna had her supper and fell asleep on her bedroll, cuddling her toys. Loki, surrounded by stacks of books, lit a small, dim orb of light with his magic so he could continue reading without disturbing Kuna.

He looked across the several stacks of books around him. He had taken hundreds. When they were in Odin’s study, he had seen how difficult it was for Kuna to catch all the books he was tossing to her in his raven form, so he had begun storing them himself, whisking away entire shelves of books into his pocket universe in some cases. As long as they were in the sections about curses, he could figure out if they were of use later.

Loki reached for a new book but bumped another stack with his elbow. It fell over, scattering across the floor. He grit his teeth at the sound and peeked at Kuna. She turned over and squeezed her dragon. Loki let out a sigh of relief and then groaned at the mess on the floor. He started to pick up a few books, when a large black volume caught his eye. It was quite old, embossed with ancient Asgardian runes that had been rubbed nearly clean of their golden sheen. However, what caught his eye was not the antiquated runes of a long dead language but deep cuts in the leather of the cover in the modern Asgardian runes.

BEWARE

DO NOT OPEN

EVIL RESIDES

“Well, that’s a little dramatic,” Loki said.

He picked up the ancient tome and sat back slowly onto the floor, crossing his legs. As he held it, he could feel a dark resonance emanating through his aura. He looked closely at the book and found it was not black leather at all, but that the book had been heavily burned. The ends of the pages too had been blackened in the flames. At some point, someone had tried to remove some of the charring on the cover, but the book would have been a total loss by any library’s standards.

“Seems like someone tried to burn you,” Loki muttered. He turned the book back over to the eerie message carved into the front. “And you clearly resisted.”

The graffitist had tried to destroy the embossed title of the book, but the restorer had succeeded in revealing what was left of the title.

G—M—IRE –F C—ES by ——————- ———————–

“A “Grimoire of Curses”, you say? You sound perfect. I’m gonna open it,” he said, deviously. He could almost hear his father admonishing him for not heeding the rather specific warning on the cover. “I don’t negotiate with book defacers. Or book burners.”

He gently opened the cover, and the title page confirmed his guesswork.

GRIMOIRE OF CURSES

BY

THE QUEEN OF DEATH

“’The Queen of Death’,” Loki read. “How delightful.”

He chuckled at the author’s absurd name and then flipped to the next page.

It felt suddenly as if a lump had caught in his throat. He swallowed hard. The more Loki read, the heavier his chest began to feel. The resonance he had felt in his magic before began to grow. The air felt thick with each breath he took. It felt as if a whirlpool had started in the page break and was slowly sucking him in. He shook his head and blinked, steeling himself, strengthening his aura against this onslaught.

The book was clearly cursed itself and he was certain for any novice sorcerer it would be impossible not to be corrupted by it. But he was no novice. He let out an exasperated breath.

 “You won’t hide your secrets from me.”

The book seemed to react to his determination. He felt a pain in his head like he had been hit with an axe. He felt cold. He’d never felt cold. He shook his head and glanced up at Kuna.

“I’m doing this for her,” he said under his breath. He felt the thickness subside and turned to the next page.

He searched the book for Kuna’s curse, his shaky finger tracing down the lengthy column of curses in the table of contents.

“Curse of agony, blah, blah, curses of fear, of frenzy, da, da, da, of lies, of leaping, oh my, of melting flesh? No, no, no, Loki, we’re here for a reason,” he stopped himself, pulling his eyes away from the page and taking a deep breath before looking back again. “Da, da, da, of poison, oh, of possession. Stop! ‘T’ where are the ‘T’s””

He stopped abruptly on an entry:

CURSE OF TIED TONGUE

As he turned to the pages and began to read through the ritual for cursing an individual with a tied tongue, the blood began to drain from his face. He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth began to hurt. The heaviness he had pushed out began to creep back over him. His ears began to ring. With each step he read to this vicious ritual, a pit in his stomach grew.

“Restrain the victim, if possible, for they will struggle incessantly to escape. Some form of hypnosis or mind control will also suffice. For ease of the caster’s concentration, keep also the victim’s mouth gagged for the duration of the ritual, except for final steps.”

Loki tried unsuccessfully to block out the image of a restrained and frightened Kuna from his mind. He grunted in frustration and forced himself to focus.

“Force the victim into a state of agony - by any means of the caster’s choosing - whilst chanting the following incantation which bars them from speaking of the caster’s chosen subject.”

Through the din of ringing that had begun in his ears, Loki thought he heard Kuna scream. His breath caught in his throat as he sat up hard against the wall. There was absolute silence in the tent, save for Loki’s ragged breathing. He looked at Kuna, fast asleep on her bedroll.

“Kuna?” he whispered.

“Mmmm,” Kuna hummed softly in her sleep, undisturbed.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked down at the book. He felt exhausted. Slowly, he opened the book again to the page he had been reading.

“When the ritual is complete, the victim can be released. They will no longer be able to speak of subject of the caster’s choosing. Instead, the action will be replaced by the agony the caster forced upon them. Persistent attempts by the victim to speak of the subject can result in eventual amnesia in its regard. Examples of successful states of agony include pain of the body (specific or generalised), inability to breathe, inability to speak, inability to form coherent speech, etc, etc.”

Additional agonies had been scratched in the margins in different hands and inks.

“Sudden onset of singing, dancing, sleeping.

Frenzy.

Fear.

Death.

Melting flesh.

Combine ‘agonies’ to increase power of curse.”

“Gods,” Loki cringed.

He scanned further down the page, looking for how to reverse the curse. Not seeing it, he turned the page.

“UNTYING THE TONGUE”

“Gross,” Loki muttered. He ran his finger down the page, reading the instructions.

“This doesn’t seem so bad,” he said. “Actually, seems rather easy. We could do this tomorrow. Or now.”

He noticed a smudge at the end of the page and leaned closer to see. The dim light he had conjured was not the best for night reading. The little orb of light bobbed around the ceiling of the tent, occasionally flickering.

“Come over here, you stupid orb!” Loki whispered aggressively at the floating sphere. “You’re supposed to be over here! By me!”

The light tottered over, bumping into the wall as it drifted towards him.

“Useless thing,” Loki grumbled as the light settled over his head.

He leaned in close to see the smudge was actually an indication of a footnote.

“Ugh, of course, there’s always a bloody footnote.” He rolled his eyes and searched for the footnotes. The more digging he did in the book, the heavier the feeling in his aura became, and the more agitated he felt. Finally, he found them, buried in the back of the book.

“Here we go,

Only the casting sorcerer can lift a tied tongue curse. Death of the caster does not release the          victim from the curse.”

Loki looked up, staring blankly across the room. He sat up and slowly closed the book. He stood and walked outside the tent into the crisp night air. His fist was clenched tight, his teeth near to cracking under the pressure of his jaw. He looked down at the book in his hand. His whole body now shaking with anger.

He threw the book as hard as he could, letting out a shout as he did. The book sailed kilometers into the darkened horizon. Loki growled and hissed. He felt the sting of tesseract energy as a portal opened beside him and the book sailed through it and smacked him in the face.

“Arrrrgh,” Loki growled. He glanced back at the tent, and Kuna still asleep inside. He swung the book around in frustration. Opening another portal to a random place, he stuck his head through and screamed with all his might.

He felt no remorse for the humans on the other side of the portal, whose dinner he appeared to have abruptly and loudly interrupted. When he had finished, his energy felt clean again, free from the book’s dark grip. His mind felt lighter, though he was still racked with rage over the conditionality of these curses.

He returned to the tent. Kuna had not moved. Loki stood over her for a moment, watching. How could someone do something so horrible to someone so small? What threat could she possibly pose to anyone to justify such drastic measures?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter now. What was done was done and he was going to undo it. He stretched and popped his back. Laying down on his bedroll next to Kuna, he watched her chest rise and fall with her gentle breathing. He pushed a lock of hair off her face and pulled the blanket up to her chin. With a flick of his hand, the dim light he had been using to read by went out and he fell asleep.

***

Kuna’s eyes opened slowly. She felt a weight on her side that had not been there when she fell asleep the night before. She looked down and saw Loki’s arm draped over her. She smiled. Very, very slowly, she turned over onto her other side to face him. She put her head on his chest and snuggled close. He didn’t push her away this time. He was still asleep.

She drifted in and out of sleep for a bit, savoring cuddle time with Loki. Light began to shine in through the windows of the tent. Kuna wondered how long Loki would sleep in. She was normally up before sunrise.

Her stomach growled. She grimaced and looked up at Loki, watching him. Carefully, she wiggled out from under his arm, replacing her toys under his arm where she had been. He snored softly but did not wake.

She stretched and yawned, then flinched at the sight of the room. There were books scattered everywhere. Loki had clearly been up reading last night. Kuna got up and started picking up books and stacking them in neat piles. She lined the walls with them, so they were out of the way. Each stack was perfectly level, spines facing out.

Finished with this task, she looked around for something else to do. Her eyes landed on a rogue book. A big, black book with scratches on the cover. She walked timidly over to it and knelt down to pick it up. Her hand hovered over the book, suspended in the air like it was repelled by a magnet. She shook her head and stood up. Something felt wrong about that book. It felt magicky. Stepping just outside the tent door, she picked up a stick and returned to the book and pushed it with the end of the stick over to the wall.

She looked over at Loki, cuddling with her toys on the floor. She had grown impatient with Loki’s excessive sleeping and so had her tummy. She laid down and crawled close to him.

“Loki?” she whispered. He did not stir. “Loki,” she said again, a little louder this time. Still there was no response. She apprehensively raised a finger and poked his arm. He snored on. Kuna frowned.

“Loki?” she asked again, a little louder. He turned onto his back, taking her toys with him. Kuna jumped and dove under her blanket. She peeked out from under to see if he was angry, but he was still asleep. Crawling closer once more, she poked him in different places, his arm, his leg, his chest, even his face, but he did not wake. She lifted her finger again and moved slowly towards his hair.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

Kuna erupted in giggles. Loki sat up. He held out the stuffed animals in his hand and looked at them, confused and laughed, then grabbed Kuna putting her in his lap. She squealed with joy.

“Loki! Loki! Loki!” he mimicked, over and over, poking her chest and sides and neck. Kuna could not contain herself, she was giggling, trying to poke him back. He set her down and shook his head, laughing.

“What? What is it, child?” he asked, still laughing.

“I’m hungry,” she said, sheepishly.

“Are you?”

Kuna nodded.

“Well, we’re going to have to fix that, aren’t we?”

She nodded some more. “Yes, please.”

“Let me see here,” Loki said, as he searched the basket for some breakfast for Kuna. He pulled up only a small bit of bread. “Oh, is that it? I think it’s time for us to go shopping again.”

“Did you eat dinner last night?” Kuna asked him.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I was reading for a long time and the book was very frustrating and–” Kuna pushed Loki’s hand with the piece of bread back towards him. “And… I must have forgot. Kuna, you’re going to eat this. Don’t worry about me. We’ll go shopping today and get more. I’m fine.”

“You have to eat too,” she said.

He gave her the bread. “I’m fine. Eat this for now.”

“You eat.”

“No, you eat.”

Kuna stood and shook her head. “No, you.”

“Kuna–”

“You! Ah!” She pointed at Loki and then opened her mouth and pointed inside.

“You’re becoming very stubborn,” he said. “Who knows where you could have gotten that from.” He took a small bite out of the bread to pacify the defiant child. “Oh, you cleaned. You didn’t have to do that,” he acknowledged the tidied tent.

Kuna shrugged. “I don’t mind. But I think there’s something wrong with that book over there.”

“Which one? The black one?”

She nodded.

Loki gulped, choking a bit on the dry bread. “You didn’t open that one, did you?”

“I didn’t, I swear!” Kuna said, dropping to her knees and putting her hands over her head. “I promise! I didn’t open it. I promise!”

Loki sighed. “No – it’s all right—I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I—I just—oh, please don’t cry.”

“I promise I didn’t look at them without your permission!”

“It’s all right. I believe you. Please, don’t cry.” Loki reached forward and put his hand on Kuna’s shoulder. “I’m not upset with you, I promise.”

She looked up at him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Scooting closer, she reached out to him, and he picked her up, setting her in his lap.

“Is that book bad? Will it make me blind?” She sniffled.

“No, no, no. It won’t blind you, darling, but it’s not a very nice book. I think it’s been cursed.”

Kuna shrank in his lap, staring at the book. “Did you open it?”

“Yes. But I’m a very powerful sorcerer so I know what to do with books like that.”

“Throw them away?”

“No!” Loki chuckled. “You don’t want to throw a book away! What if there are incredible secrets in there?”

“They should stay that way,” Kuna whispered.

“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure, Kuna? That book,” -he pointed at it- “gave me the answers to what we were looking for.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

“What did it say?”

Loki had fallen into a trap. “Um, well.” He feared unintentionally setting off Kuna’s curse by telling her about it. “It gave me instructions on how to help you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, that’s why we took all these books.” Loki was surprised by her lack of memory regarding the reasons they had gone to Asgard.

“How can a book help me? You’ve already helped me so much. You freed me and you gave me food and clothes and toys and–”

“Yes, but… well.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Kuna looked up at him inquisitively. “That book is a book about curses. All the different kinds of curses and how to perform them. That’s why I didn’t want you to read it.”

“A cursed book of curses?”

“Precisely.”

“That sounds scary,” she whispered, wrapping herself in Loki’s cape. “How is that going to help me?”

Loki hesitated. “Well, Kuna, I think someone on your home planet may have cursed you.”

Kuna’s face went blank, expressionless. She turned grey. She shook her head, first a little then frantically, side to side.

“Now, now, everything’s all right,” Loki consoled her, gently rocking her.

“No. No!” she whispered. “I’m not cursed! It’s not true!”

“Shhhh,” Loki whispered, rocking her. “I’m going to fix it.” He gently stroked her hair and hugged her, holding her tight.

“I don’t have any magic, sir!”

Loki closed his eyes. He had triggered her curse. With time, she calmed down, clutching a handful of his hair. She sniffled and occasionally let out a sob.

“Look at me, darling. Do you remember who did this to you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“You told me once someone hurt you with magic,” Loki said. “Who was that?”

Kuna shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her arms. “Sometimes when I was bad, my masters would use their magic to punish me. It hurt a lot.”

“Mmm,” Loki nodded, hugging her again. “I’m sorry, darling. They were horrible people. I doubt were ever truly ‘bad’.”

Kuna stared at the ground.

“I’m guessing these Masters don’t let slaves use magic,” Loki said.

“Oh no!” Kuna exclaimed. “For a slave to have magic is the worst sin imaginable! If a slave has magic,” -she shuddered with fear- “all the masters slaves must be culled, and the slave’s family too.”

“My, that seems a bit much,” Loki said.

Kuna shook her head. “Slaves shouldn’t have magic. They would use it for evil things.”

“And who told you that?”

“The Masters,” they both said in unison. Loki nodded.

“Yes, I’m starting to understand,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “What sorts of evil things would a slave use magic for?”

“Slaves are weak, and magic makes weak people do bad things. Slaves would use magic to trick and steal and kill people.”

Loki put both hands on either side of Kuna’s head. “My child, you have been brainwashed.”

Kuna put her hands on Loki’s. “No one’s washed my brains!”

“No, it means that these Masters on your home-system have forced you to believe all these things that are not true so that they can continue doing whatever they want to you.”

She gasped. “With magic?”

“Mmm, no. Propaganda can be just as powerful as magic.”

“Propa-what-now?”

“Propaganda. I’ll explain later, what’s important is that they are very wrong about slaves and magic and you.”

Kuna looked down at the ground again. She did not know what to think. The Masters had never been wrong about anything. Ever. At least, not that she could remember.

“Kuna,” Loki said. She looked up at him. He wiped the tears off her cheek with his thumb. “I know this is a lot to take in. It isn’t easy learning that your life has been a lie, believe me. But I’m going to make things better for you. Do you trust me, darling?”

Kuna nodded and hugged him tight.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

[hunterartemisanime]

Noragami: Bishamon- the Archetypical Warrior Mother Goddess

Bishamon or Bishamonten from “Seven Gods of Fortune” in Shintoism is the typical “strong woman” trope character in a Shonen anime called Noragami: she is angry, she is beautiful and conveniently buxom for fans to drool over her. Termed by Yato as “ugly broad” Bishamon is fierce and coarse. However, she is not only that: she has a caring and nurturing side which almost caused her demise once and put her in danger over and over again. So this is my take on Bishamon and why she is the Eastern archetype of “Warrior Mother Goddess” instead of her Shinto persona.

First of all, let’s look what Bishamon actually is in the Classic Shinto religion.  In Japan, Bishamonten (毘沙門天), or just Bishamon (毘沙門) is thought of as an armor-clad god of war or warriors and a punisher of evildoers. Bishamon is portrayed holding a spear in one hand and a small pagoda in the other hand, the latter symbolizing the divine treasure house, whose contents he both guards and gives away. His (because Bishamon is a male in Shintoism) legend derives from the Hindu Demigod “Vaisravana” or “Son of Vishrava”, who is known as Kubera the God of wealth. Both Vaisravana and Bishamon are associated with material fortunes and Bishamon is really a fierce version of Vaisravana, a well-fed, content and rather gluttonous demigod. 

But how a god like Bishamon gets transferred in Noragami to a woman? It could be a design choice by Adachitoka to create a contrasting female character who could meet Yato in a more Godly plane. But I can see some clear Hindu influence in Bishamon’s design. She is inhumanly beautiful, fierce, perfect body and with rapunzel length hair. Her design is very similar to the Warrior Goddess Durga. In the “Meditation of Durga” she is described as

“the one with great length-ed dreadlocks in her head...whose face is beautiful like the full moon, whose complexion is as fair as flax seed flower...whose beautiful teeth sit on her full lips, whose full breasts hold the elixir of immortality*-- (Meditation of Durga, verse 1-3)

The physical description of Durga has uncanny similarity with Bishamon. the Goddess is also called “nabayouvana sampannang, sarbabharana bhushitang” (who is young and clad with fantastic jewels). Bishamon may be young and beautiful but she does not wear any eastern jewels: she is rather clad with her regalias posed as weapons, navigation and clothes; thus it isn’t far off.

It is not only the superficial physical appearance that are similar with Durga and Bishamon; they also share some character similarities. The traditional Bishamonten is not known to have a mount or Divine Familiar, Bishamon in the anime on the other hand does a divine familiar in the form of mount: Kuraha, who takes the shape of Lion and can travel in the air. This is an iconic similarity with Durga, whose divine mount is a lion. In “hymns of Gandhesvari” Durga (or her Gandhesvari form) is described as “Simhasta” (the one who rides a lion). Durga is also known as “Simha vahini” (she whose vehicle is a lion). The Bishamonten is known to carry only one weapon, a spear, but Bishamon in Noragami has or carries multiple weapons because she has multiple regalia. In the “Meditation of Durga” the goddess is known to carry a goad, bow and arrow, executioner’s sword, discus, conch, mace, shield, rosary and the trident. Bishamon too carries multiple weapons: whip, guns, knife long machete etc, just like Goddess Durga herself. One part of Durga’s weapon is “Aveda barma” or the “impenetrable armour” forged by the ironsmith of the Gods, Vishwakarma (the forger of the universe). Bishamon wears a full blown armour by her regalia Aiha when the Ebisu-crisis occured and she had to journey to underworld.

Now, in the parallel of two warrior goddesses who seem to be far from society’s idea of ideal femininity, where does the nurturing part fit? According to the Hindu mythology Durga is only a fragment of the ideal femininity: the rightful rage of “Adi Shakti” (Ancient Energy), the Female mother goddess. (Excuse my jargon) in the “Durga Saptashati” of Rigveda, the Goddess is described as “mother of all creation” (verse no 3) and at the same time she is described as “creator, sustainer and destroyer of the world” (verse no 4) of which she is the Mother. Bishamon has an extensive collection of regalia: she does not discriminate who is weak or who is useful, she takes everyone in as her own according to Noragami Wiki: 

“She willingly accepts any wandering and troubled spirit, useful or not, and adds them to her family. “

She and her Shinkis live in Takamagahara which is the universe on its own, so she is the guardian and mother of her Shinkis in a way. Takamagahara is situated in a place which has golden hued galaxy as the backdrop of the sky. The form of Durga which alludes to the primeval Female Goddess is called “Bhuvaneswari” (she, whose body is the universe). The shinkis or regalias derive strength from her divine existence and they exist in a palpable form because of her. It again alludes to “Devi Suktam” (the introduction of the Goddess) where is has been mentioned:

“ I am the Queen of the Universe; I give wealth to those who worship me. I am the all-knowing one and the prime one among the worshippable deities. I enter many bodies as the Soul, taking various forms and with different manifestations, in various ways. ... That one who eats food, who sees, breathes, and hears whatever is said, he does all that only through me (my powers). Those who do not understand me, die. “ --(Devi Suktam, verse 4 & 5)

The sense of being center of the universe has brought a tremendous sense of loss and grief to the goddesses in many occassion. In the myths, when Goddess Parvati (the calm version of Durga) loses her child Ganesha, she assumes her rageful spirit again to destroy the universe that has taken her child from her. Bishamon has faced tremendous sense of loss and grief when she lost her “Ma” clan due to the malefic thoughts of the Shinkis--an action which blighted her tremendously. She too assumes a vengeful spree towards Yato, who allegedly slaughtered her “Ma” clan. 

In short Bishamon is a great representation of motherly strength in anime field: the term “mother” often evokes a sense of tenderness, security and comfort, but it has been proven in the ancient myth that bringing life into the world and the sense of protectiveness towards life is the most powerful energy of all: it can make an break everything in existence and when the motherly tenderness is challenged it can manifest in one of the most destructive forces in the world. Thus the “ugly broad” “stern powerhouse” persona is only skin deep. The essence of Bishamon is far greater and more empowering. 

* In ancient India, full breasts of a woman, which are swollen with milk was granted as a symbol of motherly power, nourishment and comfort. A woman with moderate breast size or small breast size were considered equally beautiful. In fact talking about sexuality in religious and secular discourses by scholars and sages were acceptable. It has no sexual connotation whatsoever. Please don’t perverse it in any sense.

...

wow that’s a lot, now tags (although I have no evidence that they like Noragami)

: @sidd-hit-my-butt-ham @yanderebakugo @kurokonbscenarios @kurokonobasket @kurokonoboisket @art-zites @idinaxye @sp-chernobyl @strawbe3ryshortcake @reservethemoon @rilnen @a-shy-potato @thirsthourdemon @animebxxch @edagawasatoru @akawaiishi-blog @reinyrei @chloe-noir @theswahn @ahobaka-trash @jeilliane @trashtoria  @scarlettedwardsposts @quirkydarling @ghostieswaifu @levihan-freaks @hope-im-spirited-away @yves0809 @marshiro1101 @bubziles @heartfullofknb @kit-kat57 @akichan-th