#The Green-eyed Monster 4

[herrscherofinsanity]

Claiming Hearts

Summary: 4 times Jimin gets jealous and 1 time she actually does something about it.

Fluff? I honestly don't know

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

Word count: 1.9k

___________________

Flowers

Jimin lingered by the school entrance, her gaze fixated on you, engaged in a conversation with a classmate. As the conversation progressed, a figure approached the girl Jimin had been staring at, flowers in hand, and a warm smile that ignited a pang of jealousy in Jimin's heart.

The vibrant petals seemed to dance in the air, capturing your attention as you graciously accepted the bouquet. Jimin's grip on her textbooks tightened, her knuckles turning white as she fought the internal battle of unspoken emotions.

"Flowers," Jimin thought, her mind echoing with unvoiced feelings. "Does she know how many times I've wanted to bring her flowers, to express what I feel?" The realization stung, a poignant reminder of the hesitations that had kept her from revealing her true emotions.

Amidst the sea of emotions, Jimin remained hidden, an observer to a scene that fueled the flames of longing within her. The laughter and camaraderie around her seemed to fade as she grappled with the ache of unspoken words.

Eventually, you bid farewell to your admirer, the flowers cradled delicately in your arms. Jimin, hidden in the shadows, watched as you disappeared around the corner. A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of resignation and determination.

"I can't keep hiding," Jimin mused, resolving to confront the emotions that stirred within her. The path to expressing her feelings lay ahead, and with a determined stride, she ventured into the realm of vulnerability.

With the flowers as a poignant memory, Jimin set forth on a journey to unveil the truth hidden within her heart.

--------

2. Party People

The pulsating beat of music reverberated through the crowded room as Jimin navigated the sea of partygoers. Spotting you amidst the lively gathering, she couldn't help but marvel at how the ambient lights played on your features, casting a captivating glow.

However, the enchanting moment was abruptly interrupted. Jimin's eyes narrowed as she noticed a line of eager dancers forming around you, each extending an invitation to share a dance. The realization hit her like a sudden gust of wind, unsettling and stirring the familiar sensation of jealousy within.

Jimin observed from a distance, her fingers subtly clenching and unclenching as she contemplated the scene. The rhythm of the music seemed to synchronize with the erratic beats of her heart. It wasn't just about dancing; it was the idea of someone else encroaching on the intimate space Jimin yearned to occupy.

"Does she enjoy their company more than mine?" Jimin questioned, jealousy whispering doubts that lingered beneath her calm exterior. She wrestled with the conflicting emotions, the desire to join the dance battling with the fear of facing a truth she might not be ready to confront.

As the party continued to pulse around you, Jimin found herself at a crossroads. Should she step into the dance, embracing the opportunity to be close to you, or should she retreat and grapple with the jealousy that threatened to consume her?

The music carried on, echoing the unspoken sentiments that lingered in the air.

---------

3. Seating Arrangement:

The lecture hall buzzed with the hum of conversations as students settled into their seats. Jimin, ever attentive to your presence, scanned the room. Today's lecture seemed to hold an unexpected twist as Yunjin, a fellow classmate, approached you, saving you a seat next to her.

Jimin's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of discomfort settling in. The proximity of another person occupying the space Jimin had come to consider her own ignited a spark of jealousy. The seat next to you had always been Jimin's unspoken refuge, a silent agreement that transcended the need for words.

"Does she not want to sit with me?" Jimin pondered, the green-eyed monster whispering doubts that clawed at the edges of her composure. The internal struggle intensified as she debated whether to approach and stake her claim or to maintain a facade of indifference.

The choice lingered in the air, a silent challenge to confront the feelings that danced beneath the surface. Jimin, caught between the desire for closeness and the fear of rejection, watched as you settled into the newly claimed seat, the distance between you magnified by the invisible barrier of unspoken emotions.

As the lecture began, the unoccupied seat next to Jimin echoed with the weight of unexpressed sentiments. The dynamics of your connection seemed to shift, leaving Jimin grappling with the unforeseen challenge of redefining the unspoken bonds that had once held you two close.

-----------

4. Three’s a crowd:

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm hues across the campus grounds as you and Jimin prepared to embark on your usual journey home together. It was a ritual you both cherished, a moment of solace amid the bustling routine of academic life.

However, on this particular day, a sudden addition to your duo caught Jimin off guard. As you stepped out of the campus gates, you casually invited Yeji, another one of your friends, to join you on the walk home. The unexpected intrusion ignited a spark of jealousy within Jimin, a flicker of discomfort at the prospect of sharing a cherished routine.

"Why would she invite someone else?" Jimin questioned, the unspoken fear of being replaced gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. The dynamics of your friendship, built on the foundation of shared moments, seemed to shift beneath the weight of unforeseen circumstances.

Jimin navigated the sidewalks in silence, her gaze occasionally flickering towards you and your unexpected companion. The trio moved through the fading daylight, the echoes of shared laughter laced with the unspoken tension that lingered beneath the surface.

The once familiar path felt different, Yeji’s unwanted presence casting a subtle shadow over the routine Jimin had come to cherish. Jimin, caught between the warmth of shared memories and the chill of uncertainty, pondered the significance of this unexpected company on the journey home.

----------

5: Taking matters into my own hands

Jimin strode through the bustling hallway, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of her footsteps. The day had taken an unexpected turn as she witnessed Nayeon, a senior known for her charm and confidence, approach you with an invitation that hung in the air like an impending storm.

"This can't go on any longer," Jimin determined, her gaze narrowing as she reached the precipice of her own internal struggle.

Without hesitation, she closed the distance between you, a surge of determination guiding her actions. The sight of you engaged in conversation with Nayeon fueled Jimin's resolve. She couldn't stand by any longer, watching others vie for the affections of the one who held her heart.

"y/n," Jimin's voice cut through the ambient noise, drawing your attention. Startled, you turned towards Jimin, your eyes widening at the urgency in the other girl's expression.

"We need to talk. Now." Jimin declared, seizing your arm and guiding you away from the curious gazes that lingered.

Confusion etched across your face as Jimin led you to an empty classroom, the door closing behind both of you with a resounding click. The confined space amplified the tension, setting the stage for a confrontation neither of you had anticipated.

"Jimin, what's going on?" you questioned, concern furrowing your brow as you faced the visibly distressed taller girl.

Jimin, her emotions teetering on the edge of revelation, took a deep breath. The floodgates of unspoken truths were about to open, and she could no longer suppress the torrent of feelings that threatened to consume her.

"I can't do this anymore, y/n," Jimin admitted, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and longing. "I can't stand by and watch other people try to win you over when all I want is to be the one who makes your heart race."

A pregnant pause hung in the air as you absorbed Jimin's words, the gravity of the revelation settling between you two. The silence that followed was shattered by the weight of unspoken emotions.

In a vulnerable confession, Jimin laid bare the feelings that had tormented her. "I'm in love with you, y/n. I can't keep pretending that it doesn't hurt to see others vying for your attention."

The revelation hung in the air, a precipice between friendship and something more profound. You felt your own emotions surfacing looking up at Jimin with a mixture of surprise and realization.

"I... I had no idea," you whispered, your own confession echoing in the hallowed silence. "Jimin, I'm in love with you too."

The moment of revelation hung in the air, a delicate dance of vulnerability and acknowledgment. As you confessed your reciprocated feelings, a radiant smile illuminated Jimin's face, eclipsing the shadows of uncertainty that had lingered for too long.

With unabashed joy, Jimin surged forward, enveloping you in an exuberant hug. The confines of the classroom echoed with laughter and the lightness of newfound understanding. Jimin couldn't contain the whirlwind of emotions that cascaded through her, and in a burst of unrestrained elation, she twirled you around, your laughter intertwining like a melody that resonated with the cadence of shared affection.

"I can't believe we both felt the same way," Jimin exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with unbridled happiness. "y/n, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

You gave Jimin the brightest smile she had ever seen, caught in the whirlwind of emotion and the newfound revelation, your eyes reflecting the shared joy between you. "Of course, Jimin. I'd love to go on a date with you."

----------

Bonus: Mine

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the school courtyard as students meandered through the scattered clusters of conversation. You and Jimin, now blissfully entwined in the magic of newfound love, strolled hand in hand. Yet, amidst the tranquil atmosphere, a familiar figure approached from the periphery.

Jimin's eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed Nayeon making her way toward you, a seemingly innocent smile adorning her features. A pang of protective jealousy surged within Jimin, prompting her to take swift action.

With a determined stride, Jimin intercepted Nayeon just as she reached you. Ignoring the subtle surprise in Nayeon's gaze, Jimin wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you close. In a bold declaration, Jimin pressed a gentle yet possessive kiss on your lips, the embodiment of claiming what was rightfully hers.

A chorus of whispers and gasps rippled through the onlookers, and Jimin, slightly flustered by her own audacity, glanced at you with a sheepish smile. "Just making sure everyone knows you're taken," Jimin teased, her eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness and genuine affection.

Amused by Jimin's impromptu display, you chuckled softly. "Jealous much?"

Jimin blushed, feigning innocence. "Me? Jealous? Never," she replied, her voice layered with a hint of mock defensiveness.

The newfound couple, caught in the orbit of this unexpected spectacle, exchanged glances and knowing smiles. Jimin, triumphant in her quest to ward off potential suitors, and you, reveling in the endearing quirks of your girlfriend, continued your journey through the school courtyard, hand in hand, your love story etched in the tender moments that unfolded with each shared step.

And so, in the glow of the fading daylight, you and your girlfriend embarked on a journey filled with laughter, love, and the sweet anticipation of a future painted in the hues of your intertwined hearts.

____________________

A/N: Hi, hello! The following 5 weeks might actually be the death of me, but oh well. I hope you enjoy this work, and also, thank you so much for reading!

[theemporium]

update: I did end up watching the rest of the game (:/) and I woke up super early 😭

Anyway- congratulations on 10k!!! You deserve it <3 I couldn't not choose the '💚' (lol) & 4 for jh86!! I hope you have fun & make sure you take breaks!! -🌱

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

4. “You’re naive if you think he just wants to be your friend."

.

Jack would like to think he is a pretty self-assured and confident guy. 

Because he is. He doesn’t really doubt himself, not even when he is at his lowest. Even during his rookie year, it was more frustrating than anything else because he knew he could be better, he just needed to show the rest of the world too. And outside of hockey, he is no different. He knows who he is and he is secure in himself. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Jack from feeling very human and not-so-secure feelings—like jealousy. 

It felt as frustrating as his rookie year. He knew you loved him and he knew your relationship was secure and he fucking knew that you weren’t even flirting back. But something about the way this guy was blatantly eye-fucking you and attempting to charm you—right in front of your boyfriend—made Jack’s eye twitch. 

The guy knew you were with Jack. He knew you were here with him tonight considering Jack was nominated for one of the awards. He knew and he was still doing it like he had any right to do so, and it wound Jack up. 

And honestly, he was feeling far from gentlemanly in that moment. 

“He seems nice,” you commented casually once you returned to Jack’s side, the two glasses of wine in hand that you originally went to the bar for. “I think he is a big fan of yours.”

Jack let out a disbelieving snort, taking one glass from you and letting his free hand wind around your waist until you were tucked into his side. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

“He seemed a bit lonely,” you continued, unaware of the green-eyed monster whispering in your boyfriend’s ear. “I think he just wants to make some friends. I don’t blame him though, these events are insane—”

“You’re naive if you think he just wants to be your friend,” Jack blurted out before he could even think twice. 

You blinked before raising your brows. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I—” He paused for a moment, his brows furrowing together before he shook his head and placed his wine glass down. He then fully turned to you, both hands on your hips to soothe something in his chest. “Actually, no. No, I’m not good because that douche thinks he can just flirt with my girlfriend as if I’m not right here.” 

Your lips twitched. “You’re jealous?”

Jack frowned a little. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

He shot you a look.

“Okay, I am a little,” you said, unable to fight the smile growing on your face as you placed your wine glass down next to his. Before he could say anything, your hands were cupping his face as you looked at him, eyes full of adoration. “Because you have absolutely nothing in this world to be worried about.”

“I know,” he grumbled, his cheeks squished together lightly. “But the way he was just so unbothered that I was here made me feel…”

“It makes him a loser, to be honest,” you said, something in your heart warming at the way he snorted in response. “You know I only love you, right?”

His cheeks warmed. “I know.”

“And that no one could ever replace you?”

He grinned. “Duh, baby, I’m one of a kind.” 

“Good,” you smiled back before leaning in, kissing him until the last of the tension melted from his body as he sunk into your embrace. “Plus, he said his drink of choice was a tequila shot which is just…ew.”

Jack grimaced. “He couldn’t even lie and say some fancy whisky?”

“I think you’re giving him credit for being smarter than he actually is,” you retorted, though it was mostly muttered under your breath so only he could hear you. 

Jack’s expression turned fond. “I love you.”

“I know,” you smiled back before leaning in to kiss him again, chasing away the bitter feeling in his chest he had minutes ago.

.

[kayhi808]

Neighbors - Green Eyed Monster

Masterlist

Tony Stark is throwing another one of his parties at Avenger's Tower, which is why you are currently in an elevator trying to coax a smile out of your boyfriend. "I just don't see why he makes this stuff mandatory!"

You slap his hand away from fidgeting with his tie. You loosen it just a smidge for him. "We'll stay a couple hours and we'll leave. Do your time & we're out, ok?"

"Fine!" He smiles at you, "Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?"

"You can tell me again." He leans over to kiss your neck & you smile until you feel his teeth & pull away. "Don't you dare!" Bucky pulls away and laughs, entwining his fingers with yours as the elevator doors open.

You step out into Tony's penthouse filled with people. You've never seen a penthouse this big before. It could almost be a nightclub. You hear Bucky let out a soft growl & you squeeze his hand. He leads you towards the right & you notice Sam. "So how long are you planning on staying?" You roll your eyes at them.

"Look at you, all dressed up." Sam runs his hands down the lapels on Bucky's jacket.

"Y/N made me."

Nodding vigorously, "Well, yea! Look at her!" Sam greets you with a kiss. "She's stunning. She doesn't want to be seen with a potato like you."

A pretty blonde walks up, "I'd be happy to be seen with Sargeant Barnes. Suit or no suit."

What the?!?

"Hey Dot."

"I was wondering if you'd show up tonight," gazing up at Bucky.

Bucky gives a shrug, "Yea, well..."

"It's man-da-tory. We had to." huffs out Sam.

Giggling, "The Winter Soldier doesn't always follow the rules, now does he?" She steps back winking at him.

You drop Bucky's hand and he looks at you, "Doll, this is Agent Dot McKinny. She just transferred from the Compound. Dot, my girlfriend, Y/N." His arm goes around your waist anchoring you to him.

"Nice to meet you,"

"So girlfriend, not wife?" laughing like she made a joke, "Need to make sure."

Ew! It's not nice to meet you.

Nat, Steve & Wanda join the group in the nick of time, so you can make an escape.

"I need a drink," removing Bucky's arm from your waist. To Nat & Wanda, "You want something to drink? I'm going to the bar."

"We'll come with you, " Wanda moves over to your side.

Dot waves you off, "I'm good. I'll stay right here."

Your lip can't help but curl into a snarl as you turn away, mumbling "I didn't ask you." You kept your shoulders back & chin up,

After ordering your drinks, Wanda & Natalie are giving you smirks & you can't help but smile and laugh. "Who and WHAT was that??"

They crack up laughing. "When I saw Dot head over to you guys I told Wanda we needed to get over there."

"Dot is a new transfer agent....

"Um transfer her back!" Interrupting Wanda only made them laugh harder.

"She may have a taken a liking to your Soldier."

"She's...she's a bold one," looking back at the group. Witnessing Dot playfully slap Bucky's arm.

You collect your drinks and wander back. Bucky gives you a worried look but you smile and hand him his scotch. "Thanks, doll." He leans in to kiss you & whispers "You ok?"

You plaster on a smile and give a noncommittal hum as Dot continues to yammer away laying a hand on Bucky's sleeve to gain his attention.

"I just found out they cleared me for missions so we could be partnering up soon. It's so exciting!"

"Yes, so exciting," you repeat.

Bucky clears his throat. "Will you excuse us? I needed to discuss something with Clint."

He leads you across the floor, "Doll?"

Shaking your head & laughing, "Don't you 'doll' me, Mister."

"Y/N? Ok, let's hear it."

You down the rest of your wine, handing your glass to a passing waiter. "#1, I hate her. #2, Ew. #3, what was all...THAT? #4, I hate her."

Bucky laughs, cupping your face in his hands and gives you a slow kiss that brings your jealousy level down a few notches, but he goes and says something dumb to rev you back up again. "Are you jealous?"

Narrowing your eyes at him, "Is there reason to be?"

Again he laughs and wraps you in his arms, "You're adorable!" Dropping a kiss on your lips.

Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, " And you didn't answer my question." He grimaces and pulls away.

"There is absolutely zero...Zero reasons to be jealous. I love you. I want you, and no one else."

"Ok," giving him a small smile. "But I still don't like her. If you get paired up with her on an extended mission, I'm sabotaging that mission." Bucky laughs. "Hey, the Avengers have been warned!"

You spend the rest of the evening dodging Agent Dot but she's locked on target and will zero in on Bucky. You ignore her the best you can.

You're sharing new photos and videos of Alpine with Nat. "She's gotten so fluffy!"

"I know! She was so scrawny and dirty and she's just a loveable ball of fluff now."

Dot looks over your shoulder, "Oh my God, are you a cat person?! I could NEVER!"

Nat questions, "Why not? They are so cute." Knowing exactly where this is going to lead & setting Dot up for the fall.

"Cats are menaces. They scratch up and destroy everything. They're unfriendly & bite. They carry parasites. Filthy." Shuddering, "I never understood how people can own a cat. What's that saying? Pets take after their owners?" She gives you a mean smug little smile.

"Actually, Alpine is Bucky's cat." You meet Bucky's glare over Dot's shoulder. "Honey? Dot thinks Allie is a filthy menace."

"Really?"

All the hopes and dreams for Agent Dot died after looking into the glaring eyes of an affronted cat dad. No one is forgiven for insulting his Alpine.

[yoongleboongle]

yoongi fic recs part ii

(biggest love and support to the writers!!)

1. mad about you by @yoongiphoria

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2. drown by @hamsterclaw

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3. the king isn't dead by @another-army-spot

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4. muse by @another-army-spot

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5. green-eyed monster by @yoonpobs

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6. backburner christmas drabble by @yoonpobs

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7. love language by @yoonpobs

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8. busy - a night at home by @jungk0oksthighs

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9. soon by @ppersonna

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10. i wanna hold your hand by @minisugakoobies

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[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'

🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.

You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.

The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.

“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.

“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”

Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.

Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’

“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.

“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”

‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”

Your brows twitched irritably.

Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.  

“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.

Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.

“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”

“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.

Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.

“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.

You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”

Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.

“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”

“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”

Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.

“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”

And then you were gagged once more.

The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.

“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”

You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”

He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”

You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.

You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.

Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.

“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose.

“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.

Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”

His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.

And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—

Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.   

Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.

You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.

‘Wait,’ that look said.

And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.

The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.

You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.

There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.

Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.  

“What’s going on?!—”

With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.

And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.

With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.  

“Not so fast, you little cretin.”

And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—

There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.

Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.

“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.

“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.

“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”

“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”

“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”

“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”

“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”

You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”

“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”

The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.

“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.

“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.

You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.

You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.

The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.

He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.

From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.

And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.

You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.

He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!

And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.

But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.

It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—

You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.

“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.

You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.

Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.

“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”

The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.

“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"

“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”

You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.

“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.

Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.

“What white teeth you have?” you tried.

He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.  

You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.

And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.

Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.

You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.

A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.

Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.

He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.

“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.

And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.

You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.

You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”

“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”

“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”

When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.

“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”

He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.

You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.

“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.  

“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.

“A what?”

“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”

You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.

“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”

“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”

He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.

“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”

Then why—

You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.

“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”

“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.

“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”

You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—'  was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you. 

“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”

You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.

“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”

“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”

Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”

“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”

You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.

“Uhm, hello?” you tried.

“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”

“It talks,” you blanched.

“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”

“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”

“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”

Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.

“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”

Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.

“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

.

.

On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.

“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.  

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”

Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.

The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.

The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.

Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.

One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.

And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?

“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.

“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”

You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.

“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”

Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”

However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.

“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”

Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.

“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.

You shrugged.

“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”

Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”

The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.

“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”

There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—

“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.

And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.

But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.

“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”

“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?

“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”

.

.

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[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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[antiquarianfics]

Just a library of things I wrote for ease of access!

Fics are ordered newest to oldest.

❀ Fluff ○ Angst ✧ Smut

★ Personal Favorite ✰ 1k+ Notes

Requesting Guidelines

Oneshots

Making Waves ❀○ Bucky gives you a pep talk when life’s beating down on you a little too hard.

Shoot Me ❀ Bucky swears he doesn’t like Y/N. In fact, he’s so confident he’ll challenge this: If he likes Y/N, shoot him.

Accidental | pt 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5○ What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?

Draw 4 ❀ You always swear you can hold your liquor until the next morning when you’ve no clue how you’re $80 richer and why your husband is too amused for your liking.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa ❀ ✰ Becca Barnes is generally not a serious child. She is, on the contrary, quite the opposite. She’s a silly, carefree, easy-going kid, so whenever her demeanor changes to the opposite, it is an immediate red flag that something is wrong.

A Slip of the Tongue ❀ ✰ Bucky reacts to your daughter’s new name for him as she tells him all about her new friend.

Slow Down ❀ An object in motion stays in motion until acted upon by an outside force. In this case, you’re the object and Bucky is the outside force.

You Have a Girlfriend? ❀ ★ ✰ So you get a little confused when you’re drunk? So what?

The Best Things Take Time ❀ ✰ Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

Therapy ❀ Sometimes all a person needs is a little reassurance they’re not a bad person.

Jealousy, Jealousy ❀ ○ ✰ Jealousy is a green-eyed monster, or so they say. You’d argue that jealousy is actually a blue-eyed, one-armed, super soldier.

Better Than Us ❀ Being a woman is hard, and it’s not necessarily something you’d wish on another.

Marry Me? Nah. Marry Me? Yeah. ❀ ★ ✰ 4 times Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you refuse. 1 time Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you accept.

Buck Moon ❀ So maybe you read the Farmer’s Almanac wrong. It’s still a successful date.

Shower ❀ ○ Sometimes it's all you can do to breathe. Sometimes you need a little help--even with the basics. Bucky's happy to help.

Sun to Me ❀ If there is one thing Bucky Barnes remembers about his mother, it is that she told him to find someone who plants flowers in the darkest parts of him. If there is one thing Bucky Barnes knows about Reader, it is that they grow him to the clouds.

Timeless ❀ Reader wonders how their life might have looked different in 1944, but they know they still would have loved Bucky Barnes.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Series

Taken (ongoing) ○ If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Drabbles

Poolside ❀

Distraction ❀○

Can I? ❀ ✰

Not What I Heard ❀✰

Ruinin’ the Game ❀

[angelkhi]

love me, hate me - s.r

summary: steve rogers pisses you off, and you piss him off. but is it really ever that simple?

warnings: SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI), p in v, switch steve & reader, face sitting, unprotected sex, talks of bodily fluids, enemies to lovers a little bit, slight hate fucking but also not?? feelings at the end sort of.

word count: 2.8.k

a little note: Happy New Year to you all! finished this at 4 am so not beta’d any mistakes are my own (seriously i just spelled mistakes as ‘mestayks’ so like sorry lol) half based on this request but also something i already had in the works that seemed to mesh xx

"Let's not forget who's doing who a favour." You chide, already irritated by presence.

"Please sweetheart, I'm doing you more of a favour than you realise."

"And how's that Mr Rogers?" You fix his crooked tie. Always picking up after him.

"You walk in there with me? There's no way you're going home alone tonight." He smooths out the collar on his shirt, checking himself over in the mirror. "Your little problem gets solved."

"My little problem?"

"Don't get me wrong, Yels, it's great doing it yourself but it would be nice for someone give me an orgasm every now and then."

"You fuckin pig! You were listening to my conversation?" You're embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. If there's one person that doesn't need to know about your dwindling sex life it's Steve Rogers.

"It's kinda hard not to overhear yours and Yelena's screeching on girls night." Once again those fingers fly up into quotation marks and you have to blink yourself free from the daze you're slipping into.

Maybe Steve does have a point, you're significantly louder after a bottle or two of rose, but it doesn't give him the right to use your own words against you.

"You're a dick, Rogers. It's none of your fucking business how many orgasms I have." He's smirking down at you now, something in his eyes you've never seen before. "Let's just get this over with. I don't want to have to see your face any longer than necessary."

The two of you enter the ballroom together as planned, and heads turn almost instantly. The quiet gasps and turning heads boost his scolded ego more than nicely. But that's all it is. A soothing bandage over a painful wound.

Stark's infamous shindigs that rivalled even the most grand of galas, yet you are the only thing that matters to him in a room filled with expensive champagne and extravagant sculptures. He watches you from across the room, Bucky's latest debrief on Sam's irritating behaviour blending into the mindless background chatter.

You're done up to the nines, pretty hair twisted in some intricate up-do, and that dress. That fucking dress. He wonders if things would be easier if you knew how he really felt about you, that the trading of insults between the two of you is the only way he can resist pinning you against every available surface and fucking the attitude out of you.

You work your charm with everyone that comes up to you, offering you drinks and boring conversation. You know you're in charge, so do they, and so does he.

He spots you talking to a pretty redhead he soon recognises as Wanda, she's changed since he last saw her. But he much more notices the lingering stares and flirtatious touches, the way you lean into each other and laugh a little too loud. Jealousy is no longer a green eyed monster, but a blonde haired, blue eyed super soldier.

You happen to glance over at him in that moment, taking in his tensed jaw and white-knuckle grip on his champagne flute, expecting it to shatter under any more force. He watches as you smirk in his direction, and the go back to the conversation like he wasn't even there. Sam and Bucky pull him away to a conversation that is meant to be important and he loses sight of you for the rest of the evening.

The party starts to get a little too lively towards 11pm, the rowdy crowd excited about the looming new year. You find yourself at the bar, sick of your uncomfortable shoes, ready to get more than drunk, kiss a bottle at midnight and fall into bed with your vibrator once again. Someone slides into the empty seat next to you, speaking to the bar tender. You catch the 'and whatever she's having' and roll your eyes just wanting to be left alone at this point.

Your double vodka and cranberry is slid in front of you and you take a single sip before turning to the man next to you. He's attractive, with his full beard and long brown hair. There's something in his eyes but you don't care enough to find out that much about him. He shakes your hand firmly, introducing himself as Quentin Beck. You smile and thank him when he compliments you, you hum and nod when he tells you about his latest technological venture that sounds weirdly similar to Tony's, you smile coyly when he rests a hand on your thigh and offers to take you somewhere a little less private.

You're silently disappointed that this is the best you could do on a night like tonight but you're not one to look a fort horse in the mouth. He guides you through the crowd with a hand around your waist until the function room doors come into view and your excitement dims even further. Steve stands in the doorway, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he stares at Quentin and then his hand on your waste.

"Hey honey." He wraps his fingers around your wrist lightly, stopping you in your tracks. He stares down at you for a second too long, then diverts his gaze to Beck.

"Fuck off." Two words. Two are all it takes for Quentin to crumble.

His hand moves from your waist faster than you can blink and he's already being swallowed up by the crowd when you turn away from glaring at Steve. His fingers linger around your wrist but you shrug him off, and leave the grand ballroom stomping down to the elevator.

He follows you of course, right up to your door, pushing inside when you try and slam it in his face.

"Honey that guy was a creep."

"Don't 'honey' me you just ruined my one good chance of getting laid tonight." You kick off your shoes.

"Well I wouldn't call it a good chance..."

"What was that?!" You're about to fiddle with the zip of your dress but instead steve has your attention and an insane amount of audacity.

"M'just saying he wouldn't have been worth it." He pauses, sitting on your bed uninvited. "Doesn't look like he can find his car keys let alone please a woman."

"I guess I'll never know now." You scoff.

"Use me instead."

What in the sweet baby jesus?!

"How much have you had to drink?" You chuckle, and go back to working your zip.

"You know I can't get drunk. How much have you had to drink?" He retorts, reaching up to undo the zipper for you.

"Not enough for this to be a hallucination. What's in it for you?"

"An orgasm." Fair enough.

"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"What? No! I'm just trying to apologise for ruining your New Years hook up." He looks sincere, but then Steve never lies. You on the other hand, would be lying if you said you didn't want to jump his bones at least twenty three and a half of the twenty four hours in the day. And he's offering himself to you on a golden platter. Why turn. it down?

"Strip."

It's a simple word, but it holds so much power. Starting something that may just fucking ruin you. But you want it. He wants it. The easy route be damned. Steve is quick to discard his clothing, looking up at you expectantly waiting for your next request. You simply just let your dress drop, carefully stepping over the expensive fabric and slotting yourself between Steve's legs. His eyes widen when he realises you'd neglected to put on any underwear that evening. She reaches out to touch you, rest a hand on your hip but you slap it away.

"Lay back." You kneel over his hips, excitement fizzling on your skin as he rests on his elbows, taking up an insane amount of space with his broad shoulders and wide thighs. He doesn't move any further, a sly smirk on his lips and wonder in his eyes.

"I said I don't want to see your face, lie the fuck back." You have him under your thumb, and your pussy, when he lays back against the cotton sheets you crawl across his body and rest above his face. His hands grip onto the backs of your thighs, usually light eyes dark with lust. 

"No touching." You thread his arms above him, resting forward and pinning them against the pillows. His response is muffled when you lower yourself onto his face. His tongue works wonders when he's not using it to talk and you definitely prefer it when he's not talking.

You grind yourself down against his pliant tongue, clit bumping his stupidly perfect nose with each thrust. You're taking what you deserve from him, what he owes you and you fucking love it. You love the fact that he could easily slip you underneath him, pin you beneath him and pull you apart but instead he's letting you use him, letting you grind yourself to an orgasm on his face.

"You're not so useless after all Rogers, fucking hell." His lips purse around your exposed clit and your thighs shake a little. You press yourself further against him, chasing your well deserved orgasm until you're panting above him half spent.

Lifting yourself off of him, you take in his flushed cheeks and blown out eyes. God he's pretty. Your hand strokes through his hair and he leans into your touch. Putty in your hands.

You reach back, your hands almost dwarfed by the impressive size of his pretty cock. You struggle to wrap your hands around him fully, but when you start stroking him slow but firm it doesn't matter. His face twists into one of pure bliss and his hips fuck up into your fist desperately. Deciding enough is enough you manoeuvre down his body, hovering over his painfully hard weeping cock. You drag him through your folds, almost slipping him in before bumping his engorged head against your clit until you're right on the edge of desperation and finally sink down on him.

You take him slowly at first, unable to stay quiet as he stretches you open. There's a slight sting but my god does it sting so good. Once he's fully sheathed you take a moment to accommodate, grinding down on him, twin moans coming from the two of you. You raise yourself up again, right to the tip and back down, slowly building the rhythm until you're bouncing on his cock, hitting spots you didn't even know existed panting for breath. 

"You feel so fucking good." You whimper chasing your own pleasure, fuelled by Steve's. He fists the bedsheets, so obedient trying not to touch you, but you look so pretty and broken and you're touching yourself whilst you ride him, clenching down on his dick so fucking perfectly. He's more vocal than. you expected, grunting and moaning and whining.

"Fuck I'm gonna come. Steve." Your fingers roll your taught nipples between your fingers, pinching and pulling. Steve's hips stutter for a moment, but then he's right there with you, fucking up into your perfect cunt until you're shaking on his dick, grinding your clit against his pubic bone and falling over the edge.

He doesn't give you a second to breath, wrapping his strong arms around you and placing you flat on your back. You're breathless, your vision is still fuzzy but then he's pounding into you. Lifting your leg above his shoulder opening you up up to him even more. You're well and truly fucked. Not a single word or thought or even sound registering. You're just wide eyed and open mouthed and taking what he gives you.

"Not so cocky now are we, hmm sweetheart." His thumb flicks your clit once and you're coming all over again, a loud scream echoing off of the walls.

"There she is. So fucking perfect, taking what you need. Did I do well, did I satisfy your greedy pussy or do you still want more?"

"St-Steve. More." You sound so broken, so unalike yourself but you never want to go back to her when you can be this.

"Course you fuckin do. Play with your tits for me, that's a good girl." He thrusts slow but deep, your weak legs held in position by his huge hands. He relishes in your flushed face and smudged makeup. Your hair has foregone the confines of bobby pins and it's splayed out on the cushion behind you. You're fucking perfect.

"Who's cunt is this?" Your eyes lull into the back of your head when he delivers a quick sharp tap to your clit. "Tell me who's cunt it is and I'll let you cum."

"Y-Yours. Yours Steve."

"Good. And who's fuckin dick is this tearing you apart?" It's all too much, you're on the verge of crying from the overstimulation. "Who's is it?"

"Mine."

"Good fucking girl." He punctuates his words with his thrusts, picking up speed once more and rubbing small quick circles against your clit. Your tears do spill then, dark mascara running down your cheeks when you explode all over him.

He fucks you through the orgasm, pulling out of you when you begin to claw at his chest, leaving pretty marks all over him. He kneels over you, furiously stroking himself to completion until he cums in long white ropes all over your breasts, chest heaving and panting. He collapses next to you, silent as you try to catch your breaths and wrap your head around what just happened.

It shouldn't surprise you when Steve gets up to the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth, but it does. It leaves you stunned. You try not to show it though, nor do you give him a glimpse at how disappointed you are about leaving.

"Damn Rogers, you really know how to hate fuck." Steve's gaze is frantic, but mostly confused.

"Hate? I don't hate you." His eyebrows are pulled together so tightly you're scared they might just fuse into one another.

"Could've fooled me." You pull up your underwear and pull on his shirt foregoing the tight dress.

"Look. I don't. Hate. You. Do you get on my nerves? Sometimes. But I could never hate you."

"So what? You wanna call the way you've treated me since I got here a proclamation of your undying love." He's silent. "You can't be fucking serious Rogers."

"Don't be like that, you gave just as good as you got." You scoff, but it's the truth. "Every time I look at you I want to fuck you, every time I see someone even look at you I wanna fuckin... I don't know!"

"Steve..."

"You terrify me. I have all these feelings for you, but you're so... you. You're so gorgeous, you're potty mouth and you're strong and you don't take shit from no one, not even me. I'm an idiot, I know that and I don't expect a sorry to fix anything, but I need you to know that that wasn't a one time thing, I want you."

"Well fuck. You have feelings for me?" He nods, simple, effective and oh so Steve Rogers. "I thought. I don't know what I though. I walked in here and you just stared at me and left, and I guess I though you took one look at me and decided I wasn't enough. So I decided I was gonna prove you wrong."

"I think you're everything. You've certainly proved me right." He looks angry, at himself at and the situation, but mostly at the fact that you'd ever thought those things about yourself.

"Right pair of idiots we are." You mutter, trying to lighten the you're-not-sure-what mood. He pulls you into his lap, rough hand resting around your waist.

"Aren't we just." He whispers against your lips.

"How many people did you tell to fuck off tonight? Just out of interest."

"Bout 15." He mumbles and then laughs, "don't regret a single one of them though."

You surge forward and press against him. His lips are softer than expected and his movements are so slow, so tentative. You arch into him, greed driving your need to make up for the last few wasted months.

A loud bang erupts from outside of the glass windows, popping into a concoction of golds and reds and pinks, until the New York skyline is littered with individual fireworks displays.

"Happy New Year Rogers." You whisper against his lips, though it turns into a breathless whimper when he pulls your panties to the side. "You get on my nerves too by the way. Like a whole lot."

"Yeah yeah. Happy New Year."

[justbelievinginmagic]

˗ˏˋariadne's threadˎˊ˗ series masterlist

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, hints of jisung x reader, hints of jisung x hyunjin if you read between the lines; all of the characters are intrigued by the reader tbh

series summary: The tale of the LABYRINTH was by far your favorite book to read - even now in adulthood. Wishing for the goblin king to steal you away was your favorite past-time growing up. Everything changes one stormy night when your wish to be stolen away by the Goblin King comes true and a honeyed blonde fae man appears in your bedroom to whisk you away to be his - body, mind, and soul. Do you take his fantasied offer or shall you fight through his Labyrinth in order to reclaim your humanity & free will?

OR - When tempted by an intoxicating offer by Hyunjin the Goblin King, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in the Labyrinth.

warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, mature topics, strong language, faerie lore!!, all of skz show up, txt cameo that i love, tension, slow burn enemies to lovers, unequal power dynamics, manipulation, fear, faerie drugging, labyrinth runner!reader, goblin king!hyunjin, banished!jisung, hunter!chan, knight!changbin, junkland boss!jeongin, sluagh!minho, boggart!seungmin, gancanagh!felix, selkie!yeonjun, changeling!soobin, knight!hoseok, knight!seokjin, war generals!ateez, more tags to be added.

word count: 55k written; ongoing

part 1 - a deal, a deal, a deal!!! (posted 4/12/24) part 2 - never go that way. (posted 4/15/24) part 3 - onwards & downwards. (posted 4/28/24) part 4 - the oubliette. (posted 5/7/24) part 5 - forwards is backwards. (posted 5/12/24) part 6 - the hunter and the hunted. (posted 5/29/24) part 7 - the wild hunt. (posted 6/5/24) part 8 - a green-eyed monster. (posted 7/30/24) part 9 - tba!!!

extra content for ariadne's thread: how i visualize skz in the world --- (will be updated as more boys are revealed in the story!)

[hopeisour4letteredword]

i think theyd be friends! (ID under the cut)

[ID 1: A traditional sketchbook drawing of Klavier Gavin and Kay Faraday from Ace Attorney, colored digitally. They stand side-by-side with their arms around each others’ shoulders, depicted from the hips up. Both of them are smiling with their mouths open and eyes closed. Kay is drawn with the artist’s older Kay design. She makes a peace sign with her free hand. Klavier’s free arm is loose at his side. ID 2: A one-panel comic featuring characters with flat colors on a horizontal gradient background from bright pink to purple. Klavier and Kay are depicted from the waist up, with Kay drawn as the artist’s older Kay design. Klavier holds up one hand in front of himself, pointing up emphatically with one finger. His eyes are closed and he smiles as he speaks a text post by tumblr user raidendotcom, pronouncing, “he/hiiii ^_^.” Kay, facing him, has one arm curled up to play with her scarf. She is also smiling with closed eyes as she speaks tumblr user trans-raiden’s response, saying, “she/heyyyy :3.” ID 3: A traditional sketchbook doodle of Ema Skye and Apollo Justice, with some red marker to accent. Both glare forward at the viewer and are blushing.  Blocky text reads “GREEN-EYED MONSTERS.” ID 4: A traditional sketchbook doodle of Apollo and Clay Terran. Clay is shown from behind, with anime sweatdrops on the back of his head. He says, “Uhhh… hey, AJ, are you… good?” Apollo is shown in front of him from the hips up. His fists are clenched at his side and he is scowling viciously, hair spikes drooping. He replies, “I think Klavier has a girlfriend and I am being SO normal about it.” ID 5: A traditional sketchbook doodle of Ema. She is hunched over a bar or a table with her arms crossed in front of her. One hand grips a beer bottle and the other covers half of her face. She is visibly seething and somewhat blushed. ID 6: A traditional sketchbook doodle of Kay. She’s shown from the waist up, poking her own cheek and glancing to the side with a slightly sheepish :3 face. Small hearts float by her face. She says, “she’s sooo cute when she’s jealous~” ID 7 & 8: Traditional sketchbook doodles of Clay and Klavier. In the first, Clay and Klavier both look at something out of frame (presumably Kay, from the previous doodle) with unimpressed expressions. They are visible shoulders-up. Clay looks frustrated, while Klavier is more bemused. In the follow-up, Klavier glances at Clay with a hopeful expression and starts to say, “wait, so—Herr Forehead was jealous?” which Clay, pointing at him sternly, interrupts to say, “We’ll get to you later.” /End ID]

[malarkgirlypop]

Masterlist

Requests for one-shots are OPEN! ❤️

About me:

My name is Kate I go by she/her pronouns, I’m 23, just happy to be here really this fandom is so supportive! Have a look around, and don’t be scared to message me!

My OC's

Lemonade (Eugene Sledge x Fem!OC):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

MEDIC! (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC): Moodboard 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38 TW

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie: (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC AU)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

BoB x Reader

Ronald Speirs:

Green-eyed Monster

Edward Tipper:

Warriors part 1

Warriors part 2

Joseph Liebgott:

Goody part 1

Goody part 2

Goody part 3

Bull Randleman:

He's the Boss Part 1

He's the Boss Part 2

He's the Boss Part 3

He's the Boss Part 4

David Webster:

This is for you

Eugene Roe:

Come Away With Me

Lena Riggi:

Lie with me?

Skip Muck:

I just want to feel ok again

EDITS:

Edit masterlist

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - True Evil 4/4

part1 part2 part3 part 4

*

“Do you understand?”

The Not-Earbuds were taken off with shaking hands. Superhero grabbed Hero’s wrists so tight the latter let out a muffled scream of protestation.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

The man looked at their grimace of pain and slowly eased their grip, their eyes intense.

“I worry about you, Hero. You seem to think that villains are nice people if only you gave them a hug. Powers are a curse. Or you can shoulder them and become a hero, or you embrace them and you end in the wrong side. That’s all there is.”

“I-”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand, it’s different for you. You have a blessing, not powers. But you have to, or the reality will catch up to you. Like me, you’ll be responsible for a death.”

“Sir, you were not responsible for any of that.”

Hero’s wrists were released at once. It was the Superhero’s turn to recoil, a wide-eyed expression on his face:

“How – How can you say that? If I'd been a little quicker, I could have caught her. If I’d never approached the monster, she might have been safe.”

His fist clenched:

“If I’d killed them, they’d never have made victims then or after.”

Hero swallowed hard:

“Sir, I’m sorry for what happened to you. Truly.”

“Save your pity for people who deserve it. I want your efficacy. Can you promise me to do your job better than you've done until now?”

“I’ll try, sir. I’ll really try.”

Two pale red eyes followed them as they left the office. It didn’t scare Hero as much as before.

*

Villain’s room was still locked when they came back. Hero knocked, but didn’t try to enter. They let their back glide along it, landing on the floor, and slipped their hand under the door. After a while, they felt fingers encircling theirs. They looked at the ceiling, their eyes gazing at a small crack in all this white.

“When I was five-year-old”, they said, “my moms told me I could put my shoes on my own. It was really hard, you know. I had two pairs, so I had to make a choice, and it killed me. I knew that no matter what I’d do, there was going to be poor little shoes under my bed in the dark all day long. My moms found me in tears the next week. They had to buy a chest to make a shoe house, and a third pair so they could have fun with each other during the day.”

“That was very prejudiced of your child self. Like your shoes would rather work all day long than spending time on their own. Like darkness was a curse.”

“I was five-year-old, buddy. I didn’t think. That’s my point, actually.”

“I didn’t realize you had one.”

“I was devastated because of shoes. I can’t even imagine how it was for you, when you saw someone die.”

Hero heard a gasp from the other side of the door, but they grabbed the hand that tried to get away from them.

“My boss told me what happened. I don’t think you’ve killed anybody.”

“These sentences don’t go together. Do not even try to tell me he changed his mind.”

“He didn’t. He’s traumatized. But I’m the one who lives with you. Even if I didn’t know any fact, I know that the person who hugs me every morning before I’m going to work and who harassed me to call a doctor when I was sick would never kill someone on purpose. Of course it was an accident. It wasn't premeditated at all.”

“It is quite a shot in the dark for someone so terrified of it.”

“I was five. I got better.”

“How naive. Just because someone pretends to bear with you doesn’t mean they’re unable to murder anyone.”

Hero squeezed their roommate’s hand.

“But I’m right,” they whispered. “I’m sure I’m right.”

Villain struggled to get free and this time, they let go. After a few minutes, the lock clicked. Hero moved back from the door, staring as it opened. Villain looked at them back. For once, their shadow didn’t cover their head altogether, leaving two pale green eyes in sight, coldly glaring.

“I didn’t even see her run into traffic,” they simply said. “There were ants in the tree. I was too busy to fight with the little creatures eager to invade my very own personal space.”

Hero jumped on their feet:

“I knew it!”

“You seem suspiciously relieved for someone who pretended to be certain.”

“Hmm - it’s the ants. Everybody hates ants.”

“You are such a dreadful liar.”

Nevertheless, Villain grumpily accepted the hug.

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[kayhi808]

Masterlist - Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

Since I started writing for Bucky Barnes, I gave him is own masterlist

Neighbors - Bucky moves into the apartment next door

Neighbors - First Date Bucky visits you at work

Neighbors - Next Door Bucky returns from a mission

Neighbors - Doll & Nerd Sam helps Bucky move into his apartment & Bucky tells Sam about you.

Neighbors - Xmas Shopping Bucky asks you to help him with his Xmas lust...list.

Neighbors - Morning After

Neighbors - Alpine

Neighbors - Green Eyed Monster - You're jealous of a new Agent working with Bucky.

Krewe of Boo -Halloween Parade in NOLA w/ Bucky & Reader

Lunch in New Orleans - Bucky visits one of Sam's friends for lunch

First Crush, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5-, Part 6, Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9. Part 10., Part 11

Part 12. Uncle Steve Part 14 , Part 15

Bucky Ask - Sick Abby Who wouldn't have a crush on Bucky Barnes? You try to fight it, but your toddler daughter, Abby, has no problem indulging in her adoration.

They Met in Delacroix , Part 2 , Part 3- Invited to a BBQ at the Wilson House. Sam & Bucky are in town for a visit.

Then & Now, Now & Then, Now & Then 2, Now & Then 3

requested by armystrong980

[kira-broflovski]

SOUTH PARK MASTERLIST

REQUESTS: OPEN but may take a while to get to

[RULES]

KYLE BROFLOVSKI

Sleepover: Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5

HCs: seeing you come back after you moved away

I Can Trust You

HCs: crushing on the new girl

Elven King

Let Your Hair Down

HCs: his s.o always needing physical affection

HCs: being with a plus-sized girl

HCs: their s.o groans excessively when they stretch

HCs: seeing their s.o's natural hair

HCs: what they look for in an s.o

HCs: going to the rodeo with their s.o

Seven Minutes

HCs: having an s.o that zones out a lot

HCs: cuddling with them

HCs: being with a scemo gf

Show Off

HCs: seeing his favourite cousin

Secret + Not So Secret

Prom Dress

STAN MARSH

HCs: seeing you come back after you moved away

HCs: crushing on the new girl

HCs: seeing their s.o's natural hair

HCs: what they look for in an s.o

HCs: going to the rodeo with their s.o

HCs: cuddling with them

HCs: his s.o having depression

KENNY MCCORMICK

HCs: seeing you come back after you moved away

HCs: crushing on the new girl

HCs: having a gf that loves kissing him

Mysterious Injuries

Realistic

HCs: what dating him is like

After Last Night

HCs: his s.o always needing physical affection

Dressed Up

HCs: their s.o groans excessively when they stretch

HCs: seeing their s.o's natural hair

HCs: what they look for in an s.o

HCs: going to the rodeo with their s.o

Friends Like That

More Than a Joke

HCs: cuddling with them

Exposed

Fly Away

HCs: being with a scemo gf

Bracelet

ERIC CARTMAN

HCs: seeing you come back after you moved away

HCs: crushing on the new girl

Green-Eyed Monster

HCs: seeing their s.o's natural hair

HCs: going to the rodeo with their s.o

HCs: cuddling with them

BUTTERS STOTCH

HCs: what it's like to date them

WENDY TESTABURGER

coming soon!!

TOLKIEN BLACK

coming soon!!

CLYDE DONOVAN

coming soon!!

TWEEK TWEAK

HCs: what dating him is like

CRAIG TUCKER

HCs: what they look for in an s.o

[viviseawrites]

So I’m writing this now, apparently, like I don’t have three other projects I’m working on. Oops! 

Steddie Twister AU 

Part 1 — Before the Storm | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

When Steve Harrington is 16 years old, the course of one storm changes his life’s trajectory. He wakes up that morning without knowing, could never have known, and that’s the problem. That’s the start of it.

Because Steve Harrington is a dumb high school boy at that point. He cares about his reputation and his sports and his car and his hair and, inexplicably, Nancy Wheeler. He’s never let himself care about someone else before. 

So he breaks when he realizes Nancy is cheating on him with Jonathan Byers, the creep who took creepy stalker photos of them under the guise of “capturing the storm clouds” behind Steve’s house. 

Steve acts out. He’s an asshole. He knows that. Tommy and Carol encourage him, play into his insecurities and vulnerabilities, and before he can even think, he and Jonathan are throwing punches at each other in an alleyway. Jonathan kicks his ass. And Steve probably deserves it.

He needs to apologize. So he heads out to the Byers place, only to find Nancy and Barb there too, and they’re all arguing and shouting and no one hears the wind chimes acting up. None of them notice the TV screen fading to static. 

Jonathan claims he and Nancy are just working on a project for their science class; Nancy backs him up, but Barb accuses her of ignoring their friendship too; Will Byers slips out into the backyard. 

And Steve Harrington stands in the middle of that house and has no idea what’s about to hit them.

Barb stomps out of the house; she’s crying, and Nancy wants to run after her, but Steve steps in her way and demands to know what the fuck is happening. The tornado siren cuts through the argument like butter. Fear strikes down their spines. 

Nancy darts forward like she’s going to follow Barb, wide-eyed and terrified, and Steve has just enough sense to grab her around the middle and bodily haul her toward the Byers storm shelter. 

She screams and beats at his back, but Steve won’t let go, can’t let go, and just prays Barb finds somewhere to hunker down. Jonathan leads them, nervously watching the lights flicker in the house. 

It takes them a moment to realize Will is missing. Jonathan runs back out, slipping by Steve, and he makes a split second decision to try and catch him. Will’s smart, he says, he’ll find somewhere, you can’t go out there, this is fucking stupid. 

But he goes to bring Jonathan back anyway. The wind howls like a terrible monster. Debris flies through the air. The sky is a sickly shade of gray and green and horrifying purple, red. Unnatural. Hail pelts the ground.

Steve finds him struggling to pick up Will’s unconscious body in the backyard, because the kid got hit by a branch. Nancy saves Steve from the same fate. She’s still looking for Barb, head on a swivel, desperate, as they all flee back to safety. 

They find out later that Barb never made it. And so starts the obsession.

[tbcanary]

2023 reading list: Green Lantern/Green Arrow (1970)

"I've lived this long without learning that 'bad' doesn't have to be a bug-eyed monster or a mad scientist... nor is it always hidden!"

(ID under the cut.)

ID: Five edited panels from the 1970 run of Green Lantern/Green Arrow. Four are animated.

1: Hal Jordan stands in front of a city skyline in civilian clothes. A green light slowly appears and rotates around him. He flashes green and, as the light fades, is wearing his Green Lantern uniform. The words "Green Lantern" are written in a bold green text.

2: A green pickup truck moves down a country road between two mountains.

3: Old Timer sits at a campfire. The image is desaturated except for greens and yellows. Green Lantern and Green Arrow hover midair in front of the landscape.

4: Old Timer, Green Lantern, Green Arrow and Black Canary all stand in a bubble of green light. They're surrounded by outer space. Stars flicker in and out of existence around them.

5: Oliver Queen stands in front of a forested mountain landscape. Four green chevrons move across the image. As they pass in front of him, Oliver changes to be in his Green Arrow costume. The words "Green Arrow" are written in a bold green text.

/End ID.

[xshingie]

Edouard Character Profile and Analysis: A second look at the man behind the bright-eyed smile.

Introduction/Context:

One of the most difficult challenges when analyzing Edouard’s character is that much of his backstory is enshrouded in mystery. The most we know of him is told through Annette, which necessitates peeling back layers from how Annette would perceive him with her limited perspective. 

However, we can look at history to construct what sort of life Edouard might have had, and what unique challenges he might have faced. By piecing together circumstantial details of Saint-Domingue’s theater culture, we can start to ask the questions: What might have shaped Edouard’s motives, ideals, and beliefs? What motivates Edouard’s character? 

So, let’s embark on a iceberg-level deep dive where I explore a potentially cynical interpretation of Edouard that hasn’t been examined before...

Note: Throughout you will notice certain words enclosed in brackets following the end of a sentence with a number. This references the cited source by author's last name or website name, which is listed in full at the end.

PART I.  Annette and Edouard, Revisited

1.1 Initial Impressions

I initially held the belief that Annette/Edouard relationship was intimately close -- closer than anything, family, perhaps bordering on romantic. There was something implicit in their connection through demonstrated character actions: (1) Edouard saving her from Vaublanc, (2) fighting side-by-side during the Haitian slave insurrection. (3) How Edouard chose to follow Annette to France without hesitation (4) how Edouard’s death affected Annette so deeply.

At the time when I had completed my first Annette/Edouard fic, I had written an in-depth analysis ("On the Edouard/Annette 'ship'") where I posited how deep their closeness must have been, and what they had meant to each other.

However, as I’ve let things sit in the fridge more, certain observations have made me reconsider. I believe they were 'close' in terms of trust when fighting alongside each other, but they didn't truly understand each other on a deeper level.

1.2  Re-Analyzing Sampled Interactions

Richter: Are you alright? You can’t be sure that was him. Annette: Those were his eyes.

At the time, I had thought that Annette recognizing Edoaurd’s eyes in a vastly different form was an implicit indication of their closeness. However, as mentioned in this previous post here ("Exploring The Narrative Significance of Edouard’s Blue eyes"), my stance now is that this speaks more to her own personal perception of how well she thought she knew him, rather than actually knowing him. 

Annette: Edouard believed singing was the soul's way of speaking. That's why, from pauper to statesman, everyone is drawn to music. He'd say that when he was on stage looking out to the audience, he could see the colors of everyone's soul. Mine was pink. He was wrong, though. Green is my favorite color.

When Annette recounts Edouard’s belief about singing and souls, there’s a wistful quality in her tone, sentimental and romantic with a subtle laugh. This scene can be interpreted in multiple ways -- perhaps she felt the notion Edouard held was silly, something she appreciated but perhaps didn’t understand or didn’t quite see it the same way he claimed. Note the visual storyboarding setup -- she is quite literally, reconstructing an subjective image -- her subjective image -- of Edouard as she speaks through memory. 

As I began to research more into Saint-Domingue’s colonial theatre scene, I began to understand on a deeper level what kind of environment Edouard was in. This led me to question why the only things we heard about Edouard from Annette was from a rosy lens. Of course, here I ought to extend some grace. When grieving, it is only normal human tendency to want to remember the best parts of someone. 

Annette: My sweet, beautiful Edouard has been turned into a monster conjured from hell.

But… Annette’s phrasing of “my sweet, beautiful Edouard,” combined with the fact that we only hear only rosy things, suggests me that either (1) Edouard didn’t share much about himself beyond his romantic ideals, and/or (2) Annette didn’t know him as well as she thought, perhaping lacked the capacity to understand him deeper with her framework of understanding at that stage in her life.

Another instance that may hint at this disconnect is when she finds NightCreature!Edouard, she offers to give him penance through killing him. 

Annette: I can make it quick, Edouard. No. pain [..] I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought that's what you would have wanted.

This situation, taken in isolation, is not a strong one. With limited knowledge of night creatures, Annette wouldn’t have known that Edouard could be cognizant or the extent he retained his humanity (his case being unprecedented in the animated Castlevania universe). However, this still highlights Annette’s tendency to jump to conclusions and take action first rather than seek understanding.

----

PART II. Who was Edouard, Really? Constructing a Character Profile from History and Headcanon 

2.1 Saint-Domingue’s Political, Social, and Economic backdrop in context of French Colonial Theatre

At the peak of the Haitian revolution, the racial diaspora in colonial Saint-Domingue had evolved into a nuanced and complex one --  with the burgeoning rise of the mixed race population, some of which had amassed wealth and economic influence. Even within the mixed race population, there were nuances and subtleties regarding their rights -- i.e., a gens de coleur that would have been born free, compared to an affranchis, a slave that had earned their freedom. A mixed race person’s circumstances of birth governed mobility in what careers, ownership of property/land, voting rights, and strategic marriages/unions could be pursued (Maguire[3]).

Edouard was shown performing in the Comédie du Cap (also referred to as the Comédie le Cap), which became open to the public in 1764 and experienced a boon/bustle in hosting performances, ushering a peak of French colonial theatre all through the 1780s before the slave revolution sunsetted the end an era.

Background Art from the Portfolio of Mark Adams, Lead 3D Artist @ Powerhouse Animation, where he shares the design inspiration is from the theatre Comédie du Cap.

This theatre was situated in the heart of Cap‑Français. now known as Cap-Haitian. At the time, it was one of the wealthiest cities with its key strategic seaport location and boasting a diverse urban population, and eventually became a key staging ground for the Haitian slave revolt that sparked in 1791 through 1793.

A fun detail comparing the skyline of modern Cap-Haitian (courtesy of Wikipedia) and Cap‑Français as depicted in Nocturne. Note the similarity of the eminence of the peninsula that resembles a "widow's peak."

Note: Detail the specific theatres and setting will be important once I discuss Edouard’s transition from theatre to joining the maroons, or escaped slaves.

The theatre scene in Saint Domingue was complex social, political, and economic space that both (1) reflection of a system that reinforced the French hegemonic colonial presence, but also (2) may have influenced and challenged the complex social structures that arose through the eventual Creole influences in performances -- all the while serving as a melting pot where a diverse body of people convened to immerse themselves (the perception of) high-end French culture and music (Prest[6], Clay [1]).

As discussed, there were a lot of nuanced social ordinances, not too dissimilar to a caste system. The majority of theatre attendees were wealthy plantation owners, businessmen, stationed military, or visiting government representatives traveling abroad on business or behalf of the crown; eventually, gens de coleur and free blacks were admitted. Enslaved persons only of the audience if they were attending their masters, and were only allowed to perform under very strict circumstances (Prest[6]). Theatres also enforced French colonial cultural influence by primarily performing French pieces (as we know, African-influenced expressions of song/dance were greatly suppressed and theatre was no exception) (Clay[1]). Structural rules on theater seating arrangements and social fraternizing by race were also imposed.

With the vibrant diversity of individuals also came varying motives within the theatre’s social scene. People gathered to negotiate business or political deals, exchange ideas/sentiments regarding the current economic and political climate (sentiments that were growning increasingly tense as the revolution progressed). Wealthy gens de couleur saw this as an opportunity to enhance their social standing and economic influence, given Au Cap’s self-touted reputation for French sophistication and culture. It was also a place where less scrupulous motives were afoot, where colonists and soldiers would visit specifically to seek the company of the mulatto prostitutes (Clay[1]); or colored families would strategize in matchmaking for their daughters, tutted in well-spent attire, in hopes of being backed by a white sponsor (Powers[5]).

These details paint a vivid picture of Edouard's position within a broad social circle, ranging from the wealthy and educated, petit blancs, freedmen, and possibly even enslaved persons. By playing his cards right, Edouard could have gained insight into military, political, or business dealings and conversations happening at the time.

2.2 Edouard’s Unique Challenges, Motives, and Ideals

What drives Edouard as a character? 

Edouard clearly has a passion for song, and any opportunity he has to express himself so, he eagerly does. We also know that and he verbally espouses romantic ideals. If the theatre was such a place where people constantly tried to leverage to climb higher within the social and economic ladder, did Edouard ever have any similar aspirations or motivations? Or was he just content with the pure passion of singing and performing?

Edouard openly admits to being relatively privileged due to his birthright and likely enjoyed access to material possessions, given we are shown his inclination to accessorize with jeweled rings and the first thing he says to Annette is, “You’re stepping on my French silks.” As a side note, the theatre scene was also a place where gens de coleur often saw this an an opportunity to flout their wealth and proximity to french culture to up their social standing. Since fine goods (most fabrics in Saint Domingue were muslin/linen) from France would to be imported, and carrying/wearing something like silk in a social setting is to the effect of an opulent display of indulgence.

What other disadvantages or challenges Edouard might have faced?

We must also consider if Edouard faced any financial or economic pressures or constraints. As discussed, opportunities afforded for mixed persons depended on the circumstances of birth and their family's amassed wealth of social network and monetary resources. A subset of gens de coleur had indeed acquired wealth through merchant, administrative, artisanal, or clerical areas of business (Walton[8]). The primary passageway for a nonwhite to live or study abroad in France, i.e. to receive education, would be through sponsorship from a benefactor (Powers[5]). Was Edouard already born into wealth, or did he have to procure a benefactor or sponsor to fund/support his lifestyle? 

During this time, the majority of performers were imports from France during this era (Powers[6]). Since it was a challenge to retain native French performers in Saint Domingue, salary contracts customarily were generous in incentives for these white performers (Clay[1]). If Edouard was a native of Saint Domingue and of mixed-race origin, it is likely he may not have been able to levy a favorable salary contract with the theatre relative to his white colleagues. 

Although there were mixed race and black artists in performances documented in passing mention, the majority of their identities and names were lost (more likely, white people who left written records didn’t care to name them). The individuals who stood out enough to be recorded in history by name often had their talent begrudgingly acknowledged alongside backhanded remarks about their status or skin color in historical records. To obtain the opportunity to be be showcased as a soloist like we see in Edouard performing in Nocturne (i.e., the theatre agreeing to hold a named benefit in concert) especially for a mixed-race person, would have required a benefactor’s backing. The most well-known case was Minette and Lise, two affranchis both sponsored by Madame Acquire and Saint Martin (Powers[5]). This suggests that, given the disproportionate lack of named black performers in written records, Edouard would have faced additional hurdles to gain recognition and credibility as an individual artist. He would have had to overcome social stigma while competing against predominantly white contemporaries -- most black performers never achieved this. Additionally, he likely needed a benefactor to sponsor him to achieve headlining solo performances.

Although the culture of benefactors sponsoring performers is known in theatre settings elsewhere, I have not found conclusive source regarding what the environment for Saint Domingue would have been like -- the why and what constituting these arrangements, and each party’s respective leveraging influence in negotiation. I can only remark on what would be an inherent power disparity due to financial reliance -- it begets the question, what would the benefactor seek in return, and what would the performer be able to offer? (Note: I have written an analysis regarding 19th century opera scene in Paris where is a harrowing example where young female performers were exploited by their benefactors) However, I don't think circumstance have to be that dark -- perhaps Edouard came from a family who was able to leverage a business deal, or Edouard’s talents were remarkable enough to draw in an audience to generate revenue.

What were Edouard’s motivations, ideals, and beliefs? 

Annette: Why do you sing for these people, then? Edouard: I make them happy, and they loosen their tongues. You learn useful information that way.

If we revisit the above exchange with additional historical context, this exchange might be the closest insight to Edouard’s underlying character. It hints of an Edouard who is fully cognizant of these invisible, subtle barriers governing economic/social mobility within the different sub-classes, and is willing to engage in what types of flattery are necessary evils to grease interactions with socialites to acquire a favorable standing. 

Theatre played an important role inculcating the audience with not only French sentiment; pieces normally performed centered on themes of virtues of innocent love, pursuit of pleasure, tranquility and serenity -- a stark contrast to the growingly disparate mounting tensions arising in reality due to the oppressive political, social, and economic climate.  Issues like increasingly non-virtuous behavior of French men toward black and colored women, misery, corruption, and other intricacies of court and city. (Powers[5]) Edouard would have been singing and trumpeting about rosy ideals all the while reality was the opposite.

Edouard: It's in our hearts what matters, Annette.

Yet, some part of me now has to reconcile: to what extent these rosy ideals he spouted were truly ones that he believed? Given his explores to various facets of human behavior that shed a darker light, how can he say something like, "It's what in our hearts that matters”?  

Perhaps he was aware of this hypocritical farce, or perhaps that in spite of certain darker realities, some part of him did continue to harbor these romantic sentiments.

Some part of me can't help but speculate -- did he ever feel like an empty puppet within the society, effectively an empty puppet for the French crown?  Did he ever become jaded, if he ever witnessed greed, corruption, and indulgence?

All these details provide insight on not only the potential complexity of his personal circumstances, but also how Edouard would have required social acumen to navigate around  -- observing both things that would jade him (greed and corruption), but also engaging things that make him happy (enjoying the privileged life, being able to perform his passions). 

----

Part III. Annette and Edouard: Revisiting Their Relationship Yet Again, with Historical Context

3.1 What motivated Edouard to leave stage life to join Annette? 

If Edouard ostensibly was happy and comfortable doing what he loved performing and singing, what prompted him to join Annette to fight in the front lines, putting his life at risk for no good reason? 

This is actually a two-pronged question: Did Edouard leave of his own volition from a true character growth standpoint, or did he have no other choice to leave? Again, the timing and aligning of the history that occurred is a little murky If we look at the excerpted timeline courtesy from (Dayan[3]) as follows:

August 22-23, 1791: Slave Insurrection in the North

Sept 26, 1792: Cap Francais, the oldest, riches, and most densely populated city of the colony, burned to the ground by rebelling slaves.

June 20-21, 1794: Cap Francais again consumed by fires, and white inhabitants desert the island.

We know that the Comédie le Cap likely would have been burned/looted alongside the raid of Cap-Français in 1792 and faced subsequent closure. When Annette and Edouard blaze into the frontlines from the Vodou Ceremonial ritual, there is a shot of the same seaport view we were afforded, now on fire.

We also know that present Nocturne takes place in 1792. I am inclined to think that when Annette recalls taking up arms and Edouard is shown alongside her it would have referred to the August 1791 revolt, meaning that Edouard must have joined before the theater closed down. Maybe he had heard the disgruntled rumblings and saw the writing on the wall through the grapevine. Perhaps he had become jaded with the business of theatre. Maybe something about Annette's honesty, candor, and simple and straightforward nature inspired him to take up arms, too.

3.2 How well did they understand each other?

Edouard’s lifestyle was markedly different from Annette’s, full of subtlety and nuance. Ironically, what drew Edouard to Annette (her simplicity and candor) may also have created a fundamental rift in their ability to understand each other. At the start of Nocturne, Annette’s simplistic approach to situations would have prevent her from comprehending the nuanced aspects of Edouard's life -- a life that both granted him relative privilege and constrained his opportunities.

With Edouard’s background in interacting with various people, he is portrayed as observant, empathetic, and kind, as seen when he inquires about Maria’s connection with her birds. Being naturally emotionally attuned to others, he would have recognize Annette’s short-sightedness and tendency to make overly simplistic judgments without considering nuance. Knowing these traits, Edouard likely contributed less to their dynamic, often following her lead rather than suggesting his own ideas.

In conclusion, although Edouard and Annette were close, I believe there would have been certain things Annette wouldn’t have been able to understand about Edouard; ultimately limiting the depth of their connection before it was tragically cut short with Edouard's death.

----

PART IV. Conclusion, Acknowledgements, and Further Readings.

tl;dr I way over-engineered a potential backstory for not even a side character that had less than five minutes of screentime in total probably 

If you managed to read all of this, thank you! I mostly write these character analyses for personal reference when I find myself struggling writing a character. Because  Edouard’s screentime in Nocturne is lacking, I had to substantiate insight with an unusual amount of research. 

I think I’m ready to tackle a writing story focusing on Edouard perspective now. 

Cheers! - Shingie. 

Citations: Works Referenced for Further Reading

Clay, Lauren R. Stagestruck: The Business of Theater in Eighteenth-Century France and Its Colonies. Cornell University Press, 2013. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7591/j.ctt1xx50x

“Colonial Society.” Traveling Haiti, 23 Mar. 2016, www.travelinghaiti.com/colonial-society-haiti/ 

Dayan, Joan. Haiti, History, and the Gods. 1st ed., University of California Press, 1995. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/j.ctt5hjhnv.

Maguire, Léa. Haitian Soldiers at the Battle of Savannah (1779), 8 Jan. 2018.  https://www.blackpast.org/global-african-history/haitian-soldiers-battle-savannah-1779/

Powers, David M. From Plantation to Paradise?: Cultural Politics and Musical Theatre in French Slave Colonies, 1764–1789. Michigan State University Press, 2014. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.14321/j.ctt7zt6t5.

Powers, David M. “The French Musical Theater: Maintaining Control in Caribbean Colonies in the Eighteenth Century.” Black Music Research Journal, vol. 18, no. 1/2, 1998. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/779400.

Prest, Julia. Review of Public Theatre and the Enslaved People of Colonial Saint-Domingue, by Julia Prest. The French Review, vol. 97 no. 3, 2024. Project MUSE, https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/tfr.2024.a920002,

Walton, Charles, "Saint Domingue", The Digital Encyclopedia of British Sociability in the Long Eighteenth Century [online], ISSN 2803-2845, URL: https://www.digitens.org/en/notices/saint-domingue.html

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