nederlandai

[lulu2992]

Well, this picture looks familiar :’)

[skaruresonic]

The idw discourse is so bad, I feel caught in the middle because each time I express how bad the storytelling is, in a new issue or how off model the characters are drawn, idw fans gang up on me. But on the other hand I don't want to be associated with the people who think think it's funny to tweet how Flynn should die or make weird assumptions about Stanley being a bad person ? Like that's weird and cruel. Hate their work not them as people.

I just decided to pretend the comic doesn't exist and it helps lol.

I'm sorry that happened to you. Idk if anyone else will tell you that, but I will, because I know how much it sucks.

One time, I saw a guy on Twitter blame us for his inability to criticize the book in what he believed was a much more "balanced" manner without getting harassed by people.

Digest that for a moment. It's our fault for other people's reaction to us. And instead of rubbing his brain cells together for a moment and questioning the reasons why this knee-jerk reaction occurs, or even reflecting on the fact that it occurs at all and perhaps realizing that the call is coming from inside the house, he fell back on old biases and decided it was the haters who were wrong.

The mental gymnastics on display here are unreal.

In this case, I think people are stumbling into the usual fallacious trap of assuming both sides carry equal weight, and thus believe that defaulting to a position of "neutrality" makes them morally superior somehow.

That's kind of what I hate about this fandom - the utter superciliousness. The rotten shit we as a fandom get up to (and no, being a little snarky in a reblog does not count as harassment) while proclaiming love and light uwu. Be nice to everyone, except those freaks over there.

"Neutrality" is in scare quotes here because it's not true neutrality, but a way of posturing to the in-group that you're not Like Us. As demonstrated by my Twitter-user anecdote, people around here don't want to say anything hater-flavored because it risks intense ostracization. That's why you have people jumping down your throat for presenting even mild criticisms. It'd be pathetic if it weren't so annoying.

I'm not talking about people who let well enough alone. I'm talking about centrists who sneer "both sides are bad," as if by distancing themselves from the situation in a smug manner, they're declaring themselves more enlightened than the rest of us.

Honestly, the other side should be just as insulted, but they're not, because this attitude only helps them in the long run.

In reality, this is more like the fishhook situation centrists have with antis vs. proshippers. Saying "this whole thing is stupid" really only benefits antis because they now have grounds to reply, "Yes, this IS stupid, don't you think proshippers are crazy for being upset at something so trivial?" while conveniently omitting the part where antis routinely send proshippers death threats and other heinous material.

Look at it from this angle: the most concrete harm I have seen their side say they've suffered is a deep discomfort and estrangement from the book. Which, yeah. That sucks. But it's also kinda on you to just click away if it makes you uncomfortable.

On the other hand, I have had legitimate crying fits because of horrible messages I received and have told people multiple times about the anon who mocked my recently-deceased mom. Which, unlike clicking away from a blog, I had no choice but to see sometimes because I was still naive enough to believe people would behave themselves in my inbox. In fact, a mutual were recently discussing our anxieties over retaliation should IDW be cancelled. There's stuff about this that you just don't want to think about because dwelling on it will freak you out.

"Both sides are bad" stings, especially in light of knowing the measures I have taken to walk on eggshells and draw proper boundaries. I literally cannot know if someone in this fandom will consider my explanations harassment and dogpiling, so I try not to reblog with commentary. On the reblogging site.

Reflect on how fucked-up that is, to feel uncomfortable adding a tag to someone's fanart because you're worried they might realize you're One of Them(tm) and shun you on that basis alone.

I won't sit here and say I've always been perfect in my conduct, but at the same time, it's just the infuriating experience of double standards all the way down. Somehow it never occurs to them that if I held them to the same standard they hold me, I could call them all out on intellectual dishonesty for refusing to engage with any of our points no matter how calmly or clearly stated because "lol ur just a hater," and tar them with the same brush as those who sent me death threats.

But ofc, things don't work out like that in the calculus of Le Sonic Discourse. It's just a rotten experience to the core.

[fireofjudgement]

Kind of a spoiler ask, but in the hospital reader is kind of roaming about. She keeps being drawn to one room so she finally goes inside. She sees niragi and chishiya. They see her. There’s this feeling like deja vu, but none of them can place it.

Reader and niragi kind of stare at each other for a minute. Reader starts feeling emotional but doesn’t show it, maybe her eyes get shiny with tears slightly.

She apologizes for bursting into their room and excuses herself

Bestie, I liked that idea so much, I had to write a little something. For some reason I kinda made it a Niragi pov, I hope that's okay.

--

Other places, familiar faces

Warnings: swearing, some angst, gn!reader

Word count: 804

"So, what's your plan?" He finally decided to break the silence. Afterall, they were most likely about to spend multiple days stuck in a small room together. They might as well get to know each other. Or at least pretend to - just one of these circumstantial interactions that only last for a specific amount of time and never turn into anything substantial. Although Niragi would lie if he said the man didn't intrigue him, something about him seemed so familiar, despite Chishiya being a complete stranger. Maybe it was their shared experience? Yeah, that had to be it. "You know, turning your life around, becoming a better person, and all that bullshit."

"I don't have one." The man answered in a calm tone. Niragi still wasn't sure whether he found it soothing or annoying. Or maybe, somehow, both. "I'm not even sure if you can really plan to become a good person."

"Well, I certainly didn't plan to become a villain either." He wasn't really sure why, but for some reason Chishiya's answer disappointed him. It almost felt like an attack on him specifically. "And yet everyone I've ever met thought they were better than me, and that they can treat me like shit because of it." 

"I don't-"

Chishiya didn't get to finish his thought, distracted by something, or rather someone, outside of the room. He couldn't see very well, but they didn't look like anyone he'd know. Not that he had people who'd care about his well-being anyway.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure. I think someone's trying to get in here. I wonder what's stopping them. The door isn't even locked."

"Why do you care anyway? You don't look like someone who's got a lot of friends. And I sure as hell don't either." 

"Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that someone's there. Maybe one of us has a secret admirer." Chishiya couldn't help but make the last part sound extra ironic. The thought of either of the men having someone so interested in them that they got shy even trying to face them was rather laughable. But he was willing to entertain it, admittedly curious as to why, out of all the rooms available, that poor soul chose theirs.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door finally opened. Slowly, quietly. If it wasn't for Chishiya, Niragi would probably not even notice your presence, you didn't even try to make up an excuse for why you entered the room. Truth be told, you didn't really know yourself. Something was drawing you to that specific part of the hospital, a quiet, yet persistent, voice telling you to go explore. You spent hours fighting yourself, part of you curious about the two strangers, part of you embarrassed by invading their privacy like that, especially given the circumstances. All of that inner turmoil made it impossible for you to move, or even say anything, your emotions so visible, your face like an open book for them to read.

The two men didn't react immediately either, only prolonging the awkward silence. None of you said it out loud, but this wasn't the first time you met, that much was obvious. You didn't know how or why, when or where, you couldn't recall any memory of talking to either of them, and neither could they. But the longer you stood there, the more overwhelming it all became. Looking at the dark-haired man was especially painful, and, unbeknownst to you, he felt quite uncomfortable as well. He wasn't used to feeling like that. Like he cared about someone other than himself.

Niragi wanted to say something, solve the mystery and keep you from leaving but, after mere seconds, or maybe a few years? you excused yourself, your words barely a whisper, and ran out of the room. He could swear he saw tears running down your face as you were leaving. 

"That your ex or something?" As soon as you disappeared, he was forced back into reality by Chishiya's question. The man was trying to act as unbothered as possible, but he wasn't fooling anyone - Niragi could see that he, too, was more upset at the sudden intrusion than he was willing to admit.

"No, I don't.." He sighed, feeling a headache slowly creeping up on him. That topic has always been awkward for him. "I'm not like that."

"It's okay." Chishiya chuckled, clearly not surprised by Niragi's answer, but amused nonetheless. "I've never cared for relationships either."

"Well, then I guess we have one thing in common."

He didn't answer immediately, still pondering your visit in their room, trying to figure out why it affected both of them so much in the first place. 

"You know.." He finally spoke, still deep in his thoughts. "We might have more in common than you think."

[iamthecomet]

Hoot once again!

I‘m really glad to hear this. Our little ritual means a lot to me <3

I am so sorry for her, but very glad that she figured it out now. Growing up undiagnosed can be (and is most of the time) very traumatic

While I’m a bit younger, I still spent my entire childhood and half of my youth (I’m gonna pretend it has been only half of it so far cause whatever the fuck I had/have is most definitely not a joyful youth). So while I can‘t fully relate, I still kind of get it and can at least imagine how it must me for her

It‘s pretty hard to get an autism diagnosis, because it cannot be done by a regular psychiatrist (unlike ADHD for example, which is why I at least have that diagnosis already). In my area there is only one place where you can get a diagnosis and the waiting list is LONG (not the worst I‘ve seen so far but at least half a year, which is terrible if you need to get help as quickly as possible but you need a diagnosis to get any kind of help). But I’m working on it

Thank youuuu

I planned chapter 2 out yesterday

It ended up to be “only” 5 pages, but it has 39 panels (chapter 1 has 24 panels)

So I think I’ll still get more of the story across even though it seems to be one page shorter

I will most likely start working on it in November

Your day sounds pretty nice!

Today, I was really stressed and worried about something and I did it okay-ish, but I can‘t change shit anymore now anyways so I’ll have to stop worrying and just wait and see

I also had a doctors appointment to get blood drawn and tested (cause due to the meds I take I’m apparently at a higher risk of malnutrition/lack of some stuff) and it was literally the most pleasant doctors appointment I’ve ever had.

I was a too early (as always) and had to wait outside a bit because they were still on lunch break but I was let inside a few minutes earlier anyways and so I was alone in the waiting area. And the nurse was incredibly kind and nice (she had me lay down for it because she didn’t want to risk that I could pass out and then she let me take my time to get back up again). It was overall incredibly nice and I was done not even 15 minutes after my appointment (so none of that annoying waiting time that usually comes with doctors appointments)

I also wanted to mention this in the past days already but I somehow didn‘t haha:

So I saw Someone do OC-tober and I absolutely LOVED the idea! (I’m one of these people that just never really draws their OCs lmao)

So I put together a prompt list for myself and I’m really excited about it ^^

(I‘m also planning on participating in Ghosttober with my writing which is why I’m probably going to be a little stressed all throughout October which is why I’ll most likely start working on chapter 2 in November)

I once again truly hope that you had a pleasant day! ♥️

~ @owlishanon

I like our little ritual too! ♥ When my friend got her diagnosis she couldn't get it from a regular psychiatrist either. She also got her ADHD diagnosis a couple years earlier because that was much easier. Autism she had to take a handful of tests over a period of time to actually get the diagnosis. But she was 98% sure what it would be before she got it. So I guess it's a pain in the ass no matter where you try to get it. Hoping that you are able to get through that process soon and get the help that you need. I'm glad your doctor's appointment went well and was easy. That's such a rare thing. And that you had a nurse who was really accommodating and understood what you needed. I was wondering why you said you would work on chapter two in November, until I got to the end of your ask. There are A LOT of things going on in October. And it will be kind of nice to take a pause on working so hard on that and doing some other stuff. I'm really excited for kinktober/ghostober whatever we're calling it. I'm trying to get the first week written and ready this week so that it's less likely that I fall behind. We'll see how that goes. Day one is written and ready to go--so that's something at least. And OC-tober sounds SO cool. I'm excited to see what you end up doing with that. I'm sure that will be a lot of fun too!

[theminecraftbox]

while I do get annoyed when people point out the parallels of the Daedalus arc to the exile arc rather than the prison arc, do you think there are valid comparisons to be drawn between the two? I never have because of the differences of who sam and tommy are to dream, but I think you’re a little better at character analysis than I am 😅

/rp dsmp

Like I’ve said before, if you want to draw true parallels between Sam+Dream in Daedalus and Tommy+Dream interactions, then you really, really aren’t looking for exile: you’re looking for Tommy’s visits to Dream in prison. That is to say, you’re NOT looking for abuse, you’re looking for someone CONFRONTING their abuser in a place where they’re disempowered.

Like, go ahead and compare Dream and Tommy to Sam and Dream! Just be aware of who’s the abuser in each of those pairs. Here’s a post about that.

That being said, sure, we can do a bit of a compare/contrast with Daedalus and exile. Mostly a contrast because, well, Dream’s acting pretty damn different, because he’s playing an extremely different role.

In both scenarios, Dream has a concrete objective (the discs, the keys) that he keeps hidden for awhile in favor of letting his target think he’s aimless. However, in Daedalus Sam is the direct target; in exile it’s Tubbo. Dream also didn’t choose or dictate Sam’s sentence at all, nor is it important for him to keep Sam in one place. The food he provides Sam is a complicated gesture about his own autonomy and moral position rather than something specifically meant to engender reliance; the materials he provides Tommy don’t have significance beyond forcing Tommy to stay away from L’Manburg and stay dependent on Dream’s good will. Tommy and Sam are both demoralized and Dream exacerbates that, but for Sam it’s with harsh truth of misdeeds that Sam committed against Dream; for Tommy it’s by being a controlling dick, frankly.

Dream pretends to be Sam’s friend, and he pretends to be Tommy’s friend. But in Sam’s case, that’s something self-protective about as much as it’s something meant to manipulate Sam (because I mean my god, why would Sam believe him?) The friendly act is, consistently, with way more characters than just Sam and Tommy, Dream’s way of demonstrating he’s a) unafraid, b) powerful, and c) reasonable: I don’t need to hurt or oppose you, I make a good friend but a terrifying enemy, I’ll be your ally if you give me a reason.

This is how Dream acts! And the meaning and significance and implications change a LOT with context: with Tommy, it becomes gloating and insidious; with Sam it becomes denial and overcompensation. With someone neutral like Foolish, it’s, like, mostly benign and diplomatic, and sometimes vaguely threatening.

[katyasrussianaccent]

i don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips (corpse x reader)

Summary: Corpse suggests you flirt with each other to mess with the fans. What happens when you suddenly catch feelings?

Authors Note: This has been in my brain for so long so I decided to write it. May or may not write a part 2, im not sure. Lemme know what you think! My requests are open for fic/headcannons aswell 💖

It should have been simple.

Flirt, mess with the fans a little, sit back and relax.

It should have been simple.

You remember Corpse coming to you with the idea.

“Why would we do that?” you had asked, frowning at your phone screen. It had been another late night phone conversation with him; something that was starting to become a regular occurrence.

You pictured him shrug as he answered. “Fun?”

“Are you so bored you wanna make a fake relationship with me?”

“Not a relationship. Just do what we do now, but like, more.”

You had agreed before your brain had even registered it. On paper it was straightforward. You already flirted a little anyway, you were naturally a flirtatious person, and so was he. It made sense; or at least you had told yourself that it did. You knew the fans already shipped you together, you saw the things they tweeted as you occasionally lurked the ynhusband tag on Twitter. It was just innocent fun right? No-one was going to get hurt.

For a little while that was true. For a little while he called you baby and you called him darling and it meant nothing. Your face didn’t feel flush when he commented on your latest Instagram post and your heart didn’t do a little flip when he would call you just to see how you were. The phone conversations were your favourite; curled up in bed with the phone on your pillow, trading secrets into the night. He had suddenly become this constant in your life, this almost routine familiarity like brushing your teeth or going to get milk.

You weren’t sure what changed, when it had gone from being innocent fun to meaning something. It was like someone had flicked a switch, and Corpse was no longer a warm glow but this bright, blinding light that hurt your eyes to look at too long. It was almost cruel, the way you wanted something so unobtainable; the universe’s idea of a joke had no humour in it. The thing with Corpse was he was so unaware of the power he had. He was mysterious yes, but he was faceless among a sea of faces; of course people were drawn to him. And you were just another.

You started to pull away. You played different games with different people, you ignored his tweets. It was easier, if you never interacted with him, you could pretend there was nothing but shallow feelings instead of the crashing waves that threatened to pull you under. The fans had started to notice; your streams were filled with questions that you refused to answer.

“Where’s Corpse?” you read aloud as you scrolled down the chat. “Probably in his house? Go ask him.” Your tone was bitter even to you and you inwardly cringed. He hadn’t contacted you in 2 weeks, and while you were thankful, you were hurt by it. It was stupid and hypoctritical of you to be upset by something that was your own doing, and you weren’t sure what you had expected from him. He had other friends, other people to talk to, why would he have cared about you anyway?

Your phone lit up next to you, and you ignored the pang of disappointment at Rae’s picture flashing up.

Rae: Among Us???

You hesitated for a second. The likelihood of Corpse being there was high, but you knew deep down he wouldn’t say a thing to you, not on stream or in front of your friends. You could just ignore him, like you had been doing and it would be fine. You weren’t sure you believed yourself anymore.

“Guys, you want to watch me play Among Us? I’m not sure who’s playing, other than Rae.” You looked at the fast flowing stream of affirmatives and emojis. Guess you had to do it now. You opened up the game and joined the lobby.

“-yeah she looks really fucking cute,” you heard Corpse say as you logged in. You looked down at your outfit,; he definitely wasn’t talking about you in your oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You had been on stream for a few hours now; your eyeliner was smudged a little and any lipstick had worn off with the constant drinking and licking your lips. No, he definitely wasn’t talking about you.

“Hey guys,” you said tentatively, swallowing down the feeling of jealousy at Corpse’s previous words.

A chorus of greetings hit you, and you smiled at their enthusiasm. You had played with Rae, Sykunno and Toast a few times before, but Felix, Jack and Ash were new to you, though you knew of them.

“Hey Y/N,” Corpse said. You had hoped after 2 weeks he wouldn’t still affect you so much, but the way your stomach turned said otherwise.

“Hey Corpse,” you replied, hoping your tone was casual.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?” he asked.

“Oh. Uh yeah, I’ve been a bit busy I guess, how are you?” You looked down as you answered, picking at your nail polish. You glanced at the chat that was filled with messages.

corpsesbaby: You can always tell when someones lying coz they look down” llamadelrey: why is this so awkward lmao arent they friends??” simpsforrae: This is like is a breakup i swear

“I’ve been okay, thanks” Corpse answered, drawing your eyes off the chat and back to the game. You nodded as you muted your mic to go back to your stream.

“I hope I don’t get imposter, I always suck at that so much.” You watched as the screen counted down and the word IMPOSTER flashed up alongside Corpse’s name. “Guess I jinxed it guys.”

Great. Not only were you imposter, you were imposter with Corpse, which meant you would have to actually speak to him. Maybe you wouldn’t have to.

You both followed Rae as she walked up towards Greenhouse, and you cornered her while she did her task, killing her quickly.

“Everyone seemed to go right, so we should vent back towards cafeteria to avoid suspicion,” Corpse said.

“Okay,” you answered. You vented together, and you muted your mic to laugh. “This is kinda cosy guys.” You said to your chat. You briefly imagined what it would be like in real life to be so close to him.

You moved to Admin where Toast was doing his task. Before you could say a word, Corpse had already killed him and you both vented outside Cafeteria. “Fuck, that was so close,” you muttered, chuckling a little.

“Don’t worry, I got your back,” he replied, making your heart sing a little.

“Oh my hero,” you said, making a point of swooning to your chat, your voice high and airy. “How will I ever repay you?”

He chuckled, “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.”

You flushed at the suggestive tone he had taken, and you hoped it wasn’t noticeable but judging by the comments in your chat, it clearly had been. This was another issue you had with Corpse; he always made these type of comments with you and it was really annoying. You knew there was no chance he was being serious, and sometimes you wished he would stop it purely because it got your hopes up.

delilah: shes BLUSHING dreamofme: uWu yn uWu

You opened your mouth to respond when Dead Body Reported flashed up, bringing your thoughts back to the game.

“Toast and Rae are dead,” Sykuuno said. “I found Rae in Greenhouse and Toast in admin.”

“I was in balcony, I went there from the cafeteria,” you said confidently. You hated being Imposter, especially being teamed with Corpse, who was so good at the game, you had a lot of pressure to do well.

“I was in MedBay, I didn’t see you YN,” Ash accused.

“You only see if they enter through the left door. She entered through the other door,” Corpse answered for you.

“And how do you know that?” Felix asked.

“I was in Cafeteria,” Corpse replied.

“You could’ve vented YN,” Jack said.

“No I couldn’t have, if Ash was in MedBay, she would have seen me. Unless she wasn’t in MedBay,” you suggested, smirking to your cam as you muted. “It’s not going too bad I don’t think? Always feel like I’ve been arrested when I’m Imposter.”

“Little sus of you Ash to say you were in MedBay when you weren’t,” Corpse said. You gaped a little at how easy it was for him to manipulate the situation, it was almost scary.

Ash argued as the other players began to agree and discuss among themselves. You smiled in success at the text on the screen.

Ash has been ejected.

You split up this time, and while you hadn’t really spoken during the game, you kind of missed Corpse’s astronaut next to yours, and you said that to your chat. “Haha, our colours did look cute together, I agree.”

Any previous trepidation you had had disappeared as soon as you had heard his voice; and you realised how much you had missed him. You would simply just need to deal with your feelings; they would go away eventually anyway. You just hoped it wasn’t too late for you to start again with him.

You walked to MedBay with Skyunno, making small talk as you did.

“I’m glad to see you playing with us, it’s been a little while,” he said and you felt bad that you would have to kill him. As you turned towards him, ready to kill as he did his task, Jack walked in. You mouthed oops at the cam.

“What’s going on here?” Jack asked, suspicion in his voice.

“I was just saying how nice it was to have YN here,” Sykunno replied. You stood and faked your task, watching the green bar fill as you did. It would be too risky to kill here.

“Ah yeah, Corpse has been asking after you constantly,” Jack said. You blinked at the response, it had caught you off guard.

“Oh?” you replied simply. You mentally shrugged it off. Of course he would have asked about you, you were friends, that was all.

DEAD BODY REPORTED

“Felix was dead in Reactor,” Corpse announced. “Oh Corpse, you’re taking a risk here” you said to your chat.

“I was in MedBay with Jack and Sykunno,” you replied, smiling as they agreed. “Where were you Ash?”

She sighed sadly. “I was in Labs, but I was doing a task, I swear!” You all agreed quickly that Ash would be the next voted out.

“2 to go,” you said triumphantly. “I thought I was gonna drag Corpse down, but it’s going okay!”

The round started again and you could feel yourself getting tired. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much longer to finish the game.

You circled round Corpse a few times, hoping that he would understand your signal. Luckily he did, and you both vented to Decontamination where Skyunno and Jack were. The room had already started to emit steam, making it extremely easy for you both to vent unnoticed and kill them both.

You grinned at the Victory message that flashed up.

“Good game guys!” you said. The others congratulated you and Corpse on your win and you smiled at the sound of your names together. You had it bad.

“It was all YN,” Corpse said.

“Pfft you ssh being humble, it was all you,” you replied, taking your hair out of your ponytail and running your hand through it.

“Your hair looks nice,” Corpse commented and your eyes widened. Your heart started to beat a little quicker. How long had he been watching your stream?

“It’s bad to watch someone’s stream without telling them,” you replied, making a show of pouting for the camera.

He laughed a little. “What can I say, I’m a bad guy,” he said, singing the last words. You laughed at the sudden Billie Eilish.

“Guys, either play another game, or get a room,” Felix interrupted. You blushed a little and rolled your eyes, the chat going crazy from the corner of your eye.

“And that’s my cue to exit,” you said, yawning. “Bye guys, have a good night!” You wished everyone and your chat goodnight before closing the stream and leaning back in your chat. You couldn’t believe Corpse had been watching you. You hadn’t said anything too incriminating, but still.

You prepared for bed, settling back into the softness of your pillows as you grabbed your phone - a terrible habit you really needed to stop.

Corpse: Can I call you?

You gulped at the message that appeared on your screen, a gnawing feeling of nervous clung to your throat as you typed yes. His name came up almost instantaneously and your hand shook as you pressed to accept the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even while your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“It was nice playing with you again,” he commented.

You sat up a little as you held the phone against your ear. “Did you call me to tell me that?”

“I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

You sighed a little. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit busy, sorry - “

“You’re lying to me and I don’t know why,” he replied. You had never heard his voice like that before; so angry and hurt. You tapped your foot against your mattress as you thought what to say.

“I -”

“Did I do something?” he asked. You had been so selfish; blocking him out to avoid being hurt, but you hadn’t thought about his feelings. He was more popular than you were, you had assumed he would be fine, that he wouldn’t care if you were around or not.

“No, you didn’t do anything, I swear -”

“Then what? Because I thought we were friends, close friends and then suddenly you pretty much disappear. But you’re still streaming with other people. It’s pretty shitty of you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked up, the sting of tears threatening to fall. “It was really shitty of me, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Please just tell me.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say,” you replied softly.

“What do you want to say?”

You blinked, the anticipation of unspoken words caught in your throat, making it hard to swallow. The taste of them was bitter on your tongue. “I...I have feelings for you.”

There. You had said it. There was no taking it back now, and you felt like your heart was about to shatter with every single second of silence that passed. You could hear him swallow on the other end of the phone. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

You bit your lip, taking in the meaning of the question he had asked. It wasn’t something you had thought of, you hadn’t conceptualised your feelings for him, not put them in a box labelled love or anything. “I don’t know. I feel something for you. And it kinda sucks being your friend and having those feelings. So I pulled away.”

“Why does it suck?”

You laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t it? Feeling something for someone that doesn’t feel the same is fucking shitty.”

“I asked you to flirt with me YN -”

“Yeah, for fun,” you interrupted.

“No, I said for fun, but really I just wanted you to,” he replied. “I feel something for you too. How could I not? Has anything I’ve ever said to you sounded like it was just for fun?” You smiled at his response, your heart no longer on the fit of breaking, but suddenly doing flips and soaring through your chest, radiating warmth through your body.

“Oh,” you said, your brain was overloaded with thoughts, and was apparently no longer capable of coherent sentences.

“Oh? That’s a great response, thanks,” he teased, but you could tell he was smiling as he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that, I don’t really know what to say honestly,” you replied.

“Well, baby, how about you say yes to a date?” he asked.

“Yes.”

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[fernweh-writes]

Slashers with an artist s/o who loves to draw them and gives them the drawing when they finish it!

You're writing is always great!

You always come up with the cutest ideas I swear! You’re amazing

-Fern🌿

Slashers x Artist S/O

Michael Myers

He’s very easy to draw considering the fact he can stand still for hours! He’s like a statue, this man does not move. Probably the reason all those muscles are so stiff.

Michael isn’t a very expressive person, so don’t expect much of a reaction from him. Although, he does appreciate the sentiment and is flattered that you think he’s attractive or interesting enough for you to draw.

He will take the drawing from you, fold it up, and put it in his pocket. Thank you, y/n! It’s his now. When you’re not around he will occasionally take it out of his pocket and stare at it because he doesn’t understand how you can love someone like him so much.

One day you might find the drawing laying on his nightstand, crumpled up from being carried around so much. Please make him more drawings to carry around.

Swear up and down he didn’t put it up on the fridge, he has no clue how it got there from your sketchbook. Maybe you sleep walk y/n, it definitely wasn’t him snooping through your stuff.

Bo Sinclair

Oh great, now he has two artists seeking his approval. What is he? An artist magnet? No Bo you just like artsy people, admit it.

He is very flattered that you take the time to draw him but in true Bo fashion, he acts annoyed by it or pretends it’s no big deal. Be careful y/n, because you’re definitely feeding his ego.

He’ll never tell you this, but he takes the drawing you give to him and puts it down in the basement of the shop. Doesn’t want you to know he kept it but also wants to put it in a place he can see it pretty often.

Steals your sketchbook one day and just sits on your shared bed staring at all of the drawings of him. He’s amazed by the way you see him, he’s quite literally seeing himself through your eyes. You may notice a few torn out pages the next day. Bo took his favorite drawings, even ones that weren’t of him.

Vincent Sinclair

He would notice the fact you always seem to be intensely focused on your sketchbook. He doesn’t notice your eyes constantly flicking up to him and back down at the pages though.

You startle him when you shove the drawing in front of his face, but recovers quickly. He would stare at the drawing in awe for a good while. As an artist he appreciates it more than most, knowing that it took both time and talent.

As an artist, Vincent also knows people spend time drawing things that motivate or captivate them. That thought has him overflowing with joy.

Vincent hangs the drawing by his bed down in the basement. He doesn’t sleep down there much since you came along. Now when he does though, he has a little piece of you and your love for him with him to.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms likes to spy on you through the walls and notices that you spend a decent amount of your free time drawing. From the gaps in the walls, he can never make out what it is you’re drawing though.

One day, you shove a page you ripped out in front of his face. He takes in your look of pure delight before examining the page, taken aback when it’s a drawing of him.

Brahms had never seen himself the way he was drawn on the page. He could swear that the person on the page was completely different than the person in the mirror. It makes him realize you really do find him attractive.

Brahms proudly hangs the drawing up in his room within the walls. You can expect him to somehow become even clingier after that.

Please draw him more y/n! He’ll even pose for you if you want!

Thomas Hewitt

He won’t grab the drawing you shove in front of him, he doesn’t want to get it dirty. Then he notices that it’s a torn out page and not your whole sketchbook. You’ll have to tell him it’s for him before he finally accepts it.

At the same time, Thomas is unsure what to do with it. He’s flustered that you took the time to draw him. Little does he know you have plenty of drawings of him. Tommy wouldn’t understand why you don’t spend time drawing things worth drawing instead of him.

Still, he keeps the drawing tucked away in the basement. If it becomes water damaged he’s saddened that he allowed something you made him to get ruined.

Now he gets super flustered any time he notices you glancing up at him repeatedly from your sketchbook.

Decides to flip through it one day when you’re not around to catch him. The amount of drawings of him makes his heart melt. He’ll never let you know why he was extra cuddly that night. He’s amazed by both your talent and your love for him.

Billy Loomis

You know what they say, everyone’s a critique, but especially Billy. Claims his hair doesn’t look right. Your right Billy, it doesn’t look like that, but it would if you would wash your hair.

Secretly, he’s touched by the fact you drew him. Congratulations you’ve boosted his ego even more about his looks somehow.

Billy most definitely has a box of random sentimental items under his bed. That’s his safe place to stash items he cares about so of course you’re drawing is placed right on top.

Whenever he’s having an extra hard time with his abandonment issues he’ll pull out the drawing and look at the little heart by your signature.

Don’t let him discover one of your sketchbooks with multiple drawings though. You’ll never see it again. It’s his now and it’s stashed under his bed in the box with the first drawing you have him.

Stu Macher

He is the embodiment of a golden retriever, just with a dash of psycho. So he’s absolutely thrilled when you give him the drawing and proceeds to give you numerous compliments on how talented you are.

Stu will hang it up somewhere in his room. Would also be the one to show it off to other people even if you think that’s embarrassing. He’s very proud of you and want’s everyone to know how great you are.

This also leads Stu to encourage you to try other art mediums. Don’t worry about the cost of materials, he’ll cover it. If you decide you don’t enjoy it feel free to drop it, he doesn’t care about money anyways so it’s no big deal to him.

Flexes and tells you that he’s definitely more muscular than you’re giving him credit for. Please draw him with an over exaggerated figure so that he can laugh at it.

“Hey y/n! Paint me like one of your French girls!”

Jesse Cromeans

Jesse hates himself after what happened to his face. He probably keeps around very few mirrors and tries not to look in them. So when you hand him a drawing of himself he freaks out a little. This is how you see him?

He’s very flattered and keeps it safely tucked into a drawer in his office. When no one’s around he just pulls it out and stares at it. The way you draw him makes him look better than he thinks he looks.

If he finds one of your sketchbooks don’t think that he won’t flip through it. So when he finds one that you made a very poor attempt to hide, of course he’s dying to know what’s in it.

A whole sketchbook filled with drawings of only him? You’ve filled the whole thing with him with the mask, without it, dressed up, dressed down it doesn’t matter.

This would definitely make Jesse feel a lot better about his appearance and definitely helps him solidify the idea that you do indeed find him attractive and desirable.

Asa Emory

Acts annoyed that you interrupted him just to give him a drawing. He would shoo you away claiming to be busy and acting like it was no big deal.

Only once you’re gone will he pick it up and see what you drew. He softens when he sees that it’s a drawing of him and almost feels bad about shooing you off.

He would shove it in a drawer of his desk at the university he teaches at. It’s a place he can see it frequently and it reminds him that there’s someone out there who can live someone as cold and cruel as him.

Don’t let him find a whole sketchbook of drawings of him though. Not only will he confront you about it, he’ll use it against you if he really wants to.

[alrightberries]

glimpse of me and you

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff. ❈ word count: 2.6k

❈ summary: It’s your first day out of the Underground District and on the surface. Levi helps you get settled.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity.

a/n: i would like to confess that i was in A Mood.

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

i. morning

The first thing you noticed was that it was bright. Too bright.

Not the kind of brightness you saw in the warm glowing lamps that littered the Underground District, but the kind that made your eyes squint and feel sore- like they were going to pop out of your head any time soon. Your hand slips out of Levi’s to block out the light hurting your irises.

He stops walking up the staircase and turns to look at you.

“Here.” He murmurs. He places down the boxes he was holding and takes off his green Survey Corps cape, draping it around your shoulders and clasping it at the front before drawing the hood over your face. The sunlight is no longer as harsh.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod.

“Much. Thank you, Levi.”

He hums in acknowledgement, one hand picking up the boxes with your luggage and the other one slipping through yours to slowly lead you up the staircase once more. He could tell from how you squeezed his hand and kept taking deep breaths behind him that you were nervous. He couldn’t blame you, either. He remembers being the same with Isabel and Farlan two years ago.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since he was captured and taken to the surface. Since last saw your face and heard his name slip from your lips.

It took the better part of two years to barely scrape up enough money to buy you citizenship, but as he leads you through the stairway with your warm hand in his, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate do it all again.

For you.

“It’s going to be brighter once we reach the surface.” He says. The last step of the stairway was nearing. “I know you won’t, but close your eyes if you have to. You might get disoriented if you don’t.”

True to his words, you did end up getting disoriented because you refused to close your eyes. But really now, how could you? 26 years you’ve waited for this day to come. And you would be damned if you didn’t take everything in the second you set foot above ground for the first time.

As you reached the surface, Levi notices you flinching, turning your head away from the light and gritting your teeth once you set foot on the cobble stoned streets above. Despite your clear discomfort at the brightness, you made no move to close your eyes. In fact, you even braved to let them roam around.

“Stubborn dumbass.” He scolds quietly.

He leads you a little ways off from the exit of the stairway to put your stuff in the small wagon in front of you. The small wagon was drawn by a gorgeous black horse, and you realize that this was probably the beloved mare Levi spoke of in his letters.

“Is this Estreya?” You ask. Levi hums in agreement and takes the last box you were holding to place it with the rest of your luggage with a low grunt.

When he looks back at you he notices your eyes are still squinted, but your teeth were no longer gritted. The hood was still drawn over your face and one of your hands was still shielding your eyes from the burning light. You weren’t even going to lie, you were half terrified that your eyes were going to melt from how hot the sun was.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

You scoff. “Yeah, because horses are really common in the Underground.”

He doesn’t reply to your quip. Though the way his eyebrows relax and his lips twitch up in the slightest doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Ride the wagon. You’ll fall on your ass if you try to go on horseback.”

“If you say so, Captain Levi.” 

It was now his turn to grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have told you about his promotion.

“Tch, just get on. Or I’ll leave you stranded in Wall Sina.”

ii. noon

The wagon ride to Wall Rose was something you could only describe as ethereal.

You hadn’t the faintest idea the sky was so big and blue, and how fluffy the clouds seemed to be. The sky seemed to stretch for miles and miles, and knowing that there wasn’t a ceiling above you almost made you want to cry.

Wall Sina was beautiful, as well. Especially the market. The market you passed by almost made you want to stop the wagon and drag Levi from stall to stall to see what they had. They housed probably the most vibrant colored fruits and vegetables you’ve ever seen, and the smell of freshly baked bread made your mouth water. Not to mention, the air didn’t smell like moisture or piss or shit. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, noticing your longing stare at the colorful tents. “You look like you’re about to jump off the wagon.”

“Will you leave me stranded if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Undoubtedly, though, your favorite view from the ride would be what Levi called “the suburbs.”

The tallness of the trees. The freshness of the air. The sounds of ruffling leaves. Birds and critters running around the ground and flying through the sky. The beautiful greens and blues were the biggest contrast to the drab grays and blacks you typically saw in the Underground District, and now you understood why Levi was so hellbent on taking you to the surface and never looking back.

“We’re almost there.” You hear him call out from in front of you.

Your eyes stop wandering around what Levi called a “valley”. You look past his figure sitting on the horse, spotting a castle made of bricks. It looked small from this distance but the closer you got, the more you realized that distance could be deceiving.

“Is that the Survey Corps’ base?” 

“No, it’s a fucking circus.” He replies sarcastically.

“What’s a circus?”

“It’s— nevermind.”

iii. afternoon

When you got to Levi’s private quarters, you didn’t hesitate to ask for a spare towel so you could take a shower.

You didn’t even bother kissing him or unpacking your things or… making up for lost time, if you will. Instead you made a beeline for the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and spent a good hour inside, talking to him through the door about how you’ve been looking forward to taking a proper shower all week. Levi had to drag you out and stop you from wasting more of the Survey Corps’ water reservoir.

“So, let me get this straight.” You mutter. 

You were sitting on his bed and he was sitting on a chair across from you. Your hair was still damp and your upper half was clad in a spare Survey Corps button down, while your bottom half was clad in nothing but your underwear.

Levi had complained that your clothes from the Underground were too dirty and would have to be washed. You called him rude, only relenting when he offered to do your laundry. But he wasn’t about to complain about the extra chores when it gave him this view.

“You’ve been captain for an entire year and only bothered to tell last week?”

“Yes.” Came his stoic reply.

“But why?!”

“I’m not hearing the end of this any time soon, am I?”

Before you could respond, Levi hears loud banging from his office door (which you noticed was connected to his bedroom) and he sighs as he wordlessly covers your bare legs with a blanket. Confused eyes met his, and all he could do was shrug as he heard the office door breakdown. The loud banging was now being directed at the bedroom door, the only thing separating you from what you assumed was some rabid raccoon.

“Levi motherfucking Ackerman!” You hear someone shriek from the other side of the wood. Okay, so maybe it’s not a rabid raccoon. “Open this door right this instant!”

You hear the lock clicking and the knob turning rapidly. Despite knowing you should probably be scared, you can’t help but smile at Levi’s clear irritation. It wasn’t the genuine kind of irritation. It was the kind he showed to Isabel— the one where he pretends to be annoyed but secretly enjoys their company.

“It’s not locked, four-eyes.” He replies.

Ah, so this must be the Hange he’s been complaining about.

“Then why can’t I open it?!”

“It’s push, not pull.”

Immediately, the banging stops, and silence takes over the room. But the silence is short lived when Hange suddenly kicks the door open and you jump from surprise. 

“Don’t think that I wouldn’t find out about you bringing a civilian to the base, Ackerman!” Hange points an accusing finger at Levi’s bored face. 

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Considering I asked you to sign the authorization letter.”

The soldier ignores Levi’s quip and quickly makes their way over to you, sitting down next to your side and extending a hand.

“The name’s Hange Zoe, Section Commander of the Survey Corps. And you are?”

You warily accept their offer of a handshake. Your eyes briefly flit over to where Levi was still sat, relaxing a bit when he nods to your silent question of whether or not it was safe.

“Y/N.” You give them a polite smile. 

“When Moblit told me Levi brought a civilian to the base, I was ecstatic!” 

What the fuck is a Moblit? You wonder.

Your hands were still joined, and you weren’t sure if prolonged and drawn out handshakes were a custom of the surface. Not wanting to be rude, you continued to shake Hange’s hand, nodding along as they continued on.

“I didn’t peg shorty as the type to play boyfriend.”

“Neither did I.” You chuckled. “But he’s been more than wonderful. He’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Levi bites back the smile teasing his lips.

“Stop shaking Hange's hand. You’ll catch rabies or some shit.”

iv. evening

It was nearing six o’clock when Levi finally convinced Hange to go away, but only with the promise that he would introduce you to his squadron later at dinner. Normally he’d detest the idea of sharing intimate details about his personal life, but as he listens to you ask question after question about the surface, he deems the small sacrifice was more than worth this small moment with you.

“You said the surface was going to be hot. Why is it so cold now?” You ask, settling into the bed. Levi lifts up the blanket and begins to lie down beside you.

“Because it’s almost night.” He says simply. “It’s hot in the day and cold in the night.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It depends on the season.”

He feels you shift closer to him, lifting his arm up and placing it around your waist as your head rests on his chest. He takes a deep breath, and the smell that was so uniquely you fills up his lungs. He almost hums in delight because it’s been two years; he hasn’t had this in two years, and no force on earth could ever take it away from him again.

“Season?” You murmur, sleepy eyes staring into his. 

Levi immediately knows that you’re a bedtime story away from snoozing, and he figures the fatigue is to be expected. You were, after all, being introduced to too many things at once. And judging by the bags under your eyes, you were probably too happy about going to the surface to get any sleep last night.

“Yeah. There are four seasons above ground: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Right now, it’s spring.”

“Will you tell me about the seasons?” 

He feels you shift, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“You missed.”

You smile. A hand gently reaches out to grasp his chin, pulling his face towards yours to give him a gentle kiss. When you try to pull away, Levi pulls you back in.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly.” He muses as your lips broke apart. The arm wrapped around your waist holds onto you a little tighter as you relax to his side once again, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into your arm.

“The flowers bloom in spring. Everything blooms.” He explains. “In fall, the temperature gets colder so the leaves start changing colors.”

“What colors do they become?”

“Mostly brown or orange.”

You nod.

“In winter, that’s when things start getting really cold. Colder than the Underground. Snow starts falling and everything gets covered in it. It’s annoying.”

“But don’t you use winter as an excuse to... y’know, convince your bosses to spend more money on tea leaves?”

It was now his turn to nod, and you merely let out a chuckle. He feels your breath fanning against his neck and he doesn’t stop his head from lulling into yours. He really did miss having you in his arms.

“Figures.” You yawn. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

He feels a sleepy kiss press against his collarbones, and he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“But you haven’t told me about summer yet.”

A small smile makes its way to his lips, and Levi was thankful that you couldn’t see. He’d never hear the end of your teasing if you did.

“If I tell you, will you stop annoying me?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay.”

v. midnight

The first thing Levi notices is that it was dark. Too dark. 

A brief glimpse out his open window confirms his suspicions that it was, indeed, night time. He probably slept through dinner.

The second thing Levi notices is that his entire right side was numb and there was a heavy weight on his body, some of it crushing his arm. He hears your sleepy voice mumble his name in your sleep, and he relaxes once he remembers the events of today.

He kept his promise.

You had an entire future ahead of you, and Levi’s heart warms at the thought. Sure, you were a civilian who couldn’t stay in the Survey Corps base forever; and he should probably start helping you job hunt so you could both start saving up for a new house. He’d fight you tooth and nail if you tried to join the military though, and something tells him you probably wouldn’t listen.

But he kept his promise. And that’s all that mattered for now.

He hears you shift in his arms before taking a sharp inhale, and your eyes sleepily open. They glance around the room, trying to remember where you were, before landing on him. A small smile teases your lips, adoration blossoming in your heart at the man in front of you.

“What time is it?” You softly ask. One of your hands reaches out to rub your eyes before he feels a warm palm come to rest on his stomach.

“Late.” He replies. His free hand lands on your soft cheek, and he tilts your head down so he can kiss your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You only nod, too tired to argue. You break free from his grasp and Levi is momentarily disappointed when you turn the other way. But then your hand reaches out behind you to sling his arm over your waist, and he shifts closer when he realizes you wanted to spoon.

“So I don’t kill your arm.” You explain quietly.

Levi presses his chest to your back and his leg wraps around yours. His nose is buried into the crown of your hair and he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale and close his eyes. Your hand intertwines with the one slung around your waist, and he feels you lift up your conjoined hands to place a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, Levi.”

This time, Levi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. It wasn’t the first time you’ve said I love you, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. But it would never cease to amaze Levi how just three short words could turn his stoic and uninterested demeanor into one of smiles that reached his eyes. 

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.”

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[startanewdream]

Captain Potter

Summary: Lily Evans has a secret that the army cannot know and it doesn't help that her captain is trying to be her friend.

Note: So I was watching Mulan and it's Shirtless JP May and this got me into googling shirtless army man, so please enjoy this piece of very much self-indulgence set in another AU. Also, I have no knowledge of military ranks, so bear with me.

Read on AO3 or below:

‘Evans’, the captain calls, and Lily turns to him, slightly afraid as she always feels when she hears her name. Maybe this is the day her secret will be found, this is the day she will be expelled and will fall in disgrace —

But Captain Potter has one of his carefree trademark grins, none at all looking as if he is about to arrest her. He looks at ease, leaning against one of the training posts, arms crossed lazily, watching her with interest shining in his hazel eyes as if she is a puzzle he will understand someday.

Lily truly wishes he won't, so she avoids looking at him directly in the eyes.

‘Captain’, she answers at least, saluting. That seems to amuse him.

‘I have a name, you know’.

‘Hum’, she stops, unsure. Her interactions with the captain have been restricted — well, her interactions with everyone have been limited —, but she has watched him from afar.

He is young and yet he never tries to act bossy with all the other soldiers, never tries to impose himself. He may have a more affinity with three of the soldiers (his friends for a long time, as she gathered), but he tries to treat everyone fairly, encouraging and teaching all soldiers equally, from the weakest of them to the strongest, and it’s not hard for her to see why everyone is willing to follow him into battle. The only one that he hadn’t been able to reach some sort of relationship was with her.

Something that had fit Lily’s plans and worries very well.

‘Captain Potter?’, she tries.

‘I am someone besides a rank’, he suggests.

‘Mr. Potter’.

‘That would be my father. I am James ’, he says at least, as if she is unfamiliar with the name of the youngest captain of the army.

‘I know , but — it would not be proper —’

‘Liam’, he stops her and, just as anytime someone uses that name, Lily wants to look around searching for that person until she remembers her situation. ‘Can I call you Liam?’

‘I’d rather Evans’, she answers, grimacing, and when he looks dismayed, she adds quickly: ‘It’s how everyone calls me. Not… it’s more personal, really’.

‘Fine, Evans’. He grins again. It’s a beautiful smile, so open and inviting, that again Lily has no difficulty understanding the success he makes with all the other soldiers, why their unity is unanimous in praising him. There is something on him that draws people to him — her included. ‘Well, call me James. I can order you to if it will make it more proper’.

Lily lets out a laugh before she stops herself, biting her lips, worried. She shouldn’t laugh; though she can disguise her voice mildly well, her laugh is too thin, too sparkling. It’s not a man’s grave laugh.

Fortunately, the captain doesn’t seem to find anything amiss. He looks just… glad with her reaction.

‘So you are capable of laughing’, he notes teasingly. ‘I had my doubts, you know’.

‘There has never been an occasion, Cap — James ’.

He opens his mouth in an offended expression; it’s so dramatic that, again, she wants to laugh. ‘I beg your pardon? Yesterday, when someone — a very clever someone, I might add — pretended to be shot by an arrow? That was an occasion!’

‘Wasn’t that you?’, she asks, raising her eyebrows. It had been a long tense one minute in which one of the other soldiers, Sirius, had been sure he had shot by mistake the captain and his best friend before James had revealed himself alive, laughing hysterically and showing the fake arrow attached to his badge.

Sirius had punched him, all rank forgotten, but then he was laughing too and everyone thought it was hilarious.

‘It was fun ’.

‘It was terrifying’.

‘Oh, so you were terrified I’d died?’, he jokes, his grin now very smug. ‘And I thought you didn’t like me’.

Lily blushes, lowering her head and hoping he hadn’t noticed it. Truth was she had misjudged him on the first day, annoyed by the way he acted with that captain badge pinned on his chest. He came from a long family of militars, after all, and he was very young, no matter what his father would praise about his grades in military school, so she had truly believed he didn’t deserve to be a captain, that he had only got there for his family name.

In the last few weeks, though, she was forced to admit he was a good captain. He had the vision for it, good ideas, an efficient way of training everyone and, of course, he was a leader.

‘I have nothing against you, sir — James’.

‘I’m glad to know’, he says, sounding earnest. ‘I am worried about you, you know’.

‘Have I done something wrong?’, she asks, surprised, fear involving her again. Lily had taken care of doing all exercises, overworking herself, all to prove that that stupid rule that forbid women in the army did not make any sense. They needed everyone in the fight against Voldemort, after all, and she would not wait patiently, especially when people like her were one of his targets.

‘No, no, you’ve been perfect, really, no one dedicates as much as you’, he assures her. ‘But you don’t socialize. You stay quiet during dinner. You don’t participate in any of the games', he pauses, before adding again dramatically: 'You don’t laugh at my pranks!’

All of it is true. Lily has purposefully gotten away from everyone, afraid they would notice something different about her, though that quiet soldier, Remus, had tried to talk to her. She just feels she can't risk.

‘I do not think it’s time for pranks, James’, she answers, deciding the last point was probably the easiest.

He shakes his head. ‘We are at war, Evans. If we don’t laugh now, we may not laugh after’.

She supposes he is right. And even though he enjoys more pranks than she thinks it’s reasonable, she knows he worries too. More than once, when she is on guard duty, she has noticed the light of his tent is on very late in the night. James may look carefree with everyone else, but he has concerns about the war — and what lies in his shoulder.

‘Your work has been impeccable’, he adds quietly. ‘I just want you to get to know more of your colleagues and for them to know more about you’. Lily presses her lips, hoping her worry doesn’t show on her face. That was all she was trying to avoid. ‘You will need to count on them in the battlefield and they will need to know you have their backs too. And the only way to do that is if we trust each other. Can we do that?’

James is waiting for her answer, his eyes boring into hers firmly, and Lily can’t turn away now. In the light of the morning, with the sun shining on his face, his hazel eyes seem to glint in gold, the pupil barely visible. He has wrinkles on the side of his eyes, and she suddenly wishes they weren’t meeting in the army while she is pretending to be an introverted thin young man.

He seems the kind of guy she would like to meet in college, or to grow up together with, or even in a dancing club with her friends; they would talk and she could be then fully herself, could share with him her witty side and even help him in a prank or two. In that other life she would appreciate how nice and beautiful he is, with that black hair that’s always messy no matter how much he tries to comb, and those hazel eyes that were made for laughing, not to be worried for the war.

But that’s not her life and she is sure that if he ever finds out about her, he will hate her. Somehow, with how much she has learned to admire him in the last weeks, she fears his rejection more than she fears being expelled from the army.

Lily knows she would trust James Potter with her life, knows she would do her duty and die for him if it was needed, and yet she also knows she can't ever tell him  her secret.

So she does what she has been doing best ever since she joined the army.

‘We can trust each other’, she lies.

He beams. ‘Great, Evans! And I thought we could start sharing your mourning runs’. He raises one eyebrow when she looks surprised. ‘I’ve noticed you awake at dawn to run’.

‘I like to train’, she admits. ‘I am… thinner than the others, so I am trying to get fitter’.

‘You look a lot better’, he compliments, touching her arm, where her biceps have been evolving nicely. It’s a pat, a soft brush, and yet it sends shivers down Lily’s spine; his hand is warm . ‘Mind if I join you?’

She hesitates just a little. ‘I will stay quiet’, she warns him. ‘I like to think while I run’.

‘Works for me. And if you want to share a thought or another, well, I’m here, Evans’.

He winks at her, again so friendly that she turns her eyes away, wishing she could tell him the truth. But she can’t, so she presses her lips, ties the ribbon around her hair so the bun stays in place, and kneels to make sure her shoes are tied. Then she raises and her heart stops for a full second.

James has taken out his shirt. She knows he is fit — there is no way he can’t be with all the years of training he had — and she has seen before shirtless, but only when she was far away in the line, hoping to get unnoticed as she trained the movements.

Now, it’s only him, his tanned skin glistening under the morning sun, a god coming out of her dreams. She is staring and she knows it, but there is no way she can avoid it; weeks at the army have made her lost a lot of discomfourt around men's body, but this... This doesn't seem fair.

She watches the muscles in his arms, his biceps far more evident than hers will ever be, and it suddenly occurs to Lily that she would like very much to feel them around her, involving her, holding her. There would be only benefits in hugging him, she realizes, as her eyes move to his torso, enjoying the firmness of his chest and the muscles in his abdomen, a six pack that seems drawn perfectly. In his arms, she would glide her hand through his chest, would place a kiss over his heart and then she would raise her head and they would be so close —

And then James stretches his arms, raising them above his head, and she notices the hair on his torso, a few patches near his chest that shine with a few drops of sweat she wouldn’t mind drying, and then the darked patch over his abdomen, in a path that goes on vanishing inside…

When she finds herself staring at his pants, Lily decides she has crossed more limits that it's reasonable.

She turns, all her concentration in avoiding glancing at him again, though she feels it's fruitless. The sight of him seems to be recorded in her mind. He will appear on her dream, she is sure of it.

‘Everything all right, Evans?’, he asks, right behind her, and she jumps. 'You look red'.

Lily knows it; her face is hot, burning even before she has started to run, and she won’t fool herself pretending she doesn’t know the reason.

‘I'm fine, let’s go’, she answers quickly, heart racing in her chest. This was a horrible idea; mourning runs with her very gorgeous hot captain will do no good for her keeping her secret.

She sprints without warning, but he catches up with her easily. She keeps her eyes ahead. Don't look, don't stare, don't ogle.

‘There is something special about you, Evans’, he declares, the run not seeming to disturb his breathing. ‘I will find out one day’.

[rekrappeter]

looking at the moon, but seeing you

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself drawn to draco malfoy, an october evening welcoming something you never expected

warnings: mention of feeling numb, swearing, typos

notes: please let me know what you think of this, feedback would be amazing thank you - if there’s an inaccuracy of the wizarding world in this, please don’t let me know, I’m not interested <333

I had originally started writing this for @bricksatanakinswindow​ ‘s wc and had a prompt in mind, but then I went on a tangent and finished it forgetting to use the prompt oops but anyways, I hope y’all enjoy it either way <3

It was your favorite time of the year. Orange and brown leaves scattered the grass, the sound of them crunching when students trampled over them to get to class, and it was always dark before the final class ended. The ghosts seemed to be more present during mealtimes and the flickering of the crimson fires above the four tables created shadows around the dining hall. There was an eerie, yet wholesome atmosphere that Hogwarts welcomed during the month of October. But the thing you loved most about October in Hogwarts was the Annual Halloween Feast. 

You were staring wide-eyed at the mounts of food that appeared in front of you, your mouth watering at the sight of the freshly trimmed turkey and the pumpkin pies that were making your stomach grumble with hunger. It took everything in your power to not reach out for your first servings, knowing that everyone was waiting for Professor Dumbledore to finish up his annual Halloween speech. The moment he gave you permission to start eating, your hands reached out for the first bowl of vegetables closest to you. 

“Calm down there,” Ron chuckled, his red hair brushing across his forehead, “It won’t disappear right away.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you snapped back, a playful smirk tugging on your lips as you eyed his plate already half-filled with chicken wings and mash potatoes. 

Ron scoffed, his cheeks turning red, “Quidditch practice makes me hungry.” You rolled your eyes as the boy rambled on, trying to plead his case but as you looked over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, his voice was just a mere whisper amongst the eyes staring back at you. Cold, dull blue eyes were on your figure from across the room, his porcelain face rested in the palm of his hands and his pink lips were a spark contrast from his snow-white hair. 

“Is Draco Malfoy staring at me?” you whispered softly to Hermione, ignoring the confused glances from the red head boy that thought he was having a conversation with you. Hermione peaked over Ron’s shoulder strategically, pretending to scratch her nose in the process. The creasing of her fluffy brows confirmed your suspicions and you both stare at Draco, it wasn’t until the taller boy beside him, Blaise, nudged his shoulder with his that Draco was pulled out of what seemed to be a daydream. His eyes widened for a second, his tongue darting from his mouth to wet his lips as he raised a brow in your direction. 

‘What?’ you mouthed to him, and he shot you an annoyed, almost hateful, glare your way before tearing his gaze from you. A scoff passed your lips, it was so typical of Draco to make it seem like it was your fault that he was staring at you. “That was weird,” you murmured, shrugging your shoulders and the grumble of your stomach remembered that you had forgot to feed it all day. 

When the Feast had come to an end, the magically thundering and lightening lit up the Great Hall causing students to erupt into discussions of thrill and excitement. The tables disappeared from underneath you, as the room transforming into it’s annual Halloween afterparty. Pumpkins that Hagrid grew himself were huddled in the corners, big enough to fit three full adult males in them, and orange and black streamers were dangling from the ceiling. The table that the teachers occupied was gone and replaced with a stage, instruments scattered around on top and you could spot a skeleton tuning a guitar. 

A grin was unfaltering on your face, the excitement bubbling inside you. You glanced at Hermione, seeing her face in complete awe at the sight in front of her and you hated the fact that your eyes found themselves travelling across the room to the platinum blonde. Despite his foul demeanor throughout the entirety of the feast, an amused smile was rested on his lips as he watched the band of skeletons take the stage. As the music started, people began shuffling onto the makeshift dancefloor, still draped in their house robes. Your stare constantly kept finding it’s way to Draco, and no matter how much you scolded yourself, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. 

This started towards the end of last year, these growing unwanted feelings that you held for the Slytherin Prince. The summer break couldn’t have come quick enough, Hogwarts was a big place but you kept finding yourself bumping into him or walking in the same empty corridors as he did. Throughout the summer, you hadn’t thought about him once - you labeled it as a stupid crush, the inevitability of falling for the ‘bad boy’ of your year. Of course, he had ladies falling all over him, but you’d never seen him with anyone other than Pansy Parkinson and even at that, you weren’t sure if they were exclusive. You tried not to dwell on it much, the thought of the two doing things together in the dungeons brought a wave of nausea each time. You thought the feelings that developed were gone, but the moment he walked onto the platform at Kings Cross, time stopped and it was just him there amongst the bustle of people bidding goodbye to their families. You scolded yourself the whole train ride, feeling yourself falling into daydreams and fantasies of what could be. But you were a Gryffindor, and he was a Slytherin. It wouldn’t work. 

“You’re staring this time,” Hermione smirked, an amused glint in her eyes. She twirled you around so that your back was to Draco, and you silently thanked her. You had confided in Hermione about your little crush on Draco, hoping she’d be able to smack some sense into you and help you remember all the cruel things he’s said to you in the past but the thing was… you remembered all those things, you repeated them in your head but it still wasn’t enough to stop you from wondering where he was and letting your eyes linger after him. 

The night was drawing to an end, a night filled with endless laughter and dancing. You were on your way to the common room, arm linked with Harry as he swayed with you, drunk on happiness. Passing the courtyards, somehow your eyes spied a figure making it’s way to the black lake, and if it wasn’t for the hair that gleamed under the moonlight, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But you detangled yourself from Harry, him giving you a puzzled look. “I-I think I forgot my bookbag by the lake earlier.” 

“Do you want me to go down and look for it with you?” Harry asked, his hair tousled and sweat beading on his forehead from the amount of dancing he was forced to do. 

“No, I’ll only be a second,” you said, stepping backwards onto the grass, “I’ll follow you up.” Harry was hesitant to leave you behind, Ron calling his name from inside the castle but he nodded reluctantly. Hogwarts was after all the safest place you could be. You scurried down towards the bed of water, your eyes adjusting to the darkness until you spotted his figure sitting underneath a tree that was naked of leaves. 

“Following me, y/l/n?” you could hear the ennui in his voice, and it made you halt your steps. Maybe it was the glee from the October evening that led you to follow him, or maybe it was the dissatisfaction of not knowing how it felt to feel his lips on yours that made you come down here. Pursing your own lips, you took a step back hearing the crinkle of leaves under your foot as you twirled to march back up the hill you practically ran down. Draco sighed, “you can stay.” 

You were thankful that it was dark outside, the grin on your face practically glistening at his words. You sat crossed legged in front of him, feeling the October chill kiss your cheeks as his eyes gazed at the stars above you. While his eyes were lost in the nature that surrounded you, your eyes were on his face, taking in every fraction of it up close. How the eleven year old boy with an innocent smirk you met a number of years ago had morphed into the exhausted looking seventeen year man sitting in front of you. His pale face was separated with dark circles hoovering beneath his eyes, his pink lips were chapped and the speck of blood on his bottom lip indicated that he must have been nibbling on them recently. 

When the oddly comfortable silence became too much for you, your fingers digging into the grass underneath you, you breathed out a sigh gaining his attention. It was as if he forgot you were there. “Did you have fun tonight?” you asked. 

Draco scoffed, his eyes rolling, “I hate Halloween.” 

“How can you hate Halloween?” you questioned, your jaw dropping, “It’s practically a holiday dedicated to us!” 

“It’s a holiday dedicated to pretending to be someone you’re not, how incredible,” Draco drowned sarcastically. 

“Have you never wanted to be someone that wasn’t you?” Draco was stunned at your question, and he so eagerly wanted to scoff and question why would he want to be anyone else, but when he caught sight of your curious eyes, he became speechless. He stared at you like he did in the Great Hall previously, but instead of the lifeless stare that you were accustomed to at this point, his eyes were filled with sorrow and sadness. Of course he wanted to be someone else, the more he thought about it, he’d began to accept the fact that he wanted to be anyone but him. At the mere age of seventeen, he had so much responsibility resting on his shoulders, missions and tasks that he wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone about. He felt as if he was drowning. 

“Draco..” you breathed out, your breath fogging underneath the moonlight. Draco barely heard your face, he only came back to reality when he felt your soft, warm hand rest on his cheek and he jumped back in fright. “Hey, it’s just me..” you whispered, wiping the stray tears that were leaking from his eyes without him realising. 

Draco scrambled away from you on the grass, and you let your hand drop from his face. The spot you touched tingled as he stood up from the ground, fixing his robe that was draping off his shoulders. “W-why are you here?” he spat at you, his eyes twitching. 

You remained on the grass, looking up at his worried expression. You wanted to have an explanation as to why you were suddenly drawn to him, but you didn’t even know. “I-I don’t know, Draco.” 

Draco. Draco. Draco. His name that barely passed his ears lately felt like butterflies and fireworks falling from your lips. All he heard these days were Malfoy, no one addressed him as Draco anymore and he didn’t realise how much he needed to hear it, it grounded him. “Say my name again,” he mumbled, barely audible but from the raise of your brow, he knew you heard him. 

You stood up from the grass, taking a hesitant step towards him and you waited for him to jump away from you but he didn’t. You closed the gap between your bodies, his breathing racing as he watched every move you made. Lifting your hand to his face again, he let himself relax underneath your touch and his eyes fluttered closed. “Draco,” you said softly, the twitching of the corner of his lips motivating your next move. His stature was slightly taller than you, making you put all your weight on your toes as your lips touched his cheek, “Draco,” you repeated, your lips moving down to his jaw, “Draco..” 

You gasped as his hand suddenly gripped the wrist of your hand resting on his cheek. He opened his eyes, a confused look swirling beneath the blue but you never got the chance to see beyond the confusion before his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. You stumbled back at the impact, but he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you. Your lips moved in sync, the kiss rapid and intrusive. He pushed your body up against the large tree trunk, your head hitting the bark and your breath hitching in your throat. “D-Draco,” you stuttered against his lips, trying to push him off you to catch your breath, “What are you doing?” 

“I… I just wanted to feel something,” Draco mumbled, almost feeling guilty for kissing you and his eyes casted downwards. He tried to step away from you but you clasped your fingers around his wrist and stopped him. He glanced up at you, the swollen lips a reminder of seconds before. 

“How did it feel?” you asked, a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. 

The overly confident and obnoxious man that you once knew was nowhere to be found, seemingly lost in the October breeze. When Draco resulted in silence as his answer, you closed the gap again and connected your lips in the second kiss of the evening. This one was more delicate and you could tell he wasn’t expecting it, it took him a moment to kiss you back. Your hands slipped into his, your fingers intertwining as you lost yourself in his touch. He broke the kiss, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, “It feels like a new life,” he finally answered, his heart hammering against his chest, “but please answer this, will you forget about it in the morning?” 

“Never.”

[sunmoonchanlix]

Verdict on Changjin now?

Hello and thanks for the Ask! This Ask was submitted before the VLIVE they just put out. I will wait for English subtitles. But it already looks noteworthy!

After their 2 Kids Room episode... my verdict is that SOMETHING happened between the two of them in the past and maybe continues to do. The way they talk throughout... I didn't even think these two were this close but here they sound like a divorced couple somehow wanting to rekindle their relationship.

Changbin with wanting to protect Hyunjin from like bugs or something if they were deserted on an island.

Changbin wanting to bench press the bench Hyunjin is sitting on as Hyunjin would just want to rest while on vacation.

When Hyunjin says, "If I go on a trip with someone and they bother me... I wouldn't go with them." Then Changbin gets LOUD and does a HUGE expression when he says, "Seo Changbin's not that kind of guy! I'm not that type! I'm not like that at all, Hyunjin!" And he angrily rolls up his sleeves.

When Hyunjin says he doesn't mind going on a trip with anyone, Changbin says, " With anyone? Okay. You can go with my mom." Hyunjin pauses, shocked. Changbin jokes, "You don't like her?" And then Changbin says "Mom! You even made him jangjorim and he's ungrateful!" There is definitely another layer of story to explain more here!

When Hyunjin teases Changbin about always being in the living room on the PC instead of his PC in his own room Changbin says, "It's not about what I do at home, it's about who I'm with at home." And then Changbin pokes fun at Hyunjin for living a solitary life in his room.

Changbin notes that he's the clingy one in this pairing and strangely questions why he should be the clingy one when he's wanted by a lot of people anywhere. Hyunjin asks why Changbin clings to him then. And Changbin says he can't stop because Hyunjin has that charm. This whole exchange was🤨🤨🤨

Hyunjin says, "There are a lot of people around you that want to be your friend, and you have lots of friends too. They all reach out to you first and say, 'Where are you, Changbin? Come out.'" And Changbin says, "I THINK IT'S BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE YOU YET." They briefly laugh and it cuts. This dialogue exchange translation doesn't seem to make that much sense in English because it goes from Point A to Point F out of nowhere.

After the cut, Hyunjin says, "People don't really look for me." And Changbin says, "I have a thirst for you." Again, this English translation seems weird because Hyunjin is explaining something and then here's Changbin suddenly coming onto Hyunjin. I want to know if this exchange in Korean is as literal as it is in English. Because it's been pretty damn suggestive in English so far!

It took at least the 9:45 minute mark, but Hyunjin's knee and Changbin's thigh finally end up touching and they'll continue to remain touching sometimes throughout. And then Changbin rests his hand on Hyunjin's leg.

In Hyunjin and Felix's episode, Felix had mentioned a self-portrait of himself drawn by Hyunjin that hangs on his room's door and I mentioned that these two are queer best friends and really close. In Changjin's episode, Hyunjin is surprisingly so pressured and so scared to mess up a self-portrait of Changbin. So that really raised some flags for me.

When Hyunjin raises concern that he doesn't like giving gifts because people would pretend to like it, an annoyed Changbin says, "Is that what you think our relationship is? I don't pretend.".........."I wouldn't say 'This is horrible.' 'My favorite little brother devoted his time to drawing my face. That's such a great present! No matter the quality." Has Changbin always made it known that Hyunjin was his favorite younger SKZ member???

They get physically closer and closer as the interview goes on especially at the 13:20 mark.

Hyunjin's ending note to Changbin: "Changbin, let's stay good friends! Keep up the ab exercises you've been working on!"

Changbin's ending note to Hyunjin: "My magic lamp Jini, my only wish is for us to be by each other's side forever and ever❤️"

I'm weird out because I see the similarities in Felix and Hyunjin putting on their poker faces and trying to be as low key as possible. And then I see their respective counterparts in Chan and Changbin and how Chan lovingly dotes on Felix and says some of the gayest things possible like being soulmates and using pickup lines on Felix and how now Changbin lovingly dotes on Hyunjin and says some of the gayest things possible like being thirsty for Hyunjin and having him meet the mom.

If people have any more Changjin videos I should look out for, please send them by way, so I can start compiling for stronger evidence support! Thank you!

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

I hear you like prompts? Well I am well known for. The List. *unrolls scroll* sick fic, jealousy, fighting suitors, hostage situation, hypothermia, use of safe word, spa day, ruddiger v Hugo

AO3

It’s midday by the time Hugo finally deems his companions worthy of his company.

They’ve been staying at a small estate in Galcrest, with some friends of Nuru’s family who were kind enough to put them up for the weekend.

The last few trials have been grueling--if Varian’s being completely honest--what with the cave of mirrors and the hall of memories haunting Nuru’s nights and Yong’s smiles and Varian’s everything. So a break in what their gang was affectionately nicknaming “the air kingdom” seemed in order.

The first few days go by fine--Nuru drags Hugo out to the marketplace, talking shop about swords and armory to her heart's content, while Varian and Yong scour the countryside and set off fireworks in the clear skies.

It’s exactly what their group needs to get back on track--a little rest and a lot of free time to relax and get to know one another better.

Then Hugo shows up for breakfast one morning and all of Varians’ optimism flies out the window.

“Whoa, are you sick?” Yong says, popping his head out of the pantry. “You look terrible.”

Hugo sends him an irritated glance. “No,” he says and then immediately sneezes. “I’m not sick,” he says, peevishly when they all continue staring at him in silence. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling rocks.

Nuru places a hand on his flushed forehead that he immediately swats off. “You’re burning up,” she says with a frown. “Did you leave your window open last night?”

“More likely that he got it from town,” Varian mutters. He seems to remember a kindly merchant lamenting about his daughter coming down with a spring cold. Dammit Hugo.

“I’m going to heat up some soup,” Yong says decisively, already making a bee-line for the cupboards.

“I don’t need soup.” Hugo literally cannot sound any more like a sulky pre-teen right now. “What I need is for you all to stop ganging up on me.”

“What you need is a doctor,” Nuru mutters.

Hugo turns his scowl on her.

“How about this,” Varian says, once again playing diplomat between his two best friends, “Hugo eats the soup, and Nuru doesn’t make him see a doctor.

Hugo and Nuru continue to eye each other for a moment before Hugo mutters out an annoyed “fine.”

Varian has a feeling that today is going to be an exercise in not dumping his best friends.

____

About three hours into the “Hugo is pretending that he’s not sick” fiasco, Nuru has decided she’s had enough.

“I’m taking Yong to town,” she says, wrapping a scarf around the younger boy. “If the idiot won’t see a doctor, than I’m at least going to get him some medicine.”

Varian, who was the person who had to deal with Hugo throwing up in the bathroom half the afternoon, privately agrees.

“Is there anything I should do?” he asks, not exactly sure what to do with sick people. His dad never got sick and Rapunzel had about a million physicians taking care of her whenever she contracted some illness or another.

“Try and keep him in bed. I also left some tea leaves in the kitchen, if he feels up to drinking anything.” Nuru adds, halfway out the door. “I know you want to kill him most of the time, but it would be most inconvenient to hide his body.”

Varian rolls his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he says, dryly.

He doesn’t actually plan to antagonize Hugo--let alone kill him. Despite the fact that the blond still manages to annoy him on a daily basis, he’s also kinda friends with the guy now.

They’ve fallen into an easy companionship with mutual banter and annoyed antics that usually have their friends up in arms, but it works for them.

Besides, the guy just looked far too pathetic, dry heaving in the sink this morning, to give him a hard time.

A few minutes after Nuru and Yong leave, Varian makes his way to the room Hugo is staying in. At first glance, the place appears empty--bed unmade, small sitting area absent of life--but after a quick scan of the large room, Varian finds him.

Hugo sits on the window seat. His legs are drawn up under him and his head rests against the wall. The breeze filtering through the open window brushes his hair back from his forehead and makes the open collar of his white, unbuttoned shirt, fluttering slightly.

Something about the sight of him--flushed, exhausted, unguarded--twists something in Varian’s stomach.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking too loudly in the quiet.

Hugo doesn’t turn his head, but his shoulder inch up slightly. “Hey,” he says back, eyes glued to something outside the window.

Varians’ eyes narrow in on the gooseflesh raised on the skin of his neck. With a sigh, he snatches a blanket off the bed and goes to Hugo, draping it over his shoulders.

Hugo turns his head at that, blinking up at him owlishly through round glasses. “Oh,” he says, like he’s just noticing Varian’s here. Which is concerning. “Thanks.”

Varian shrugs a shoulder, throwing himself on the other side of the window seat. It’s a large enough space--or maybe Varian’s just short--for the two of them to sit without touching. Not that Varian’s thinking of touching him.

An uneasy silence--on Varian’s part, at least--falls over them as Hugo continues to stare blankly out the window. His usually brilliant green eyes are glazed over, enhancing the flush that’s spread from his face, down his to his neck.

He sniffs a couple of times, nose wrinkling.

“Nuru wants you to drink some tea, I think,” Varian says, tapping his fingers against his knee nervously. “I can go get some for you if you wa-”

“It’s fine.” Hugo’s voice carries no intonation. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Varian says, in a very measured voice. The last thing he wants to do is upset the guy right now.

Hugo’s eyes shut. His lips press together tightly, but not out of anger. He looks like he’s just barely holding it together, and Varian doesn’t understand why.

Or, maybe he does. Varian used to be very open and free with his emotions, but over the past few years--since everything in Corona with his dad, the amber, Cass--Varian has gotten used to putting up shields around his heart. Vulnerability was a very scary thing, especially with those you cared about.

Hugo didn’t seem to be the type of person who liked to show weakness.

A particularly chilling breeze brushes through the window. It’s enough that even Varian is shivering at it’s touch.

He reaches out slowly and gently pulls the blanket around Hugo tighter. Hugo’s eyes open at that, watching Varian with an unreadable emotion.

“I think you should lie down,” Varian says.

Hugo shakes his head. “Can’t.”

“Hugo-”

“The bed’s too soft,” Hugo exhales, sounding embarrassed.

Something in Varian’s stomach twists painfully. The year after prison hadn’t been easy, but most of it was just getting used to being able to walk around without having the entirety of Corona’s military breathing down your neck. The other half was getting used to how soft his threadbare bed in Olde Corona felt.

Varian gets it. He doesn’t know Hugo’s story yet, but he gets it.

“Lie down here then,” he coaxes, one hand coming up to cup his neck. It’s warm--too warm. The worry simmering in Varian’s gut flares.

“What, on you?” Hugo snorts, sounding--if for a moment--a bit like himself.

Varian feels his own face flush about as badly as Hugo’s face is right now. “Would it make you feel more comfortable?” he asks, voice pitching up high.

Hugo’s stares at him hazily, the fever most likely getting in the way of his higher processing powers. “Yeah,” he says, looking not quite all there. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And then he flops face first into Varian’s lap.

Varian lets out a surprised laugh, one hand going to his hair. “Okay then,” he says, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Mmphf.”

Varian snorts, coaxing Hugo into rolling over so that he can at least breathe. “Why do I put up with you?” he mutters, more amused than exasperated for once.

Hugo blinks a couple of times at him. “It’s weird,” he says at last. “You’re weird. I’ve never had someone who’s wanted to put up with me before.”

Varian’s hopes Hugo can’t tell his heart just shattered into about a million pieces. “Well, you do now,” he says, easing Hugo’s glasses off his face and delicately placing them on the nearby end table. “You have three people, in fact, who are willing to put up with your dumb ass.”

The blond squints up at him. “But you were first. That’s-” he gestures gracelessly with one hand, “-that’s important.”

Varian smooths his hair back from his forehead, mentally taking note of the amount of heat coming off his flushed skin. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Hugo’s eyes close. “You keep doing that. Surprising me.”

“Well someone has to knock your ego down a few notches.”

A ghost of a grin. His eyes open again, almost as if he’s worried Varian has left in the few seconds he stopped looking.

“Hugo, go to sleep,” Varian chides. He runs his fingers through Hugo’s hair again, hoping it will draw him into sleep. “I can continue to surprise you tomorrow.”

“You’re surprising me now,” Hugo mumbles, but he’s becoming more and more pliant with each pet of Varian’s fingers through his hair. “Don’t go anywhere, ‘kay?”

Varian swallows. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “Now go to sleep.”

Hugo’s eyes finally drop shut, breath evening out. Varian leans back against the wall, one hand in the blond’s hair. The weight of the other boy is both grounding and sends strange flutterings to Varian’s stomach that he doesn’t understand.

Hugo lets out a small snore in his sleep. It’s adorable. Hugo’s adorable, Varian realizes, much to his horror.

Another breezes brushes in through the window, setting the white, transparent curtains afloat in the air. Hugo shivers slightly, curling up closer around Varian.

His face is pressed somewhere between his thigh and stomach, one arm wrapped loosely around his torso. Varian runs his fingers through Hugo’s soft hair again and comes to two realizations simultaneously.

Varian has feelings for Hugo. Positive feelings. Fluffy, mushy, fluttering feelings that reside somewhere between his aching heart and the butterflies in his stomach and Varian wants to cry or throw up or maybe kiss the dumb blond until those feelings settle themselves.

Hugo might--a very, very tentative might, because Varian isn’t great at reading other people at the best of times--just might have feelings for Varian. Maybe.

That’s important, he had said, eyes glazed, pupils dilated, lips parted. You keep doing that. Surprising me.

Varian shuts his eyes. Yeah, he’s totally and utterly fucked.

[sayonarasanity]

Chance With You

Summary: It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

Link to AO3

notes: for the first part of this story I was kind of inspired by this ask. I highly recommend you to check that out as well also for Hanji's short hair see this post

A house, surrounded by some young, some old trees and green grass, with a little garden outside colourful with flowers, herbs and vegetables of different species. In the morning, the birds chirp just beyond his window, they welcome the new coming day with a melody in their tongue. The sun illuminates the sky brighter as if it had a mind of its own and it thought that a world after a gruesome war, painful sacrifices and unreasonable hatred deserves to shine more. 

The familiar touch of warm fingers traces the line of scars on his face while he is still half-asleep, lying one side of his face buried on the pillow. The fingers move upwards to comb his hair back, then they slide downwards to his bare shoulders, to the space between his shoulder blades where old, pale wounds are inked permanently. Then a pair of lips are pressed on his temple, they are warm, and the touch is undeniably real. If it wasn’t, he would pray for it to go away, to disappear. Because if it wasn’t, ripping his heart out of its place would be less painful to open his eyes to the empty side of a twin bed.

“Morning, handsome.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. Insomnia post-war still has its fair share of control over him. It is like a friend that he never intended to be close to, yet he is stuck with it inside the same cell in the same prison. 

But Levi post-war had something else against it. Someone else, a third one in the cell to be accurate. 

She presses her lips on his shoulder, and he half opens his right eye then shifts his head a little so that he can see her properly with his only functional, left one. Her dispersed, brown hair is the first thing that comes into his view. Then her eyes, one wounded like him and the other glittering with the daylight and her smile when she rests her head on her pillow. 

“Hey,” he says with a rusty, morning voice. 

Hanji reaches out with her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb caresses the scars again, goes over his blind eye then fixes his brow. “How romantic,” she sighs. “We match like broken glass.” Then her hand moves down to his undercut, her fingers warm on his rough, shaved skin. “Maybe I should get an undercut too.”

He touches the old scar on her left eye, and then her hair with his three remaining fingers. It is shorter than before, now it ends a little below her ear, curling on her nape. “It would suit you.”

“You think so?” she asks a mischievous smile shapes on the corner of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he tries to suppress the smile, but his lips move slightly, nonetheless.

“Armin and Onyankopon will come for a visit today,” Hanji says.

“For what?”

“They said they had something to show us,” she shrugs one shoulder. “And that it was a surprise.”

Levi cannot think of anything. Nor his or Hanji’s birthday are close, or any holiday is on sight. Levi wonders if it is Gabi and Falco’s doing. Though as far as he knew they were away, travelling. 

He raises himself on one elbow and gets his face closer to her neck to press his lips on her skin. “How much time do we have?” he murmurs as he puts his right arm next to her head to balance himself and intertwines their fingers with his other hand while leaving another kiss to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she sighs as he kisses the sensitive skin under her ear. “An hour or so, I guess.”

“Good enough,” he whispers and finally catches her lips with his own. 

-

“Good morning, Captain,” Armin greets him when he steps inside the kitchen. He wears a black suit; his hair is combed neatly, and he carries himself with a maturity the war he had to face so early in his life and his age has brought about. There are no traces of the insecure, irresolute boy upon him any more. But his smile and the shiny blue eyes are still the same. 

“Morning,” he responds as Onyankopon and Hanji follows Armin into the kitchen. They all gather around the kitchen table. He is not a captain or anything anymore, but he lets it slide whenever Armin or one of the other kids call him that. It feels nostalgic and works well as a reminder that everything that had happened wasn’t a daydream or a shitty nightmare but an unfortunate reality. 

“How do you feel, Levi-san?” Onyankopon asks, sitting across from him. He too wears a suit, a light grey one and has a matching bowler hat on his head. 

“Not bad,” he says sipping from his tea. 

Hanji serves their visitors two cups of tea then sits down next to him. “He actually means, I feel very good and I’m glad to be fucking alive, Onyankopon. Thanks for asking, what about you?”

Armin hides a silent chuckle behind his fist, pretending to be coughing while Onyankopon smiles and even laughs quietly. “I’m great, thank you.”

“Good,” Hanji beams.

“Stop translating me,” Levi says, glaring at her. “We speak the same fucking language.”

“Yes, we do,” she approves then adds, raising her brows with a knowing look. “But they don’t.”

“Tch,” he grunts and then sees the two younger men watching them with a weird expression on their faces. Half smiling, half questioning. His body tenses without control, and he grips the arm of the wheelchair. “Armin,” he decides to ask, just to be sure. “Do you see Hanji here?”

The blond boy blinks in confusion and stares at Hanji for a few seconds. “Yes, of course, Captain. She sits next to you.” 

“Right,” he sighs. 

A hand slides slowly on his back, drawing circles on top of his shirt. It immediately does its magic. His strained body relaxes under her touch. “No need to be confused,” Hanji explains, and Levi doesn’t look at her, but he just knows that she is smiling. “He is just making sure that I’m not a ghost and he hasn’t gone batshit crazy.”

Levi nor approves or rejects this accusation as he quietly proceeds to drink his tea. No one plans a murder out loud. 

“Well,” Onyankopon starts, he sounds a little nervous and when Levi looks at him, he sees that his expression is also the same. “Don’t worry, Levi-san. She is as real as the greys in your hair.”

The hand on his back stops its movements, Armin freezes with the teacup half lifted to his mouth, his eyes are wide and terrified and for several seconds nobody even dares to fucking breathe.

Levi feels Hanji’s body shaking. He knows she is trying to suppress her laughter. Onkankopon opens his mouth, ready to explain himself. “I didn’t—” 

“It’s okay,” Levi cuts in. “They both mean that I’m still fucking alive.”

-

They go outside after breakfast to see what Armin and Onyankopon came here today for. Levi had only been getting used to the midday sun dazzling his vision when he heard Hanji shrieking with joy and excitement.

“Is it what I think it is?” She exclaims bending over a black thing that he had likened to a wheelchair. He doesn’t understand the reason why she is so thrilled over it. 

Onyankopon joins Hanji to explain the gadget while Armin stays next to him. “The hell is that?”

“It is a special wheelchair, Captain,” Armin explains. “Hanji-san had told us that you were sick of being pushed everywhere and we had been thinking about a solution. It took a while though,” he says sheepishly. “We’ve been kind of busy. But it’s finally completed and ready to be used.”

“This was her idea?” Levi asks, watching the excitement radiating through her body. Especially her eyes are shining even brighter than the sun hanging on top of their heads. 

“Well, kind of.” Hanji sits on the wheelchair, curious idiot, and presses upon some things on the arm of the chair then screams when the thing suddenly moves forward on its own. Levi blinks his eyes, surprised. “I think she didn’t want you to feel like you were being a burden to her, so she didn’t directly ask for this, and to be honest I already had an idea in my mind when she had talked to me. So, yeah, this happened.”

Levi continues to watch Hanji who is moving forwards, backwards and to the left and right. Laughing and smirking like a child in an amusement park. “It’s amazing!” she yells. “Armin, you are a genius!”

The boy laughs and clears his throat seemingly embarrassed. “I’m glad you liked it, Hanji-san.”

“Levi!” she jumps up, and walking to where he is, she catches his hands. “Come on, you have to try it!”

She helps him get up from his wheelchair. “You know I can still walk on my own, right, four-eyes?” It takes quite an effort though, but he can. 

“Don’t ruin my only excuse to touch you in public, shorty,” Hanji replies as they take slow steps towards the other, more technological wheelchair.

“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he says.

“Oww,” she coos. “How sweet of you—”

“Because I don’t want to be touched,” he goes on as he sits down. “In public.”

“Cruel, old man,” Hanji mutters, shaking her head. 

“I’m not old, I’m only in my forties,” he objects, glaring at her. “Stop acting as if I’m a walking funeral.”

“Yes, of course, grandpa,” Hanji pats his head and Levi slaps it away. 

Hanji and Armin quickly show him how the thing works and apparently it doesn’t require much of a genius to understand. He pushes upon the buttons hesitantly at first, moving only inches here and there as the three of them watch him expectantly and with an annoying curiosity. It is actually quite useful, at least he won’t need Hanji to push him whenever he wants to go out for some fresh air or he won’t need to overuse his arms. It is also more comfortable, and there is even a place on the arm to put his teacup. 

“Did you like it?”

Levi looks up to see them expecting his answer. Hanji was the one to ask the question, yet it is obvious that the other two are also waiting to hear what he has to say. “Yeah,” he says causing them to take a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“I’m so happy to hear that you liked it.” Onyankopon smiles and Armin nods.

“Come on now, take a stroll.” Hanji claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s see what this baby is capable of.”

Levi had been planning to just do that. There is enough space in the yard to test the machine properly. However, before he sets on to do what Hanji has offered, he looks into her eye, intensely enough for her to frown and her expression to change into confusion. Armin and Onyankopon had already started to talk with each other and are too much preoccupied to realise what is going on. So, with that bringing him more courage, he brings one hand down and pats his knee.

She is quite surprised and a little embarrassed as a cute flush colour her cheeks and she laughs nervously, combing her hair behind her ear with one hand. “Okay.”

“Have you put on weight?” Levi questions when Hanji sits down between his knees and curls her knees to her stomach. She secures herself by putting her feet next to his leg.

“Shut up,” she chides him and wraps an arm around his neck.

He holds her by the waist with his left arm, just in case. “Ready?”

She nods and sends him a toothy grin. “Always.”

Levi presses upon the button and they move forward. There is no hesitation in his control as the machine goes faster this time, stumbling when the wheels go over some rocks or little bumps on the lawn. Hanji is ecstatic. The wind ruffles her short hair, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

“Why have you stopped?” Hanji asks, and only then does he realize that they aren’t moving anymore and that he had been staring at her thinking how fucking lucky he is to have this, this thing which is called love.

Rather than answering, he holds her nape and brings her face closer, resting her forehead against his. Then closes his eyes and inhales the smell of the soap they share together, and the odour of the tea leaves still fresh on her breath. 

He feels the moment her body melts, as her fingers touch his neck, and her thumb caresses his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just checking.”

She laughs quietly, then leans in for a brief, soft kiss on his lips ignoring the fact that they are being watched by two of their former subordinates. Levi uses that moment to press on one of the buttons which quickly swirls the wheelchair to the right with a sudden movement. The kiss is over in a second as Hanji yelps then laughs heartily tilting her head backwards. The sun shines on her skin, and a butterfly flies around her head, fluttering its wings.  

And despite all those years that had passed, and despite the places, they had seen during the last few years Levi is still positive that it is the best fucking sound this crocked world has to offer. 

   That was just a dream.

Levi stirs and blinks his eyes open, then almost immediately winces at his stiff neck. Curses at himself as he lifts up a hand to massage the skin. He had fallen asleep on the couch again with the TV open. His mother would’ve killed him if she were here. Good thing he had moved away for his job. He is still too young for this shit.

Accepting the fact that he has to deal with a stiff neck for the rest of the day he sits up reaching for the remote control. 

That was just a dream, says Michael Stipe on the TV. The clip is almost over and the song fades. Just a dream.

He turns it off.

It is almost five in the morning and there is not even a drop of sleep left in his system. He walks to the bathroom yawning and stretching his body. His neck and shoulders crackle and he wrinkles his face. “Goddamn.”

He washes his hands on the sink and then his face, getting rid of the crust around his eyes. After that, he uses a towel to dry his face, and when the towel covers the right side of his face and his right eye, and he stares before him to the mirror he stops.

Bits and pieces of strange images slide inside of his head, a man around his forties who is sitting on a wheelchair, a blind eye, a scar running up and down one side of his face, a woman with short hair and bright eyes, a house with a garden, the sound of genuine laughter, the feeling of—

He drops the towel to the side of the sink and breathes heavily. His fingers touch the smooth skin on his face absentmindedly and he stares at his reflection. And his, thankfully still functioning blue eyes stare at him back, like they have no idea what the hell is going on. He checks his right hand to see all of his fingers are in place. Then he bends a little and slaps his leg, taps his foot on the ground for good measure. 

“Huh,” he murmurs then. “Weird.”

Shaking his head, he settles on the idea that whatever he had seen was just a bizarre albeit a little too much realistic dream and sends it away to the back of his mind. Although he realizes that after remembering it, he feels somehow lighter. It is similar to the feeling one gets when the winter quietly recedes, and the trees start to give life to little flowers. That feeling of being lightweight and carefree even if it is just for a little while.

He takes a shower.

When he sits back down on the couch after the shower with a cup of tea in his hand, he opens his laptop to deal with some unread emails piled up in his inbox. He leaves the tea on the coffee table, next to his phone and puts away the towel he had been using to dry his hair. 

Minutes later, when he reaches for the cup, he catches the moment his phone lighting up with a new notification.

 Are you awake? The text says.

Taking the phone in his hands he taps, what do you think?  

It takes only a second for his phone to start ringing. “Hey,” he opens the call. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve only just woken up,” she says but her voice sounds clear, dispersed of the sleepy roughness like she had been awake for a while. “Had a dream.”

“Bad one?” he asks as he takes a sip from his tea, his eyes scanning his laptop screen.

“Well, not really but kind of.” A pause, like she is lost in thought, then she adds. “I saw you.”

Levi hums, approvingly. “Naked?”

She lets out a loud, heartfelt laugh. “Oh my God, Levi. No,” she giggles breathlessly. “It wouldn’t be a bad dream if you were naked, you know.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “What was it then?”

“It was weird.” She stops again for a few seconds. “Like really weird.”

“You should tell me first if you want me to believe you, Hanji,” he says, not quite seriously. 

She sighs. Then there is another pause which is relatively longer. Levi knits his brows and sits a little more upright. Something is wrong.

“What is it—”

“You were sitting on a wheelchair,” Hanji spills eventually, and the words die on his tongue. “And there were scars on your face. They were like war scars like you were once a soldier, a veteran. And—and you looked peaceful but also a little sad too. I don’t know. You were also older. Then there were two young people with you and a tall man. I don’t really remember their faces. I think you were travelling, you looked like tourists though I am not so sure but I-" she breaths fast, she hasn’t stopped talking for a while. “I wasn’t there.”

“Hanji,” he manages to say, despite the fact that he feels like he is choking in his own breath.

“It felt so wrong,” she goes on with a thin, frail voice. “I remember how I felt in the dream. I wanted to reach you, but I couldn’t, I tried to call out to you, but you didn’t hear. It was almost like… like I was a ghost. I was invisible. I was so desperate to just be with you and it felt so damn wrong that I wasn’t.”

“It was just a dream,” he whispers when he finds his voice. His body is frozen like he was paralyzed by something he had no control over. 

“It felt so real.” He hears the tremble in her breath, and he notices how tight he had been holding the teacup. It is almost a miracle that it hadn’t been shattered to pieces yet. 

“I had a dream too,” he decides to tell her.

“Oh?” She sounds interested and he is relieved to hear that her voice is back to its natural tone. “What did you see?”

So, he tells her the dream, not leaving much out except for the things he remembers himself feeling. She listens without almost a sound. He only occasionally hears her gasps and thoughtful hums and the quiet rhythm of her breaths. Only when he tells her that one of the men's in his dream was looking suspiciously similar to Armin, she adds thoughtfully that now that she thinks about it, the man in her dream was very much like Onyankopon. He flicks his fingers, of course, the other man was Onyanokpon. Though the identities of the two younger people remains a mystery.

When he finishes she is silent for a while. Possibly thinking. 

“Hey, Levi,” she says, at last, drawing him out of his own deep thoughts. “Do you think we might’ve lived another life together?”

He examines the keyboard of the laptop for a handful of thoughtful seconds. “I don’t know,” he replies, honestly. Frankly, it is not that much of a long shot. “Maybe.”

“I don’t remember anything, though,” she continues. Levi imagines her lying on her back, watching the ceiling, her dark hair scattered on the pillow. “Do you?”

He almost says no, but then he recalls the dream again, and the way her skin reflected the morning sun, how her laughter touched the forgotten, drought lands in his heart and how lucky he felt to have her right beside. “I remember loving you,” he blurts, surprised even himself.

For an uncomfortably, and terrifyingly long second, she doesn’t respond. He chuckles, somewhat nervously. “Too much?”

“No,” she breathes. “No, it’s not. I just didn't expect you to say something like that.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “Tell me about it.”

“So, what do you think?” She asks, shifting the matter masterfully. “Which one was real?”

“How would I know?” 

“Might be both,” she reasons. “Alternate realities and all that.”

“Yeah,” he mutters and shrugs although she can’t see it. “Why not?”

“Weird.” Levi holds the handle of the teacup and taps the table absently. “I wonder what happened. In my version, you know. Did I die before you? Maybe I was a soldier as well.”

Levi doesn’t like that possibility. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth but considering the two obscure dreams, it is likely. “You had a scar on your eye,” he says remembering his dream. “You most probably were.” 

“Oh,” she sighs woefully. “Sorry for leaving you alone, then.”

“Yeah. Sorry for letting you die.”

She laughs. “Well, you probably had no other choice.”

He runs a hand over his face. What the actual fuck they are talking about in the goddamn wee hours? “Hanji, this doesn’t make any sense. Seriously, go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. I keep remembering the dream. I wish I had seen your version.”

He wishes the same too, to be honest. “Forget about it. Just sleep.”

“I can’t forget about it,” her voice comes muffled, like a part of her mouth is pressed upon her pillow. “You looked so fine with that scar.”

He pinches his nose but cannot stop himself from grinning like a lovesick fool for the life of him. “Idiot.”

“Would you like to hear something disgustingly cheesy and cliché?” She asks, drowsily.

“No.”

She goes on as if he had never talked. “I’m your idiot.”

“Dear, fucking Lord,” Levi struggles very hard to keep his laughter inside. “Just sleep already.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, she is most probably about to fall asleep. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, you will see me today.”

“Right, good, good,” she sighs, sleepily. “Later, then my handsome, my shorty, my one and only.”

“Dumbass,” he says affectionately but she is already snorting on the other side of the line. 

[payherprice]

12.

“You agreed to do what.” Sif says, more accusation than question. 

“Kill a wraith.” I answer.

“In exchange for what.” 

It's also not a question, but I think it annoys her when I answer.

“An unspecified amount of silver, and possibly some information about the castle I have been seeing in my dreams.” 

I can tell Ketil feels much the same as Sif but seeing as he did encourage—nay, compel—me to meet with the duchess, he has rightly decided to withhold his judgments. Sif has no such restraint.

“Do you want to die?” 

Remarkably, this one is a question, and I try my best to explain myself.

“This seems to be what the Raven Queen wants me to do, what she sent me here for, and at the same time I can stay on the good side of Powell and make some money. It made perfect sense to me.”

We argue for a time about my choices and how they are bad, and then about how I did not even ask how much silver, which, fair, and finally onto more esoteric topics, like whether or not one can even kill a wraith. Somewhere along the way it stops really being an argument because we can't seem to stop making each other laugh.

Later, we retire upstairs to Sif's room, our room, having given up the other one after that first night together, and with our quarrel behind us we move on to making up, vigorously, by candle light. 

I like that part a lot, and I like the part that comes afterward, when I lay curled in their warm embrace. I have always thought making love was something you do with those you are in love with, and it is, but it is also something you do with those you want to be in love with. You build love, brick by brick, with your bodies. I was not in love with Ketil or Sif when we started but now there is a foundation and who can say what might one day rest atop it.

We are woken early the next morning by someone rapping on the door. With the curtains drawn the sun can only throw a few narrow columns of light onto our walls, blindingly bright against the plaster. 

“Yes?” Sif calls out, as she draws the blanket away from her face and peers around through half lidded eyes.

Through the door comes the muffled voice of the innkeeper's son. "Excuse me. I hate to wake you, uh…”

“It is fine, Ewin, come in.”

The door opens just enough for the boy, whose name I have just learned is Ewin, to stick his head in. He blushes a little at the sight of the three of us, intimately arrayed in bed. 

“Uh, the man from the other day is back, he’s asking for you.” He says, addressing me.

“Thanks, Ewin. You can tell him I will be down in a few minutes.” I reply. Ewin’s cheeks go positively red when I say his name and he quickly excuses himself.

“I think the boy likes you.” Ketil remarks.

“I'm very likable.” 

I roll out of bed, enjoying the feeling of the cool wood beneath my bare feet, and move to the wash basin. I fill it from the jug beside and for a long moment I just watch the ripples and the way the water sparkles against the hammered metal. I don’t really want to go anywhere or do anything today. I just want to stay here in this room and pretend it's the world. Instead I splash my face with water, using the cold like a prod to push me into motion. I dress, hesitating for a moment as I decide whether or not I should wear the sword.

Sif scoots herself back into a sitting position on the bed. A sun beam falls across her head, making her white hair glow like a halo.

“You should bring the sword. Intimidate that little weasel of a man.”

“Hey! I like weasels.” Ketil interjects.

“You’re right, that was unkind of me. I apologize to weasel kind.”

I take her advice and strap the sword belt around my waist, spending frustrating moments adjusting it. The oversized tunic was well enough before, but now the excess fabric bunches annoyingly around the straps holding the scabbard and I have to pull it this way and that to get it to sit right.

“Agrippa, my patron, is hosting a feast tonight. I am going and I would like you both to come with me and meet him. I’m very fond of him, and I think you’ll like him too. Also I hear there will be roast pig.” She tries to sound nonchalant about the invitation, but underneath there is a tone of apprehension betraying how important it is to her.

Ketil speaks up immediately. “I would love to go.” I would love to go anywhere with you, his expression seems to say. An expression Sif returns.

“You had me at roast pig.” I say, but I mean much the same thing.

As I am coming down the stairs I see the man from the other day sitting in the foyer in the same place as last time. As before, he is well dressed and well groomed, yet something in his manner spoils his efforts, some hollowness to him. He rises when he sees me, a bit like a marionette, slack strings suddenly pulled taut.

“Good morning. The duchess has instructed me to deliver this to you, for your expenses.” 

He reaches into a little leather satchel he wears on his belt, beside his dagger, and pulls out a small pouch which he passes to me. It’s heavy in my hand and peering inside I find it full of silver aurs. 

“The duchess is generous indeed.” I say.

“As she said. Now, as thrilling as it is to come all the way up town, again, I shall bid you good day.”

“One thing before you go. I am in need of some new clothes and I was wondering if you could tell me who makes yours?”

The slightest sneer passes over his face. It only lasts an instant, but it's enough to help me understand what I did not before. Though his function is that of a servant, he is not like we were at the Red Tower. He is a man of position, carrying a measure of the authority of the duchess, and is used to being treated with deference by those of lesser stations. Such as myself. 

Understanding this, I feel less guilty about disliking him.

“There are several excellent clothiers on Lower Shade street. Albrecht’s is well regarded.” He says. He does not say it's the shop he goes to, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Thank you.”

“I’m gratified to have been of use. Truly, this additional delay has given meaning to my entire morning. If that is all, I will take my leave.”

He departs immediately, leaving little time for a reply, and from behind me I hear the heavy footsteps of the innkeeper's son.

“You know, Ewin, I really don’t like that man.” I say.

“Me neither. Gives me the creeps. If he comes around again, you want me to tell him you're out?” 

“That might be for the best.”

Setting out into the city, with all its confusing complexity, has me feeling ill at ease. Knowing that I will have to find the creature, while it tries to avoid being found, in a warren such as this would be a nearly impossible task without magic. Even with magic, how do I home in on a thing I know nothing about? In the past, I have not been the sort to be mired in doubts, but increasingly I feel adrift in something beyond me. Only it doesn’t have to be. I just have to become more than I am now.

It's a long walk from the inn’s quiet, relatively out of the way neighborhood down to the busier market streets on the south side of the city. As I draw closer the background noise changes to that of craft and commerce. The pounding of hammers and the clinking of coins. The rapid speech of negotiations played like a game, with a winner and a loser. Even the streets change underfoot, from the irregular cobblestone common on the north side of the city, to closely fitted flagstones, smooth and even. My shoes make a pleasant tapping noise on their broad, flat surfaces, and that too becomes a characteristic of this part of town.

With Ewin’s directions Lower Shade street is easy enough to find. A city green planted with trees runs down the length of it, splitting the street in two, and on either side are well appointed shops, their brightly painted signs swinging gently in the breeze. It’s somewhat less chaotic here than around the stalls, as a slower kind of business is conducted here, but it’s still crowded enough to make me a little uncomfortable.

I find Albrecht’s a little ways down, and looking through the window I see that it’s teeming with customers, some being attended to by a flock of apprentices, while still more wait. Typical of more successful shops, the master is nowhere to be seen.  

Seeing the crowd inside, anxiety gets the better of me and I decide to continue down the street in search of a less busy shop. A little ways on a sign catches my eye. It shows a crudely painted knight with a flowing, bright red surcoat. The sign is affixed above the door to a cramped little shop, narrower than a pair of carts.

Stepping through the doorway into the small workspace and shop front I am confronted by shelves overflowing with stacks of loosely folded garments and bolts of cloth. One side of the room is dominated by a cutting table, where an older woman with short gray hair is marking chalk lines and curves on a lustrous yellow fabric. On the other side of the room a young woman sits, nearly buried by the gown she is sewing.

The older woman looks up from her work, giving my outfit a once over before setting her sight near enough to my eyes that most people wouldn't be able to tell she was avoiding them.

“Can I help you, young man? Though by the looks of you, I would say those clothes were made for someone six inches taller and nearly twice as broad, so mayhaps I have my answer.”

Something about her directness helps me to relax just a little and I nod, and then, feeling the need to offer an explanation, I add, "I was invited to a feast tonight and wanted to look nice."

"Wooing someone?"  

"I think they are wooed already, or perhaps it was the other way around. I just don't want to embarrass them."

"Hmm, I think I can help you." She moves to the shelves and shuffles through various items as if in search of something specific. Incorrect ones are haphazardly scattered over furniture until she finds the item she seeks. She walks over to me with a black tunic, trimmed in violet, and holds it up against me to gauge the size. "I think this would suit you very well, with only a little fitting. You like it?"

I take the fabric between thumb and forefinger, feeling the texture of it, not too fine, nor too coarse.

“I do.”

“Tell you what. There is a baker a few streets down. Bring us back a loaf of bread, the kind with olives in, and some apples from the grocer, and by the time you get back I'll have this brought in for you.”

When I agree she takes a measuring tape where it rests on her cutting table and proceeds to measure my waist, shoulders, and bust, making no comment about my proportions. This woman's only interest in bodies seems to be in how clothes will fit them. It's kind of a relief. When she's finished taking the measurements she snatches up her chalk once again and, with a little backwards wave of her hand, shoos me out the door.

The bakery isn't far but in that short distance I pass apothecaries and booksellers and bronze smiths and more, all going about their business in that sort of chaotic, but peaceful way that markets seem to have about them. A glassblower works under a red and green striped awning, turning a pipe with a lump of glass on the end like a glowing blob of honey. 

As I draw closer I detect a pleasant yeasty smell in the air, and I let it lead me the rest of the way, and right up to the bakery’s counter. The counter is minded by a young girl, barely tall enough to get her arms over the top, and In the back I can see a burly man tending a pair of clay ovens. I buy a loaf of olive bread and a small square of spice cake, and when I pay I slide the coins all the way across the counter so she doesn't have to reach 

I eat the spice cake as I walk, savoring the buttery, syrupy glaze where it lingers on my lips. I pass a man sitting by a fountain, this one a statue of a nymph, water running down her body from a cavity where her heart would be. He plays the double flute while a few people pause their business to listen. I stop at a stall selling bricks of soap, scented with lavender, and ask the man tending it where I might find a fruit seller. He points me further down the street, past a cluster of stalls, to a place where the market thins out. A little spot of relative calm. I find the seller seated on a rug with baskets of different fruit arrayed out before her. As I pass her a coin for the apples, a lock of red hair slips free from her wimple and she tucks it back under with a finger. 

It’s as I am walking back, bread in one hand and apples cradled against my stomach, that She comes to me. Like a whisper at first, a subtle scent on the breeze, and then more and more and faster and faster, until she is all around me and I feel as if I am at the still center of an invisible and furious maelstrom. As if just beyond my skin there is a rushing current that could carry me away and drown me in raven blackness.

Do you feel that? The thrum? There is terror there, beneath and behind. Can you smell the blood? 

“All I feel right now is you.”

The sensation diminishes until it's just a faint presence at my shoulder, and I instantly regret saying anything. 

And now?

“I feel the city. The bustle of it. If I feel blood and terror, it's only the kind every city has.”

Look closer. Deeper. Every contact leaves its mark. Blood will tell the way. 

“Why are you here now, and not earlier? And what about later, when I find this creature?”

There are rules even I must keep to, limitations, but when you face the creature you will not be alone.

I want to ask her where she goes when she is not with me, but the presence is gone before I can, and anyway, somehow it doesn’t seem right to ask.

Returning to the old woman’s shop, I am lost in thought and merely stand in the doorway until she takes the food from my hands and pulls me over to a corner. She hands me the tunic and busies herself removing half finished garments draped atop an old, cloudy mirror. 

I am self conscious as I undo my belt to remove my old things and I quickly pull the new tunic on over my head. Having been apart for so long, I take a moment to regard my reflection. The eyes are not as they were, but isn't it always so? The person in the glass is never quite as we imagine ourselves. They were never that blue though. I admire the reflection's figure, their waist where the belt draws in the fabric, the line of the collar against their skin. This will do. 

I pay the woman for the tunic, and also buy a pair of gray trousers, and legwraps to bind them at the calves, and one thing more. Spied among the shelves, a wool cloak as a gift for Ketil. Green to match his eyes.

The sun has set by the time we arrive at Agrippa's home. It's not the manor house I expected but rather a half ruin of a castle. Enormous roots grow in and around a crumbled turret and from a caved in section of the roof emerges a canopy of leaves. The great hall has seen its roof sag and its stones shift, but repairs have been made with great strips of iron, holding it all together like stitches closing a wound, and from its windows there is a warm glow

“It’s older than the city.” Sif announces. “A small part of the great fortress whence it gets its name.”

The decay of the exterior is not evident once we are inside. Polycandela light the entryway and tapestries adorn its walls. In the center, on a pedestal, is a silver basin filled with water where we wash our hands. There is dirt beneath my fingernails, mystifying me, and as I wash I watch the fine particles, like coal dust, slowly spiral down through the water to settle on the bottom. When I look up, Sif and Ketil are already walking through the doors into the great hall and I half jog to catch up.

I come alongside them and we enter the great hall together. Inside, a crackling fire casts light and warmth over the other feast goers, seated around a long table. There are maybe fifteen people here, besides ourselves. Lords and ladies and the like, richly dressed in blues and purples and golds. Long flowing gowns and girdles adorned with metal plaques, their engravings glinting in the firelight. Daggers too, worn at their waists, to kill their fear of wraiths, or each other. I see no servants yet, but I know they are there, waiting to meet the needs of the guests as invisibly and silently as they can. 

We take our places in the final three seats at the far end of the table. Seated at the head is a man I take to be Agrippa. He has chin length hair and a neatly trimmed beard, both brown going gray. The facial hair accentuates his already pronounced cheekbones and, combined with the marks of age around his eyes, give his face the slightest suggestion of a skull. There is nothing threatening in his manner though, rather I see someone accustomed to speaking softly, or not at all.

Agrippa gestures to some unseen person through a door to his right and soon servants enter the hall carrying plates and jugs of food and drink. The centerpiece are platters of roast pork, as promised, its skin crisp and glistening with fat and slathered in a thick syrupy sauce, staining it the color of wine. They also bring pies and bread, plates of fish swimming in butter and platters of rice, yellow with saffron and steaming.

The dishes are passed around the table, with guests taking portions to their liking. Some hold that the host serves themself first, and from them the dishes are then sent along, but if anything the opposite is true here. Agrippa passes on dish after dish, taking nothing, watching as others serve themselves. 

As my turn comes I take two slices of pork and a small helping of rice and fish, nervous that I might take too much of something, and appear greedy or rude. After each one I pass the dish on to the man at my left, who turns to receive them, the motion producing a delicate clinking sound from the gold chain he wears about his neck. As I hand him the platter of pies, much depleted, I look at his face and he looks down his nose back at me. "You don't belong here," he seems to say, and I’m inclined to agree.

As we eat, little enclaves of conversation form amongst neighbors. The man beside me pointedly ignores me, and I am grateful for it. Ketil and Sif are company enough for me, more than enough sometimes. I concentrate instead on the food, which is excellent, and on what little fragments of conversation I can pick up. Most of the talk seems to be either about the killings, the solstice festivities, or various tedious trade concerns I can’t bring myself to pay attention to. 

I try to enjoy the meal, but I am continuously aware of servants appearing unprompted to tend to the guests' needs and then leaving again, unthanked. To Agrippa's credit, he does not appear to share the same level of entitlement his guests display. I watch as a serving woman approaches him to refill his cup, and they exchange a few words. The woman makes some remark and Agrippa smiles, tight-lipped in that endearing way one does when they don't really want to smile, but can't quite help it. 

I wonder if that kind of passing respect is enough for this woman. I want to say it wouldn’t be enough for me, to live for another’s destiny, but that's not quite true, is it? Am I not a servant even now, to one more powerful than I? Do I not crave her favor? I’m not yet sure what that makes me, but I'm in no place to judge either Agrippa or the serving woman.

When the meal is finished the table is pushed to one side, making way for music and dancing. People gather around the edges of the room, leaving the center free, and as the musicians start to play the eagerest guests, Sif and Ketil amongst them, abandon the periphery to wade into the center and dance. Pairs come together to join hands and twirl, and then break apart again and join hands with another, all the while singing some song I do not know. Through the shifting bodies, I see Agrippa, still at the edge of the room. He watches briefly, and then takes the opportunity to slip out unseen, save by me. I wait a moment longer before following after him, so as not to spoil his exit. 

The sounds of merriment follow me out of the great hall and down the corridor. I find him in his library, and what a library it is. The room is two storeys tall, with shelves packed with books reaching all the way to the top. Agrippa is tending the fire as I enter, and doesn't notice me until he turns. 

"Oh. Caught me, have you?" He says, completely deadpan, while brandishing a poker. "You'll never take me back so don't even try it."

"I wouldn't dream of it." I say.

He sets the poker back in its place and takes a seat by the fire. "Smart. In truth I don't actually like these sorts of things, but I try to play my part. You're welcome to hide here with me and wait it out, if you like."

I take the seat opposite, adjusting my belt so I can place my scabbard across my lap. His eyes narrow slightly as he scans over it.

"You're one of Sif's new friends, yes? How is she, really?"

"She's well, or so it seems to me."

"Good good.” He rubs his hands and regards the fire. “It gladdens me that she has some new people in her life."

"If you don’t mind my asking, how is it you came to know her?"

“We met a few years ago, in Dritasy. She was a street performer, entertaining passerbys for the odd coin. You know, I don’t think I had ever seen anyone move with such power and grace.”

I hear people coming up the corridor, and turn towards the door to see Sif and Ketil poke their heads in a few moments later.

“I had a hunch we might find you here.” She says.

Agrippa gestures to a couple more chairs, flanking a small table by one window. Ketil takes one and brings it over, but Sif opts to sit on the floor near the fire, and lean against the side of my chair.

“Had your fill of dancing?” Agrippa asks.

“Never. But I did want to see you too.” Sif replies.

“I’m glad you could make it and provide some relief from my social obligations, though I would not have blamed you if you opted not to be on the streets at night.”

“Because of the murders?”

“After a fashion. I think you're more likely to get stabbed by some damn fool lordling, jumping at shadows.”

“Luckily we’ve got this one looking out for us.” She says, reaching up to pat my arm. 

“What do you know about the killings?” I ask him.

"Well, the gossip, which I regret to say I am well versed in, against my will, is that it is a apparition, a specter, a—"

"A wraith." Sif volunteers.

"Just so. Vaguely man shaped. With claws, naturally. Have to have claws. From there the stories diverge, every teller has his particular embellishments. That lot can barely talk of anything else." he gestures vaguely toward the great hall, where his guests still make merry. "None of them seemed to care so much when it was only the poor being stabbed in our streets, but now it’s their own skins on the line. Rieg Verger, undermaster to the bookbinders, was killed right outside their hall and the men and women within didn't lift a finger to help him, just bolted their doors against his screams. That last bit might be a minor embellishment, but you get the idea.”

He shakes his head, emphasizing his disgust, and I wonder at his choice to associate with these people he disdains. The same thought seems to have occurred to Ketil. 

"You don't seem to like your guests very much." He says.

Agrippa doesn't say anything at first, and in that silence my ears prick up at another sound. The first tiny pitter patter of rain striking the roof, high above. A rivulet of water creeps down the window. It's joined by another little tributary and another, and soon the rain picks up into a steady shower and for a few moments we all just listen.

Finally Agrippa speaks again, his mood seemingly improved. "Forgive me, it must seem very uncouth to criticize them behind their back, even as I invite them into my home. Let us speak of something else. Like Sif’s bright future on the stage at the solstice festival.”

We chat until long after Agrippa’s other guests have left and the fire has burned low. The rain never abaits and, at his insistence, we end up agreeing to stay the night. 

In the darkness of his guest room I try to imagine myself a current in the air, swooping and diving and cutting like a knife. All black wings and potent intent. Eventually, lulled by the soft breathing of my companions and the steady sound of rain beating on clay shingles, I fall asleep.

I dream I am in a purposeless room. An empty cube with doors in every wall. Something about the place scares me, like there is some hidden danger here. I know she's standing next to me, and I try to turn my head to look at her. The turning is slow, as though within that arc there is an infinity of room and I feel a growing sense of foreboding, like the heavy feeling of a dream about to become a nightmare. It builds and builds and I have to force myself through it, pushing down the fear because I have to know. I have to see her. And then somehow I break through the feeling and there she is. A woman, a little taller than me, with dark hair and dark eyes. Beautiful and sad. She is looking back at me and the corner of her mouth curls up into the slightest of melancholy smiles before looking away.

[hakutaichou]

[TC] Kiss Day

🦋🎹 This one-shot novel was created by @nachi_neko4 [ 那智♘🦋] (Nachi) on Twitter. Nachi-san, thank you for giving me a permission to translate your wonderful novels. 🎹🦋

Source: here

Illustrations by @hasu_koipro [ はすの ] based on this one-shot novel: here.

⛔️PLEASE DON’T REPOST! ⛔️

Warning Letter from Captain Gavin: “Suggestive!”🚨

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“It’s pretty crowded...”

I heard there’s a new bar which has a good reputation, so I came to try it out, but the inside of the bar was more eye-catching than I expected. While being a little overwhelmed, by the people who enjoyed drinking all over the area, I looked around.

Blue lights dropped on the white-based counter with stools, as if you were in the deep sea, not surprising that I can feel a mysterious and cozy atmosphere here.

When looking further, there’s a wide open floor in the back there, on the contrary, the lighting was dimmed, and changed the color-based of the table seat to black.

In the space reminiscent of the deep sea, the dartboard mounted on the wall gives off a faint light and looks like a moonlight that illuminates the sea at night.

 “Indeed, it’s a neat bar”

I sit down at the counter for the time being, and ask for a low-frequency cocktail. It's almost time for the appointment with Lucien.

The moment I took a sip of the beautiful purple liquid that shines in the atmosphere of the bar, a smartphone that I put on the table trembled.

Lucien's name shows on the screen. It may not be heard clearly in a lively atmosphere like this. I should go outside once..., I stood up without looking behind me, which was my fault.

“Ahh!”

“Eh!?”

I didn't think that there was someone right behind me.

The liquor from the glass that belonged to that person who tried to avoid me was spilled, and wet his clothes.

“I’m sorry!”

I hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief from my bag and tried to wipe his wet pants, but...

“Huh..., seriously?”

I think I've heard that certain voice from somewhere.

It can’t be... . And I try to raise my head.

“Shaw!?”

“You’re too noisy, I can hear you even if you don’t make such a loud voice like that”

He is in a bad mood with a big face. I can clearly tell it.

“Why are you here?...rather than that, your clothes!”

The amount was less than I expected, and it didn't get soaked so much. But I'm the one who's wrong here, and when I tried to wipe it, he suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Eh, hey, let me go”

“What should I do with, this. I have an important business talk after this”

“That’s why I’m trying to wipe it! I can’t wipe if you don’t let my hand go”

“Do you really think it’s your fault?”

“It is!” 

“Hmm...In that so, you should take responsibility properly”

“I’ll take it!...huh?”

Tit for tat.

No, it may be a little different. However, I regretted it a little bit because I said it with force.

“I’ve heard it well. you’ll listen to what I say, won’t you?”

“How come? I didn’t say that I’ll listen to you, and I have a promise…”

“What if I have a promise too?”

If it came out, it would be lost for words.

“Okay. What should I do?”

“I want you to say this. You’re pretty ugly”

“Huh!?”

I didn’t know since when he was in a good mood, as if he was enjoying it, Shaw smirked and looked into me.

“Wait, first of all, let go of my arm...”

Shaw tried to shake off my grabbed arm and pulled it hard, as taking advantage of my reaction, he narrowed our distance.

“Besides, you’re surprisingly bold”

“It was…!”

“You can leave that aside, right?”

Suddenly, a familiar voice fell overhead, and I was strongly drawn to the back.

“Lucien!”

His large chest catches my back, and a warmth slowly relaxes my body.

“I’m sorry, but. She has an appointment with me”

In front of Lucien who lives casually, Shaw bluntly says “The trouble has come”, but he still happily raised his eyebrows, and put his hands which had lost their place into his pocket.

“Or, did she do something?”

“I think you've seen it all, don’t you?”

“So?”

“Of course, she’ll take the responsibility and go out with me after this, don't you mind?”

“If I said I refuse?”

“Don’t answer the question with a question. It’s so annoying”

“You’re the one who returned it first”

“Hmm--- damn. If so, that. Let’s compete using that”

Shaw pointed to the darts, on the back of the floor with his chin.

“Hurry up”

Shaw, who didn’t hear our answer, started walking away. Lucien said nothing and walked along while holding my waist.

“Lucien...”

“It’s okay, don't worry about anything.”

“But, you don’t have to do this competition”

“What are you babbling about?”

Shaw is already standing in front of the dartboard, pretending to throw his soft-tip dart.

“Even though I know, but if I win, you have to go out with me today”

The tip of the dart caught me, and I took a deep breath.

“Hey, even if you didn’t do this thing, I’ll pay your cleaning fee...”

When I said that, Lucien’s hand was stretched out in front of me, which made me unable to continue my words.

“I’m pretty impatient without coke”

“You, are a veteran, aren’t you? I can see it. I won’t be kind to a guy like you”

“What a coincidence, me too. In that case, what rules do we use to compete? Count Up?, or Zero One?”

“We won’t do such a troublesome thing like that. The one who can lands on the triple 20 is the winner"

“That rule is simple. Alright, I don’t want to spend my time for doing this thing either”

“It helps me that you’re a fast learner”

“I’m honored by your kind words”

Shaw laughed at Lucien’s irony, he held the tip dart diagonally and threw it with a clean, lean movement towards the dartboard.

One-throw, two-throw with an alternative throw, both of them got their specific target without difficulty.

Meanwhile, I can only stare at the battle between two people without knowing it. Seemingly I was unconsciously clenching my hands, but suddenly I thought that Lucien’s gaze stopped at me, he approached me, grabbed my hand, and gently dropped his lips onto it.

“Lucien…”

“Don’t be so nervous. Leave it to me”

When I was dozing off by his words, he laughed softly and this time he kissed my forehead.

“Wha, damn. I missed it.”

When I raised my head towards Shaw’s voice, the tip of the third throw was slightly misaligned and stuck near the border of the next area.

“When someone is throw dart, you’re flirting with her, you don’t have any manner huh”

“For someone who doesn't understand common sense, need something like that?”

As Lucien said that, he threw a tip in a flowing form and brought it down accurately.

“I win”

“Huh, okay-okay, I got it”

“Ah, wait, your cleaning fee…”

“I don’t need it, it’s already dry. But...I’ll take you away seriously next time.”

The moment we passed each other, there were whispered words that only I could hear. My heart, which should have calmed down a little, is pounding again.

“Wha...what was that…”

“He, didn’t seem to be serious about the competition”

While I’m stunned, Lucien sits down and sits me on the table’s sofa.

“It was my fault for getting his clothes dirty, even Lucien got involved...I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t have to worry about it anymore. Instead, my throat is dry so maybe we should drink something”

Lucien stocked my head and called out to a waiter who passed by.

“Even so, it turns out that Lucien is also good at darts”

“A little bit. I haven’t done it that much, but I knew it as knowledge.”

“Eh? That’s why you took that competition!?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to lose. Of course, darts needs skill, but psychological tactics are more important. Especially for amateurs.”

When he smiled, he pretended to think for a moment.

“That’s right. Would you like, to bet with me?

“Huh, a bet?”

Suddenly, the dark lighting is further darkened.

When I raised my face, I met his face at a close distance in front of me.

I couldn’t find his gentle eyes until a while ago, and his gaze pierced me.

A long, manly hand rests on the back of the sofa, and I can’t move because I’m surrounded. No, maybe even without it I can’t move either.

“Lu, cien...”

“If I brought it down in the middle at once, you are mine forever. ...okay?”

A slightly lower voice echoes near my ear, and flows into my brain.

“What, what if, you miss it?”

“It won’t”

He went to the front of the darts, he held it up and threw a tip without hesitation in the blink of an eye.

A tip dart that makes a rattle noise.

As he said that he won’t miss, the tip pierced the center as if it was sucked in.

“With this, you are mine forever”

He put his hand on the sofa again, his other hand entwined my back hair. Even though I said we’re still in the bar, Lucien kissed me and entangled his tongue deeply.

“Hghnnn…, Lu…”

“Did you think I wasn’t jealous? I might look envious, but I'm actually greedy, didn’t I already say that before?

His finger traces my wet lips. A slightly stiff fingertip followed his chin and slowly slipped down to my neck, involuntarily leaking a small moan. 

"Tell me, who do you belong to?"

"I’m, Lucien's..."

Answering with trembled lips, Lucien squints with full satisfaction, and his faintly illuminated, lustrous lips draw an arc.

"Good, you did it well"

A kiss dropped again.

I saw a waiter behind him who brought a drink, I hurriedly pushed his chest, but he didn't intend to stop kissing me.

[Extra]

"What a shame, are you shaken?"

When Shaw leaves the bar, someone calls him out from the darkness.

It's the same voice he heard in the bar before, but he knew that the owner of this voice was different without looking at it.

"No matter you or her, have a bad personality huh" 

"We're not same each other"

She fluttered her black one-piece dress, and when she lined up before he knew it, she enlace her thin arms as if she were always doing it.

"What are you going to do?"

"Hm, pretend to be a lover?"

"Go ask somewhere else"

"Uhuh, you're so cold"

While saying that with her mouth, her arm can't be unraveled. Her slippery, delicate hand slowly lowered, overlapping Shaw's hand and clenched it tightly. 

"Give it to me normally"

"Why not. Sometimes this kind of thing is fresh, isn't it?"

"I don't need that"

"Oh, mannerism isn't that good, you know?"

When Shaw tried to let go, she was drawn and stretched, closing her eyes and waiting.

"Where's the reward?"

Saying that happily, there's no sign of movement.

Another girl passed by in Shaw's mind for a moment, irritated and drowned out, he dropped a kiss.

With a rough bite, Shaw squeezes a piece of paper in his hand and push it into his pocket.

"...Satisfied?"

"Yeah, because I saw your suffered face"

"Who is suffering? you got it wrong"

Shaw, turns his back while waving his hand when he is done with it.

"...You weren't, the one who tried to break your promise first"

That woman in one-piece black dress' voice, didn't reach him.

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🧾Permission Note🧾

Nachi-san: Hello, good evening 😊 Thank you for your love! Translation! It’s so amazing ∑ (๑ºдº๑)!! It's okay if you include the source 😊👌

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Hasuno-san: Hello, Thank you for the message😊If you post it so that you can understand it as the work I drew, that’s no problem. However, the works published on the R18 list are not allowed. I’m sorry💦 I’m glad you translated this! Thank you😊

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