#emergency like you may have to drop a class or two but king we WILL get you this degree like YES YES YES sending emails has paid off for

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

YES YES YES ONLY MY DEAN IS MAD AT ME AND A BITCH ALL MY PROFESSORS WANNA SUPPORT ME SO I WONT FUCK UP MY LIFE ITS HALLOWEEN AND MY BESTIE AND I ARE GONNA WATCH THE HALLOWEEN TREE TONIGHT!!!! ITS ALL COMING UP KAED BAYBEY!!!!!

[andieperrie18]

Your Endgame

So this is requested by@raginghellfire. I haven’t written in a while due Uni and busy classes but I hope I did a good job on this. UwU Dami might be a bit OOC but I really think he is a passionate lover when he falls in love.

Bruce Wayne was one tough cookie. Unlike Tony, he held shackled himself with the responsibility of protecting Gotham city from its baddies that he barely let himself enjoy his life. He too cares for children very much but he wasn't as hands-on being there for them. He wasn't always there in those best events in their life to congratulate them that greatly hurt them. It would seem that he just adopted these children as soldiers for his endless war with crime, that they were nothing but expendable assets. But he does love them and had just recently been trying to reconnect with all of them.

Tony Stark had always let his child have free reign over their life but he never leaves the passenger seat. He will always be by their side no matter what choice they make. He was never strict as he was a free soul but he grows and understands responsibility everyday after returning from Afghanistan after being held captive. He wasn't a perfect father but he did try for Y/n, good thing for him is that she understands responsibility earlier made it easy for him to be there for him.

Bruce Wayne was notorious for being a play boy, same goes to Tony Stark. Both men has had another of flings that the paparazzi didn't miss to see. It took quite a while before two of them finally found out the true meaning of true love. The one decided to settle down while the other chose his job over attaining a lifelong happiness and peace.

Some of the Wayne kids also had their own flings through out their lives. Some had more the two and some, just one. Just one cause when the second came, they were their endgame.

---

The bright city lights of Paris slightly seeped in the glass panes of the balcony doors of the room. Across it was a king sized bed with undone sheets and two people underneath the high quality comforter. Damian and Y/n sat with backs against the head board, the latter former resting his against the latter's figure. His head slightly buried on her neck as her fingers combed through his bed hair her other hand around his bare chest.

"I'm pretty sure that photo reached them already," her voice echoed around the slightly dim room.

Damian hummed, "It did, which earned me quite a number of miss calls from my family,"

Y/n giggled that he found contagious making him do the same.

"I'm going back to Gotham in two days but I don't think I'm ready to leave your side yet," he snuggled his face on her neck, placing butterflies kisses on them. Her eyes close, a flutter vibrates within her chest as she pulled his head closer. Placing her lips on his head. Damian pulled her seated figure closer to his own, his face snuggling closer to her skin.

"Can I just postpone the flight for another month?" he mumbled, sending tickles on her skin making her giggle.

"Dami, you said that 2 months ago and you already bought a ticket home,"

Damian never whines but after almost two years of being in a relationship, there are certain childishness he had suddenly unlock being with her. Y/n laughed at his childish wiles as it send tingles in his stomach, he loves it when she laughs because of him.

"Besides, I already scheduled mine and my seat is next to yours, you can't expect me to have an empty seat beside me?"

Damian's head shot up from her neck, his eyes staring at her. Y/n bit her lip containing a fit of giggles after seeing his eyes sparkle like a child getting a new toy. He slumped his faced between breast.

"I really love you."

"And I really love you too, Dami,"

---

And probably the biggest public figures is youngest Wayne child and the eldest Stark Child. The most controversial couple that reached ears all over the world. No one knew of their relationship as until the paparazzi caught a picture of them kissing at Champ de Mars near the Eiffel tower. The news made use of the quote, "Pictures speaks a thousand words" rather well. Some are heartbroken by the news but the biggest people taken surprise by the news were the Wayne's.

Clicks and flashes surrounded the long trail of red carpet that lead to entrance of the Wayne manor that held another gala. This time it was a celebratory occasion for the youngest Wayne's return from a long vacation that he took a almost 2 years ago. A break he took after a rather peaceful yet melancholic break up with titan's member. Damian suddenly decided to toss the towel and told his Father that he doesn't want to be like Bruce, alone and brooding. He needs to breath for a while to which his father did not hesitate to agree. Bruce loves his children, he may not show it but he does.

A Grey matte Porsche 911 parked its way at the end of the carpet making some of the photographers to  it, awaiting the celebrities that will emerge.

"Do you think they'll like me? I mean Dad isn't really in good terms with Bruce Wayne you know," Y/n  eyed the silhouette of the Wayne manor and the crowding paps at the cat walk. This wasn't the first time she came to a Wayne gala, its just that this time she was going to be introduced as Damian Wayne's girlfriend.

The emerald eyed Wayne gently took her chin to meet his eyes. A gentle smiles grew from his lips.

"They will, beloved. I know they will because I love you," his voice said laced a such a tender tone that no one ever thought he could have.

A love sick grin emerged from her once doubting expression before she pressed leaned for a quick peck to which he returned in an instant. They pulled away with both of them sharing the same cheek tinted grins.

Damian emerged from the driver's seat followed by the loud camera clicks and calling reporters. He simply gave his signature Wayne smile before turning to the other side of the car to where Y/n emerges with the same celebrity like smile that she inherited from her father. From the moment they set foot on the carpet, the paparazzi just got louder and rather pushy that made the guards push them out a little harder.

"Mr. Wayne how'd you meet Ms. Stark?!"

"Miss Stark, how long have you two been together?!"

"Miss Stark look here!!"

"Mister Wayne! Look here!!"

To say that the paparazzi were going crazy would be an understatement, as they were going mad-crazy as the couple walking the catwalk is the biggest confirmation to the news that a union between the Wayne and the Stark has occurred. If they could only get to the couple to ask some, more like a bunch of questions would be the cherry on top of the new news for next day.

Upon entry within the Manor, their arrival turn heads and silenced chatters.

Y/n M/n Stark, the matriarch of the Stark Industries inheriting the nickname, 'Merchant of Death' in Manhattan. She was a much smarter tinker as she assured no such case like her father's long captivity ever happened again and all Stark weapons are heavily protected and can only be handled by the military hands.

Damian Wayne was no CEO but is a COO of the Wayne Enterprises. Helping his brother Tim in managing the affairs in the company. It's bad enough that the male is overdosing himself with caffeine while handling their nightly hero affairs, he was still his brother no matter how much they quarrel. Damian was willing to shoulder long painstaking meetings for him just to let him have a day off.

To see the two of them together would expresses a union.

Their matching outfit theme elevated the curiosity of all the attendants of the gala. Damian's slick three piece burgundy check suit made Damian look sophisticated but neat. Every young lady around the room were welcome to gawk at his figure as he glides with his partner. Y/n's own green gown greatly complimented his with its shade of green, its shape hugging her figure naturally that she loved. Every young man had their eyes on an emerald.

It didn't take long before the couple reached the group of people they are meant to meet. They didn't miss their wide eyes and dropped jaws. Y/n may be a stranger but they could agree that she is a beautiful stranger.It was only when Damian spoke that they have gained awareness of their surroundings.

"Good evening father, everyone. It's nice to see you all again," Damian began with Y/n holding on to his shoulder.

"I gotta say demon spawn you grew quite a lot for just two years," Jason earned a slightly hard nudge from Dick. Damian may have grown but he still has a tick with Jason's nicknames for him.

"Don't mind him Damian, why don't you introduce your company," the eldest said as he slightly push the white streaked hair male behind him that earned a look from his father.

Damian didn't say anything on the nickname thing and proceeded to introduce her which earned quite an awkward atmosphere on his family's side while the couple remained at ease in their presence.

"Stark its nice to finally see you again," Tim entered as he brought his hand out to which the woman took generously.

"Good to see you too Drake, and good evening to you too Mister Wayne,"

Bruce went forward to shake her hand, "How is your father by the way?" he asked.

"He is doing well, he's living by the countryside with my sister and mom," she replied with a smile.

"So he's settling down?" Bruce asked, quite surprised.

"Yes, he said life is short and he intends to spend it living it with us," She continued to which earned a bit of awkwardness with Damian's siblings. It was a rather sensitive topic but they didn't speak of it any further.

---

Damian had to separate himself from Y/n to help Tim a bit on the company. Seated by the bar, with his two brothers and his father, it was quite a company.

"How long have you two been going out?" Dick opened as you turned to him.

"We've been together for almost 1 year and half years, but we didn't started dating until six months later after we met,"

"We're you aware he just got out of a break up?" Jason raised.

Y/n took a sip of her drink, "I did, that's why I didn't let him to be with me until I totally confirmed that I was not a rebound,"

"And how do you know you aren't just a rebound for Rachel Roth?" Dick asked this time.

Bruce didn't say anything as he wasn't very much in touch with his son's relationship, but he did know that he loved her, Damian wouldn't risk his life for anyone if he did. As much as he wanted to stop Dick from pulling a rather sensitive topic on a person he just met especially when that person is someone close to his brother, he wants to know if the girl was just a fling. Y/n was known to have a number of flings before Damian came in to the picture.

"Damian is not mine to claim, whether I am a rebound or not, I still love him, you can try to make me say what we are having is just a fling but I know one thing," her tone was authoritative but calm.

They were doubting Damian's judgement with her relationship with her. Its not like she wasn't aware that he dated a co-worker of his. He was his first love and Y/n knew she might not be his last but she sure prays to whatever ethereal being that they last.

"I love him. Whether you believe me or not, I will always do even if he chooses her over me,"

Damian was her everything.

---

By midnight, Damian said his good byes with his family. He didn’t miss the slight look of sadness in her eyes so he took her away from his brothers' company. Damian was sure that they said something but she chose to protect them by not telling him anything.

When they got to the parking lot as they got to their car, Damian stopped and had Y/n face him. Before she could ask, he had already latched his lips on her. Giving her an ever so passionate kiss they always share. One that he always felt like he was having his first kiss the first time.

Y/n circled her arms around his neck before they broke off, forehead resting against each other.

"I may not know what went on between you and my family by the bar, but I want you to know that I love you. You may not be my first but I am deathly sure that you are my last…" he whispered to her.

[new-sandrafilter]

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The Making (and Re-Making) of Timothée Chalamet

BY DANIEL RILEY / PHOTOGRAPHY BY RENELL MEDRANO

He found superstardom and artistic acclaim instantaneously. Now, with unique candor, the actor of a generation reveals what it’s like to come of age in our very upside-down era.

The day after the Oscars in 2018, everything that had changed, changed back again. Timothée Chalamet had spent the previous months becoming known. He had acted in a film, Call Me by Your Name, which was critically acclaimed as well as an instant object of cultish admiration—and his performance had made him, at 22, the youngest person nominated for best actor in 80 years. He had, simultaneously, been transformed into the rarest of pop confections—fawned over by younger women, older men, and every demographic in between. And he had traveled without pause on the awards circuit since early autumn, back and forth from New York and Los Angeles, practically living out of the first-class lounge and the lobbies of the Bowery Hotel and the Sunset Tower.

But the day after the Oscars, the moment the clock struck midnight and his carriage turned into a pumpkin, Chalamet was right back where he'd been before the whole fantasy had begun: in New York, with no credit card, no apartment, and no longer any structured demands on his time and attention. Outsiders who had witnessed the arrival may have regarded this 22-year-old as being in possession of wealth and clout, but he was suddenly back on his own dime, which amounted to maybe five or six dimes, reticent to stay with family and friends whose lives he felt he was disrupting with all his new baggage. Of course they couldn't possibly comprehend the chemical reaction that had just transpired. They were still hydrogen and oxygen, and Timothée Chalamet was all of a sudden water.

And so, for three weeks, he disappeared into the wallpaper of the Lower East Side. Specifically, the wallpaper of a little apartment that the French street artist JR kept for visiting collaborators. Chalamet holed up against the ugly New York weather of late winter, and did the only thing he could think to do: learn lines. The King would be his first film since his pivot into fame, and he was anxious to get back to acting after such a long stretch of merely talking about acting. Even more, he needed to blot out the unrecognizable icon the internet was already beginning to make of Timothée Chalamet.

I met Timothée for the first time at the onset of that initial blush of fame, when all of us were being introduced to an actor who had both rare talent and the un-engineerable it that chings like an audible sparkle off a jewel in a cartoon. I wrote a story for this magazine about that first chapter in the arrival of a film star. This is the second chapter, the story of what's happened since. It wasn't evident yet, but those three weeks in New York in 2018 were the starting line of what would amount to a 30-month stretch of four new films, two new Oscar campaigns, some refreshing romance, an incessant awareness of the confusing image of himself as—what else to call it?—an emerging global movie star, and a constant concerted effort to figure himself out as both a young actor and a young person in the unceasing spotlight.

This summer, we were talking about all this on a little screened porch out back of a modest cabin in Woodstock when Chalamet recalled those three weeks. “My world had flipped,” he said. “But if I kicked it with my friends, things could still feel the same. I was trying to marry these two realities. But I don't even think I knew that was what I was doing. That dissonance was real. And thank God. Because I feel like if I'd caught up to it immediately, I would've been a psychopath or something.”

Out on that porch, I asked him a version of the same question over and over: What had the last two and a half years been like for him, as a human being? His response was a multi-hour monologue that I would characterize as: intense. He expressed unadulterated gratitude for his great good fortune. But he also expressed confusion and tension. He is firmly in a moment when he is concerned that everything he says or does or thinks will look or sound wrong. He backtracked a lot (“Wait, let me try that again”). He jumped on and off the record (“Sorry, sorry, sorry, this is just for you…”). It was important for me to know, he said, in order to communicate the context of his experience, if not the specifics.

.

“I want to get back to the undefined space again. I'm chasing a feeling.” 

He lives in the same world all of us do—only with the potential for adoration and blowback turned up to 11. He seems, at once, to trust his own instincts while also second-guessing most thoughts the moment he's convinced of them. It is an exhausting way to be. At times, when he was up on his feet, in his T-shirt and shorts, pacing around the little screened porch, hands tugging at his mane, I could feel the gears grinding to the point of smoke. He wanted so desperately to get this right, to express what he really meant, to feel the right feelings, to live the right way, to be the right kind of man for the people in his life that he knows he can and should be, despite everything else, despite the noise. He's doing his best.

Timothée had rented the house for the month of July, as a little escape but also as an opportunity. He was slated to play Bob Dylan in a new biopic. No telling when it might film, given everything, but for now he had more time to himself than he'd had in years, which meant time to maybe huff the vapors of some Woodstock Dylanalia. “It's not like I'm suffering from lack of connection otherwise,” he said, “but it just really feels like I'm connecting to something here.” When he arrived, he discovered that his little house had a wall devoted to Dylan—to the albums he'd recorded in the run-up to his timeout in Woodstock in the late '60s. Timothée relished happening upon that wall his first day in the Airbnb. The universe offered signs if you nudged it toward coherence.

He knew what the cabin might seem like—like some young actor taking himself way too seriously, “treating himself like an artist.” But he was back and forth between Woodstock and New York all month, bombing up and down the interstate in the Honda sedan he'd rented from Enterprise. (He learned how to drive on Beautiful Boy.) All the while Dylan was top of mind. Timothée was late to the party but helplessly obsessed. He quoted him generously. He fixated on both the art and the persona. He marveled at the way the artist could be out there so much, making such an impact, while also keeping the real person obscured behind the music, the characters in the songs, the language. In the city, we spent time walking around Greenwich Village, Timothée in an identity-concealing face mask and bucket hat and sunglasses, able to search out old Dylan addresses in an invisibility cloak. He ran from site to site, with notes he'd kept while reading Dylan's memoir, Chronicles: Volume One, barreling up stairs and peering into windows. He was a 24-year-old actor, taking advantage of the pause between the second phase of his career and the third and thinking hard, daily, about how to play the next few years.

He rented the house in Woodstock, too, so that he could have a little space all to himself. He craved the privacy to try things and to fuck up. To make small mistakes now, out of view, when it was just him, when he was still young, so that he didn't have to worry about it later. At one point, he stood up and slapped an empty water bottle off the table so that it clattered against the screen of the porch. “I want to know what that sounds like!” he shouted. He hadn't taken many missteps yet, and it made him uncomfortable, wary, that he would someday. The month felt like a controlled burn. In the most innocent way, that was what Woodstock was about. He got to practice his guitar and harmonica in peace, cook himself his “shitty pasta” without judgment, permit himself space to keep growing up. So much was in the spotlight now. But in that cabin, he could sit on the couch for a while and re-familiarize himself with “the crease in the cushion” that he'd lost touch with over the past few years. The quiet. The stillness. That sunlight there coming through the trees. He could breathe a little. Sleep a little. It had all been so good for him so far. But the goodness made him anxious. When will the other shoe drop? Not there. He'd deleted Instagram off his phone. He'd stopped posting on Twitter. He was reading again. Listening to albums all the way through. Slowing down. What was it like to have lived these past two and a half years? It was like a lot of things, but here at the end of it, it just felt good to sleep.

Back at the start of the 30-month run that led to Woodstock, Timothée turned over the keys to JR's studio and went to Europe to shoot The King. The role was like none of the films he'd just received notice for. “Here I am on set with all these Hungarian men with scars on their faces, and they're like, ‘You're the center of the shot, you're the badass! And we know you tried to put on all this weight, but like: You're wearing all the chain mail.’ If they took the chain mail off, my throat is still this big…” There he was trying to keep in perspective this new fame, this new validation, this new temptation toward ego, all while being thrust into the center of “something called The motherfucking King.”

When he returned to New York that summer, he skipped off the atmosphere again with another awkward reentry. One moment he was on the battlefield of the biggest-budget drama he'd yet experienced, the next he was “back in New York, on the A/C/E at Port Authority, just like, What the fuck is going on?” It was a pattern over the past few years. The calmly intense immersion into work, the “thud of lost purpose,” as he called it, when the work ended. It happened the same way in the fall of 2018 with Little Women—reunited with Greta Gerwig and Saoirse Ronan and the crew from Lady Bird. There was just an ease with which he plugged in with them, “a vocabulary of friendship” that existed there.

Timothée's career thus far has been filled with these sorts of friendships, notably those across generational lines. Even a casual observer may have picked up on it. Those glommings-on to older people in his life. Armie Hammer. Kid Cudi. Greta Gerwig. When I asked Gerwig to comment on the arc she's witnessed up close, from Lady Bird to Little Women, she wrote a note about “my friend Timmy”: “It's hard for me now, because I'm his friend, to see him strategically.… I love talking to him. We can get on the phone and talk for an hour or more without even realizing it, just skipping from subject to subject, making jokes, me feeling old and happy and him being funny and anxious and delightfully all over the place.” It's an odd gap he finds himself in—forced to be more accelerated than most 24-year-olds while also having not lived enough life yet to fit in absolutely with the people he enjoys spending time with most. On a recent visit with his grandmother in New York, she surprised him by saying, “I wish you would hang out with people your own age more often. It must be so weird.” It made him chuckle. Even she'd noticed. She might be right. But how could he resist the orbit of these creative geniuses he'd so long admired and who were filled with so much knowingness?

“I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles.”

In the winter of 2019, another Oscar campaign left him feeling disoriented all over again. Everything, Timothée said, was exactly the same as the first time except him. He'd put in this undeniable performance, but maybe one that sparked a little less for Oscar voters than that first kiss with a stranger. Now he was in all the same rooms as before, the same lunches and dinners and cocktail parties, shaking hands with the same Academy members who showed up at everything to get a little nibble of the freshest biscuit, growling ominous things at him, like: You don't have my vote yet.… “I really don't know how to talk about this stuff, man,” he told me, “because my experience of it is at the center of it. There's just some dark energy at these things, and this time around I felt like I could see it. And yet I'm thinking, Why isn't this going the exact same way?”

He wasn't nominated for Beautiful Boy, but the fresh air came, as it always seemed to, on the set of the next film: Wes Anderson's The French Dispatch. The movie is about a fictional English-language magazine (based on The New Yorker of the midcentury) and is structurally organized like the magazine itself, featuring short pieces at the “front” of the movie and a triptych of long features at the back. Timothée costars in the second feature, about a May '68-style student-protest leader named Zeffirelli and the middle-aged magazine journalist (Frances McDormand) assigned to report on his cause.

“I had seen Timmy in Lady Bird and Call Me by Your Name,” Anderson wrote to me, “and I never had the inconvenience of ever thinking of anybody else for this role even for a second. I knew he was exactly right, and plus: He speaks French and looks like he might actually have walked right out of an Éric Rohmer movie. Some time around 1985. A slow train from Paris, a backpack, a beach for 10 days in bad weather. He's not any kind of type—but the New Wave would have had a happy place for him.”

The privilege of early fame that Timothée most appreciates is the ability to choose the directors he works with. His role in The French Dispatch is a minor one, but it's a Wes Anderson movie—it's as simple as that. Due to the episodic nature of the film, some of the other “stories” were already being shot when Timothée arrived in Angoulême, a town that reminded him of the one he spent time in growing up, “so French it was like a caricature,” he said. Timothée had the opportunity, then, to hang with some of the elders he doesn't act with, like Jeffrey Wright, Bill Murray, and other seasoned members of the Wes Anderson troupe. “It was immediately as if it wasn't his first time with our group,” Anderson explained. “He was somehow already part of the family. The youngest member.”

Timothée had seen McDormand around for years, but he'd never felt like she was someone he could approach. “We'd shared an agent,” he said. “And it was no disrespect to me, but I hadn't been in any movies yet. What business do I have talking to Frances McDormand? But now, and this is the gift of acting, I really feel myself coming into my own as a community of thespians, as opposed to actors. And man, that sounds pretentious, but I just mean it's not about the fucked-up ladder of success and un-success, and being the guy or the girl, and then being off the list… That's not what I'm talking about with her on set, that's not what she's espousing to me. She's talking about a long career. She's talking about marriage with a creative partner and consultant. So to be able to have conversations like that and then a story line in the movie where they're kind of on an equal field? Even if she's an experienced, wise woman and he's an idealistic, naive boy? That's the exact relationship of exchange I want with my intergenerational peers.”

There's a particularly memorable scene in The French Dispatch, reporter and subject having fallen into bed together, when there's a knock at the door. Timothée looks at McDormand, anxious about who's there, mortified when McDormand informs him it's his mother. There, in that scene, we see all the desire of Zeffirelli—this energetic young man with all the right intentions, who strains to be intellectually and emotionally riper—clash with the reality of his age. It felt familiar to me, and no doubt to Timothée. It was some of my favorite acting in the film. I asked McDormand if there was anything in their scenes that struck her as particularly mature for someone his age. “Maturity is not something a fellow actor is the most concerned with,” she said. “Playfulness, discipline, and rigor. I do recall, during our scene in bed, the crew responding to his work with true respect for his focus. He was bringing it and we sat up and paid attention.” Anderson added: “I think my favorite moments with Timmy during a scene were the ones where I saw him pause and find a new attack. A new angle, which he does very clearly and assertively. What I love is how he will surprise you with something new, completely unexpected and perfect.”

One night, while McDormand was shooting a scene without Timothée, her husband, Joel Coen—he of the Brothers—asked Timothée if he wanted to go out for a steak. Over dinner, Timothée grilled Coen about Dylan. He knew Coen was a fan and had steeped in it on Inside Llewyn Davis. “He almost seemed weary of even talking about this stuff, it was so big and potent,” Timothée told me. But Coen noted that the truly incredible thing about Dylan was not so much the quality, which was obvious, but the quantity—the rapid amount of work in short succession, one groundbreaking album after another, in those early years. That takeaway resonated deeply with Timothée. Especially as he reflected on it from summer 2020, during the pause, during the moment of no work. That gush from Dylan made him want to work—harder, longer, better, more.

A week after our conversation in Woodstock, Timothée and I were in New York City, sitting on a bench along the Hudson, talking about what he's looking for when work resumes. “I want to get back to the undefined space again,” he said. “I'm chasing a feeling. When you think you're doing some great thing, it's probably something you've done before, and when you really fucking have no clue, that's when you're doing something on the edge, good or bad.”

Timothée's mask had slipped down his face as he was saying this, and two young women, about his age, approached cautiously. “Would you mind if we got a…,” they asked, and he hopped up without hesitation. “How'd you recognize me?” he said, friendly, but genuinely curious, as if he hadn't just been shouting about art in a voice that sounded a lot like Laurie from Little Women or Timmy from late-night shows.

“Was it the scrawny limbs or the hair?” I asked him as he sat back down.

“Definitely the first.”

From France, last spring, it was straight to Hungary—right back to the exact apartment in Budapest he'd stayed in while shooting The King—to start work on Dune. Very few actors had become as famous without a blockbuster. And while he'd really gotten it down how to act on an indie set, how to make every second and every take count, he knew this would be something altogether different. It wasn't just the shoot that would prove taxing. A film of Dune's scale would likely be the can opener to a whole other stratum of Hollywood prominence.

Director Denis Villeneuve told me Timothée was his “first and only choice” to play Paul Atreides, “the one name on the page.” When they met to discuss the prospect, Villeneuve told Timothée how happy he was to finally meet the young actor. And Timothée had to remind him that they'd met before, when Timothée read for Villeneuve's Prisoners. “ ‘Of course!’ ” Villeneuve remembered. “He did a great audition, but he didn't physically fit the part. He was probably swearing at me because I didn't take him.” Timothée was party to so many stories like that one—glancing interactions with these heroes of his before he'd broken through. It reminded me of the relationship between freshmen and seniors in high school. The freshmen remember everything about the seniors; the seniors hardly notice the freshmen. But we all become peers eventually.

“I felt there was one being on this planet right now that would be able to portray Paul Atreides,” Villeneuve said—referring to the hero of the 1965 Frank Herbert novel, who transforms from an unassuming heir into a messiah figure, a charismatic outsider and commander of men and women (and sandworms). I read Dune for the first time this summer and was shocked by the source material, how much I'd consumed in culture that had borrowed from it. Star Wars. Alien. The Matrix. Game of Thrones. Paul, therefore, is a type we're familiar with but also possessing singular characteristics Villeneuve wanted Timothée for: “He has a deep, deep intelligence in the eyes. Something you cannot fake. The kid is brilliant. Very intellectual, very strong. And you see that in the eyes. He also has a very old soul. You feel that he has already lived through several lives. And at the same time, he looks so young on camera. Sometimes he'd look almost 14 years old. He has this kind of general youth in his features and the contrast with the old-soul quality in his eyes—it's a kid that knows more about life than his age. Finally: He has that beautiful charisma, the charisma of a rock star. That Paul will lead the whole population of a planet later. Timothée has that kind of instant charisma onscreen that you can find only sometimes in the Old Hollywood stars from the '20s. There's something of a romantic beauty to him. A cross of aristocracy and being a bum at the same time. I mean, Timothée is Paul Atreides for me. It was a big relief that he agreed, because I had no plan b.”

“If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.”

I asked Villeneuve if he noticed Timothée struggling at all to adjust to the larger-scale production. “It didn't show when he was on set, but I think for him the big thing was to learn how to create his own bubble on set. So that he would not have to try to be the friend of everyone. When you're on a smaller set, when there's 25 people, you can be friendly with 25 people. When there's 800 people around, you cannot be friends with 800 people.” He chuckled. “It's too much. So how to save your energy, how to focus, how to give himself permission to be in his bubble and make sure that his bubble is respected.”

As ever, Timothée had a special affinity with those people on set who were a little older, a little wiser. Villeneuve said Timothée was constantly speaking with him and his wife in this open, vulnerable way about his concerns, his fears, how to deal with certain pressures. Villeneuve also described for me Timothée's relationships with his fellow actors, particularly the trio of Josh Brolin, Oscar Isaac, and Jason Momoa. “I felt like Timothée was deeply seduced—or maybe not seduced, but I just felt it was like a kid being with older brothers,” Villeneuve said. “He was younger, he was the little one on set, and everybody loved him. There's a scene in the movie where Timothée runs into the arms of Jason Momoa, and Jason grabs him like a puppy and lifts him into the air like he was a feather. And that's real! They really loved each other. It was very beautiful to see this young man being influenced by these people he admires.”

“His positive energy is infectious,” Zendaya, his nearest peer in the film, told me. “He really is so much fun to be around. We have very similar humor, and we can keep a joke going for a long time, but when the cameras start rolling and it's time to work, you can see it's game time, and he just taps into this brilliant intensity. It's awesome to witness.” Villeneuve underlined the energy as well, describing for me just having seen Timothée the night before we spoke, and marveling at “that beautiful, strong candor.”

“I will say that looking at Timothée working, I had a deep feeling that I was watching the birth of something,” Villeneuve added. “Not that it's for me—I say that with humility, because I feel that birth in all the movies he's done so far. I'm feeling it's someone that has insane potential. When I say potential, I don't want to reduce what he's doing right now, not at all. It's just that sometimes you are in front of somebody and you have the feeling you are in contact with a strong artist and that artist, his identity is still growing, building itself, learning its boundaries, learning how to protect some part of it. I think that we are witnessing something beautiful right now.”

At the end of summer 2019, Timothée finally resurfaced from Planet Dune. He had been on social media only sporadically while shooting for most of 2019, and so, for his vast base of fans, it was an overdue glimpse of the object of their affection. First up was the Venice Film Festival and the premiere of The King. There were clothes and Kid Cudi cameos and charming red-carpet interviews. It was an example of the sort of stretch, in the gaps between shoots, when Timothée could indulge his passions for hip-hop and fashion and all these things he'd loved all his life that were suddenly accessible. It was another of the delirious disorientations of the past few years—the way that people who were once subjects of his intense fandom were suddenly a part of his life as friends or acquaintances happy to have him around. He might still embarrass himself at times, helplessly rapping back lyrics to his hip-hop heroes or gushing like a broken dam about new music or clothes or art made by the makers in his life, but they were cool with him so long as he actually kept his cool.

Timothée also spent the end of last summer promoting The King, alongside his costar Lily-Rose Depp, whom he'd been dating for about a year. He is serious about keeping his former relationship with Depp to himself, but he did share one very sweet, very funny, very sad anecdote that encapsulates the spectrum of great and terrible that accompanies the private life of someone new to mega-fame like Timothée.

After Venice, he and Lily-Rose took a few days for themselves in Capri, where they were photographed by paparazzi. One image, in particular, circulated in which they were making out on the deck of a boat. Timothée is contorting himself into the kiss and looks a little awkward. Many people had their laughs. And some even suggested that the photo was staged for publicity. “I went to bed that night thinking that was one of the best days of my life,” Timothée told me. “I was on this boat all day with someone I really loved, and closing my eyes, I was like, indisputably, ‘That was great.’ And then waking up to all these pictures, and feeling embarrassed, and looking like a real nob? All pale? And then people are like: This is a P.R. stunt. A P.R. stunt?! Do you think I'd want to look like that in front of all of you?!”

This was how things worked now. He'd disappeared into those four straight films and emerged into a new paradigm—one that followed him into the holiday season of last year and a whole new level of exposure with Little Women. Here was this film about sisterhood, female intimacy, and a feminist critique of art and commerce. And yet Timothée was still the shiniest object in the set for so many fans. “I'm very used to answering questions about Timothée's hair from 15-year-old girls,” Saoirse Ronan joked with me. “I imagine that's probably what you're going to ask me about?”

Ronan has the unique perspective of having filmed and then promoted two movies with Chalamet during the past three years, and has as clear an eye as anyone onto this early phase of his career. “He's had such incredible opportunities, and he doesn't let the reality of that pass him by,” she said. “He's incredibly gracious and grateful in relation to his work and the people he works with. I think he's become more open as an actor. He knows his instrument more. I think he works even harder now because there are projects that are on his shoulders in a way that they weren't before. And of course he's been totally catapulted into this whole other realm of attention and notoriety. So he's also having to balance the incredible fame and attention, which would completely freak me out if it was something I had to go through.”

.

“I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

When Timothée and I were sitting by the Hudson that afternoon back in summer, there were those two young women who approached him for a photo. But there were also two other young women who caught an eyeful of his profile as they strolled by and then surreptitiously positioned themselves out of his sight line but still in mine. They did that thing where one pretends to take a picture of the other while actually shooting back over her shoulder in selfie mode. That charade went on for five minutes or so while Timothée exercised his guts about reuniting with Gerwig and Ronan on Little Women, and though I was nodding along, I was also marveling at the lengths to which those two fans were willing to go to get a picture of him.

I asked Ronan what she's noticed about that level of attention, sitting beside him for so much of it. “I'm always kind of shocked by those things—when any one person can just completely take over people's lives so much,” she said, laughing a little incredulously. “But I'm also not surprised. There just aren't many other young male actors out there like him, who are able to hold an audience in the way that he does. His look is so magnetic and beautiful. One of the things that we spoke about a lot when we were doing Little Women, in terms of our characters, but also in terms of myself and him as people, is that we both have this masculinity and femininity equally. And I think that that's one of his strengths, is that he can be incredibly sort of feminine and sensitive and sensual, and also he's a guy that, you know, girls fancy. So he covers so much ground in terms of popularity. But at the end of the day, he's always gonna have this skill. He can be cute, but that only gets you so far.… And so I've seen him learn how to separate himself from all that other stuff when he's on set, when he's working.”

In Woodstock, Timothée had described to me with greatest admiration the way that Ronan can act in these films, at this highest level of acclaim and attention, but also remove herself, uncomplicatedly, from all the fuss: “She is like a superhero when it comes to this sort of thing, going through it so healthy—with the asterisk being excellent work across the board and four Oscar nominations. I think her, like, DNA of self is really morally right.” She knows herself extremely well, he said, and has the confidence to give up only so much of herself. Whereas he feels he is calibrating constantly how much of his true self to reveal. “Saoirse's one of my best friends in the world—at least I think we're best friends. And she's never judged me for…the Coachella of it all.” That is, the part of him that can't resist fanning out backstage with his favorite musicians or occasionally allowing himself to be in the spotlight even as he talks about preserving his privacy.

“He's 24, and he's gonna have a great time, and I would never judge him. I've been to Coachella; I just never got photographed at Coachella,” Ronan said, chuckling. “But yeah, we talk about that sort of stuff all the time. We've weirdly gone through this together for the last few years. We've both become more accessible. But he's had one sort of attention—I do feel like boys get it on a whole other level. I know that ultimately what he wants is to be good at his job. And that will always steer him on the right path. I've always let him know, and he's always let me know, we can talk to each other, and we do. He has good people around him, and I'm one of them, and Greta as well—we all kind of look out for one another.”

Timothée spent late May and early June asking questions of himself: What can I do? What is my role in all this? He felt conflicted when he sprang to action and conflicted when he stood still. But never did things feel less uncertain, less self-conscious, than when he was marching, anonymously, alongside hundreds or thousands of others in Los Angeles in the wake of the murder of George Floyd. It was an active way to participate—meaningful action, without being showy, without flexing any of the levers of fame or power. He was going to get hit no matter what he did, so he tried to follow his instincts of what felt humble, responsible, right.

“This idea,” he said, “that power is the mass body politic organized—and how many bodies can you get together—that makes sense to me.” He didn't disappear but, rather, stripped himself of his him-ness and became one body, among many, taking up space and participating in an unequivocal statement. “With a mask, a hood, a hat, glasses—my face is deleted,” he explained, “and I'm literally presenting a physical form, you know?” A single body in space that, like a vote cast in an election, is democracy embodied, but anonymous. The same unit of power as anyone else. “People might find it disingenuous, but I found it really grounding,” he said. “It was Oh shit, I don't feel out of place—and yet I haven't been in a crowd like this for years.”

He spent much of the summer talking with others about how a person should be in a cultural and political moment such as this one. “After a day of protests,” he said, “I'd ask friends if they ‘felt good.’ If we do, is it a good thing to feel good, or does that mean we're doing it for the wrong reasons? How much do I want to put on social media? Is it a virtue signal to put it on social media? But all social media is performative, right?” I heard him ask dozens of self-interrogating questions like these. He cares so genuinely about doing the right thing, about doing well by his family, his friends, and his fans. But he didn't want to misuse his privilege or his platform, to overreach so that the gravity of his fame sucked up anything from anyone else whose moment it was to speak. He didn't want to take up room; he wanted to help center other voices. On Instagram, he posted videos each day during the first week of marches in Los Angeles—no directives into camera, just an implicit charge to his followers: Show up. Listen. Be a body.

“I have so many thoughts on so much of it,” he said, “but I don't see the benefit of putting it down for consumption until I've really worked out exactly how I feel about it all. Who benefits from my half-baked ideas?” Who cannot relate to this in 2020? Who would want any of their dinnertime conversations with family and friends these past months chiseled into the stone of the internet? “I care so much about this stuff. But I would never want my caring to be misconstrued. I don't want my caring to be about me in any way.”

God, this stuff twisted him up. He knows how much has gone his way. But from the summit of good fortune and power, is it better to speak constantly—or to shut up, put on the glasses, pull down the hood, and live and act according to one's convictions as one individual among many individuals? To march. To vote. To speak through action rather than words. Staying in motion, showing up, being a body—it's a good place to start while he works out the rest of how he's meant to live a life true to his values with everyone watching.

He's seeking out the right path, the right people—with help from his “intergenerational peers” and Dylan and anyone else he can find. He wants the benefit of their knowledge and experience, and he's okay if it's slow going to accrue it. He's open to playing the role of the novice still. But there have also been things in his life these past of couple years that have made him realize, as he puts it, “adults are just kids a little bit older.” When he returned to New York from Los Angeles this summer, it wasn't to his childhood apartment or to a borrowed living space of an acquaintance. It was to his very own apartment, his first, in a little wedge of Manhattan he loved for being nowhere, but on the edge of several somewheres. He relished the mundanity of setting up his own place. To hear him talk about a first trip to CB2 was like hearing another person talk about their first trip to a movie set. “But I think if people saw what my apartment looked like, they'd be like, ‘Oh! This kid has no fucking clue what he's doing.’ ” He is so young and he is so old. It is his gift. He is so patient when he can suppress being so restless. So careful with the long arc of a career when he can resist obsessing over the instant. He is so confident when he centers on the work and so searching when he gets sucked down into questions about the rest of his life. Will he always be this way? This pliable and open? This self-reflective and intentional? He trusted so little of his new life, but he trusted his talent. That was the key. He knew he was as good as anyone at playing other people, even if he was still figuring out how to play himself.

We spent a good amount of time in Woodstock and in New York City and on the phone talking about where his career might take him from here. With great humility, he acknowledges his skill. But he has been thinking a lot about the difference between preternatural talent and mastery—the work that's required to ascend from that floor of young greatness to the ceiling of realized potential. That said, he's wise enough to know that his career could pivot in an entirely different direction—that the world could change or the opportunities could dry up or “eventually there's gonna be an Oscar Isaac in his 30s who's gonna bust out of Juilliard who's gonna be the next great actor and make me feel like a piece of shit. But right now…”

He told me, “If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.” To show up with Call Me by Your Name—he knows that that film was a unicorn, the sort an actor works his whole life to find. And the immediate Oscar nomination had freed him up to not spend the rest of his career chasing a certain kind of role that might lead to a certain kind of validation. “I'm not gonna be bashing my head against a wall trying to prove that I'm an actor,” he said. “The train can run over my leg and leave a track forever, and yet the point of entry for me…,” he said, trailing. “That's a good feeling.”

He looks at all these careers—all the careers you might expect: DiCaprio, Bale, Phoenix, Depp. And he does his best to separate the strands of each of their careers that might still apply to his. But all of the rules for acting success that those performers played by, for how to be in the public eye, for career arcs and longevity—those rules are irrelevant now. Hollywood is different, the media is different, fans are different, movies are different, the world is different. “I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

And so it's occurring to him that the next few years will be Timothée finding the path that's right for him. Lately, he's thought about this next phase as shining a flashlight into the dark. There are potential projects that excite him considerably, some of which he's had a greater hand in engineering. There is, of course, the Dylan movie. But there's the question of how to spend the rest of the year, when most Hollywood productions are still paused. “The rest of the year,” he says, “I'm just thinking about Trump, man.” But after that…maybe Europe for a while? The Woodstock experiment did what he'd hoped it would—a little space, somewhere else. He would love to just breathe some different air again.

He was at another pivot point, as he had been when he and I were first together for Chapter 1. In the winter of 2018, the work had been validated, the public profile had developed suddenly. But the temptations, the confusion, the money—those were all lagging indicators. By mid-2020, all had caught up. And the money, in particular, was on his mind one afternoon in New York. We were talking about how a person might stay true to one's roots with that sort of thing when the reality, for him at least, had changed with Dune. I told him that one of the things that seemed to differentiate him from young stars of the past, and perhaps was a feature of his generation, was the way that material possessions didn't consume him. He didn't buy much stuff. He didn't own a car or a house. He liked borrowing clothes, but not necessarily keeping them. He agreed with the characterization, but then got immediately twisted up about a potential future hypocrisy: “But Dan, what if I do grow to like fancy shit?!”

Boomeranging back home after the surreal adventures out in the world—that was a good and grounding thing for him. Over the weeks we were talking, he spent time with his folks, delivered some COVID groceries to his grandma, and was in touch with his sister daily. And in New York, he and I kept running into ghosts. One afternoon, when we crossed the West Side Highway at Houston Street, he gestured at the athletic complex at Pier 40, where he played soccer growing up. He scampered over to a vending machine there to grab a bottle of water. When he pulled open his wallet to pay, he had only twenties. “Bad metaphor! Bad metaphor!” he screamed, jumping away from the vending machine, as though it were one of the great threats to his selfhood. This was the sort of innocuous moment that will hum with outsize resonance for me when I think about Chapter 2 from the future. All the things that one would expect to happen had happened in the first two and a half years since the arrival of a comet, and yet he was suspicious of so much of it.

Here is another way I will remember him from this moment: sitting on that porch in Woodstock—breeze and birds in the trees, sunlight in the leaves—looking for a higher power. Or at least expressing openness, as a nonreligious person, to the idea of some central organizing force in the universe—because, given everything lately, there has to be or we're fucked, right? Some of these searching things he said to me could be mistaken as a person spinning out a little. But that wasn't it at all. There was such calm. There was such contentment with the grace that had been afforded his life and career thus far, and where each might take him next. He was questing, yes—but he was firmly at the controls. The flashlight in the dark. Someone moving forward with great confidence into the unknown, with eyes wide, mouth shut, and ears listening more than they ever had before. There were no models for how a person like him should be anymore. There were no longer any adults who weren't just kids a little bit older. There were no blueprints for how to shape a career—so much had changed. There was only a head and a heart, his, and a feeling for the moment. “Maybe I'll never do a great work of art again, but I just feel like I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles,” he said on that porch in Woodstock. “When you think about Dylan. When you think about what Joel Coen said about the rapidness of the art, I'm just like: Trust the beat of your own drum. Give this its best shot. Give your artistry its best shot.”

.

Daniel Riley is a GQ correspondent and the author of ‘Barcelona Days,’ which was published this past summer.

A version of this story originally appears in the November 2020 issue with the title "Wild Heart."

PRODUCTION CREDITS: Photographs by Renell Medrano Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Tailoring by Ksenia Golub Produced by Wei-Li Wang at Hudson Hill Production

[authoressskr]

Ruby Dragon Surprise (i)

Characters: f!Reader, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, Mercy (*previously Y/N in Bucky’s Dragon Soulmate Story*), mentions of Peggy Carter

Warnings: Language and no Beta   ::    Notes: This particular story will probably be three parts, cause Steve is emotionally constipated   ::   Word Count: 4849

I went with a dragon!soulmate!au, which I hadn’t seen before, but I did have a nifty dream about it that spawned this whole idea. He’s still an Avenger. Events are basically still the same (not exactly the same...people are alive who died in the mcu), just with dragons. ‘Cause who wouldn’t love a dragon companion?? This will be an ongoing series with different Avengers finding their soulmates with their dragons.

Howlite and Hearts (Bucky)

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Since men emerged from caves, began using tools and reshaping their environment, they have been intrigued by the draconian terrors of all shapes and sizes that roamed the world. The first records of man and dragon working together are from Mesopotamia, pieces of shattered pottery pieced back together showing a dragon standing beside a woman. Assyrian artifacts depict water dragons helping farmers in the field. Egyptian murals show dragons protecting the Pharaoh and his family, others showing different breeds of dragon fetching books from inside the Library of Alexandria.

History is dotted with famous dragons and their bonded humans; King Arthur and his steel-colored dragon, Excalibur. William Shakespeare and his dragon, Bard. Cleopatra and Bucephalus, named after Alexander the Great’s legendary steed. Abraham Lincoln and his dragon, Crusoe.

Over the centuries, dragons have become smaller from the giants painted in mythology, old texts and wall murals. The biggest dragon these days are about the size of a large crocodile, with the biggest recorded in the last decade almost as big as a hippo. Height varies on the type of dragon - with the tallest one balancing on its tail, hits almost eye level with a giraffe.

Classes have been taught for centuries about dragons and the bond between them with humans. Dragons will sometimes die right after their human counterpart and vice versa. Dragons who have lost their counterpart will sometimes live, seeking out their counterpart’s soulmate to stay with their draconian mates as well. It is not an uncommon thing - especially after times of war - for soulmates to have both dragons if one has died.

Dragon pairs will usually have the same colors and markings, even though they will often not be the same type of dragon. Dragons may look similar to the human eye, but a dragon will know it’s mate no matter what. It has not been determined how the dragons know their mate almost instantaneously, but after millennia humans have begun to follow the dragon counterpart’s knowledge in this area. Marriages of alliance and royalty have often been changed or dropped when one party finds its soulmate. In the same vein, marriages have also been arranged due to this circumstance as well. Cinderella is the most referenced fairy tale of this, with Cinderella having the same sapphire and gold colored dragon as the prince (*Dragon color varies by region and culture).

Soulmate bonds are some of the strongest bonds in our world. Both between a dragon pair and between a human pair. And on the flip side of the Cinderella story, dragons will attempt to push their human partners together if the human counterpart doesn’t seem interested or could result in a rejection.

On the same page, a rejection of this bond - always by the human partner - can have devastating consequences. This broken or unformed bond may result in: at first, flu-like symptoms but can build up to more serious symptoms such as feeling weak or run down, tremors and/or tics, varying weight loss, chest pains and even very mild seizures have been documented. Usually the bond is mended or solidified before it comes to these more serious issues. There are also historic rumors of deaths from broken hearts due to rejections, which has yet to be scientifically proven. The aforementioned symptoms may require hospitalization.

To date no dragon has succumbed to any symptoms from their human counterparts due to the rejection of the bond, which dragon experts seem truly puzzled by due to the strong bonds that can be formed between a human and a dragon. Rejections, however, are rare and scientists aren’t yet sure of all possible symptoms associated with a rejection of a bond. Touch, however, is shown to remedy these symptoms in trials and is known to be a powerful connector between a human and it’s dragon partner as well.

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If there was one thing Steve Rogers knew, it was that Peggy Carter was his soulmate.

He’ll admit he doesn’t think of it as often as when he came out of the ice, but he does still think about it - about Peggy - every few days. More so when Bucky, Sam and himself are out for lunch or when he and Wanda may be grabbing some coffee, because that is when he sees soulmates together. 

The way soulmates look at each other is different. Like they don’t just see the person before them, but everything they are and could be; all rolled into everything they love.

And he’s envious of that look.

He knows he hasn’t received it. And he truly believes he hasn’t given it either. Sometimes he chalks it up to not being actual bonded soulmates with Peggy. Because he knows that the love that was blossoming would have turned into that loving, enraptured gaze he always longed for.

It’s the thought that gets interrupted when his cell rings on the way back from their morning run. He quickly switches his coffee cup to his other hand to fish the phone from his pant pocket, revealing Tony’s face on the screen.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Need you, the bird and the metal popsicle back here asap. Got a hit on a Hydra offshoot. Wheels up in 30.”

“Got it. We’re just a few blocks from the Tower now.”

“Pick up the pace then, old man,” And the call ends. He looks at Sam and Bucky before tossing back what’s left of his coffee and throwing it in a nearby trash can.

“Mission. Wheels go up in 30.” Sam sighs at his words.

“Morning calls are rare, man. Must be big.”

“Hydra,” Bucky mutters with a shake of his head before polishing off his own coffee. “Come on. Gonna take most of that time to get the scalies ready.”

“You know,” Sam mutters with a smug grin as they all continue towards the Tower, “You’ve picked up your soulmate’s habit of calling the dragons weird names.” Sam tosses his empty cup and dodges a swat from Bucky.

“Jealousy is an ugly, ugly thing Sam…”

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Steve shifts in his place in the rafters, Rak wiggling on his back in response to peer over his shoulder down at the HYDRA agents. He nods at Bucky, who is perched across the building, just above the exit.

“Where’d you find this one?”

“Get this - a museum.” The blonde HYDRA agent cackles, leaving the brunet nodding, a serious look on his face. A loud clang of the door reveals two more HYDRA agents, dragging another person between them while a third agent follows behind with a tactical machine gun held tightly in his grip. If body shape is anything to go on, it’s a woman. A curvy and buxom one. Bucky quickly types out an update in Morse code to Natasha who is stationed outside with Sam and Tony as the brunet drags a heavy wooden chair into the middle of the room.

They toss the captive into the chair, zip tying their wrists behind them before pulling off the thick bag from their head. If looks could kill…

“Now, Miss, we are going to ask you a series of questions -”

“Fuck. Off.” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up at the venom in her tone.

“You don’t seem to know who we are.” Her jaw clenches as she looks away from the salt and pepper haired man who dragged her in. “Come now. I don’t want to injure you more than necessary…”

“Right.” She snaps, looking down at her lap with a sigh. The tall brunet who helped drag her in shifts to stand behind her, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking her head back. Her gasp makes Rak hiss in his ear, Steve feeling his claw tips through his suit. He tilts his head to rub it against Rak’s, offering that silent comfort to calm him down.

“Now, Miss, the first question is: You work in the nearby museum, correct?”

“Seeing as that’s where you took me from…” She gasps again as the hand tightens in her hair, bending her head back a little more. That’s when she notices Bucky in the rafters - quickly closing her eyes and sniffles loudly.

“What are you working on there?”

“Paleontology mostly. But when I started there I worked in the geology department. I’m a floater between departments since I don’t have my full degree yet.” The man relaxes his grip a little, pushing her head forward towards its normal position again.

“Rocks and bones.” The older agent chuckles before rubbing his hand over his graying beard. “Do you do anything else in the museum?”

“I assist only in the two departments. The only reason I help the geology is when the woman who regularly helps is gone cause she’s having a rough pregnancy.”

“Now we know that’s a lie. You spend a lot of time in the accounting office.” Her head is pulled back again so she’s looking at the ceiling again.

“I’m not sure you lot are aware that each department has a budget. I have to submit forms every month about the spending. Plus, one of the accountants is my friend.”

“So you are saying our intel is wrong?”

“Look, I’d like my head to stay attached, but yes, your intel is shit. Probably someone just looking not to be in the position I’m currently in.”

“So the museum isn’t looking into the dragons ancestors?”

“If they are, then I don’t know about it. I’m a peon!” She yanks her head from the man’s grasp and struggles in the chair.

“Little cherub, you are a terrible liar.”

“Listen asshat, I am keenly aware I’m a terrible liar. So I tend NOT to lie. Especially to someone who has tied me to a chair and has a fucking gun!!” He sighs, giving a little shake of his head before his hand shoots out and backhands her, making her head snap to the left. Rak’s claws pierce through his suit, smoke curling from his nostrils making Steve tense under him even more. He holds his hand up in a stopping motion, Bucky cocking his head slightly before Steve gestures over his shoulder at Rak.

“Woman, HYDRA has been looking for you for awhile.”

“Seems like a waste of time to me. I can’t have anything HYDRA could possibly want. Except maybe morals.”

“We don’t need morals in HYDRA.” The blonde grunts out from his leaning place against the wall.

“I’m aware. Ya ever think that’s why SHIELD and the Avengers whip your ass? Resign you to the shadows like the phantoms you are.” There is a loud enough explosion that everyone turns towards the exit, the men all tensing. “AND YOU KNOW WHAT? YOUR SIGIL OR WHATEVER IT IS MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING SENSE! HYDRA MEANS 5! WHY DOES YOUR SYMBOL HAVE 8? AND DO YOU ALL KNOW THAT THE HYDRA WAS DEFEATED???” Her head is sent sharply to the left again, blood trickling from her lip at the contact.

“WHO FOLLOWED YOU?!” The older agent snaps at the blonde and brunet who they saw first.

“NO ONE, SIR!” Bucky drops down just as Tony comes through the back exit, making Steve shimmy upright before he begins across the beams in the rafters to cut off their retreat.

He drops down with a dull thud, blocking the HYDRA agents as planned but the brunet with the machine gun has it pointed under the woman’s jaw.

“She’s not so sassy now,” The man in charge smirks out, stroking a finger down her cheek. He glances behind, seeing Bucky, Tony and Natasha behind him.

“You know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance.” Her words loud and clear as her gaze slides towards the older agent, the muzzle of the gun digging harder into her skin at her words.

“Snarky little bitch, isn’t she?”

“I like snark,” Tony mentions, looking to Natasha who just rolls her eyes. “But that’s because I’m just so good at it.”

“Release the girl, unharmed, and we’ll take you alive.” Steve offers, Rak’s nails digging into his shoulder once more as smoke begins to curl out of his nose again.

“How about no?” The agent whom had been silent this entire time speaks with a sneer, his little blue dragon’s head popping from a pocket in his utility pants.

Bucky lets loose a single round to the knee of the agent with the sub machine gun, making him buckle and the gun drop from his grip. That’s when Tony blasts the salt and pepper haired man past Steve as Natasha cuts the woman free, only for the woman to rush past Steve and the other agents deeper into the warehouse. Rak jumps from his shoulder and flys after her, prompting Steve to sigh as Bucky runs past, following after her and Rak.

“Does she realize the exit is the other way?!” Tony yells through the comms, taking a stance by where he’d entered to fend off dozens of incoming HYDRA. Two men run towards Steve only to stutter to the ground as electricity surges through their bodies.

“Thanks Nat.” He grunts before rushing through the doorway to find his best friend, his dragon and the directionally impaired woman.

:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxxx:::

You’re trying desperately to remember the turns they’ve dragged you through, looking for the spot where they had separated the two of you and tossed a bag over your head. A man moves to grab you, only to be attacked by an aggressive ruby dragon. It then scrabbles up your legs and perches itself on your shoulder, urging you on with a little grunt. You tread a little more carefully after that, but no less urgent, a scream clogging your throat as someone grabs your shoulder from behind before slipping a hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t scream.” You nod as the former Winter Soldier comes into view. “You know, the easy exit was the other way.”

“I’m aware. But they tossed my dragon in a big plastic looking box then I got the bag and drag treatment.”

“This warehouse has two floors in the front half, did they take you upstairs at all?” A shake of your head is all you can manage before the dragon flits from your shoulder and begins running down the hallway. “I guess we follow Rak then. You stay behind me and if I tell you to do something -”

“Consider it done.” You agree before gently pushing at his arm to get him moving.

Rak doesn’t stop until he’s about two hallways off where you all stopped, hissing and sending several fiery breaths towards the small side dock where HYDRA agents were loading up your dragon.

“Velma!” Her answering screech is enough to get you moving, Sgt. Barnes hand shooting out to keep you behind him. He’s got two of them shot and Rak is mauling another when you see a silver blur knock out the other two. It’s only when you turn to your right do you see Captain America snatch his shield, holding it for a beat before turning to look at you. If looks could lecture...you’d be in for a loooong one.

But as he gives you that look all you can think of is that now all the douche HYDRA agents are now k-o’ed, so you rush over to the giant box, sticking your fingers through the big air holes to stroke at her muzzle, Rak chirping at Sgt. Barnes, who steps around your crouched form and snaps the two heavy duty locks off with his metal hand. Your dragon bursts from the cage and tackles you, curling herself around your chest and neck as best she can as you coo reassurances to her.

“We gotta go,” Steve takes hold of your elbow, helping you up as you heft Velma off the ground, her wings wrapping securely around you as you follow Captain America back the way you came. Rak is riding on his shoulder and moving his ruby head back and forth between you and the hallway ahead. The Black Widow joins you halfway back and takes point, an emerald green dragon with beautiful iridescent wings in shades of purples, blacks, greens and a few splashes of a pale yellow shimmer brightly even in the dim lights of the warehouse hallway. You let out a soft grunt, hefting Velma a little higher as your arms start to tire. “Almost there. I can carry her, if you like?” He doesn’t look at you when he offers, simply continues looking forward at his measured pace beside you.

“I can manage,” Your pride answers before your tired arms can get a word in, a smile twitching at his lips at your answer, which just makes your pride suddenly all the more determined to do it yourself. He moves forward when you all get back to where the attack began, Natasha taking his place before Falcon glides in through the hole in the wall.

“It’s all secure to the jet,” He reports as he lands. “Tony is circling the outer gates to make sure they don’t have anything else - hostages or weapons.”

“Alright. Let’s get her on the jet. We’ll look her over and call into the compound for the doctor to be ready when we arrive.”

“Already done,” Natasha confirms and they all move in a protective box around you and Velma, Falcon now on your right and Natasha on your left as the good Captain takes the lead and the Sergeant keeps his place in the rear.

You’re herded - there is no other way to put it really - onto this very expensive, military-looking, and slightly futuristic jet. Falcon gestures to a seat and you kneel in front of it, carefully dislodging your draconian partner before taking the seat. Her scaled head nudges your open hand, reminding you that you’ve both made it.

Safe echoes in your mind and you nod, meeting her light amethyst eyes.

Safe, you reply as she climbs awkwardly into the seat beside yours, laying her head on your thigh.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

“Baby,” She coos to the dragon, a shiver going up his spine at the softness and care in her tone, her hand sliding easily over it’s red scales as Sam returns to her side with a first aid kit.

“They do anything else besides these?” Sam asks gently, his finger brushing softly over her cheek where it’s already beginning to swell. A shake of her head is all she manages, “Okay, I’m gonna clean it with an alcohol pad.” Sam swipes it across her cheek and around the left side of her mouth to get off the dried blood. When he dabs just under her lip she hisses and so does Rak, her own dragon tensing up and curling it’s upper lip just enough to flash the tips of its teeth.

“Down, kids,” She mumbles out before Tony struts onto the jet.

“All clear. Let’s go home.” Tony sits beside her as the jet begins to ascend, both men’s gazes dropping to her free hand which is gripping the edge of her seat. “I’m Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“Dragon?”

“Velma.”

“Velma,” Tony repeats with a chuckle. “I like it. Suits you both. This is Jericho.”

“‘By faith the walls of Jericho fell’…is that right?”

“Exactly! ‘See, I have delivered Jericho into your hands’. My mother insisted that I know the Bible. I just liked the idea of marching and horns defeating a strong enemy. No bullets, no bombs; just faith.”

“Kind of goes against the initial sort of images of yourself, huh?” Tony leans in slightly, a grin flirting on his lips.

“Have you been talking to my wife?” She leans in too, their foreheads nearly touching.

“I think I’d remember talking to her.”

“She is very memorable.” He agrees, leaning back in the seat before waving his finger at her chest. “Buckle up. We should be there in about twenty or thirty.”

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks, Bucky’s eye popping open from his resting place in the corner and a tiny twitch of his lips making him want to glare at his best friend.

“No, thank you.” Steve nods, moving to the front to talk to Natasha when Rak flits to the floor and scurries over to her, his head tilted to one side with his begging eyes on. Steve moves to turn back to stop Rak from bothering her. “Get up here then,” A smile dancing in her eyes as he chirps happily, leaping easily into her lap and shaking his wings out before carefully settling down, his snout resting beside Velma’s.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You’re just nodding off when the jet lands, carefully tapping Velma and then Rak to wake them before stretching, wincing at the soreness in your face and neck.

Steve walks by you as the bay door opens before he whistles, Rak’s head perking up from the seat beside you, but he doesn’t move. This doesn’t seem to sit well with Steve, who glares at his partner like he’s betrayed him.

The dragon begrudgingly jumps down and stands at the Captain’s feet, an outstretched hand drawing you from the curiosity you felt watching Rak and Steve. You’re met with storm blue eyes and a small, easy smile.

“Come on, kid,” Unclicking from your seat, you accept his hand with a hushed thank you. You are hardly off the jet before a white marble blur nearly takes James down, his laughter ringing out before a woman appears just after, helping him up and the two of them disappearing into the building. You’re caught at a crossroads of sorts...Do you follow? Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?

“Are you Y/N?” You’re startled from your thoughts by a woman with thick black hair piled atop her head in a white lab coat.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Hale. Natasha and Tony told us to be expecting you.” She gestures you forward, opposite to where the Avengers disappeared to. You follow obediently, with Velma trailing behind you, also looking to where they’d all gone. “Do you have any medical conditions we should be aware of?”

“No.”

“High blood pressure?”

“No, but if it’s high I was just taken hostage and then backhanded twice before having a gun shoved against my jaw while they tried to take my dragon.” She makes a face, eyebrows raised and fighting back a smile before she manages a big nod.

“Understandable...well let’s check all that. Was your dragon injured?”

“I ran my hands over all of her and she’s not injured that I can tell.” You look down at her, purple eyes alight. “You hurt, baby?” Velma shakes her head, her tail twitching slightly when she does so.

“Perfect. We’ll just check you over and then Tony should come get you.” All you can do is nod, following her into a very white and metallic exam room.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Steve’s voice can be heard through the door of his room, he’s sure of it.

Rak has snapped at him twice so far and nearly set his comforter on fire because he ordered him to stay put while he showered. Steve knew where he would wander off to and he told Rak he needs to let the doctor do their job and check them over. He had angrily settled down when Howl had come into the room, the bigger dragon tossing himself down onto Rak’s bed - successfully luring Rak to him and calming the little spitfire down long enough for Steve to get a shower.

Once he was out of the shower, Rak started up again, a stare off ensuing between the two of them while Howl looked on in amusement.

“I said no!” Steve snaps at the wyvern before clenching his jaw so tight he’s sure he hears a pop. Rak opens his mouth, flashing all his teeth only to snap it closed when Bucky’s soulmate sticks her head in.

“Sorry. I knocked, but you must not have heard...I was just looking for Howl.” Howl’s whole body shakes as he wiggles his way happily to her. “Tony just went to get the woman from the infirmary, just to let you know.” Steve scowls at her as Rak begins to follow Howl out the door.

“Hey! Best behavior. And you need to cut the whole hissing, snapping and fire at me, you little gas ball.” Rak snorts, almost giving an eye roll as Steve blocks the door. “Shoulder.” He points for emphasis, his partner huffing as he slowly climbs up onto his shoulder. “And stay there, do you understand?” He turns his ruby head away and Steve’s mind wanders to the impossible...but he quickly shakes that thought from his head.

When she enters the room with her dragon, her cheek and lip swollen a little more than an hour ago when he’d seen her.

Wanda gasps as she enters the room, looking from Rak to Velma, Rak doing the exact fucking opposite as he was told - flinging himself from Steve’s shoulder and running towards you and Velma - before giving a little squeal.

“I’ve never seen a dragon soulmate pair meeting!” Steve looks in confusion from the dragons to Wanda and then to the woman, the room now deadly silent except for the soft, contented growls coming from the pair of ruby dragons curled around each other at Y/N’s feet.

“What - no, that’s not - that’s not possible.” Steve snorts in disbelief after he manages his oh-so eloquent words. “No. She’s not my soulmate,” The words tumble from his lips before he has a chance to really think the situation over but his eyes still see everything.

They see the hope that was blossoming in her soft eyes and they see the confusion flash through those pretty eyes before the hurt makes the light die out in them, her eyes dropping to the floor quickly.

He opens his mouth to refute his own words - to apologize and take it back - when he sees Bucky glaring at him.

After all, hadn’t it been him who had told Bucky to go after his dragon and his soulmate? Who had told Bucky he’d give anything to be in his shoes? And now that he was, he had just rejected his soulmate.

You could hear a pin drop as he stands there gaping like a fish before managing to firmly close his mouth.

She’s staring at their dragons, snouts pressed along side each other with their wings touching, tails twined together before she looks up and blinks rapidly. He knows she’s willing the tears away and it physically hurts him to see her avert her eyes.

Clint steps forward, whispering in her ear before offering her his arm. Clint takes her past him, both of their dragons trailing eagerly after her and both blatantly ignoring his very existence.

“All clear boss,” comes a familiar accented voice, Steve can feel all of his family’s eyes boring into him before Natasha speaks up.

“What the actual hell, you dumbass?”

“My sentiments exactly.” Tony pipes up from behind her.

“Didn’t you say you wish you were in my shoes?” Sam just harrumphs at Bucky’s words from where he’s sitting on the couch by Bucky and his soulmate.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Wanda mutters among the other comments, worrying her bottom lip.

“It’s not your fault, Wanda,” Mercy soothes from the couch, hand gently squeezing Bucky’s as her dragon Cloud moves from her shoulder to Bucky’s, sensing his tenseness.

“Clint’s giving her a tour. She’ll be staying here until we can find out specifically why Hydra was after her. That should give you enough time to pull your head out of your ass,” Tony states while shoving his long sleeves up a bit on his forearms, hitting Steve with a “Sweet Jesus” side eye that Steve was all too well acquainted with.

“It just came out!”

“Like diarrhea…” Pietro says loudly from the kitchen, tossing a handful of grapes into his mouth. Steve glares at the male Maximoff, whom he literally didn’t even realize was in the damn kitchen.

“Again, it just came out. I didn’t even think about what I said!”

“That is abundantly clear,” Howl crawls into Bucky’s lap at his words, big eyes pleading to his human dad for pets to calm them both down, tail twacking Mercy who just rolls her eyes playfully at his needy and loving response to Bucky’s mood. Bucky smiling oh so softly at Howl and Mercy, as he strokes the oversized dragon taking up his lap.

Steve watches that and he aches for it. Those knowing looks to share with his soulmate.

But Peggy is gone.

And he doesn’t know where to go from here with this woman. Or the fact that Rak is completely convinced that Velma is his mate.

Because he is pretty sure she isn’t.

‘Pretty sure’ isn’t going to cut it for everyone else though. It definitely won’t be enough for Rak, that little gas ball of betrayal.

Steve was well and truly fucked.

Tagging:  @moonbeambucky @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr

[chaoticminhos]

chapped lips

pairing: lee felix x reader

genre: angst. fluff?? bad boy!felix au

warnings: felix gets into fights like a dummy

a/n: requested by anon💞 i’m not super proud of this but i spent like a week trying to get it to a point i’m proud of and i couldn’t, i’m sorry if it isn’t the best, i hope you enjoy it anyway😊 also the title is gross i know i just can’t think of anything else to title it dhdjsksj im sOrRy

~~~~~

lee felix. lee fucking felix, a.k.a the bane of your fucking existence. who did he think he was, sauntering into your school the first day of junior year, wearing a leather jacket and a loose white shirt acting like he owned the place, despite it being his first day at his new school?

the answer is the fucking king, apparently.

disregarding that no one had ever seen him in school, let alone in town before, every girl was throwing themselves at him by the time the first bell even rang. they were babbling about how mysterious and hot he was, practically drooling. you, on the other hand, opted for keeping your saliva in your mouth and dignity in tact, rolling your eyes and telling yourself that he was just another flirt, an unfairly hot and charming fuckboy. as the year progressed, you proved yourself correct.

~

about a month after classes began, felix took an interest in you. you had been practically invisible to him before, making a point to stay away from him and his already bad reputation, but you could only keep it up for so long.

you were in your 3rd hour history class, one of the (unfortunately) many classes you shared with felix when he first noticed you. generally, you were pretty well behaved, but this teacher always got on your nerves.

your friend raised her hand, “Mr. Kim, may i use the restroom?”

“you had a chance to go before class started, sit down.”

“sir, it’s an emergency-“

“i said no.”

he obviously had no regard for basic female hygiene, and it was pissing you off. you tried to speak under your breath, but your seat was right in front of his desk.

“oh my god, you’re acting like you want her to bleed all over your seats.”

when the words left your mouth, you thought nothing of it. that was, until the students in the seats surrounding you, which included felix, and the teachers eyes snapped towards you.

“excuse me, ms. y/n?” your teacher asked you in a warning tone.

you looked up at him with wide eyes upon realizing he had heard you, and you felt your stomach drop. you rarely got in trouble. you spoke quickly.

“i-i’m sorry sir.”

“i’ll let it go, since you’re always so well behaved, but i don’t want to hear another comment like that coming from your mouth, got it?”

you nodded hastily. you hated being in trouble, which is why you always listened to what teachers said and followed rules.

when the bell rang, you quickly packed your things and made your way to the door, eager to get out of the classroom and away from your least favorite teacher, but right when you were out the door, you were stopped by your least favorite student. lee felix.

his hand darted out to your wrist, nearly making you drop your books.

“didn’t know you could be so feisty, darling.”

your eyes snapped to his, knowing who was speaking before even seeing him, his voice was unmistakable. you tried to pull your wrist from his grip, but he didn’t budge.

“get your hands off me, felix.”

his eyebrows raised and a small smirk appeared on his face, “oh, so you know who i am?”

“kinda hard not to when teachers are yelling at you every 5 minutes and your name is called over the loud speaker every other day for getting into a fight.”

“woah, good girl, where was this attitude when Kim was scolding you?”

your felt your stomach flip at the name he chose. you knew he meant it to be teasing, but it made your face flush red, and felix noticed. using his grip on your wrist, he pulled you closer to him, so your faces were only inches apart.

“oh, you got a thing for being praised?”

he chuckled as your face turned even more red, an amused smirk on his lips the entire time. satisfied with flustering you, he released your wrist from his hand and stepped away, immediately being greeted by a hoard of girls as well as a few of his 8 friends, the other resident bad boys of your school.

“i’ll see you around, princess.”

you felt butterflies in your tummy again at his choice of words, and you cursed yourself for being flustered.

there way no way you had a crush on lee felix.

~

okay, maybe you had a little crush on lee felix.

throughout the next few months, interactions like this continued to occur, him bothering you and you pretending you didn’t love the way he touched you or the pet names he called you.

don’t get it wrong, you still thought he was a stuck up asshole, but you couldn’t deny that he was charming, and he wasn’t bad to look at either. in fact, he was very, very nice to look at.

you felt a tap on your shoulder in the middle of class, the same class that he had first noticed you in. you shrugged his hand off of you, only for it to return a few seconds later. when you went to shove his hand off of you again, he whined.

“y/n~”

you continued to ignore him.

“princess?”

again, no response.

“baby, why are you ignoring me?”

you took a deep breath, turning towards him, “felix, i’m trying to learn, what do you want?”

he smiled upon getting your attention, folding his hands in his lap. you couldn’t help but notice his busted knuckles, hadn’t they just healed from his last fight?

“you.”

you cursed your cheeks for turning red and you turned back towards the board.

“stop it.”

“what?” the smile was evident in his voice, you didn’t even have to look at him to know he had a stupid grin on his face, “we both know you like it when i talk to you like this.”

your head snapped back towards him, “says who, lee felix? if it were up to me, you’d shut your mouth and keep it closed.”

your snappy remarks didn’t faze him anymore, he had gotten used to it after months of pestering you. he snapped right back.

“why don’t you make me shut up, then?”

you clenched your jaw, turning towards the board again, but you tightly crossed your legs, and it did not go unnoticed.

~

the last bell had rang and you were packing your bag and waiting for the crowd to die down before you left. as you finished and made your way out the front door, you bumped into somebody, causing you to be shoved into the door frame and drop the books that you were carrying, the ones you couldn’t fit in your bag. you winced, hand moving to massage where your shoulder had collided with the metal door frame.

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry.”

you looked up to the source of the voice with a small smile.

“it’s no problem, seonghwa, really.”

seonghwa was on student council with you, so you knew each other well enough to make encounters like this not awkward, but you didn’t really know him.

he knelt down to help pick up your books at the same time you did, causing your heads to collide.

you both stumbled back, holding your heads. he gave you an apologetic look and began to say sorry yet again, but you burst into laughter.

“jeez seonghwa, maybe you should have caution tape surrounding you.”

he laughed along with you, moving to pick up your books before offering a hand to help you up.

you gave him a small ‘thanks’ before heading to leave, but he stopped you.

“hey, y/n, actually, are you doing anything? maybe i could take you for coffee or something.” he paused. “you know, to say sorry.”

you smiled at him, “it’s really alright, you don’t have to-“

he chuckled, “i want to, come on. let’s go.”

he led you to his car, opening the trunk and helping you put your things in it. as he went to open the passenger side door for you, a deep voice interrupted the action.

“hey princess!”

you rolled your eyes, turning towards the source of the noise, which happened to be felix and about half of the crowd of friends he usually hung around.

“what, felix?” you sighed.

“aw, come on, baby! aren’t you excited to see me?”

he and his crew walked up to you and seonghwa, so you were no longer shouting across the parking lot.

felix reached out to ruffle your hair before looking seonghwa up and down and asking you, “who’s this?”

“none of your business, felix.”

“someone’s grumpy today, why-“ felix began, only to be interrupted by seonghwa. he stuck his hand out to felix.

“i’m park seonghwa, nice to meet you.”

felix took his hand with the raise of an eyebrow, not bothering to introduce himself in reply, only going back to focus on you.

“he giving you a ride home?”

before you could reply, seonghwa spoke up.

“we actually have a date, so if you don’t mind, we’re gonna get going.”

felix’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. a date? he quickly composed himself.

“in that case,” he leaned in close to you, “have fun on your date, good girl.”

you pushed him away from you, hurrying into seonghwa’s car and pulling the door shut. you looked out the window just in time to see felix say something to seonghwa with a glare before his friends ushered him away with one last glance at you, but you couldn’t hear what he said from inside the car.

“i’m sorry for him.” you apologized to seonghwa on your way to the café.

“no need, it’s not your fault. and hey, i’m sorry for saying it was a date, i thought it would make him back off. just seemed to make him more adamant, though.” he said with a chuckle.

you sighed, “it’s fine. and yeah, he’s pretty persistent.”

the rest of the ride to the cafe was quiet.

you ordered your drink and went to pull out your wallet, but seonghwa placed a hand over yours, handing the cashier his wallet.

“i’ve got both.”

you pouted, “you didn’t have to pay.”

he laughed at your pout, “i asked you to come, of course i have to pay.”

you two chatted while you drank your coffee, and you had a good time. you were surprised you two hadn’t hung out before, your personalities really clicked.

he dropped you off at your house when you finished, going as far as to comment on how close your house was to the school, and offering to give you rides to and from for the rest of the year.

“oh no, i really enjoy walking, actually, but thank you!”

he nodded, “just know you’ve always got a ride if it’s raining or anything.”

~

the next day at school, felix didn’t come to his morning classes, not that you were checking or anything. by lunch period, everyone knew that the boy wasn’t there. it wasn’t uncommon for felix to skip classes, but he didn’t usually skip more than a few a day, which is why it was odd that he had missed the entire morning. adding onto that, the 8 other boys he hung around were all at school, which meant no one was skipping with him.

lunch period was louder than usual, everyone trying to figure out where felix was. god forbid his fan girls go a full day without seeing him, right?

you left lunch early, the extra noise in the room was giving you a headache, and headed to your 5th hour class. despite felix missing the morning classes you had with him, you walked to your class (which he was also in) hoping he would show up. to your surprise, he was already there.

more to your surprise, he didn’t greet you when you entered the room. it would have been the perfect opportunity to mess with you; the teacher wasn’t in the room yet, but still he chose to keep silent.

it oddly bugged you that he didn’t say hi to you, even if he would have said it in some annoying way. he barely even looked at you. deciding he wasn’t going to talk, you spoke first.

it surprised you, you had never initiated a conversation with the boy, partly because he was annoying and partly because your heart sped up whenever you two interacted. you felt the need to speak up this time though.

the first thing you noticed was that his knuckles were busted more than usual, and for once, it looked like he might have lost a fight. he had a big purple bruise on one side of his face and a busted lip. while looking at the cut on his lip, obviously inspecting the wound and not just looking at his lips because they were pretty, you noticed that they were really chapped. you hoped he was drinking enough water.

you sat in one of the seats beside him in the very back row.

“felix?” you began softly.

no reply.

you sighed and began to dig through your bag. you knew you had a chapstick somewhere in there. when you found it, you put your hand on his shoulder. he still hadn’t even looked at you again, or at least, he hadn’t looked at you when you were also looking at him.

“felix, your lips are chapped, take this.”

you held the chapstick in front of his face, right above his hands, which were crossed on top of his desk.

without turning his head, his eyes snapped to meet yours quickly before reaching to take the chapstick and leaning back in his chair. he seemed more relaxed than when you had first walked into the room.

instead of applying the chapstick, he fiddled with it in his hands, eyes focused on it with a blank look on his face.

you frowned.

“felix, what happened?”

finally, you got a reply. just not the sort of reply you wanted.

“like you care.”

you were taken aback. he never spoke to you like this.

“i do care! i wouldn’t be sitting here trying to help you if i didn’t care.”

he scoffed.

“felix, i’m serious!” you didn’t know why him denying that you cared about him upset you so much, but you felt your eyes started to well up. “you were gone all morning and when you finally come back you’re all busted up, and you’re not even letting me try to help you!”

“i wasn’t gone this morning, y/n.”

“what?”

“i was here, in the office. didn’t you notice someone else missing, too?”

you furrowed your eyebrows.

he stared at you for a while before a small smile appeared on his face.

“you didn’t even notice seonghwa wasn’t here, did you?”

you cocked your head to the side, shaking your head. now that he mentioned it, you hadn’t seen seonghwa all day either.

“no, i guess not.”

“yeah, well he was in the office with me.”

“why?”

“you’re dense, you know that?”

for some reason, your mood was lifted now that he was smiling and teasing you again.

“we got into a fight, y/n.”

“you and seonghwa? but why, you don’t even know each other?”

“we both know you.”

and with that, the bell rang and the teacher walked into the classroom, followed by students a few minutes later.

felix didn’t even once try to get your attention for the rest of that period

school ended, and you were still thinking of felix. any time you passed him in the hallway or saw him in class, he didn’t seem like himself. beyond that, his words kept replaying in your head, “like you care,” “we both know you.”

it bothered you that he didn’t think you cared about him, and it bothered you that he and seonghwa had gotten into a fight, by the sound of it, because of you.

you hadn’t had a chance to ask seonghwa about it, since you didn’t have any afternoon classes with him.

you exited your last classroom and headed towards your locker. before you could reach it, from across the hallway, you saw felix leaned up against it. you smiled, glad he wasn’t ignoring you, but your smile dropped when seonghwa joined him with an angry look on his face.

the hallways were still crowded, so you couldn’t hear what was being said, but it looked like there was about to be another fight. not wanting any more drama, you rushed to your locker and stepped between the two.

as you rushed up, you heard part of the conversation before they stopped talking when you showed up.

“seriously, lee. can’t you see you’re not good for her?”

“i’m trying to be!”

“that’s not good enough!”

you carefully placed your bag and books down on the floor, stepping out from in between them. you finally got a good look as seonghwa, and oh boy, had you been wrong. felix definitely won this fight, too. he had a black eye one one side and a bruised cheek on the other, along with a bandage across his nose.

“what’s going on?”

seonghwa spoke first, “y/n, please tell felix-“

you interrupted him in a panicked voice, eyes on felix.

“oh my god, felix, your lip is bleeding again, i told you to use my chapstick!” you reached your hand up to his lip, running your finger over the rough skin. he brought his hand up and lightly grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand from his face, his eyes moving from yours to seonghwa’s.

seonghwa was looking at you with frustration, “jesus christ, y/n, really? you’re taking care of him?”

you gave him a confused look, “why shouldn’t i be? he’s bleeding and-“

“no,” felix released your wrist and took a step back, “he’s right, y/n.”

seonghwa raised his eyebrows at you, as if to say, “see? even he admits he’s bad for you!” but you turned back to felix, about to speak when seonghwa picked up your things and grabbed your arm to lead you away.

you pulled against his grip, “seonghwa, stop it.”

he had grabbed the same arm that you had banged into the door frame the night before, and him pulling on your arm made the bruise hurt even worst than it already did.

“y/n.” he spoke sternly, “let’s go.”

you pulled against him again, “seonghwa, please stop, you’re hurting me.”

his grip only tightened, “i said let’s go.”

your free hand went up to grab your hurt shoulder, “seonghwa, my arm still hurts from yesterday-“

with one last rough pull from seonghwa, you stumbled away from felix with a yelp. that’s when felix decided it was too much, and his hand found its way around seonghwa’s wrist, the one that was holding onto you.

“she said you’re hurting her, stop.”

seonghwa released your arm and immediately swung at felix with that same hand, knocking him straight in the jaw. felix stumbled backwards, but he quickly regained composure, swinging back and hitting seonghwa in the nose, which from the bandage he had on, you assumed to be broken. his nose started streaming with blood, and before anyone could throw another hit, the principle came rushing over, yelling at both boys and you to follow him to his office.

seonghwa, who was still holding your bag, no longer your books, as he had dropped them when he first went to hit felix, swung your bag off of his shoulder and dropped it roughly on the ground with a glare towards you.

you went to pick up your bag and collect your books, but felix got to it before you, swinging both your bag and his over his shoulders. you tried to argue with him, say that he was hurt and you could carry your own bag, but he wouldn’t listen.

the principle made all three of you sit in front of his desk, you in between the two boys.

“two fights in one day? really, boys? you know bet-“

“sir, i don’t know about the first fight, but felix did not start this fight, he was only defending me.”

“ms. y/n, do not interrupt me again or-“

without realizing it, your hand found it’s way to felix’s.

“no, sir, really, it’s not fair for felix to get into trouble!” you started to tear up, “check the cameras or ask anyone around us, really! he didn’t start it!”

seonghwa scoffed beside you.

“you’re still defending him?”

“she’s defending me because i’m not the one who put hands on her, park!” felix answered for you.

“i wouldn’t have had to if-“

“boys!” your principles voice echoed through his office.

“i’ll review the footage and we’ll talk again tomorrow. as of now, the two of you need to get cleaned up. y/n, you’ve had a long afternoon, go get some rest.”

seonghwa left immediately, storming out the door without saying goodbye to anyone. you, however, decided to stay back and help felix clean up.

he sat on the counter in one of the school bathrooms with you in between his legs, focused on cleaning him up. he said he could clean his wounds himself, but you insisted. as you were wiping the blood of your cheek, you softly spoke.

“felix, why did you two fight in the first place?”

he took a deep breath, shifting his eyes to lock with yours.

“i saw him this morning and i asked how serious you two were, with you going on a date and all. when he said not very, i asked him to stay away from you as anything more than friends. i told him you already had someone going after you and... he hit me. said i wasn’t good enough for you, said you deserve more than me.”

your face flushed at felix’s words, was he confessing to you?

“he told me to stay away from you all together, even as friends. at first i thought he was right, that you’re too good for me, but if i need to be better to be good enough for you, i will.”

“what do you mean, felix?”

“i like you, y/n. a lot. and i know i have a really shitty way of showing it, but i promise i’ll try my best to be what you deserve, if you’ll give me a chance.”

“felix, you saved me from him when he was hurting me, that’s not a shitty way of showing you care.”

a small smiled played at his lips, “who knew the good girl could swear?”

you hit his shoulder, “shut up or i’ll reject you.”

he laughed, a big smile on his face, but it quickly fell. he reached a hand up and gently pulled your jacket off of your shoulder, turning you slightly to see the bruise.

“y/n?” he began, “did he do this to you?”

your eyebrows furrowed, “yeah, he bumped into me and i fell.”

“but it wasn’t on purpose?”

“no.”

felix let out a breath you hadn’t realized he had been holding in, and he suddenly pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you.

“i won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

~

the next day, you walked into first hour to see felix sitting in his usual spot, and for the first time, you smiled and made your way over to him. he greeted you with a big smile.

halfway through class, your names along with seonghwa’s were announced over the loud speaker to come to the office. felix stood first, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the room. neither of you missed the whispers that began when he took your hand.

the principle called the three of you into his office once again.

“as promised, i have your consequences ready. firstly, i rewatched the camera footage of both fights, and in both, seonghwa, you threw the first hit. because of this, i have to give you 2 weeks of suspension, beginning right after this meeting. for you, felix, despite your record, it’s clear you didn’t intend for either of these fights to happen, and it’s clear that the second one was in defense of someone else. however, you did hit back. detention every day after school for a week. and you, ms. y/n, this is your first incident and you weren’t involved with the violence, so i’ll let you off with a warning. you two,” he gestured to you and felix, “back to class. and you,” he pointed at seonghwa, “your parents will be here to pick you up soon.”

you and felix stood and headed back to class, but about halfway there, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a corner of the hallway where he knew there were no cameras.

you giggled, “what are you doing.”

one arm on your waist, he pulled the same chapstick you’d given to him earlier out of his pocket and applied it, a big smile on his face.

“i cant have chapped lips for out first kiss, now can i, good girl?”

[haikyuu-drabble]

can i request a scenario where oikawa's best friend falls for him?? thank you!!!

thank you for requesting!!

______________________________________

oikawa x reader | always love you

word count: 2041

“You know, I’ll always love you, right?”

“What do you want now, Tooru?” you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t just tell my best friend that I love them?” Oikawa smiled.

You closed your laptop and spun around in your desk chair, “Not if it’s from you.”

“Can you please go with me on this group date? There’s someone who I really like, but there’s not enough girls.” He begged.

You groaned, “Are you serious?” you focused your attention back to your laptop, “Can’t you ask anyone else?”

“No.” he replied, “If I ask any other girl I know, I’d either get slapped in the face by some girl I’ve been to a group date with or the other person I invited would get in the way of me and my actual target.”

You held up three fingers, “I have three things to say to your statement. One, you probably deserve every slap. Two, don’t refer to people as targets. Three, I’m not going.”

Oikawa grabbed your wrist and cried, “Please! Please! I’ll do anything for you. Just go to dinner, nothing else. There’ll be other guys there for you, you know. They’re really good guys, I swear!”

You looked at him and frowned, “The puppy dog face. Check mate, huh?”

Oikawa’s frown turned into a bright smile, “Does that mean you’re going?”

“On the account that the other boys there will be cute.” You replied, “When is this thing anyways?”

Oikawa looked at his phone to check the date, “In two hours.”

You threw the stuffed bear on your desk at Oikawa, “You’re kidding me, you jerk!”

“Mr. Snuffles!” Oikawa protected his body with his arms, “Don’t mistreat my gift to you.”

“You mean your last apology for getting me into one of your messes before?” you crossed your arms.

You stood up from your chair and walked into your bedroom. Oikawa asked, “Where are you going?”

“What does it look like?” you answered, “I’m getting ready for your stupid date thing.”

“Yes!” Oikawa cheered, “You won’t regret this!”

You were digging through your drawers looking for something to wear and mumbled, “Nope. I definitely think I will.”

When you and Oikawa finally left your apartment to head to the date, you asked, “So, how did you meet the girls going on this date anyways?”

Oikawa tilted his head, “Aren’t you more interested in the guys I’ve invited?”

“I’ll get to them, too. Don’t worry.” You replied, “So, the girls?”

Oikawa pulled out his phone and showed you a picture of a girl. You scanned the photo and nodded to yourself. Definitely looked like Oikawa’s type. He explained, “I met her in one of my classes.”

You raised a brow at him, “You know class is for learning, right? Not picking up girls.”

“Why not both?” Oikawa smirked.

You looked at him with a disgusted look. And he cried, “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Then don’t say things like that.” You shivered.

When you two arrived at the restaurant, two other boys and two other girls were there. You were quick to introduce yourself. You’d been friends with Oikawa long enough to see how girls react when they see you around him, so you had to change how you treated him at times like these. You’d pay a little less attention, and you’d be sure to not sit next to him or be the first to talk to him.

When you were all seated, you started talking to the guy who seemed like he’d be the most entertaining to talk to. You asked, “Hanamaki, how’d you meet Oikawa?”

“We played volleyball together in high school.” he answered.

“Oh!” you grinned and with deep voiced to mimic Oikawa said, “I believe in all of you.”

“No way!” Hanamaki laughed, “You know about that, too?”

You laughed along with him, “I guess, Oikawa really has been saying that since high school.”

“How about you?” Hanamaki asked, “How long have you known The Great King?”

“We met our first class together at University. If you told me that he and I would still be friends to this day, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.” Hanamaki replied, “From what I’ve heard from him, you guys are really good friends.”

You looked over at Oikawa who was entertaining another girl, “Yeah. The best.”

Hanamaki watched you look at Oikawa and despite there being a smile on your face, your eyes told him something else.

You looked back at Hanamaki and smiled, “Enough about that guy, though. What are you taking up at your university?”

The rest of the dinner was spent talking to Hanamaki and learning more about him. He was a really funny and nice guy, and you could actually picture yourself spending more time with him. When you all finished eating, your group were standing outside the restaurant. Oikawa asked, “What are our plans for the rest of the night?”

You looked at Oikawa with wide eyes but faked a smile, “I thought you only said that this was going to be dinner.”

He threw his arms up in the air and shrugged, “Plans can change, right?”

“Well, I actually made plans for later tonight. So, I think this is as far as I can go.” You smiled.

“Okay.” Oikawa pouted, “Well, I’ll take you to the station.”

You saw the glare coming from the girl that Oikawa had spent all night with and grabbed Hanamaki’s arm, “You don’t have to! Hanamaki said that he’d walk me home actually, so it’s fine. Stay out with the rest of the group!”

Oikawa looked at Hanamaki who was wearing perplexed look on his face. Oikawa warily nodded, “Okay, if you say so. Makki, I’m expecting the best out of you.”

You scowled at Oikawa, “What are you? My father?”

Hanamaki gave his old teammate the peace sign, “See you later, Oikawa.”

You and Hanamaki watched the rest of the group split off, and you apologized, “Sorry, Hanamaki, for forcing you along with my plans. I just didn’t want the others thinking I was getting in their way.”

“It’s fine.” Hanamaki looked at you and smiled, “You really do a lot for Oikawa.”

“A little too much.” You sighed.

“So,” Hanamaki started, “how long have you been in love with him?”

You looked at Hanamaki with a shocked expression, and your shoulders dropped. You quietly asked, “Was it that obvious?”

“No.” Hanamaki answered, “I just asked to test my hypothesis. It just turns out I was right.”

You looked down at the ground and asked, “Well, then can I ask you if you want to hang out with me for a little longer? I don’t think I have to explain why I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Hanamaki stuck his hands in his pockets and gave you a friendly smile, “I have time.”

You two ended up at a nearby café, and you took a sip out of your drink. He was the first to talk, “When did you start liking him?”

You scoffed, “Getting into the hard questions already, I see.”

“Might as well.” He chuckled.

“Well,” you thought, “I’d never had an issue with him before despite Oikawa being as annoying as he is. But I didn’t think he had much to him if I’m being honest. I thought he was another pretty boy who was good at sports. I mean, I’m not wrong about that. But you’ve had to have experienced it for yourself, Hanamaki. He’s annoying and whiny, but Oikawa really can be dependable. He’s been there for me at times, when I really thought I was alone. He was there for me when I really had no one. So, when you ask when… I don’t think I could give you a solid answer.”

Hanamaki leaned his head into the palm of his hand and gave a breathy laugh, “Sounds like you’re in deep, my friend.”

You rubbed your temples and sighed, “Trust me, I know.”

“Why haven’t you done anything about it?” Hanamaki questioned.

“You’re kidding right?” you laughed, “I’m not his type at all. You saw the girl who he was talking to all night. I’ve seen some of his past girlfriends from high school and all the ones from University, I can tell you right here, right now, that I’m not… them.”

Hanamaki leaned back in his chair, “You may be right, but in my opinion, I think you’re better.”

You felt your cheeks warm, “Thanks, but… it doesn’t matter. I’m happy with how things are.”

“If you say so.” He breathed.

Hanamaki walked you back to your apartment and before you went in, you smiled, “I had fun, Hanamaki. Even though, we talked about the literal last thing I thought I’d be talking about with you, it was therapeutic.”

Hanamaki grinned, “Don’t worry about it. I had fun too.”

You traded numbers, and you waved at him while he walked back to the station. And before parting, you said, “I know this seems a bit obvious, but please, don’t tell Oikawa anything about tonight.”

Hanamaki gave a lopsided smile, “Your secret is safe with me.”

You smiled one last time before entering your apartment, What you weren’t expecting to see what someone waiting by your door. Oikawa had his hand on his hip and was tapping his foot. You laughed at the sight of him, “You really think you’re my dad, don’t you?”

You walked past him and put your bag on the counter before planting yourself on your couch. Oikawa was looking at you with his mouth agape and stuttered, “W-where have you been?”

“Sorry, dad.” You sarcastically replied, “I’ll be sure to call you next time I’m out late.”

“That’s be much appreciated!” he stressed.

You looked over at him and rolled your eyes, “How are you home before me?”

“For your information, I was worried about you and ended my date early.” He sat down next to you, “I thought you were going to be all alone in your apartment, and my little heart just couldn’t handle the idea of you being lonely.”

You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television, “You know, I only gave you my spare keys for emergencies.”

Oikawa looked at you intently, “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Tooru, I’m fine.” You looked at him, “I was just hanging out with Hanamaki. You really don’t have to worry about me.” you smiled at him, “Anyways, give me a review of your date tonight. What did you think of her?”

Oikawa grinned at you and started, “She’s just as cute as I imagined! We agreed to go…”

Oikawa and you had always been friends. Your personalities complimented each other, and like you explained to Hanamaki, you slowly fell for him.

In the beginning, you didn’t know what compelled you to open up to Oikawa. It could have been his carefree attitude, but it also could have even been something as simple as the timing.

Back in your second year of university, you became scared of everything. You weren’t sure what had triggered any of it, but you were constantly in a state of exteme discomfort. And no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t. Before you knew it, your anxiety had become debilitating, and you had trouble maintaining any of your friendships. You managed to go to class and do the bare minimum to pass, but that was it.

For some reason, Oikawa was the only friend who tried to keep in touch with you. He would always invite himself over to your apartment and would stay over for hours. Whether it was working on homework or watching a movie, he’d just spend time there. You’d asked him one day why he kept coming over. He never gave a solid answer each time you asked and would simply shrug and smile at you. Before you knew it, you really fell for him.

But he was your best friend, and you were his. In your heart, you knew that was all it was ever going to be. Each time you forced yourself to remember that never hurt any less, but you just hoped that one day it would.

[sondepoch]

Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

MASTERLIST

You don't know that your life is going to end.

But from the moment you wake up, you know that something is wrong.

Call it a hunch, call it a guess. But as your two maids pull you out of bed to bathe and dress you, you're positive that something is off. That something is strange. That today is different, and not in a good way.

"Do you hear that sound?" You ask the maid tying your hair, closing your eyes as she works. There's a low hum that envelopes your hearing, like a swarm of bees that won't stop buzzing right outside your room.

Your maid pauses, halting her shuffling to focus on the silence, searching for any sounds that block it out.

The brief quietness that wraps around your room is a final moment of peace.

Then your door has been kicked open, revealing your knight standing in full armor, his helm donned and his sword unsheathed, and you bid farewell to tranquility—not knowing that it will be the last moments of serenity you will ever have.

"Sire!" You exclaim, turning around in shock. You open your mouth to reprimand him, to remind him that even if he is your knight of honor, he cannot barge into your chambers at random like this.

Before you can say a word, though, he's begun speaking. And once the words begin to start pouring out of his mouth, it's like they won't stop.

"Escape—we have to escape! Rebels have seized the west and central wings—we must leave! Now! They've scattered our forces, but a few of us remain in this section of the palace! I've ordered all the men within my unit to set up a defense by all the secret exits, but we must leave now, otherwise—"

Your mind goes blank. His words carry such weight that you can hardly process them.

Rebels? Your eyes widen. And they're in the palace?

"Sire, what about my—"

"Your parents have barricaded in the central wing. Their status remains unconfirmed."

Beneath his helm, your knight's lips are set in a thin line, the demon already making swift strides to wrap his fingers around your arm and yank you out of your seat.

"What are you two waiting for?" He practically shouts at your maids when the two of you are nearly out of your room. "Hurry!"

The urgency in his voice stirs you to action, and within seconds, the four of you have begun sprinting down the empty hall, the only sounds around you being that incessant hum from somewhere outside and the clattering of boots and heels as you collectively begin to escape.

"Sire—" You blurt, using one hand to bunch your dress up. "How—how did this happen? Or—or when? The rebels—it should have been impossible for them to sneak inside. Why weren't the knights guarding the palace?"

"The knights were guarding the palace," The demon responds grimly, jerking your elbow closer to him as he makes a turn, glancing back to confirm that your maids are still hot on your heels. "The rebels managed to enter the palace from inside. They must have had assistance from someone within the palace."

"Who would…"

Who would betray your parents? They've done more than enough to ensure that every civilian, palace worker, and knight in the nine circles of hell is terrified to the core of them and their power. You're not surprised that a rebel faction rose up—but the fact that they were able to get help from within the palace is confusing in more ways than one.

"I don't know, princess." Your knight glances at your with sympathetic eyes, pity laced into the irises you've grown so familiar with. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," You respond curtly, bunching the fabric of your dress tighter in your fist as you run. "There is nothing you could have done."

"Perhaps," The knight muses. "But there are things I can still do now—and it is my mission to see you to safety, princess."

The demon grins at you, flashing you the same broad, charming grin that you've grown used to seeing in these past few months. And for a moment, everything seems like it will be alright. Yes, the palace is currently being infiltrated by rebels and yes, you have no clue whether the rest of your family is safe or not. But as you remember this knight's pledge of honor to you, you know that as long as he is by your side, you're safe.

The thought would make you smile, if not for the fact that seconds later, the four of you turn the corner and run straight into rebels.

Your knight reacts before you do, fingers tensing around your arm with bruising force as he yanks you backward, placing your body behind him. He stands in front of you like a shield, his longsword drawn in his hand within seconds.

Your maids aren't so lucky.

They stop themselves from their sprint only when it's too late, their bodies staggering forward clumsily as they spot the rebels a moment after you.

A moment too long.

You reach a hand out to grab for them, but the knight holds you back, and their names leave your lips in a strangled gasp.

The rebels kill them so quickly, your maids don't even have time to scream before their bodies are falling to the floor, limp and bloodied.

"What—wait—" Your eyes widen with horror, and the knight tries to pull you behind him once more in an attempt to shield you from the sight; but you can't take your eyes off the women who have been with you from childhood. "You monsters!" You seethe, hot tears forming in your eyes as you glare at one of the rebel demons. "I would have—I would have given myself up in exchange for their lives—but—but—"

"We do not need you to give yourself up to us," A voice rings out, interrupting you smoothly.

Your eyes widen.

You know that voice. You've heard that voice. You've spoken with that voice.

"Try to escape as much as you wish, but your life will be in our hands before the day's end." Footsteps click against the stone floors, and a figure emerges in front of the band of rebels. A figure you recognize. "After all," The demon laughs, his tone just as cruel as you remember it. "The last time we met, you told me you wished that vengeance would be delivered to my enemy."

Green eyes meet yours, staring coldly down at you.

"And you, my princess, are the enemy of the people."

The teal-haired demon walks closer, a hand raised to signify that the other rebels ought to not attack. The yet is implied.

"You—you—" You shudder as he approaches, a rage engulfing your senses. "You bastard," You seethe, ignoring the fact that your language is wholly inappropriate for a lady of your standing. "You lied to me! You told me you were a—a—a butler! How does it feel, Sir? To know that you had to lie your way to where you're standing right now?"

The demon chuckles, but the sound is devoid of mirth. No, the laughter that rings forth is nothing but cruel, abrasive to the ear. "I did not lie to you, princess." The demon grins. "I am a butler, after all. I merely...left some details out."

The butler takes two more steps forward, but just as he's about to draw even nearer, your knight raises his longsword, pointing it straight at the demon's chest.

"Not a step closer," He warns, the edge in his voice more threatening than the glint of steel between his fingers.

"Of course," The butler says courteously, nodding his head.

He drops the hand that had been raised, the hand which had been signaling for the other rebels to remain on standby.

They attack the second his hand falls.

Your knight is prepared for them when they come, battling off the six swords with his own as you and the butler merely watch.

"I can fight," You try to explain when the knight pushes you back, never loosening his grip on your arm as he forces you behind him while single-handedly clashing his steel against the rebels'.

"You have no weapon," The knight hisses in response, smoothly disarming one knight. He pierces the demon's heart with his sword, the sound of his flesh tearing open making you flinch. The man cries in response, giving a shuddering gasp which chills you to the core, but your knight has no time to waste with him while five others are still active on the assault, and within moments, his longsword is withdrawn from the demon's body and is back to clinging against his opponents'.

You grit your teeth, hating how the only thing you can do is keep your footsteps in line with the knight's so that you don't trip him, knowing that you'll do nothing but worry him if you try to fight. But still, you keep a fist raised, entirely prepared to jump into the battle if you see your knight being overpowered.

"Impressive," The butler calls out when your knight slices the head off one demon and knocks another unconscious, turning the match into a three-on-one. "Have you ever thought about joining forces with the Resistance, young knight? Your strength may have gone unappreciated under the past tyrant rulers, but the new king will reward you well for your loyalty."

"I am loyal to my princess," Your knight spits in response, punctuating the sentence by killing another rebel and making a swipe for the butler. The green-eyed demon merely steps out of its way. "Your rebel faction means nothing to me."

The knight darts back, and you scamper out of his way so that he doesn't bump into you when he evades a hit from a heavy battle-ax, but the momentum of the movement was too much for the demon who attacked, and in the brief seconds where he is struggling to lift the weapon back off the ground, your knight has already darted in and delivered the fatal wound.

When the battle turns into a one-on-one, there's no question of the winner anymore.

You feel your heart begin to steady when the knight slays the last of the attacking rebels, the adrenaline of fearing for your life wearing off the moment you're no longer in immediate danger.

Yet the butler remains.

Your knight raises his longsword, circling around the demon cautiously, holding you behind his back the whole time as if he's waiting for the man to attack.

But the butler does nothing, maintaining his eerily calm smile as you both cross him in the hall.

Your knight takes a step back, still holding his longsword up. Then another. And another. He takes one more, and then his grip around your arm is even stronger, and the two of you are sprinting down the hall once more, leaving the butler behind as you run.

"That vile man was standing in front of one of the only secret exits in the east wing," Your knight grunts in explanation, gritting his teeth. "We'll have to go around the palace if we want to—"

"Wait!" You interrupt, something more important crossing your mind. You tug the demon backward. "My maids! Their bodies—we have to take them with us so we can give them a proper—"

"No one will be getting any burials today, princess." Your knight's expression darkens as he turns the corner. "Your maids aren't the only ones who ran into those rebels."

For a moment, the two of you pause in your sprint to study the hall in front of you. It's nearly a replica of the scene in your dream: a perfect picture of death. Bodies line the floor, their blood layering out a carpet of red over the stone. Arms are bent at awkward angles, legs are missing, and the entrails of a certain demon have spilled out next to him. Every demon who has died here has died so brutally that there will be no peace for them in the afterlife, their bodies mutilated beyond the point of return.

But for a second, it feels like every pair of dead, open eyes is staring straight at you.

You don't have any time to contemplate the notion, because before you can blink, your knight is tugging you through the sea of bodies without a care in the world.

You try not to cringe as you hear the squelching sound that the corpses make when the two of you trample over them. It takes all your efforts to keep your eyes up and not look down, not stare at the thing that your heel is sinking into which makes such a pitiful sound.

"Princess…" You hear someone breathe from behind you, inches from death but still seeking you out, but your knight has pulled you forward before you can even look back, telling you to keep your eyes off the ground.

You feel sick.

The feeling never leaves you, not when you and the knight start up a sprint once more and not when the ground is finally its usual grey color, with only the occasional palace worker brutalized every couple hundred feet. The queasiness stays with you all the way until you're nearly out of the east wing, after your knight has fought off another handful of rebels and when the two of you are close to another secret exit.

But you make the mistake of glancing inside a familiar room.

And then it's another feeling that's overwhelming your senses, and the nausea at seeing so many mutilated bodies fades when another sight enters your vision.

"Wait," You mumble, instantly slowing down.

"Princess?" The knight in front of you calls, tugging your arm. "We have to go, we don't have time to—"

"No!" You blurt, tugging the knight backward, going back to the room you just saw. It had to be your imagination, right? Could it be true?

Your knight protests the whole time as you practically drag him back to the throne room, squinting to see whether it was just a trick of the light or whether you actually saw what you think you did.

And sure enough, you were right the first time.

Red hair.

Your eyes soften, a familiar warmth settling inside your heart.

Amber eyes.

A careless smile breaks out on your face: the smile of a fool in love.

"Diavolo!" You practically sing as you step forward into the throne room, the knight behind you flinching when he sees that you've willingly entered into the same room as someone who certainly isn't a palace worker.

The redhead makes no motion to respond to you, his expression unreadable as you draw close.

"You're here," You say with so much love that it hurts, every inch of your body overwhelmed with the fact that your lover somehow managed to make it here to protect you.

It doesn't strike you as odd that Diavolo is sitting on your throne.

"We're saved," You whisper to the knight next to you. You can feel him instinctively relax when he sees the utterly relieved expression on your face, but the arm that grips you remains tense. "This is the man I told you about. The man I want to marry."

You turn away from your knight, addressing your lover.

A beaming smile lights up your face.

"You're here to save us, aren't you?" You ask, ready to cry tears of joy. You were so scared, so terrified that you were actually going to die. But Diavolo pulled through. He came here for you. To help you. To protect you.

To save you.

Something flashes in Diavolo's eyes. An unfamiliar emotion. It looks like guilt, but surely you misread it? He should be proud. He made it here on time. You're going to be okay, now.

And it's all thanks to Diavolo.

"Princess…" Your knight mumbles into your ear after Diavolo has been silent for a moment too long. "This is the man you have been leaving the palace to see?"

You nod, smiling sweetly.

Your knight stares down at you, eyes softening. A strange emotion swirls in his eyes as he sees the utterly trusting expression you regard your lover with, but you don't bother commenting on it as you continue to attempt escaping his tight grip around your arm so you can go forward and embrace Diavolo.

When the demon next speaks, you're confused.

"Princess, get behind me."

Your knight raises his sword to Diavolo, his eyes narrowed in pure hatred as he looks upon the man who sits on your throne.

"What? Sire, what are you doing? Diavolo isn't the enemy, he's—"

"Get behind me," Your knight repeats with such venom in his voice that you turn to Diavolo, expecting the man to say something—but your lover doesn't look at you. He keeps his gaze focused solely on the knight, lifting his own sword when he sees the demon draw close.

"W-wait," You blurt the second you see your knight move forward, beginning to circle Diavolo. "S-Sire, what are you doing? D-Diavolo, don't fight him—I know I never told you about who I really am, but—but—but this knight is on our side, and—"

"Princess," Your knight cuts you off, his expression fixed on Diavolo.

You don't respond to his word, too preoccupied with the sight of the two demons you trust most being poised to fight, both stanced for a duel which looks like it will end in death.

"This man..." Your knight glares, closing one eye as he raises his longsword.

"...Has lied to you."

Steel crosses with steel.

Your eyebrows furrow the moment the demons move, the moment you see how precise their swings are—and you dart forward, trying to step between their weapons until the knight pushes you away, practically shoving you behind him.

"Sire—Sire, stop! I am commanding you to stop! This is a misunderstanding, this is—"

"No, princess," Your knight scowls, dodging swiftly before thrusting his sword at Diavolo's stomach, though the redhead evades easily. "You have misunderstood."

"What are you…"

You flinch when the sound of metal clanging fills your ears, stepping back.

"This man has lied to you, princess." Your knight begins advancing, and the fury in his words is emphasized by every movement of the blade between his hands. "Who do you think he is? A farmer? A commoner? A merchant?" Your knight glares. "He is among the rebels. No, he must be their leader."

"What…?" You turn your eyes upon Diavolo, waiting for him to deny it. Waiting for him to step back and furrow his eyebrows cutely like he does whenever he doesn't know what you're talking about. Waiting for him to say something to prove your knight wrong, and prove that this is all just a big misunderstanding.

But he says nothing, only continuing to retreat as your knight's attacks grow more frenzied.

"How did it feel?" Your knight hisses, no longer addressing you but now solely focused on Diavolo. "Leading the princess on, tricking her into loving you, toying with her heart so that you could sit on her throne?"

Your knight swings his longsword with such strength that if Diavolo hadn't ducked, his torso would have been cut clean off.

"Diavolo," You whisper, hesitantly turning to him. He ignores you, but you see the way the muscles twitch in his neck when you speak. "Diavolo, please. Tell me...tell me it isn't true."

But for the first time, the demon you've come to love ignores you.

"Close the door, Barbatos," He commands. You nearly flinch at the inflection of his voice, because never before have you ever seen him speak with such authority—but then another thought breaks into your mind, and you shudder because he isn't just asking to have the door closed. He's asking to make it so that no one can disturb you.

Diavolo wants to kill your knight without any interruptions.

"Wait!" You shout, spinning around, hoping that the rebel behind you will be someone you can plead with. But when you glance back, the eyes that greet you are cold. Callous. Cruel.

Green.

You shiver as the butler from before smiles eerily at you, closing the door with a bang which seems to echo through the room, momentarily overpowering even the sounds of swordfighting from behind you.

How did he get here so fast?

Another chill crawls down your spine as his empty, olive eyes peel back at your soul, and you turn around just to avoid the sight of him.

Of course, the two men fighting behind you are hardly easier to watch.

Your knight is completely unhinged, now. He throws insults left and right at Diavolo, using his sword to rain down attacks that come just as hard as his words, but your lover says nothing, solely preoccupied with pushing back.

"Vile." He seethes. "Wicked—you are pathetic. Your rebellion is unjust. The princess is a better ruler than you can ever hope to be." Your knight spits at Diavolo's feet. "You have no honor. A decent man would have at least charged the gates headfirst, rather than sneaking in from the inside like a coward—"

Your eyes widen in horror.

"Wait," You mumble, falling to your knees. "I—no—it can't—"

"Princess?" Your knight asks, pausing in his insults for the first time when he sees the way you practically crumple to the floor. His gaze shifts back and forth between you and Diavolo, desperately avoiding his opponent's attacks but unwilling to leave you be. "What is—" He grunts, ducking. "What is wrong?"

You take a shaky breath to steady yourself, tears filling your eyes.

But the guilt is overwhelming.

"I gave Diavolo entry to the Temple of the Grim Reaper, Sire." The knight's eyes widen at your words. "I let the rebels into the palace."

Your shoulders slump in shame as you realize the weight of your blunder. The fact that you single-handedly doomed every single person in this palace. That all those mutilated corpses outside are your doing, because if you had never given Diavolo free reign of the holy temple, he never found his way into the palace through the secret passage, and this rebel faction would have had no leverage.

It's your fault.

Your knight gazes at you in sympathy for a moment, his eyes taking on a softer shade as he doubtlessly tries to come up with something to say that will comfort you.

And then the weight of your burden abruptly increases, because that single second of hesitation is all Diavolo needs to deliver a deadly blow, and your knight drops to the ground.

"No!" You scream, scrambling forward. You don't care how pathetic you look, you don't care how unladylike you're being. You have enough death on your hands—you can't take any more. "No," You mumble, cradling your knight's head in your lap as Diavolo gazes down at you with unreadable eyes.

"I can…" Your knight trails off, glancing down at where Diavolo has sliced into his skin.

A single glance is all it takes to know that the wound is fatal.

"I can...fight…" He grunts, using the last of his strength to push you away, away from him and away from Diavolo, stabbing his sword into the ground to use it to crawl to his feet.

Diavolo makes no motion to stop him.

You glance around the room, desperately searching for a weapon—but your throne room has been stripped of its furnishings. There lies not even a rock you can throw to intervene with the fight, and you know better than to go against an opponent who has a sword without one of your own.

You cringe as the sound of metal meeting flesh fills your ears, already knowing that Diavolo isn't the one who was just injured.

"Cease this," You breathe shakily. "Diavolo, I will give myself to you, but please just spare—"

"I thought I told you we didn't need you to give yourself up?" A voice asks, sharp and irritated. The butler—Barbatos, as Diavolo called him—approaches you from behind, taking advantage of the fact that you're practically paralyzed in fear to stand right next to you. "Watch, princess. Diavolo is not the person who will kill this knight. It will be you."

You regard the demon's words with confusion. Confusion and horror, another shudder running up your spine when you feel how close Barbatos is to you; but then the weight of his words hits you, and you realize their meaning.

"I will not..." Your knight spits blood. It hardly does anything, given that he is now covered in red, but he does it all the same. "...stand down." He glances back at you, and his gaze is nearly as terrifying as Barbatos's, utterly horrifying to look at because of how his face is littered with cuts and he's drenched in blood—but you refuse to let yourself turn away. "I swore to you that as long as my blood runs warm," He trembles, taking a staggering step as he raises his sword. "Then...you shall be protected."

Diavolo strikes, clanging the sword out of his hand. It falls to the floor, too far for the knight to pick it back up.

"So, I must...I have to...survive...if not for my own sake...then for yours, princess…"

Your knight raises a fist, a final act of defiance that he knows is futile, but it's the only option he has left. You cringe internally, waiting for Diavolo to strike him down, to kill the final shield that guards your life—but the redhead is unmoving as your knight's gloved fist comes crashing down against his cheek, the punch falling upon his face without an ounce of resistance.

Isn't it sick that even now, you feel a twinge of sympathy for Diavolo?

You watch as your knight remains standing for a beat longer, raising a second fist to strike him again.

But one free punch is all Diavolo was willing to give him, and when your lover's sword cuts open your knight's neck, the demon doesn't even scream before he crumbles to the floor, dead as the bodies outside.

You don't look at Diavolo when he enters the room.

Your gaze is fixated on the floor, on a speck of dirt that you want to flick away but can't because of the way your wrists have been handcuffed to the ground.

"Leave us."

You raise your eyes, sneaking a peek at the two demons who stand behind Diavolo. One of them is Barbatos, but that's hardly surprising, given that out of all the rebels you'd crossed when you were dragged to this room in chains, Barbatos is the only one who never left Diavolo's side.

You squint in the darkness, lowering your head to get a better sight of the other demon, noting that something about him seems awfully familiar. Raising your head, you try to catch a glimpse of the demon's eyes and—

Oh.

It's the Victor.

Fighting for Diavolo's Rebellion, doubtlessly brought here by the redhead's victory last night.

The very thought fills you with anger.

"I trained you," You croak, the chains rattling from behind you when you and Diavolo are alone. "I trained you, and I fed you, and I healed you, and now you're turning that against me?"

Bitterness drips from your voice like blood off the sword hanging on Diavolo's side.

"I was good to you. I taught you, and I protected you, and I loved you—"

Your words are growing louder now, hysteria sinking into your voice as you fight back the tears.

"I loved you, and I kissed you, and I slept with you—" Your words break off, the tears now freely pouring down your face. You heave in a breath, but the cold air stings your lungs. "How could you, Diavolo? I thought—"

You choke back a sob.

"I thought you loved me."

You close your eyes, dropping your head to the ground so that Diavolo can't see the tears as they stream down your face.

The last thing you expect is for him to drop to his knees and wrap you in a hug.

"Don't touch me," You hiss, but you can't bring yourself to pull away from his arms.

"I'm sorry," He breathes into your ear, and it feels less like he's hugging you and more like he's clinging to you, desperate to hold on to your figure while he still can. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't forgive killing my people," You retort, memories of every person who has died today flashing through your mind. "You and your rebels slaughtered my men. My women. My palace workers. My knights."

"Everyone was given the opportunity to come to our cause," Diavolo responds. "The ones who had been brainwashed by your parents stayed, but over ninety percent of the palace forces have joined the Resistance, and—"

"Brainwashed?" The word falls from your lips like it's poison, and you glare at Diavolo. "My parents never brainwashed—"

"Can you truly say that?" Diavolo asks, his voice sharp. The amber eyes you've grown to love are impossibly clear as they stare you down, and the raw confidence of his voice makes you hesitate. 

Can you truly say that your family hasn't brainwashed their most loyal supporters? It certainly wouldn't be unusual, given all their other transgressions against the people. But still…

"I wouldn't have brainwashed anyone," You whisper.

"It doesn't matter what you would have done," Diavolo responds, reaching a hand to card through your hair. The gesture is so familiar and loving that you can't help but relax, despite the situation. Diavolo's next words are a stark reminder of the truth. "What matters is your parents. What they have already done. Their crimes against the people, and what the people are now going to do in retaliation."

You lower your head.

"You can't deny that your parents have been awful to the masses. It's not an opinion. Their tyranny is a fact. A rebellion was inevitable—the only people who have neglected to join the Resistance did so out of fear, and even they have turned to our side now that the fated day has come."

"But I was going to free everyone," You whisper. "I was going to change everything when my parents handed over the throne. Everything, Diavolo. I was going to give the people what they wanted."

The demon remains silent.

"If you—" You swallow, a surge of hope washing through your senses. "If you want to be king, Diavolo, I can make it happen. I know you're noble—your rebellion proves that. But—but if you truly loved me, then…"

You let your voice fade to a whisper, not bothering to finish a sentence that Diavolo already knows the answer to.

"I already told you that I want nothing more than to marry you," Diavolo whispers. "It would make me happier than anything in the world. But your life...cannot be spared."

"And why not?" You retort, passion burning in your eyes as you look up. The chains clatter against your wrist as you struggle forward, but you force yourself to twist your body into a position that enables you to look your lover in the eye. "I will be a good ruler. I know that. You know that."

"You will be a good ruler," Diavolo agrees. "But the people will forever live in fear under you."

You open your mouth to argue, but the redhead is speaking before you can.

"You are the daughter of the emperor and empress who killed millions. It wasn't just your parents who sucked the Devildom dry—it's been every single ruler in your family. Not only do the people not trust you, they can't trust you. You represent everyone that they have suffered abuse under, everything that—"

"But I'm not!" You argue, jerking your body forward. "I'm good! I was—I was going to take the throne, and I was going to change things! I was—I was—" Another wave of tears springs to your eyes, but this time you don't bother holding them back. "I was going to marry you, Diavolo. I was going to marry a commoner and break every precedent my ancestors have set! I was going to make the Devildom happy, and—and—"

You choke off to get ahold of yourself, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

"I wanted to marry you. I want to marry you." You jerk your wrist from its chains, trying to reach up to caress Diavolo's face, but the shackles hold you back. "We could still get married," You whisper. "Just like you wanted to, yesterday—we could get married, and we could change the Devildom for eternity."

You lean your head forward, trying desperately to get him to see how genuine you are.

But the look in Diavolo's eyes is tinged with pity.

His mind is already made up.

"All you had to do was wait," You whisper. "Just a few more months, until the first snow came, and then you would have seen me rise to the throne. Everything would have changed. People would have been happy."

Diavolo remains quiet for a moment longer, but when he processes your words, a strange light settles in his eyes.

"The first...snow?" He mumbles, confused.

"Yes," You mumble, eyes downcast. "If you could have waited just a few more months, I was going to inherit the throne."

Diavolo studies you, amber eyes blurred in confusion. The look turns to skepticism, then confusion once more, until the oranges light up with understanding—before his expression darkens.

"Your parents were going to give you the throne."

You nod.

"On the first snow of this year."

Another nod.

Diavolo stares at you blankly, and then his expression twists into a grimace as he pulls away from you, abruptly leaning back.

"They knew," He mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. "They knew that Rebellion was coming."

"What?" You try to weasel your way forward and see the look on Diavolo's face, but the darkness of the room makes it impossible. "Why would they stay in the palace if they knew—"

"They didn't."

Diavolo glares at the floor, his hand tensing into a fist.

"When we infiltrated the central wing, your parents were already dead." Diavolo drops his head. "It was a double suicide. Poison. They knew we were coming."

"What?" You ask. "No. No way. They wouldn't—they wouldn't kill themselves. Or—or if they did, they—they would have told me, so that—"

"So that what?" Diavolo snaps. "There's nowhere in the Devildom that is safe for any of you. No matter where you go, the masses will follow. You'll be lucky if you can get a quick death, but the public has been oppressed for too long to give any of you an easy out. It would be hell for any of you if you tried to escape. Death was the only way."

"You don't mean…"

Diavolo nods his head, the pitying look in his eyes returning.

"Your parents never planned for you to become Empress." The demon stares at his hands. "They probably just...wanted you to be a bit happier in your final months in the Devildom."

You jerk back abruptly, practically kicking Diavolo away until your back is flush against the wall you're chained to, trying to distance yourself from the demon, yourself from his words, yourself from the truth that is spilling out of his mouth.

"You're wrong," You whisper, closing your eyes. "My parents love me. They wouldn't lie to me. They—I was going to be Empress. They were going to make me Empress."

"We are demons of hell," Diavolo mumbles. "Demons of flame, demons of fire. Summer is our season. We celebrate the heat, not the cold." His eyes raise. "Tell me, have you ever heard of royalty being sworn in during the winter?"

"No," You say. "But I was going to be the first—"

"No," Diavolo cuts you off. "You were never going to be Empress."

You lean back, numb as Diavolo continues to stare at the ground, neither of you willing to move. The moment is delicate. So infinitely precious, as if a single word will shatter the silence. The tears that have been streaming down your cheeks finally stop, their tracks feeling cold as they dry on your face.

Neither of you seems to breathe.

"I came…" Diavolo coughs, clearing his voice when he realizes how shaky his words sound. "I came to fetch you." He refuses to meet your eyes. "The Resistance has full control of the palace, and all the remaining workers and knights have turned over to our side."

A weak laugh escapes from your lips.

The rebels won control of the palace the moment your parents committed suicide. With no hailing Emperor or Empress to bow to, the illusion of fear that had chained all the royal subjects to the palace dissipated. It's hardly any wonder that this rebellion has finished as quickly as it began.

"You're going to kill me," You mumble, almost feeling delirious. "No, no wait—I bet you're going to get rid of my soul as well, aren't you?"

The way Diavolo doesn't respond is an answer in itself.

You try not to think about the excruciating pain that accompanies the death of one's soul, forcing yourself away from a visualization of the agony you're about to go through.

"Your death will mark the beginning of a new era," Diavolo whispers. "The people will be happy. They will be free. Magic will be practiced on the streets, and the Devildom will finally ring with the sound of laughter once more."

"Yeah," You respond, already beginning to imagine it. "But did it ever occur to you that I wanted to see that future?"

Diavolo doesn't have anything to say to that. He remains silent for a long time, probably sorting out his guilt upon everything he's done to you and everything he's about to do to you, but you don't bother comforting him when you see how his eyes shine with regret.

In the end, he never responds to you.

The demon leans forward, reaching over your shoulder in a way that almost makes you think he's going to kiss you, but then you hear the sound of a lock, and the iron pipe that had bound your chains to the wall is dislodged, and you're somewhat free.

You jerk your wrists forward, momentarily considering an attack. But you know you're overpowered, with your ankles shackled to each other and your wrists bound behind your back.

You regret having ever trained Diavolo.

You want to regret having ever loved the man.

"Let's go," He mumbles, standing to his feet while he waits for you to do the same. He doesn't offer a hand to help you up, and you're grateful. You're not sure that you'd be able to take his help right now, not when he's about to kill you.

Neither of you looks at each other.

The walk through the palace is quick. Quicker than you'd like. You know these halls well, but it feels like Diavolo has truly studied them, because the path he leads you through is rigid.

You almost wish you could have had more time to appreciate the walk.

"I do love you," Diavolo mumbles when the two of you are in the hall that leads straight into the main entrance. You peek over his shoulder and see an array of unfamiliar faces, but you already know who they are.

The Resistance.

"If you had said yes to me yesterday, I really would have run away with you." Diavolo steps forward, brushing away the tearstains from your cheeks.

You hate how soothing you find the gesture.

"But you would have regretted it," You mumble in response, too familiar with Diavolo's code of honor to delude yourself into thinking anything else.

"Yes," He whispers. "I would have."

The two of you remain standing like that for a long time, Diavolo's hand lingering on your cheek while he stares down at you. But you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You stare at his chest, remembering the strong muscles there that you always thought would protect you from harm. The same muscles that are now pushing you into death's arms.

You think Diavolo is about to hug you one final time when he turns away, a hush settling over the entrance hall the moment the two of you trail inside.

Everyone looks at you.

You don't return any of their stares, though. The only eyes you are willing to meet are Diavolo's, and he never turns to face you again, avoiding your gaze entirely as he brings you to the palace door.

"It is time." He declares, his voice filled with an authority you're not used to hearing from him. "Begin."

Immediately, the gates creak open.

Your eyes widen as they do so, the low hum that you'd grown used to from this morning growing louder and nearly exploding when the doors open.

Your lips part as you see the obscene amount of barely restrained people, all shouting and jeering and screaming in a noise so deafening you're amazed that the stone castle walls were able to suppress them at all.

For a second, happiness returns to your heart when you see how they instinctively cheer when they see the palace door open—and you think that maybe Diavolo's words were a lie. That maybe, all the masses aren't against you. That maybe, you're not alone in this world, and all these people are here to protest Rebellion.

But then you hear some of the words that they shout and jeer.

And you realize the truth: it's Diavolo they are cheering for. It's cries of Rebellion that ring from their lips. It's hurrahs of the usurper king they scream, and it's the Resistance that they sing praises for.

Only a handful of people resort to throwing insults instead of shouting praise. But the ones who do are not opposing Diavolo.

No, every insult is thrown your way. It's you they loathe.

You, and no other.

The castle is lit aflame, the building burning before the fires conjured up by Diavolo's father.

It's purely symbolic. The burning of the palace is nothing more than another message to the masses: look, we have erased every memory of the tyrant rulers from our kingdom. But still, Diavolo can't help but think that it is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. The fire is so huge that it lights up the whole city, illuminating the Devildom which is so often shrouded in darkness.

Diavolo never knew stone could burn. Of course, his father's magic truly seems to know no bounds, so the demon was hardly surprised when all the Resistance members filed outside the palace before his father set it to flames, lifting his fist triumphantly while the masses roared in approval.

The prince glances at you from the corner of his eye, noting how you tremble when you see your home up in flames.

He wants to comfort you.

He wants to hold you.

He wants to love you.

Of course, the demon does nothing of the sort, having been reminded too many times by Barbatos and his father of his role here.

Bring her to the pyre, set it aflame, walk away.

And nothing else. Barbatos had been particularly adamant about that last part.

"Come," He whispers to you. There's no way that you were able to hear him—not with all the commoners pressed so close to the palace, screaming so loudly—but you move anyway, your chains jingling gently under the deafening jeers as Diavolo leads you to the pyre.

It has to be me, Diavolo remembers his father telling him as he gently lowers you to your knees, right before he begins to chain your shackles to the bolts of iron and metal that stick out of the ground. It's symbolic: the prince of the people setting fire to the princess of evil, the old being replaced by the new.

That doesn't stop Diavolo from hating every second.

The demon almost wishes that you would resist, that you would fight back and spit in his face, but you're nothing but compliant, your face already turned into an expression of mute acceptance. Worse yet is the fact that Diavolo remembers that your right wrist is stronger than your left, bolting it down with a touch of magic that you refuse to comment on, never meeting his eyes.

"You're going to die now," Diavolo mumbles, angling his head away from the public so that they can't see. He doesn't know why he says the words. He isn't even sure if you can hear him. But he refuses to move without telling you, as if it's the only mercy he can give. "I'm going to…"

"I know."

Diavolo will never understand how, but your voice hangs above the screams of the masses as they jeer at you, shouting insults. Your words are impossibly clear, maybe even clearer than the creative insults the crowd throws your way. He doesn't know if it's a blessing or a burden, because it forces him to listen to your next words.

Your final words.

"Take care of the Devildom for me, will you, Diavolo?"

You raise your eyes to look up at him, turning away from the mob watching and ignoring them altogether in favor of casting him one last look—and Diavolo hates that even now, you still have the interest of the people at heart. You may not forgive him for his methods, but you love the citizens of your nation.

Diavolo's nation.

"I will," Diavolo whispers in response. He's about to begin rambling, about to swear off another promise that will make you understand the truth of his words, the sincerity with which he speaks, but seconds later, his father is handing him a torch.

Your eyes flash with fear, the final sight Diavolo will ever see from you before you drop your gaze to your knees where they rest atop the pyre.

I'm sorry, he says, murmuring the words in his mind because he knows he doesn't deserve to apologize. He doesn't deserve to guilt you into accepting his apology. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness, and he doesn't deserve this kingdom which he has stolen from you.

But when the people see the stick in Diavolo's hand, the flame at the end burning with the telltale blackness of hellfire, they roar in support.

And Diavolo remembers why he is doing this.

For the people.

The demon steels himself, rising to his feet. He is not doing this for himself. He is not doing this for his father. He is not doing this for you. He is doing this for the people, and for the people, he will put on a show. For the people, he will give them the final taste of vengeance that they were deprived of the moment your parents committed suicide, give them what little sick satisfaction he can.

When he drops the stick of hellfire onto the pyre, he does it for the people.

But when Diavolo steps back, it's for his own sake.

Your screams begin instantly. The hellfire spreads faster than normal fire, faster than magic fire, faster than anything in the world as it rushes to every inch of the square pyre his father set up, and your body is burning instantly.

Diavolo tries to go further back, tries to put as much distance between you and that awful sound coming out of your mouth, but his father grabs his arm before he can withdraw any more.

"Watch," The demon hisses, fingernails digging into his skin. "You claimed to have loved her, so you will watch as you pay the price for our kingdom. It is the least we can do."

A shudder runs up Diavolo's spine when he sees the way your body writhes desperately atop to the flames, your skin slowly beginning to melt when faced with the scorching heat of hellfire.

Abruptly, Diavolo wishes that they could have used regular flames. Or simple magic. Because neither of those would hurt as much, neither of those would bring such horrifying sounds out of your mouth. But Diavolo knows that was never an option. Hellfire is the only way to truly end the life of anyone with royal blood flowing in their veins, the only way to not only burn their body but to set fire to their soul, scorching it so brilliantly that even the cycle of reincarnation is broken when the flames die out.

There will be nothing for you when this is over. The only escape is if the God in the Celestial Realm above takes pity on you, and Diavolo already knows that the ruler of heaven would rather see every demon in the Devildom burn in hellfire before he would ever take a demon into his land.

But that doesn't make the reality of the situation any less cruel.

Diavolo flinches when he realizes that your restraints are burning. That the chains which he bound to you are melting into your skin, an added burn that just exaggerates the pain.

The crowds scream with approval.

Their voices whoop with joy, all of them seeing you as an emblem of pure evil. When they watch you howl under the heat of the flames, it's your parents they imagine burning. Your parents, and your parents' parents, and every godforsaken ancestor in your family that has brought such misery to the Devildom—misery that you are paying back.

"Long live the king!" The crowd begins to shout, and Diavolo can't help but think that it's sick. Sick that they're paying tribute to his father, not even giving you the respect you deserve as you die for them.

A round of cheers raise up the moment your body has been reduced to nothing more than a pile of helplessly connected bones, but even then, you are still moving. There is still that awful screaming coming out of your mouth, a sound that sounds like it's Diavolo's name you are desperately trying to form the syllables to.

Please let her die soon, Diavolo prays. Please end this suffering.

He does not know who he is praying to, but his wishes are answered because in moments, even your bones have melted into the ground, prompting another wave of hurrahs to rise up from the crowd.

But your soul remains.

The ball of spirit fights viciously against the flame, your soul young and unready to give in to the merciless destruction of hellfire.

But Diavolo can see it flickering.

The commoners' chants begin rising, now starting to clash with each other as everyone is collectively shouting for some variation of a wish for your death, every single person urging your spirit onward in its agony, only Diavolo silently begging for your soul to miraculously remain whole, though he knows it's futile.

Diavolo can no longer hear your cries of pain.

The ball of light from within the black flames is flickering, fading.

"All hail the king!" The commoners shout, pressing forward as much as they can with Resistance members holding them back. "All hail the king, all hail the prince!"

Diavolo tunes them out, though. He's solely preoccupied with your soul, urging you onward in your desperate struggle against a force so much stronger than your own fragile spirit.

"All hail the king!"

Your soul disappears for a moment, but a beat later, it's back, still fighting.

"All hail the prince!"

A burst of light strengthens your spirit momentarily, but seconds later, you're back to flickering.

"All hail the Resistance!"

You're doing your best to hold your ground, Diavolo knows. Black flames overwhelm your spirit but you're fighting back, refusing to let go.

"All hail Rebellion!"

Please hold on, Diavolo wants to shout. Please hold on, and defeat the flames, and survive, and then maybe, just maybe, I can find your soul in your next life, and we—

Your soul flickers.

Once.

Twice.

And then never again.

A wave of cheers rise up from the public the moment they see that the flames of hellfire are pure black, not a single remnant of you to indicate that there was ever anything burning within, and Diavolo feels the breath catch in his throat, the air unwilling to go down as he waits for your soul to return. For your spirit to flicker once more, no matter how weak, to give him a final glimpse of hope.

But the flames remain black.

The masses go wild when they realize that you're gone. That not only is your life washed from this land but that your soul has been removed in the only way they know how, burned to ashes by hellfire. Their chants, cheers of hailing Diavolo and his father and Rebellion and the Resistance join into one, a seemingly never-ending cry of "All hail! All hail! All hail!"

The prince feels his father tense at the sight, instantly gripping Diavolo's hand and raising it high above his head for all to see the pose of victory between the father and son, the king and prince, the leader and defender.

"All hail! All hail!" They continue to shout, praising everything in those two lonely words of their chant: Diavolo, his father, the Resistance, Rebellion, and all of them for bearing the rule of tyrants for so many millennia.

Diavolo can hardly think over their screams because in his mind, the sound of your wails of agony continues to play out in his mind, and the look on his face is numb as he and his father step forward, and the crowd's chants grow impossibly louder.

The look on his father's face is filled with pride as their newly acquired kingdom screams for them, roaring in approval.

They continue to roar, their shouts getting louder and louder until each demon's voice has joined into a single chant that echoes through the land.

"All hail! All hail!

The sheer joy on their faces as they realize that they are finally free shakes Diavolo to the core, because he knows that it is an expression you always longed to see on the faces of your people. Pure happiness, relief, and elation at the realization that the oppression is over. That Rebellion has delivered its judgment, and they have emerged victorious.

"All hail! All hail!" They chant in unison, their voices and hearts beating as one, the whole nation at last brought together.

Diavolo wishes you could see it.

The crowd seems to sing with happiness as they continue to whoop and cheer, every word that spills from their mouth coated with joy so distinct that the demons seem to shine as they raise their fists in response to Diavolo's own.

It is a sight you would be proud of.

As the Devildom salutes its new leaders, unanimously approving of Diavolo and his father, the realm seems to shake as it breaks free from the reign of terror that had shackled it before, Diavolo swears that the sky brightens ever so slightly.

It is a sight you would have wanted to see, he knows.

And yet, it is a sight only possible because you are not here to see it.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

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[itawonka-creates]

This Jewelry Will End Up Killing Me - CH 2

[Prologue] [Ch 1] [Ch 3]

“You don’t have to fight.”

Looking at the girl, anyone would’ve thought she was standing on an unstable platform. Her hands could barely hang onto the knife in her hand and she struggled to look straight. Marinette’s voice was weak as she pushed out a sad, “I-I can do it.”

“No, you really can’t.” She’d probably die. The toads were extremely large; what Marinette said about them eating whole goats and children suddenly made sense. The ground vibrated with each hop as they hung around the empty field. He looked down at his own sword and started to wonder if it would even cut it. In his world, cutting a toad with his blade would be like cutting butter. Here, he had no clue. “Look, I’m going to test it out. If my sword doesn’t work then we’ll have to buy one from a shop.”

She looked over his sword and asked, “Didn’t it help you get here? Why wouldn’t it work?”

He shrugged and looked at the different toads in the field. Damian was glad they stayed away from the hill they were using as a vantage point. He walked a bit away from Marinette to take a better look at the area before muttering under his breath, “Tikki, is this going to work?”

Tikki popped her head out from under the gold-trimmed black mantle and looked at the toads. She hummed, “I believe so. Your weapons are fairly similar, but the lack of magical ability may not work in your favor here.”

“What’s the plan then?”

“In an emergency, put on the earrings. You may not be the true holder, but you will still have heightened abilities.”

“Is the true holder even around?”

“Yes.”

Damian sighed, “Let me guess. You don’t know who though.” Tikki shook her head while nervously giggling, much to Damian’s dismay. “For a goddess, you’re more useless than my brothers.” Tikki pinched his cheek and he yelped. “HEY!”

“What?” Tikki quickly flew into hiding and Damian regained his composure. Marinette walked over and leaned forward, “Why’d you yell?”

“No reason.”

Marinette frowned and rolled her eyes, “Sure.” She looked him over and asked, “How are the new clothes?”

Damian stretched a bit and thought for a moment. He kept his original boots and utility belt but wore a dark red shirt and black pants. The mantle was the finishing touch, at least in Marinette’s mind. Damian shrugged as he continued scanning the area, “It’s comfortable, but I want actual armor as soon as we make some more money.”

“Why do you call it that?”

“Call it what?”

“Why don’t you ever use the money’s name?”

“It has a name?”

“We just call it Tikki after the great goddess.”

“That’s weird.”

“No, it’s not. What’s weird is the fact that you made your outfit look like the bizarre costume you first came in.”

He finally found one that seemed the smallest out of the few in the area. He decided that would be the first target and pointed it out with his sword, “How about you? How are your clothes treating you?”

She looked down and frowned, “I’d rather buy fabric and make something for myself.” After Damian pointed out that fighting in her dress would be “a preventable hazard” and “dangerously stupid”, he pushed her to buy a less compromising outfit. He noted how she was quick so anything she can run in was preferable. Still, female armor and clothing for adventurers were more revealing than she anticipated. How Alya wore these outfits with the confidence of the Demon King himself, she had no clue. She ended up going to the boy’s section and buying herself some plain pants and a short-sleeved shirt. If it wasn’t for her small, but visible chest and ponytails she’d probably pass off as a boy fairly easily. She hated it. Still, she was surprised he’d do that to make sure she could move around and stay out of trouble.

Damian went as far as to buy her more comfortable shoes, but that was the most of their funds solely used for wardrobe. The outfit was horribly unflattering, but this was temporary. She dropped their things quickly in her home, not giving her poor parents the chance to ask questions, and leaving while Damian was out of sight. She felt like whining, but Damian was right; she’d fight better in this.

“Later. We don’t have that kind of time right now.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Just stay back for right now. I want to see how strong these are first. Once I figure out the best way to take them down, I’ll have you help with the next one.”

The look on her face displayed disbelief, “Really?”

It confused him but he had a feeling she didn’t get to do too much around here. Why? He had no clue, despite the clumsiness she seemed fairly competent. However, Damian wasn’t about to push her in the deep end and have her fight like this. She’d just get herself hurt. “Yeah, but for now just stand back until you’re comfortable.”

“Gotcha.” He stared down the smallest toad and waited for it to turn its back before charging. “Woah.” Marinette realized that his stats did not lie whatsoever. Damian moved in a way she’d only seen by veteran adventurers. She watched as he effortlessly pushed his sword through the toad’s skin and slicing into its side. It tried to swat at him and its scream brought the attention of the other toads, but he stayed focused on the one he just injured.

It was odd for her to be in awe of other adventurers. Her friends always headed the top tier list in her head, but neither came close to the precision Damian displayed. She gulped and thought to herself, “If he just registered as an adventurer today and this was his performance at his base stats, what’ll happen when he levels up?” Seeing him take down the toad and then immediately set his sights on the next nearest one made her tense. She knew he just registered as an assassin class, but he was right. Given the death toll he was racking up, it was perfect for him.

A voice from behind her nearly gave her a heart attack, “Who exactly is this guy?”

Her scream must’ve caught his attention because he immediately made some space between him and his opponent. Damian looked up only to see the same girl he saw on the rooftops with her arms wrapped around Marinette. The girl must’ve caught her from behind and it seemed that she had another man there as back up.

Damian wondered if he was getting robbed. Wouldn’t be entirely impossible, they walked around town with a sack of coins the past few hours. If these two have been spying on them since the market, then they might think they still had money. Damian cursed under his breath as he jumped out of the way from an incoming tongue from the toad he was fighting. Damian looked over to the three and what he saw made his blood boil. The man somehow got her knife, toying with and examining it. The girl had adjusted Marinette in her grip in what seemed like a headlock. Marinette seemed to be struggling while the girl poked at her and, worst of all, looked down her shirt all with a smile on her face. Marinette seemed mortified.

Damian growled and looked up at the toad. It reeled its head back, most likely getting ready to use its tongue again. However, boiling blood and adrenaline was a deadly combination. Without issue, Damian grabbed the incoming tongue and cut it off. The screech from the toad was something out of a nightmare, but it simply irritated him. He slashed at the throat, easily making it fall over. There was no way he could celebrate. Damian ran around the body and charged immediately at the stunned trio.

“Get the hell off of her!” The girl didn’t react at first, still in shock over what she just witnessed, but the boy quickly came in between them. Damian didn’t hesitate to swing at him, but it was blocked by the boy’s shield. By the ring that came from the impact and the look in the guy’s eyes, his strength was unexpected. Damian jumped back, putting some distance between him at the three to plan his next step. From the growing vibrations from the ground, they caught the attention of the rest of the toads. “Move!”

“Steal!”

There was a flash of light and he looked over at the girl. She held one of his batarangs out of his utility belt. “What?!”

The girl still gripped on Marinette’s arm, but their contact was broken by a slimy tongue wrapping around it. The girl instinctively pulled back and managed to get her hand out of the wrap. Marinette was not so lucky. Marinette was yanked up into the air and she reached out to the girl for help. “ALYA!”

“MARINETTE!”

“Alya?!” Damian cursed under his breath and looked at her partner, “Are you Nino?!” He nodded, a confused expression on his face. “Oh my- Get ready to launch me up!”

Alya tried to slice at the toad with her new weapon, but was causing little damage. “Marinette! Hold on!”

Marinette was slowly sinking into the toad’s mouth, “Get me out of here!”

“Nino! Now!” Nino flattened his shield while Damian took a running start towards the creature. As soon as Damian set foot on the shield, Nino launched him up. Damian didn’t hesitate to thrust his sword into the toad and drag it down its side as gravity did the work. The toad fell over and Marinette slid out of its mouth in a pool of saliva and slime.

Alya quickly ran over and grabbed her, “Marinette!”

Marinette stood up and started frantically wiping herself down, “Gross! Gross! Gross!”

Nino sighed in relief, “Good, you’re okay!”

“Not for long.” Damian pulled out his sword and motioned to the last four toads coming towards them. “Give Marinette her knife back.” Nino didn’t hesitate.

Alya tossed over the batarang and pulled out a shortened machete, “Alright, hotshot. Now what?”

“Nino, you have the shield. Keep Marinette out of trouble.”

“Got it!”

Damian looked over at Alya, “You ready to fight?”

“These bastards just tried to eat my best friend, of course I am.” Damian liked the answer.

“Let’s go.”

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

The sight hours later could’ve been a headline; four adventures covered in slime entered the adventurers’ guild with sacks full of toad meat. Alya was trying to comfort Marinette, who still seemed shaken up by the entire ordeal, while Nino tried cracking some jokes. Damian went up to the nearest register and pointed at the bulletin board. “We’re here to collect the reward.”

The poor woman, clearly disgusted by the four, took their meat. “Thank you.”

The reward was hefty, but they all agreed that the first thing they needed to do was get their clothes cleaned and take a bath at the nearest bathhouse. “Marinette, where do we get cleaned up?” Marinette didn’t say anything, instead responding with a soft whimper and Alya patted her back.

“Well, it could’ve been worse! You could’ve been eaten!”

“I was eaten!”

“Well, digested then.” Marinette hung her head and Alya sighed. She looked at both Nino and Damian before suddenly smirking, “So, who’s your boyfriend?”

Damian nearly tripped over his own feet, “What?”

Marinette whined before answering her friend, “His name is Damian Wayne.”

“That is not the part to focus on here!”

The shlop noise from Nino putting his arm around Damian’s shoulders made him scowl, “Damian, huh? How’d you meet Marinette?”

“She stared at me.”

Marinette crossed her arms and huffed, “You were dressed so weirdly, what did you expect?”

“What do you mean? He looks fine. Now you on the other hand…”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “He left his clothes back in my room, you should see th-”

“In your room?” Slime flew into the air as Alya flailed her arms, “What do you mean he left clothes in your room?!”

Damian groaned and pinched the bridge on his nose, “Can we talk about this after we get cleaned up?”

Nino grinned and pointed towards a few buildings, “We got two options. The cheaper option is to go to the public bath. Or we could go to the inn there, wash up and have a nice place to sleep. We’d have to get our clothes washed elsewhere either way, but-”

“You want the inn?”

“We would love the inn, thank you so much Damian! After all, we did help you kill those last few frogs.”

Damian groaned, “Fine but they better have spare clothes.”

“That’s one of the more expensive inns, so yes. Most likely.”

“Maybe we can get Marinette looking like a girl again.”

“Alya.”

“Hey! You made a cute boy. I know-”

“Marinette?”

The four turned around and Alya immediately frowned, “Chloe.”

“Excuse you, thief. It’s Lady Bourgeois to you, Miss Césaire.” Alya wiped some of the slime off her face and flicked it towards Chloe. Chloe jumped back in disgust, “Ugh! This is expensive!”

“Nino?” Nino looked up and almost melted on the spot when he saw a familiar blond running towards him. “Nino!”

“Adrien!” Nino pulled himself away from Damian and ran to meet Adrien somewhere in the middle. If Adrien noticed the slime covering his friend, he didn’t show it. Instead, Adrien jumped into Nino’s arms and squeezed tightly. “Dude! When’d you get back? You look good!”

“You stopped sending me letters! I thought you two died! I wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“Yeah, right! If I leave you alone for too long with little miss silver spoon over there then you’d go crazy.” Adrien laughed and wiped away some of the slime from Nino’s face. “Gross, right?”

“Very. What happened?”

Nino turned and pointed at Damian, “Marinette’s boyfriend was fighting toads and needed backup.” Both Chloe and Adrien blinked and took a moment to process the information before asking questions.

“Toads?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Stop saying that!” Damian groaned and turned around, “Let’s just go and get cleaned up.”

Chloe snorted, “I don’t know, the slime seems like an improvement. Don’t you think Marinette? The color really works for you. Actually makes you stand out.”

Marinette frowned and looked to her feet, “Yes, Lady Bour-”

“Marinette, don’t take that.” She looked up to Damian who took out the same sack Chloe had given them earlier, now full of coins, and threw it at her feet. Some of the coins fell out, but what made Chloe irritated was the slime that got on her dress.

“How dare-”

Damian decided to lay it on thick, “Thank you for your generosity, Lady Bourgeois. You’ll find your loan in the bag along with some interest. I figured an indirect method would be preferable given our current state.”

Chloe gagged as she reached down and picked the bag up with a handkerchief, “Yes, thank you.” She quickly handed the money to Adrien and threw the piece of cloth to the ground. “Well, Marinette you look atrocious. For a mediocre designer, this is terrible even for you.”

Before she could get any further, Damian asked Marinette, “Why are you working for her again?” Marinette opened her mouth but Damian immediately shook his head, “Don’t defend her. Just answer honestly.”

Marinette gulped and played with her ponytail, “To help out my family. The bakery if doing well, but the high taxes put us in debt. I thought I’d help out.”

Alya snapped her head over to her friend, “That’s the reason you’re working for her? You told me it was to make connections!”

Marinette flinched, “I knew you’d try to intervene-”

“Of course I’d try to intervene! I’m your best friend! I could’ve paid for everything!”

“I couldn’t do that to your family!”

Alya grabbed her arms and shook her, “Marinette, sweetie, love of my life, both me and my sister are adventurers. My family is fine!”

Marinette pressed her lips together and was about to apologize when Damian interrupted, “She wanted to earn the money herself without relying on people.”

Alya looked between the two a few times before growling at Damian and pulling Marinette close, “Is that why you took her to the fields? She could’ve gotten killed! She’s a designer!”

“Stop treating her like a kid! How do you expect her to do anything by herself when you coddle her like a toddler?” Damian held out his hand, “Marinette, give me your card.”

Marinette nodded, shifting herself in a way to slip out of Alya’s arms before walking towards Damian. She pulled out her card and Damian took it. He looked it over before turning it to the group, “She’s an adventurer. We registered today.”

Chloe snorted but when no one else laughed along with her, she coughed and asked, “Wait, are you serious? Marinette can barely pour water without messing it up.”

Nino ignored the statement as he walked up and hugged Marinette, “Dude! Finally!”

“Nino!”

“Oh come on, Alya. He’s right, you totally baby her. You guys act like she can’t do anything.”

“Yeah, Marinette’s awesome.” The group turned to Adrien and he shrugged, “I’ve seen her interrogate nobles based on their clothes. Anyone that can criticize Sir Damocles at a public even for his suit and tie combo and live to tell the tale with an intact reputation is someone to be feared.”

Alya’s mouth hung open in disbelief while she read the Adventurer’s Card over and over. Damian muttered to himself, “So that explains your behavior earlier.” Damian looked over the group and asked, “Hey, Marinette?”

“Yes?”

“How much is your family’s debt?”

Marinette gulped, “Around twenty two thousa-”

“Considered it paid.”

Marinette blinked, “What?”

“Consider it paid.”

“Wha – How?”

“You acted as bait for the toads.” Marinette flinched and was about to protest but he continued to say, “You earned your share of the reward. Even after paying Chloe back, there’s enough to pay off the debt.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Oh really? How much did you get? A few thousand?”

“Thirty five thousand Tikki.”

Chloe choked and nearly screamed, “TH-TH-TH-THIRTY FIVE THOUSAND FOR A FEW FROGS?!”

“Seven to be exact. Although if Alya and Nino want a share of the reward then I’m sure we can go back tomorrow and kill some more.” He looked to the couple and Nino had to shake Alya’s arm to bring her back to reality.

“Huh?”

“Do you want your share of the reward or can we use it to pay off Marinette’s debt?”

Alya looked at Marinette and sighed, “You know I love my Tikki, but I love you too girl.”

Marinette thought for a moment before throwing herself at Alya and squeezing the life out of her best friend, “Thank you.”

Alya didn’t hesitate to return the hug, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Alya pulled back a bit and wiped a bit of slime from her friend’s cheek, “Oh my god, our little Marinette is an adventurer.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Alya took that as an invitation to play it up, “She’s growing up so fast.”

“Alya.”

“And with a man by her side, no less!”

“Alya!”

Nino sighed, “That doesn’t leave us enough for the inn though.”

Adrien sniffed his slime-covered self and nearly gagged, “Nino, I will pay you to shower at least.”

Chloe crossed her arms, “So I guess this is your resignation, Marinette?”

Marinette looked over to Chloe and nodded, “Yes.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “You’ll be back. I’m great-granddaughter of one of the founders! The goddess has a special bond with our family, you know?”

Damian turned his attention to Chloe and asked, “The goddess?”

“Of course!”

Alya dismissed her claim with an annoyed wave, “She always says that.”

“It’s part of my family’s great history! The great goddess bestowed onto our family a great amount of fortune and prosperity for building the first church in the city. Jealous?”

“No, but I pity whoever has to listen to your family milk that for all it’s worth.”

Adrien was quick on his feet as he grabbed Chloe by the waist and held her back as she tried to lunge at Alya, “Chloe! No! If you get another assault charge, your father will have to force you out of the city!”

“Let me go!” Chloe flailed about for a minute before going limp and sighing, “I’m alright. I’m alright.”

“So if I let go right now, you won’t try to hurt our friends?”

“She’s not my friend.”

Adrien lifted her off her feet and scolded her, “Chloe.”

Chloe squealed, “I won’t!”

“Or arrest them.”

“Adrikins-”

“Promise.”

Chloe groaned and threw her hands up in frustration, “Fine! Fine! Promise.”

Adrien set her down and hesitantly let her go, “Okay.” Her face was flushed once she was set down and looked down to her feet.

Alya snickered, “Oh look, she does have an off button.”

“Alya! Stop already!” Marinette glared at her friend while Alya tried to protest.

“But-“

“No.”

“C’mon-”

“No!”

“Just one-”

“Alya!”

“FINE!” Alya crossed her arms and huffed.

Damian rubbed his temples, “You guys are more exhausting than my brothers.” The group turned to Damian and he realized that he said that out loud. Damian mumbled a quick curse and started to do damage control, “Um – I mean –”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right.” Adrien clapped his hands together and stepped forward, “And how rude are we not to invite our diplomat from Gotham to at the very least rest at our manor. Don’t you think, Chloe?” Chloe grumbled and looked away, not responding one way or the other. Adrien continued, “So on behalf of our great city, we invite you to come back to our manor. You will be given a room to rest, a bath, and dinner.”

Despite Marinette’s pleading looks, Alya asked, “Does that include friends of the guest?”

Adrien shrugged, “Sure.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Chloe stomped her foot and pointed at Alya, “I REFUSE TO HAVE THAT-”

“My name’s Alya.”

“IN MY HOME! SHE’S A THIEF!”

“Just because I started out in the thief class doesn’t mean I’m a thief! I only chose it because the abilities available early on help me during my investigations! I’ve been working on my magic! I want to be a mage!”

“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that! Why don’t I just call-”

“CHLOE!” Everyone flinched at the sudden bark, the shock soon set in when they realized it came from Adrien. Adrien took a deep breath after noticing the looks on the group’s faces. “Sorry! Sorry. Just-”

“They can come.” Adrien turned his attention back to Chloe who shuffled her feet. She had the look of a reprimanded child. Whatever her relationship was with Adrien, he held a great deal of power over her. “They can come.” Chloe visibly gulped and turned to Alya, “Just don’t take anything. Please.”

Any hint of Alya’s previous mischievous demeanor had completely vanished as she nodded. It was more of a reaction than a response. Nino was the first to recover, “Sweet! Living the high life for a night!” Nino grabbed Adrien’s arm and threw up a fist, “Drinks on Adrien!”

“I don’t drink, though.”

“You don’t have to. Me and Alya do. Thanks man!” Adrien laughed nervously, but still seemed on board with it all.

Chloe turned on her heel and started walking, “I’ll call two carriages. You all stink.”

Alya walked over to Nino’s side and grabbed onto his arm. He must’ve noticed her heightened nerves because he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. “C’mon. We’ll be fine. Especially after Adrien shows us the wine.”

“I’m not showing you the wine.”

“He obviously showing is the wine.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and started walking after Chloe. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes immediately went to Marinette. By the surprised look on his face, he must’ve been expecting her right behind him with Alya and Nino. However, he noticed Marinette still hadn’t moved.

Instead, she walked towards Damian. Nino pushed his shoulder and nearly knocked him over, “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

Alya came up from the other side and nudged him, “Oh! Is Adrien jealous?”

“Why? Marinette’s just a friend and they just met today.”

“Really? Today?” Alya looked over her shoulder, “That doesn’t look like a couple whose only known each other for a day.”

The boys looked back and both were surprised. Marinette was awfully close and friendly with the newcomer. His expression was one of annoyance or indifference, but he still allowed her to be close as they walked together. Alya shrugged, “I think they’re cute.”

Adrien hummed, “Yeah. Cute.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Cassell Cynics Chapter 3

@hectabdr

@hectab

Hana Sato walked back into the administrators building alone and shrugged when the Guderian, Manstein and Schneider all sighed at once.

“Hey, I tried.” She said.

“You were gone for such a long time. I got my hopes up.” Guderian lamented. He looked at the CCTV footage. Nathan Phillips was still where he had been all afternoon, but now he seemed to be sleeping. More likely he was just too stoned to sit up straight.

“Did you find out anything?” Schneider asked.

“Well...” She shrugged. “I found out that he’s C-ranked, he doesn’t believe he can actually slay any dragons, and he’s planning on dropping out and having his memory wiped.”

Guderian visibly paled. “Dropping out?! No one ever drops out!”

“I was going to ask you that.” Hana winced. “Do you know of anyone who’s ever actually dropped out?”

“Dropping out is easier said than done. It takes an extremely strong will to do it. Hybrids are fundamentally different from other humans.” Schneider’s voice was very soft. He spun a pen in his hand and his eyes turned distant. “A young person will feel an intense loneliness, the desire to reach out and find people like them without hearing anyone speak to them in a way they will understand. It doesn’t matter if it's a school like Cassell, or a private club, or a religion. Hybrids will wander and search until they gather together out of loneliness and the need to be with those of their own kind. For someone to experience the company of other Hybrids and then to turn away....” He paused, not finishing the sentence.

Guderian sighed, mournfully. “It seems so impossible. But it's true, he hasn’t joined any clubs, and shows no interest in any classes. Shows no interest in any girls.”

“The feeling is mutual. He’s has a reputation of uselessness on a level higher than Fingel Von Frings.” Manstein said. “Few on the faculty want to deal with him. Much less the students.”

“Perhaps that’s intentional. If no one sees him as useful, it's easier for him to disappear.” Schneider said.

Manstein spoke up. “Toyama has said that it is very rare for someone to be able to resist the ‘Cry of the Blood’ but it can happen. If the dragon blood purity is low enough then he might not feel the Blood Cry so strongly. Perhaps he is actually of C-rank and you two are having wishful thoughts.” Manstein huffed.

“Wait, you’re not sure what rank he is?” Hana’s eyes darted back and forth from face to face.

Schneider cleared his throat loudly. “His willfully negligent behavior is unusual for a C-rank and is intriguing enough to investigate. You see, low ranking hybrids are not usually this stubborn. We thought perhaps we could retest him.”

“He seemed pretty normal to me…” Hana responded. The three professors all stared at her. “I… I mean, some of the things he said were things I could understand. He doesn’t like the fact that people are here just to score what he called ‘social points’. He feels he’s here just to please his parents, but because he’s no use to the Cassell Mission it’s pointless for him to work hard. It’s not that he’s rejecting anyone. He seems to know that when the big missions come along, he won’t be called up. So there’s no point in being at the top of his game.”

“There are no useless hybrids at Cassell.” Schneider said. “In order to stay here you have to be above average, answering six out of the ten questions on the 3E exam. If he were just an ordinary Hybrid or possessed only garbage dragon genes, then he would not have been acceptable at all and we would have rejected him. He should know this.”

“I don’t mean to be argumentative, but he’s kind of right.” Hana said. “A-ranked students are called up in dire emergencies only. The last emergency we had, it was only A through S rankers. Since when was a C-ranked student sent on an A ranked mission? Wouldn’t that be the same as sending them on a death trap? No one is going to send a C-rank to kill a dragon king. It just doesn’t happen. What’s more, everyone knows that a B ranking should be the lowest grade on the Campus, for someone to get a C or an F like Fingel, it’s a joke to the whole college and no one would want to be caught dead hanging out with him. The only reason I could sit and talk to him was because I’m already a reject. I can’t get any lower, right?”

The three professors looked at each other in turn. 

Guderian rubbed his chin. “Perhaps you can talk to him again! He seems to like you! He doesn’t usually hold a conversation with anyone for very long!”

“Uh…” Hana smiled. “Honestly, I think I’m better off handling this escort mission alone. He’s made it very clear that he’s not interested in doing the assignment.”

Guderian gasped. “Oh right! The assignment! Yes… about that. Don't worry about that.”

Hana’s jaw dropped in confusion. “What do you mean don’t worry about it?”

“Um… the shipment was delayed. Yes… delayed. So you don’t have to worry about the assignment. More importantly, I think Mr. Phillips can use another interview from you. And we’ll make that your assignment!”

Hana sighed in disbelief. She crossed her arms. “When will this assignment end and how do I know I got a good grade?”

Manstein and Schneider both glared at Guderian and the man flinched. “I uh… heh… The assignment will be complete after this last interrog-... I mean, interview. And you’ll receive a full completed mark for my class.”

“I’ll take it!” Hana beamed. “Now if there’s no more, I have to get ready for my assignment!”

------

“So you were right. There probably wasn’t any cargo assignment at all.  They’re just really interested in the idea of you dropping out.” Hana reached over to dip her pita bread in the tzatziki sauce. “I think I got assigned to you because I was the only one with no social clout you might talk to. So now, talking to you is my assignment.”

“I don’t get it. Why do they care?”

“It’s not because of their ego. It’s because you’re unusual! It’s weird for hybrids not to want to be with Hybrids. The fact that you would willingly want to drop out and fantasize about it? It got their attention. I think they feel they might be wrong about your ranking. You’re C-ranked but you don’t act like it. Plus, it’s not possible for a C-rank to get into Cassell. The lowest rank they’ll accept is B. Officially. Fingel was A ranked when he joined but was demoted after. You were accepted as C… that’s strange. Did they say why?”

The spring air was still chilly but Nathan kept the window open in his dorm. The smell of garlic was strong from both the Greek and the Italian food. Hana and Nathan sat around a table full of half eaten styrofoam clamshells. Nathan sat back, his arms resting on the back of the used sofa, against the open window, shamelessly without a shirt, in the same pants he’d worn all day. His brown hair was roughed by the wind but he seemed to like it that way. “No.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what happened.”

“You had to resonate at least somewhat… right? C isn’t nothing.”

Nathan let out a breath and stood up to go to the dark kitchen and he returned with a beer. “You’re just going to go back and report everything I say. So why should I tell you anything?”

“Worst case scenario, you actually don’t belong there, this is all a mistake and they wipe your mind early. Best case scenario you find out you’ve been under-ranked all along and you can actually go on the dragonslaying missions and you can shove it in the face of all the people who looked down on you.”

He sat back down on the couch. “Both of those scenarios kinda suck.”

“You’re all about reality and truth, right?” She said, “If you really don’t belong here, you shouldn’t be here. If you do belong here, you should be here. If you’re as low ranking as you believe you are? Brain washing should be no problem. But if you’re strong? Having your memory wiped could cause intense anxiety and depression. Because you won’t be able to silence the blood-cry, no matter how hard you try. Hybrids always find each other. Only you will be miserable because you’ll be locked out of the world you belong to. Once you leave Cassell… you can’t come back. People may look down on you because you’re ranked C… but Fingel is ranked F and he’s not leaving. They haven’t kicked him out. Probably because he wouldn’t survive on his own out there. What do you think your chances are?”

Nathan took a drink from his beer. “I know that.”

“I’m on your side here. Just tell me what happened. I won’t tell the professors. I promise. They just said I had to complete the interview. Guderian didn’t say I had to tell them anything.”

He put the bottle down at the table. “You go first then. What did you see on your exam?”

“I was running down an unusually long corridor. And I just kept running and running until I got to the end and I saw myself. Only… My clothes were covered in blood and I was crying tears of blood. I was crying like...the kind of crying where you’re exhausted and you want to stop but you can’t. I felt like I knew what I was crying about, but I couldn’t… say it. Something terrible that shouldn’t be spoken. An incredible guilt. And I deserved what was coming to me.”

Nathan lowered his bottle from his lips. “Sorry…”

Hana just shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. It’s your turn.”

“Okay… don’t tell them, okay? Promise me.” Nathan’s eyes seemed to darken and Hana realized that perhaps she’d managed to convince him to talk. 

“I won’t. I promise.” Already her mind was fielding several different ways she could talk and somehow get away with it. Mentally, she crossed her fingers.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He tilted the bottle at her. “Anyway, I just… saw one dragon. It wasn’t that I saw a real dragon, I just got a sense of what they were. And I thought about how I’d been running behind my brother trying to keep up with him and my status obsessed parents. But when I saw what real power was? I was like… screw it. Everyone is just… rats on a wheel. So… I just stopped. I stopped writing.”

“What do you mean you stopped? You… stopped taking the test in the middle of it?” Hana's jaw dropped in disbelief for the second time that day. “How could you stop?! The visions are uncontrollable.”

“It was hopeless! I felt the deepest hopelessness you can ever feel. Like you were digging a hole thinking you almost reached the bottom and all you see when you look down is more and more dirt and you understand that you’ll die before you reach the bottom! So you just stop!” He slammed the beer on the table. “It wasn’t something I could control or think ‘okay next question’. It was like the universe reached out and said. ‘No.’ There was no choice. Once you understand what we’re up against? You’ll get it. But… I hope you never do.”

Hana couldn’t pull her gaze away from the haunted look in his eyes. They were the eyes of a crazy person. Maybe it was the fact that they were ringed with dark circles and red rims or the moonlight that made his skin look paler than usual. He certainly looked like someone who had a bad trip.

“I can look at you, Hana… and I can tell you flat out. If you meet a real dragon? You’re dead. You don’t understand what these things are. They look real, with eyes and skin and heart and lungs… but that’s just the … physical outward… manifestation of … some sort of Eldritch Abomination!” He fought to find the words to express what he remembered from the 3E. He was so defiant and stubborn before but now that was all gone. “You THINK you can kill these things because you don’t… understand…”

He leaned forward, his eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen. Hana leaned away from him.

“Cassell college is a joke. On a fundamental level. So yes. I’m getting my memory wiped. Because C ranked… A ranked… forget it. We’re toast.”

“You’re not C ranked.” She said, her voice shaking. “You’re not… And you know it. But you’d rather run away… You’re just like Fingel...”

“I think you’re right about that. But Fingel either doesn’t have the guts to cut and run or they won’t let him. The same way they won’t let me. They send you here to stop me from going. But you’re on my side right? Then you tell them the truth and tell them that ‘Yep! Nathan Phillips is just a C-ranked idiot. Just let him hang out here and cut him loose.’ You’re on my side. Right?”

“You really mean that Cassell can’t win?”

Nathan shook his head slowly.  “Not a chance. Not a snowflake's chance in hell. You’re on my side right? Please Hana. Just… tell them I’m a useless C.”

----

Hana stepped out of the dorm. The wind blew and ruffled the skirt of her uniform. She looked at the stately buildings and prime real estate. She had three assignments due the next day, and a presentation due after that. But a long shadow was suddenly cast over her future at Cassell. 

The shadow by the question. “What if he was right? What if it was really all hopeless? Cassell’s mission was to slay dragons but if it was impossible...”

She turned her face up to the single lit window. Nathan’s window was still open and even though she was outside and he was on the second floor, she could smell the weed from here. 

If I ever meet a dragon, I’ll bow down and say, “I welcome my scaly overlords!”

“You were serious...” She whispered. She turned and walked away, her lone figure receding into the night.

[dainarps]

Suddenly Husbands

Palm fronds tickled Leilani’s legs and ankles as he danced with some of the other children, adults nearby playing out rhythms on drums, small ukuleles and wooden flutes. Lelani had been practicing traditional dance among his people since he was a child — not that he wasn’t a child now. He was young, only thirteen, on the cusp of puberty and grasping desperately for adulthood.

The next week would be one of his first tests. His parents, Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, would be sailing away to one of their sister kingdoms to work on trade negotiations, and Leilani was going to be left to lead with the aid of the elders — all friendly, kind elves who had helped him grow, each teaching him different aspects of his culture to round him into a great chief. Their people had grown in the ancient days from men living in grass huts with no rulers or leaders, to a sophisticated kingdom, with many cities and townships, with buildings made of earth and stone, hidden in and among the trees of the rainforest and creeping out of the cliffs to the rocky shoreline below. His elders had taught him to respect the old traditions, the arts, their native language and practices, as well as embracing the new. He learned the common language of the land, learned diplomacy, and even spent time attending meetings with the children of other leaders — though, he mostly found this boring. He wanted to be a leader, loved and adored by all, without any of the hard stuff.

Deep, loud horns resonated across the region, and anyone out in the square looked toward the shore. The chief and chieftess were readying to leave.

Leilani was among the many people running through the crowd, his bare feet calloused enough not to get cut on the cutout stone roads, and skilled enough not to slip when jumping over the streams that broke through the city and cascaded down into the ocean below.

The stairs down to the pier were crowded, leaving Leilani with no choice but to jump. A few people on the ledge shouted as Leilani pushed off from the edge of the cliff and threw himself into the air. Rangi put her hand to her face in exasperation, and Kupe grinned, watching as his boy clumsily grabbed hold of a palm tree, slid down its branches and tumbled onto the deck of the boat, hitting it so hard that the crew winced. “You know, my little flower, one day you are going to break a bone and we are not going to let the healers take care of you, just to punish you for your recklessness,” Rangi said.

Leilani grinned and stood up, hardly caring about his bumps and bruises. “But I had to say bye, and nobody was going to let me down here!”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe while we’re away? And take good care of your people,” she replied, and Leilani nodded.

Kupe ruffled his dark hair, knocking it out of the small bun that had been tying some of it back out of his face.

“Don’t let the elders boss you around. You’re a young man now! Listen to their advice, but trust your instincts!”

“What if my instincts say everyone should celebrate the whole week, with food and music, and not go back to working until you get back?” Kupe grinned. “Well, if that’s what your instincts say. But your mother and I know you know better than that.”

Leilani nodded. He had to do a good job or he was sure that his parents would never let him rule, even after they died. They’d come back as ghosts and insist that the elders take care of everything. Leilani knew he could be a strong ruler — a good ruler — he just needed a chance to learn.

“We won’t be long — just a week. We’ll see you soon.”

Leilani exchanged quick hugs and kisses with his parents, then ran off the ship, finally allowing it to leave. He, and the many residents of their city, watched the ship go until its sail was a dot on the horizon, before returning to their day-to-day lives. Leilani, however, returned to the palace, where the elders were waiting for him. He was acting king, and there was much to be done.

By day three, he was bored of it. He had begged his parents to let him do this, and he was regretting it. He missed playing with his friends and dancing and painting. He missed having time to have fun. He was shuffled around from meeting to meeting, guided through talks with locals, reviewing laws. The elders praised him for his work, but by the time he returned to the palace he was often too exhausted to do much but eat and sleep. Funny how he could play all day, but doing this sort of stuff taxed him so much that he wanted nothing to do with it.

On day seven, the day his parents were to return, he couldn’t have been happier. He waited to hear the horns all afternoon, signaling the sight of their ship on the horizon, but they never came. They never came on the eighth or the ninth day, either. By day ten, Leilani was worried, and so were the elders. They made a call to the local priestess, asking her to scry on the matter, to find them and determine if they were in need of assistance.

No matter how hard she worked, she could not link to their souls. None of the priests or priestesses could — not even the strongest in their kingdom, not even with a drop of Leilani’s blood added into the water to guide them.

They were left with only one conclusion. The chief and chieftess — his parents — were dead.

Once the words were said out loud, Leilani felt as if he was drowning. He was drowning under the weight of their death, under his responsibilities, the things the elders were saying and suggesting. What was he supposed to do now? How was it possible that he was the chief? He was just a kid. He hadn’t finished his classes. He had no idea how to rule.

His father had told him to trust his gut…which was why he promptly vomited on the floor, after which he began sobbing.

The elders ushered the priests and priestesses away, while another took him back to his room. He was given time to mourn and grieve, the elders handling the rule, but Leilani knew he couldn’t do this forever. He’d wanted this responsibility for so long, and he didn’t want his parents, in their death, to be disappointed in him. So, fourteen days after their disappearance, Leilani emerged from his room. He wore his ceremonial clothes — loose-fitting pants with a silken shirt, decorated with golden flowers across it. Today would be his first day as chief…and there was a lot to be done.

An investigatory team was put together to discover what happened to the chief and chieftess, to learn if there were any potential outside threats they needed to worry about. Their kingdom was peaceful under this bloodline, and the people were ready to protect the family and its lands. Then, Leilani pulled out a book of spells, which he used to contact their allies and inform them of the situation. The elders knew that right now, more than ever, they needed protection. They needed to strengthen their bonds with one of the bigger kingdoms. They were small, but an important port for their allies. If word got out that the country was being ruled by a child, it was likely that outsiders may come and stage a coup. The elders wanted him to continue to rule, however, which presented a problem. If the elders took over, it would look like they had been the ones to instigate the former chief and chieftess’s deaths.

“Then marriage,” Leilani suggested. The elders seemed confused. “If I wed someone from a bigger country, our two kingdoms will be united — a joint kingdom ruled by someone of age, someone with more experience.” Leilani played a fool, but he knew what the issues were and he knew what they had to do. This was their only option. He had to share custody through marriage.

The elders looked for someone that he could one day have children with, once he became old enough, but any of the female suitors were younger, making them unfit for this plan. in fact, the only single person over 18 was a young man named Shi Shu of Ban Zhi Ze, the sky kingdom, and his council seemed very eager to pair him off.

Leilani accepted without hesitation.

He had never been to Ban Zhi Ze before, but he had heard people speak of its wonders, of how the city had long sunny days due to its position in the sky, how it was built on floating rocks, held up by ancient magic. Its people and buildings were said to be beautiful, but visiting was rare, given the semi-complicated nature of entering the city. Someone up there had to be informed that someone on the ground was trying to enter.

Leilani and the people of Pali Kai made sure to make their arrival heard. Though Leilani hadn’t been much in the mood for celebrating — it had hardly been two months since the sudden death of his parents — it was an exciting day for the kingdom. He was getting married, and the people of Pali Kai and Ban Zhi Ze would be united. They marched in a caravan, singing and playing instruments, and as they arrived at the entrance to the floating city, stairs unfurled to greet them, spiraling down from the clouds.

Leilani stared upwards and adjusted his clothes, fixing his shirt and realigning his flower crown on his head. Today, he’d be meeting his husband, and tomorrow they would be wed. Leilani knew that this would drastically change how he envisioned his life, but it needed to be done. His people came first and his heart second.

The stairs were long, but his people kept the mood up the whole time, singing despite the air getting thinner and the effort of the stairs on their lungs. He wasn’t normally anxious, but this was a big moment. His first public appearance as chief.

As they finally reached the top of the stairs, the group leading the caravan slammed hard on their drums, commanding silence from the caravan as well as the people at Ban Zhi Ze’s entrance. “People of Ban Zhi Ze! The people of Pali Kai thank you for your kindness in welcoming us into your home. Our alliance has been strong for many years, and we pray to the gods that it will be strong for many more!” One of the elders called out, his statement punctuated at the end with a few firm beats on the drums. “May I now present to you the reason for our travels, the leader and blood chief of our kingdom, son of the late Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, Chief Leilani!” The crowd parted, revealing where Leilani was hidden among them, his small stature easily obscured by the taller members of his kingdom.

He raised his hand, signaling he would like to speak and silencing the raucous cheers from his people. “I would like to personally thank the people of Ban Zhi Ze for their kindness during this tumultuous time and…” Crap, he’d been practicing this over and over in his head the whole trip here. What was the last part of his statement? What was he supposed to say? “And, uh…I hope I can win Shi Shu’s heart over, and that…you all take advantage of this new bond to…take some fun beach trips? Sorry, I had this whole thing memorized, and I forgot,” Leilani said, rubbing the back of his neck while one of the elders slapped a hand to his face. “Anyway! At Pali Kai, something like this is cause for celebration, so I hope you all will be celebrating with me!” A party would be a fun distraction from the tumbling spiral his life had taken, anyway.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #89: Beowulf

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making the King of Savagery, Beowulf. The bare-knuckled swordsman is equally good with his weapons, his fists, and his leadership skills.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Here comes the bride!

Race and Background

Beowulf is definitely a Human, and being a Variant Human will help us wield two beowulf-sized weapons at once with the Dual Wielder feat. This gives you +1 AC while dual wielding, the ability to ignore the lack of a light property on your weapons for the purposes of dual wielding, and the ability to draw or stow two weapons at once for fewer complications. Hrunting and Naegling are many things, but light isn’t one of them. You also get +1 Strength and +1 Charisma, and Insight Proficiency. 

Beowulf is a skilled fighter and sailor, making him a Marine. This gives him Athletics and Survival proficiencies. He’s also a really good king, but that’s as far from backstory as you can get; we’ll pick it up later.

Ability Scores

You’re the original dragon slayer and you can tear monsters’ arms off. Safe to say, your Strength is pretty high. You’re also tough enough to wrestle monsters in the first place, and survive a dragon long enough to get off some last words, so that’s Constitution sorted. Good kings inspire the people, so let’s get the Charisma up there too. Your Dexterity isn’t super great, but it’s not like you avoid hits. Your Wisdom sadly couldn’t be that high either, we just needed other things more. Hopefully the Insight proficiency makes up for it. Finally, dump Intelligence- you’re not too badly affected by your Madness Enhancement, but you were never one to think things through anyway.

Class Levels

1. Barbarian 1: Starting off as a barbarian nets you a whole lot of HP, plus Strength and Constitution save proficiencies, and proficiency in Intimidation and Survival. You try telling me that guy ain’t scary, you’ll just be wrong.

You also get the ability to Rage, adding extra damage to your attacks, have advantage on strength checks and saves, and you resist physical damage. You also get Unarmored Defense based on your constitution and dexterity. You don’t wear armor. Or a shirt, for that matter.

For this build we’re calling Hrunting a Long-sword and Naegling a War-hammer. They’re both big enough that normal people would wield them two-handed, but you dual wield them instead, because you’re just that good.

2. Barbarian 2: Second level barbarians can make Reckless Attacks, giving you advantage on a turn for all attacks at the cost of giving everything advantage against you until your next turn. Try killing everything before that happens. You also get a Danger Sense, giving you advantage on Dexterity Saves you see coming like, say, a dragon’s breath weapon.

3. Fighter 1: Popping over to fighter nets you a Fighting Style, and Unarmed Fighting lets you throw away those children’s toys and settle things like a man, dealing 1d6 bludgeoning with a one-handed attack or 1d8 with both hands free. You can also deal 1d4 damage at the start of each turn to any creature you’re grappling.

First level fighters also get a Second Wind, healing you as a bonus action once per short rest. Now you’ll be able to stay in the fight even longer!

4. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, adding an extra action to your turn once per short rest. Multiclassing right out the gate means your extra attack comes a little late, so this’ll have to make up for it. Though you already get an extra attack kind of thanks to dual-wielding...

5. Fighter 3: Beowulf may be rough, but he’s still a natural born leader, so the Banneret subclass from the sword coast isn’t that out of left field. Unless you have no idea that the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide even existed, in which case you’re in good company along with WotC.

Regardless, when you take the subclass you get a Rallying Cry. When you use your Second Wind, you also heal up to three creatures within 60′ of you, if they’re your allies. Those creatures regain your fighter level in HP if they can see or hear you.

6. Fighter 4: At sixth level we finally get our first Ability Score Improvement, which we’re using to get the Crusher feat. This increases your Strength by 1 point, and once per turn you can push a creature 5′ away if it’s large or smaller and you’re dealing bludgeoning damage to it. Also, if you score a critical hit with a bludgeoning attack, all attacks against that creature are made with advantage until your next turn. So you’re really good with your fists and Naegling now.

7. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack, bringing your total attacks per turn up to three while dual-wielding or five with an Action Surge.

8. Fighter 6: Hrunting was feeling a little left out from that last ASI, so use this one to pick up Slasher. This gives you another +1 Strength, and hitting a creature with slashing damage reduces its speed by 10′ once per turn. Critical hits with slashing damage cause the creature to have disadvantage on all its attack rolls until your next turn.

9. Fighter 7: Seventh level Bannerets become a Royal Envoy, giving you Persuasion proficiency and doubled proficiency with persuasion checks. You can talk freaking Yaga into making you their king. Admittedly most of that was beating the shit out of them, but that’s just yaga diplomacy at work.

10. Fighter 8: I swear we’re almost done with feats, just pick up Inspiring Leader for one last boost in your leadership skills. Spending 10 minutes giving up to six creatures a pep talk gives them temporary hp equal to your level plus your charisma modifier. You can only use this on a creature once per short rest, so save it for the dramatic conclusion. Also, make sure you DM doesn’t try to actually make you do a ten minute speech, that would be very long.

11. Fighter 9: Ninth level fighters are Indomitable, giving you a second chance at a failed save. You can use this once per long rest, so I’d save it for something you should’ve made. Failing a wisdom save sucks, but you weren’t going to pass it anyways, trust me.

12. Fighter 10: Tenth level bannerets have an Inspiring Surge. When you use your Action Surge, a nearby creature of your choice can react to make a weapon attack if it can see or hear you. That’s right; not only do you get extra attacks, but now so does your party.

13. Fighter 11: You get another Extra Attack for even more stabbing/hitting per action; three with your fists, four while dual-wielding and using your bonus action, and seven while dual wielding and using your action surge.

14. Fighter 12: Now that all the feats are out of the way we can finally focus on ability scores with this ASI. Bump up your Constitution for more health and AC.

15. Fighter 13: At this level you get another use of Indomitable per long rest. Yeah I know it’s not that interesting.

16. Fighter 14: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for better dex saves and AC. If you haven’t been going up against a lot of dex saves, feel free to move this over to constitution instead, it’s up to you.

17. Fighter 15: Fifteenth level bannerets become a Bulwark. When you use your Indomitable feature to reroll a failed Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma save, an ally within 60′ can also reroll their save. Now rerolling wisdom saves might make sense; two mind-controlled party members is rough.

18. Fighter 16: Use your last ASI to finally maximize your Strength for the best swordplay and boxing you can have.

19. Fighter 17: You get an additional use of Action Surge and Indomitable, because they totally didn’t run out of ideas for main class features back at level 11.

20. Fighter 18: Your capstone level sees your Inspiring Surge get just a bit better. Now using Action Surge lets two allies attack instead of one, so you can lead an entire army into the fight.

Pros: 

Persuasion expertise, intimidation proficiency, and a decent insight means you can serve as a pretty good party face in an emergency.

You don’t need armor, and your weapons are more a formality than anything else, so you’re always ready for a fight.

Your abilities help the party just for doing things you’d be doing anyway, helping you turn the tide of a battle just by being that kickass. That’s not just your class abilities either. Crusher and Slasher can seriously hinder an enemy’s movement, protecting squishier party members.

Cons:

Like a majority of berserkers, you lack ranged or magical options. High level enemies might be a problem if you don’t pick up any magical weapons.

Your wisdom is low enough that you shouldn’t be using Indomitable charges on it, but one of your features is specifically about rerolling soft stat saves. Wasting your own save to help another party member might be worth it, but there’s less painful ways to do that.

Literally all your weapons are versatile, but you only have two hands. If you want to maximize damage in any one weapon you’d have to drop the rest to do so, but that gets rid of your versatility. It’s a balancing act.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Fictober '21 Prompt No. 3 — "I’ve waited for this."

Category: Original WIP: Thriving series Rating: T Timeline: M33 arc CW: A lil flirty, a lil steamy, but there are alternate universes in which this got a lot heavier lmao Word Count: 1,469 haha nice Additional Notes: Canon whomst??? Sorry, she’s not here today.

***

“Your Majesty.”

Standing with his feet apart in the center of the sparring room, Thrive acknowledged Warren with a glance over his shoulder and idly spun a staff of moderate length in one hand. “Well. The prince consort as I live and breathe.”

Warren winced, stretching his arms and back as he lingered some feet away. “Yeah, I thought we agreed that wasn’t it. ‘Consort’ sounds like ‘escort,’ and while I have no issues with escorts as a whole—”

“Why are you here, Warren?” Thrive watched himself in the enormous mirrors wrapped around every wall of the room and spun the staff faster. “Not that I’m necessarily unhappy to see you.”

Grinning, Warren leaned down to rest his hands on his knees. “You kiddin’? I’ve waited for this. We haven’t sparred together in ages.” His demeanor did an instant one-eighty. “Necessarily unhappy? What the hell did I do now?”

Before he could get the question out, a volumetric projector in the ceiling exploded with activity—various colorful projectiles fired directly at Thrive, who knocked each one out of the way with unwavering precision using the staff. He propelled it into a blur that bounced from hand to hand, knocked projectiles out of the air, twirled into the ceiling as he swept large red and yellow polyhedrons away from Warren. He caught the staff and pounded one end into the floor hard enough to send vibrations into the mirrors.

The projector powered down.

“It’s not a matter of something you’ve done,” Thrive said, straightening his posture and turning to Warren. “Though perhaps it is, in part. I’m expressing frustration over a situation for which I have no answers.”

“Okay,” Warren said, planting himself in front of him. “Get it out, then.”

“I’d rather not spar with someone while I’m emotionally compromised. Especially someone who couldn’t handle me.”

Warren grinned. “I dunno, I think I can handle you pretty good.”

“I'm aware that you’ve trained to handle rougher situations over the years, but if I were to lose control and cause bodily harm...”

“We still talkin’ about sparring?”

Despite himself, a corner of Thrive’s mouth quirked upward. “It’s unwise.”

“We don’t have to go full-tilt, then. Just hand-to-hand, start small. You said you have no answers...maybe I have one. If I’m causing part of this, I’d like to at least try to help.”

Thrive eyed him for a moment, supporting himself with the staff.

Warren waggled his eyebrows. “Safe word’s ‘carousel’.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Thrive tossed the staff away and moved closer. “You’re teasing, but I would feel more comfortable if we did use the safe word for this.”

“Right.” Warren braced himself, a little hesitant. “You’re...more upset than you let on.”

“Possibly,” Thrive muttered before swinging a fist at Warren.

He blocked it, stepping aside. “Best to come at this directly, then. What have I done to upset you?”

Thrive took a few more swings, obviously dialing back his full strength, and each one was blocked. He dodged one of Warren’s and caught him in the shoulder. “After a particularly long and overdue sleep, I awoke and it was as if a weight had crushed the inside of my chest. I ruminated over it for hours until I realized the feeling doubled whenever I thought of you having taken the two-year job on Morre.”

Warren had successfully blocked a few more hits. “You thought you were okay with me going back to work for an emergency after I’d suggested I take leave, and it turns out you weren’t?”

“That’s not it.” Thrive sidestepped a kick. “I was feeling something I’d never felt so strongly before in my life, and it alarmed me.”

“Angry?” Warren acted like he was going to strike with his right fist and instead jabbed with his left—a move that, for whatever reason, always threw Thrive off his game early on in a sparring session. 

Thrive caught Warren’s fist in his hand inches away from his face. “Possessive.”

Warren’s blood iced over and he observed Thrive’s expression, the sudden accuracy of his sharp stare, the darkness behind his eyes. A chill ran through his spinal cord and bolted up into the pit of his stomach. “...This is about the arrangement,” he said, voice low and definitely steadier than he imagined it’d be.

“I proposed the idea to you, yes,” Thrive said firmly, moving forward so Warren had to take a few steps back, “because I wasn’t about to forbid you from soothing an ache I couldn’t be there to soothe.”

“But you’re about to,” Warren breathed. “Aren’t you?”

Thrive knocked his arm away and got two hits in through his dodging. “It seems that I’ve become very territorial about certain things.”

Warren ducked a swing and his fist knocked the side of Thrive’s waist. “And what does the great and powerful Orthrive’poliea have to feel territorial about?”

Thrive knocked his legs out from under him and he went down with a hard smack. Warren yelped as his back connected with the forgiving floor, inhaling sharply when Thrive dropped and straddled his hips, pinning his wrists by his head.

“Oh holy shit,” Warren gasped.

Thrive glanced at the mirror. “This.”

Warren turned his head to look—the sight of Thrive holding him down and still looking a bit pissed about it sent all kinds of signals to everywhere vulnerable. He shuddered. “If you wanna call off the arrangement, just say so.”

Thrive peered down at him.

Swallowing the heat crawling up his throat, Warren flexed his wrists under Thrive’s hold. “I think you may have misplaced, somewhere in that meaty brain of yours, the reason why we even made it to begin with.”

“It’s never left my mind.”

“So then you understand that I never really wanted it, and while it scratched a fraction of the appropriate itches, it was never you and therefore not as good nor the same.”

“...Yes.”

“And you understand that my feelings for you cannot ever be replaced or duplicated, and if you’re still having trouble realizing that after all this time, then you’re hopeless and there’s no saving you.”

“Warren...”

“Just say you want it to end.” Warren nodded. “It stops right now.”

Hesitating, Thrive finally released Warren’s wrists. “I'd like—”

Warren grabbed the staff laying nearby and knocked it across Thrive’s chest, sending him sprawling backward. When he turned over to push himself up, Warren leaped at him, sitting on his backside and wrenching his arm behind his back.

Thrive let out a harsh swear in Solnai.

“Yeah, baby,” Warren laughed victoriously. He knew he could be displaced with hardly any effort, but he appreciated the very generous win nonetheless. He slapped the side of Thrive’s ass. “I fucking got you, didn’t I? Maybe I should be king instead.”

Thrive rolled his eyes again, using his other, definitely free hand to push his hair off of his forehead.

“So, uh...what were you saying?”

“I was going to say that I’d like to end the arrangement, since you offered.”

“Mhm.” Warren nodded, taking a bit of a vain mental snapshot of their position from how it appeared in the mirror. “You know what that would mean, then, don’t you?”

“If you’re going to propose that I abdicate, I have to remind you that the Consortium wouldn’t—”

“I’m gonna retire.”

Thrive closed his mouth. Pushed himself up so he could look at Warren, who smiled at him. “As much as—Skies, Warren, get off of me already. As much as I’d like to argue the point, I...can’t.”

They helped each other to their feet, and Warren placed his hands on his hips, still a bit out of breath. “It’s been decades in the making. I can keep up the dance classes since I get more joy out of that, anyway. Plus, I’m not in the headspace to let down a bunch of kids.”

“Having you with me without fear of extended separations or injury or worse does sound...”

“Kind of amazing?” Warren’s smile widened.

Thrive crossed his arms. “I wish I’d broached the subject with you sooner.”

“That brings up a point...” Warren stepped closer until he was in Thrive’s space. “Next time you have a problem with me,” he said loudly, “fucking talk to me about it, idiot. It’s this wonderful and innovative thing called communication.”

Thrive fixed him with a dark look. “Punish me about it.”

For at least five seconds, Warren absorbed that look and the question. He paced away to take a fighting stance. “Okay. That set the tone for the rest of the day.”

“My harness is somewhere around the capital house. The safe word is ‘carousel’.”

Warren halted to narrow his eyes at him. “Like you have ever needed the safe word. For anything.”

Thrive winked at him before they took up sparring again, this time charged quite differently.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The BNHA Group Chat Fic Nobody Asked For

Pairings: Todoroki Touya (Dabi)/Mr/ Compress (Sako Atsuhiro), Shimura Tenko (Shigaraki Tomura)/Chisaki Kai (Overhaul)/Kurono Hari (Chrono), Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic)/Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead)/Shirakumo Oboro (Loud Cloud), Fukukado Emi (Ms. Joke)/Kayama Nemuri (Midnight)

Word Count: 1,088 Words

Summary: Todo-siblings, teacher shenanigans, the 1-A twins accidentally freeze out the fifth floor, and Kirishima is best boy.

Warnings: Cursing, Sleep Deprivation, Insomnia, Abuse Mention, Mensuration/Period Mentions, Caps, Food Mention, Half Blind Character, Deaf Characters, Anxiety Mention, Mostly Mute Character (due to a different medical issue), Selectively Mute Character, let me know if I should add anything else.

Note: Natsuo and Fuyumi's chat names are based on quirk headcanons I have for them. Natsuo's is because I headcanon him to have a quirk where he can manipulate and generate water like Shoto can with his ice and Fuyumi's because I headcanon her to have a thermal manipulation quirk. Touya's is 'wine' because white and red wine and his hair is red and white.

Usernames: We Are Number One™ Aizawa: Dadzawa, Aoyama: immafiringmahlaser, Ashido: princessbubblegumknockoff, Asui: Galvan, Iida: Emergency Exit, Uraraka: 9.8, Ojiro: tailfloof, Kaminari: Pichu, Kirishima: baby shark, Koda: youredoingamazingsweetie, Sato: GuyFieriIsGod, Shoji: Cthulhu, Jirou: Jack Skellington, Sero: Spider-Man, Tokoyami: EdgarAllanCrows, Todoroki: WHERE?, Hagakure: cena, Bakugo: WHAT?, Midoriya: SmolMight, Mineta: Mineta, Shinsou: exhausted, Yaoyorozu: TheGreatCreator, Kurono: stopwatch, Chisaki: donthugmeimscared, Yukimura: choticgaydisaster, Bubaigawara: shadowclonejutsu, Shimura: idontfeelsogood, Awase: illrememberyouallintherapy, Kaibara: IDOWHATIWANT, Kamakiri: scyther, Kuroiro: itsmeyaboy, Kendo: Akimichi, Kodai: deadinside, Komori: shroomgurl, Shiozaki: wElCoMeToBiBlEsTuDiEs, Shishida: furry, Shoda: cryptid, Tsunotori: mylittlepony, Tsubaraba: airbender, Tetsutetsu: Iron Man, Tokage: t-rex costume, Fukidashi: glorifiedtextbubble, Honenuki: Eren Jaeger/spookyscaryskeletons, Bondo: Slimer, Monoma: HopeSummers, Yanagi: iLiEdImDyInGiNsIdE, Rin: snek, Toga: mystique, Sako: lostmymarbles, Hikiishi: queenofmagnetism, Iguchi: eye gucci, Shinokanri: stardust

Usernames: Emos Anonymous Kaminari: blackcloakedbrides, Shoji: fryingpan, Jirou: greentwentyfourhours, Tokoyami: myscientificinfatuation, Todoroki: twentyoneplotpoints, Bakugo: immobileinwhite, Midoriya: falldownboy, Shinsou: stabtheveil, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Chisaki: plummetingininverse, Yukimura: anxietyintheclub, Shimura: nappingwithsirens, Kuroiro: thousandfootcane, Kodai: marianaspit, Monoma: entiretimelow, Yanagi: recentyearsday, Sako: halfminutetomars, Aizawa: hollywoodlivingdead, Shouji: fryingpan, Kurono: inhalecarolina, Aoyama: phantomtown, Honenuki: visualizedragon, Sako: halfminutetomars, Awase: distressparade, Shinokanri: simplestrategy

Usernames: UA Teachers Are Tired™ Eraserhead/Aizawa: grumpy scarf cat, Present Mic/Yamada: screeching cockatiel, Midnight/Nemuri: chaotic goth gay Ingenium/Iida: gotta go fast, AllMight/Toshinori: actual sunshine, Vlad King/Kan: bloody hell, Power Loader/Majima: speechtotext, Ectoplasm: needalegup?, Snipe: kazoo cowboy, Cementoss: concrete block, Blackmist/Kurogiri: goth portals

We Love A Good, Caring Dadzawa In This House-Chapter 3

11:38 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

chaotic goth gay: so anygay we ever gonna talk bout the fact that the twins in 1a plan to take a week home?

kazoo cowboy: no??? it's their personal life????

needalegup?: I say we leave the boys alone.

screeching cockatiel: they don't like being referred to at 'the twins' Nemuri. They're separate beings.

chaotic goth gay: okay, the two canadian flags of Shouta's 25 nearly adopted children.

grumpy scarf cat: you're right but why say it?

bloody hell: I thought his class was 26 students now like mine? who tf you forgetting Nemuri?

chaotic goth gay: no one I be leaving out that little grapist tho. hate him and so does Shouta

screeching cockatiel: OwO oh worm?

grumpy scarf cat: never again Hizashi. never again.

screeching cockatiel: OvO

grumpy scarf cat: i hate you.

screeching cockatiel: love you too babe uwu

grumpy scarf cat: well,

grumpy scarf cat: i'm gonna go yeet myself off the roof for that one.

screeching cockatiel: Nuuuuuuu, how will me Hitoshi and Ayane ever survive without you!?

grumpy scarf cat: tru tru

grumpy scarf cat: I'll take Hitoshi with me.

screeching cockatiel: you wouldn't dare!

grumpy scarf cat: again tru tru

2:24 AM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

grumpy scarf cat: yeet yeet bitch he finally asleep [pic of Hitoshi asleep against Aizawa's side with Ayane asleep between them]

chaotic goth gay: that's perfect.

chaotic goth gay has changed their name to yeet yeet bitch

yeet yeet bitch: thank boi me sleep now

yeet yeet bitch is offline

4:14 AM

We Are Number One™

WHERE?: so anyway I'm ready to yeet our dad into the sun but that's too good for him

chaoticdisastergay: oh worm???? same hat??? could stand to snow his eyes out first tho

immafirinmahlaser: why y'all puttin ur father on blast in the main chat?

WHERE?: wait, where? oh fuck wrong one Touya, wrong one! mayday mayday

SmolMight: I was summoned my the word mayday what happened

SmolMight: oh

SmolMight: well then

lostmymarbles: Dear? Please lay down? I was comfortable?

chaoticdisastergay: well, speaking of tmi, I thought it was just a bathroom run but turns out my monthly came a week early, Atsu. I'm coming back.

WHERE?: that was a long time in the bathroom but okay.

lostmymarbles: Yeah, almost an hour. I'm lonely, the bed feels cold without you, snowdrop!

chaoticdisastergay: I had to shower over in the 1a dorms too, calm down.

lostmymarbles: Kay, come back to bed, I wanna cuddle.

SmolMight: Such precious. Most pure. We have been blessed with witnessing this couple be cute.

WHERE?: so anNYway, Touya, you goin back to the family chat?

chaoticgaydisaster: yee

4:30 AM

Trauma? Yeet. Memes? Yoink.

vulpix: anygay. still wanna yeet our dad into the sun but it'd still be too good for him.

lapis: I??? feel that????? wtf???????

thermostat: oh? a mood? in this good household?

wine: i really just want to go back to sleep but the brain machine broke i'm woke

vulpix: oh worm?

thermostat: anyway gotta actually get outta bed soon, drop off your girls at daycare, get mine to school, and go to work.

lapis: fine, gonna go with ya

thermostat: mhmmmm sure you are, you're gonna fall asleep in 20 minutes Natsuo.

lapis: that may be but i'll at least try

thermostat: doubt

thermostat is offline

8:24 AM

We Are Number One™

cena: so anyway tea apparently shoto and touya are going home all next week

princessbubblegumknockoff: oh? drama?

WHERE?: family visit no drama

chaoticgaydisaster: just visiting our family

SmolMight: so anygay Aizawa told us we have someone special visiting a1 today for class!

Spider-Man: I wonder who it is!

Dadzawa: toshi cmon I gotta get to class and drop you off like a gay goth god of insomniac children

exhausted: hol up im eating still

exhausted is offline

Dadzawa is offline

cena: well, no answers from them i guess

Emergency Exit: Everyone, please get off your phones in class!

9:37 AM

We Are Number One™

itsmeyaboy: so who was it that came to your class?

TheGreatCreator: The Big Three of UA

itsmeyaboy: huh. we had Hawks, Ryukyu, and Mirko

Iron Man: The Three Greats of UA

HopeSummers: We win.

SmolMight: Meh, we both got good people to teach us.

HopeSummers: Valid, carry on.

2:28 PM

UA Teachers Are Tired™

gotta go fast: so anyway, am i ever gonna get told why there's someone named speechtotext in this chatroom and who all they are?

kazoo cowboy: That's Majima with the support course.

needalegup?: he couldn't figure out how to work his phone with his fingers when we first made this chat and he used speech to text a lot.

goth portals: we used to get a lot of text messages where Hatsume had spoken over him and it became too much of a meme so Nemuri changed his name to speechtotext.

gotta go fast: understandable, have a nice day.

7:24 AM

We Are Number One™

Spider-Man: um guys all of floor five is frozen what happened?

Galvan: the girls' side isn't but it's getting cold over here

GuyFieriIsGod: My door is frozen shut.

Spider-Man: Todoroki or Yukimura must have had a nightmare again

TheGreatCreator: Does this happen often?

Spider-Man: more than you'd believe.

GuyFieriIsGod: Does anyone have an ice pick?

Galvan: i'm going downstairs before it spreads

TheGreatCreator: That's a good idea, Tsu, we don't want you getting too cold and hibernating.

WHAT?: wow

Spider-Man: wow? just wow? dude, help us!

WHAT?: ...

WHAT?: perish.

baby shark: I'm coming!

7:45 AM

We Are Number One™

Spider-Man: KIRISHIMA IS A GODSEND

GuyFieriIsGod: He got us out.

TheGreatCreator: It was easier because Todoroki likely melted it.

GuyFieriIsGod: Anyway, now that we're free, I'm making breakfast if anyone wants any. 1b and Shinsou included

WHAT?: wow

cena: Is Bakugo okay?

SmolMight: Yeah, that's just his morning brain. That happens if he gets less than an hour of sleep. He kinda short circuits for about an hour.

Pichu: excellent. thank you for this knowledge.

princessbubblegumknockoff: sometimes I question if your have a death wish.

Pichu: a death wish to get him to hug me and tell me i'm cute dammit!

Pichu is offline

baby shark: a very pure death wish. we don't deserve you denki!

WHERE?: It's been made apparent to me that I froze the fifth floor and I'm sorry.

chaoticgaydisaster: and I made enough snow it was practically snowmen

princessbubblegumknockoff: THEY RISE!

WHERE?: too early for this i need a pot of coffee

chaoticgaydisaster: mood but also gimme half dammit

Taglist: @logan-sanders-enthusiast @luckyicekitsune @whippedbel @lgbtforeverything @pinecone-chomper @mikmacmoo @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @purplespiderstormcloud @stankyratman @king-of-the-oranges @headcannons-and-random-things @fear-ze-queer @turtleluv799 @ymmm-someone

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Twelve

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters etc belong to SJ Maas! 

Feysand and Elriel

Author’s Note: I promise we’re getting there ;) This chapter is a bridge to... other things... 

Enjoy!

LINK TO FULL FIC

TWELVE

“Please. There’s got to be something you can do.”

It was Monday morning. I’d come to the leasing office as soon as it had opened, harboring fruitless hopes that I would somehow be allowed to rid myself of Ianthe and my unfortunate living situation. 

The agent looked up at me through long lashes. “I’m sorry Ms. Archeron,” she said slowly, as though I was too dumb to understand that fixing my problem was an uphill battle, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

I sighed, my forearms resting on the tall desk in front of me, and pressed my forehead to the dark wooden surface. 

“Ms. Archeron?”

“No.” I said.

“Excuse me.”

“Don’t speak to me unless it’s to tell me I can transfer my lease to another, emptier, house.”

Surprisingly, the leasing agent didn’t say a word. I raised my head an inch. “So I have to leave now?”

She nodded. I sighed. Trudged out. Climbed in my car and screamed. 

Then I shifted into drive and headed to class. 

-----

I met Cassian for lunch. We sat at one of the tables in the Student Union, discussing that morning’s practice. It had been Rhys’s first day back in the water. Surprisingly, he hadn’t eaten shit. He’d been a little behind but kept up fairly well. I still hadn’t spoken to him.

I was in the middle of telling Cassian about Coach King coming to me that morning and telling me he liked my progress when he suddenly set down his sandwich. 

“Feyre, why won’t you just talk to Rhys?” 

“The same reason he won’t talk to me. He’s guilty, there’s no changing that.”

Cassian shifted in his seat. “I just… I’ve been close with Rhys for longer than you. He would never treat a girl like that unless there was a reason. God knows I’ve tried to get him to explain what happened between you two and why, but he won’t say a word. He’s hiding something. If he fucked up and cheated, which is what I’ve gathered from vague things Mor had said, he would admit it to me. I know he would. There’s something else going on here.”

I put my elbows on the table. “Cassian. He did the same thing to me that Tamlin did, if you would be so kind as to remember. He’s obviously not over his ex, and--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. His ex? You’re not talking about Amarantha, are you?”

I nodded. 

“Shit. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. What the hell were you two doing with Amarantha around?”

I explained what had happened when we had arrived at Rhys’s father's house and how Amarantha had turned up at the club. And because it felt good to talk about it, I ended up explaining the whole story. Cassian paid attention to my every word, his frown growing deeper and deeper as I went on.

I sat back in my chair when I finished. 

“Feyre, I’ve got to tell you. Amarantha was--is--messed up. She’s toxic. She never cared for Rhys. She liked that he was attractive, successful, and that his dad had money.  I’ve known Rhys since our freshman year of high school and never understood why he dated her. Something’s going on that we don’t know about.” 

I nodded slowly. Whatever Cassian said might be true, but if she was so ridiculous, why had Rhys gone back to her? I certainly wasn’t going to beg for him back. Even though I missed him. A lot. His sudden absence from my life had left a hole in my days, my head, my heart. He’d helped me heal and make friends after everything with Tamlin had gone down. He’d never pushed the fact that my training needed to improve immensely if I wanted to stand a chance on the team. He’d simply been there when I needed him and that had been enough. If he’d tried to come talk to me once in the past week and a half, I might have listened. But he’d kept his distance and I just couldn’t see that as anything other than a sign that there was no explanation for what he’d done. 

“Thanks for the info, Cassian,” I said. “But I’m not going to beg him to explain himself. Besides, I’ve got bigger issues on my hands.” I didn’t mention that even though my living situation and now-recovering position on the team might appear like more dire problems, my separation from Rhys hurt more. 

“I wish there was something I could do. I’d tell you to come stay with Az and me for free but we really don’t have any space in the house.” 

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. And thanks for hanging out with me, even after everything that’s happened.”

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes locking with mine. “Just because you and Rhys are on the outs doesn’t mean anything changes between us. We’re friends, Feyre. And teammates. I’ve got your back. If Rhys really did cheat, he’s an asshole for what he did. I just can’t help thinking that it’s possible there’s something going on with him that no one knows about.” 

I smiled, despite the state of my life. “That means a lot, Cassian.”

------

~~~Elain~~~

Finals started a week from today--next Monday. I was not looking forward to it. But after finals came Christmas break! I tried to focus on that as I blinked my eyes to keep them focused. It was eleven o’clock, the library was nearly deserted, and I had just dozed off for the third time since I’d arrived. I’d had a long day and had been holed up in a corner surrounded by bookshelves for the past four hours. 

I stifled another yawn. Yep, definitely time to go. 

I packed up my things and made my way down the three flights of stairs and out the front doors of the library. Campus after midnight was quiet, empty. Eerie. I hustled to my car, tossing my bag in and jumping into the front seat. 

I started my car, making sure to lock the doors, when my phone pinged with a message from Azriel.

Az: EMERGENCY. I’m taking an online anatomy test and I need help, Oh Goddes of Nursing School. What are you doing right now?

Me: Why are you taking this test now, may I ask?

Az: It’s due at midnight and I kind of forgot about it until right now…

Me: I’m on my way

Az: Angel

I didn’t question my decision to drive straight over to Azriel’s house. I’d never been inside before. I’d dropped Az off once and left directly after. But I hadn’t seen him all day. Plus, if he was taking an anatomy test the best way for me to help him would be if I was there. Five minutes later, I pulled up outside his house. 

After a brief five minutes of sitting frozen in the front seat in a blind panic, I opened the door and stepped out onto the quiet street. You can do this, I repeated to myself for the thousandth time since getting into my car fifteen minutes ago. All Az wanted was help on a test. Right?

I marched up to the front door before I could think of an excuse to bolt. It swung open before I could knock and I realized that my five minutes of anxious deliberation had been witnessed by Cassian. He held the door for me as I entered. I glanced at him and he grinned. “Az is in his room.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that Azriel hadn’t seen me panicking in the street. I headed in the direction that Cassian had pointed and knocked softly on a door at the end of their small hallway. 

It swung open. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” Azriel said, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. His hair was a mess, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His room was fairly clean, besides the desk right next to the bed, both of which were covered with printouts that appeared to have anatomical diagrams covering them. “I have forty minutes left on this quiz and some help would be greatly appreciated. It’s open book and note, so it’s okay if you help me. I know absolutely nothing because I’m really behind in this class.” 

I nodded as he led me over to his desk, gesturing for me to take a seat. I forced him to sit instead. “You’re still gonna be the one to take the quiz, Az! I’m just here to help.”

“So you’re going to hover over my shoulder this whole time?” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he slid out the chair and placed himself in front of his open computer, a timer ticking away in the corner of the screen.

When I didn’t answer, he turned to roll his eyes at me. 

“Just sit on the bed, Elain."

I couldn’t come up with a sarcastic retort. So I did my best to appear nonchalant and plopped down on the bed.

Approximately 39 and a half minutes later, I was half asleep, my head at the foot of the bed. I stared at the ceiling as Azriel, seated about a foot away at the desk right next to the bed, submitted the quiz. 

“Done.”

I nodded, unwilling to open my eyes. 

I heard his laptop shut. The legs of the chair scraped across the wood floor. Then I felt the bed next to my hip sink as he sat next to me. “Elain.”

“Mmhm?”

“It’s late.”

“Mmhm.”

“I don’t want you driving home this tired… And I have practice tomorrow morning so I can’t drop you off with my car because you won’t be able to get yours back for a while… Why don’t you just stay here?”

I was so tired it was like I was watching myself agree from a thousand miles away. “Okay. Bathroom,” I said and pulled myself up using all the strength I could muster. 

I washed my face as best as I could, rifled through drawers in order to locate a hairbrush, scrubbed my teeth with my finger and Az’s toothpaste. Then I returned to the room. Azriel turned to me as I entered. “You can wear this, if it’s more comfortable than your jeans.” He handed me an extremely soft grey t-shirt. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving me a kiss on the forehead and then shutting himself in the bathroom. 

I stripped out of my jeans, bra, and t-shirt. I pulled his shirt over me, breathing in his scent as I did so. Then I sat down on the bed, twiddling my thumbs and trying not to fidget.

He came out a moment later. And stopped in his tracks in the doorway.

“Wow.”

I froze as well. He wore nothing but boxer shorts, nearly every tanned muscle he had on display.

“Sorry, it’s just...” He glanced down, and then back up. 

I blushed. Then mimicked him, my gaze sliding all the way down his body and back up.

And then he was striding across the room, grabbing my waist and pulling me up against him. I stumbled a bit, my hands coming up to rest against his chest. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey.”

He smiled and didn’t waste another moment before he kissed me. It was soft, the kind of kiss that told me this wasn’t going anywhere. But still… I reveled in the fact that he was mine, even if he hadn’t been so for very long. 

With one movement he swept me off my feet, not breaking the kiss, and carried me over to the bed. His lips moved from mine to my cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. I pulled him as close to me as possible, and it still didn’t feel like enough. 

“Go to sleep, Elain,” he laughed.

I pulled back a little to look at him.

“I’m serious. You were passed out not ten minutes ago. We can continue this later.”

And before I could object--because I knew he was right--he turned me over, wrapped his arm over my hip and around my stomach, and pulled me close.

---------

~~~Feyre~~~

My week had been shit in some ways, great in others. I had made the travel team for next weekend! I had spent some more time with Mor, studying for finals constantly. I’d even managed to grab lunch with Elain and Azriel on Tuesday afternoon. They’d barely been able to keep their eyes off of each other, in a way that was different from when I’d seen them last Saturday. I was so happy for Elain. 

And I hated myself for envying her her luck in finding someone who wasn’t a cheating asshole. Azriel and Elain’s official relationship had already outlasted mine with Rhys by more than a week. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.

It was Saturday evening, 5:46 pm, to be exact, when I received a phone call from a local number I didn’t recognize. I was locked in my bedroom, fairly certain Ianthe had left the house with Tamlin about thirty minutes before for a night of eating, drinking, and dancing. I just hoped they’d end up at his place for the night.

“Hello?”

“Feyre Archeron?”

“This is she.” 

“Hi, I’m Evelyn from Astrid Oaks leasing office. I’m calling to let you know that you have been cleared to move out of your unit, number 33, and into the vacant room at number 101. Please be moved in before the beginning of the Spring Semester on January 8th. We’ll need you to stop by our office to sign some paperwork and return your key, but other than that you are good to go.”

Was I dreaming? They’d told me moving houses was impossible… I’d given up the cause when the lady had rejected me on Monday. Had they changed their minds, reconsidered without telling me?

 I realized the leasing agent was waiting for me to say something. 

“Oh! Uh, thank you. I’ll come by your office as soon as I can. Thanks.” 

I hung up. Laid back on my bed. Who had done this? Had Mor made a call and talked them into it? It could have been Ianthe calling in order to get rid of me as fast as humanly possible. 

I called Mor to tell her the good news and ask her about it. 

“No way!” She screeched when I explained what had happened, and after a few moments of elated screaming, she asked, “How did you convince them?”

“I thought maybe you would be able to explain that to me.”

“Sorry, Feyre. I have no idea. Maybe they just changed their minds…”

“Maybe… So you’re still okay with me moving in?”

“Of course. We can move you in over Christmas training.”

“Perfect.” 

-------

On Monday morning, my first day of finals and the last week of the term,  I headed to the leasing office to make sure all the paperwork was squared away. Bundled up in several layers of coats, I was unwinding my scarf from around my neck in the lobby of the office when I saw him. 

Rhys was standing at the unnecessarily tall front desk, his head bent over the surface in order to look at something. Hating myself for admiring the lovely view I had of his backside, I glanced around, trying to find somewhere to hide until he left. 

But then he turned slightly, sliding the paper he had been reading toward the woman behind the desk. “Feyre,” he said from across the room. He shut his mouth as though saying my name had been a mistake.

“Hi,” I said. So articulate. Good going, Feyre. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, casting around for anything to say to keep this from being awkward.

“Uh…” He seemed unwilling to make eye contact with me. His eyes darted from my feet, to the wall behind my head, to his hands. “Just double checking my renter’s insurance.”

“Mr. Night, here’s your copy of the transfer paperwork.”

He cringed as the woman spoke up from behind him. Still avoiding my eyes, he turned around, retrieved the stack of paper from the woman, and then strode for the door, and consequently, for me. I moved aside, but couldn’t prevent myself from reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “What did she mean, transfer paperwork?”

His eyes cut to where my hand rested on his wrist. I pulled away slowly and he jerked backward as though I’d burned him. “She must have gotten the name wrong.” He still wouldn’t look at me. 

“Rhysand…. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” And now I had a feeling that he had been the one to somehow get me out of my lease. “You did this,” I said quietly.

He reached out to brush my cheek. “I know you hate me… And I wish I could explain. But I still want you to be happy. I promise I’ll stay out of your way when you move in.” He finally met my eyes, and the sadness I saw there nearly broke my heart all over again.

He left before I could say another word.

-------------------------

TAGS

@queen-of-glass​ @aknymph​ @sleeping-and-books​ @fabfire​ 

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Operation Kitten, 2

Part Two: Sharpen attempts to match wits with Mathias Shaw, himbo vs. spymaster. And we find out about Agent Kitten!

I trusted my gut again and went with it. I had every right to still be furious about the way things were run in the SI:7 Seals so I really put it to him. “But I haven’t seen these values in the SI:7 Seals. Not anywhere. Even if I did join to help you clean things up or whatever you’re implying. Not within these four walls, not in these barracks, not in any of the instructors, and Elune knows, there wasn’t a decent fool among the other recruits. Those ethics just aren’t there.”

“Mack. Go get us some water.” Mathias Shaw glanced up at the giant Kul Tiran man standing there, glowering at me.

Big Mack shifted his feet, gave a final grunt my way, then he nodded to Mathias and left us alone in the interrogation room.

Mathias arched an eyebrow at me. For a spy guy, he can come across as very phony. Or, dramatic. Perhaps he thinks it’s cute. You know, cleverer than the average bear, making fun of the profession he’s fully versed in? A way for him to keep things light. And so maybe it is cute, okay fine.

Mathias pointed at me again, as if still haggling over that beat down nag he was trying to sell me. “I hope you’re not thirsty, Sharp. You’re not really getting any water—”

“Look. I can follow things at least that far. So what’s up? What’s this big secret you want to tell me, alone?”

“It’s on a need-to-know basis. Big Mack deals with recruits and he’s high up the chain. He does know, but it’s best if he’s not seen as knowing. Locked up in a room for a really long time with a so-called failed recruit? Too obvious. That is, if any of the others are as decent as you proved to be, and they get suspicious.”

“…Okay. What?”

“That, in itself, was the test. We’re looking for fit men and women, for tough people. Yes, that’s true. But we’re also recruiting people who genuinely espouse the values of the Alliance. People who would serve because they care, not necessarily for a paycheck. A lot of stellar men and women apply, yes. And some of them do come from connections that are already inside the Seals, milking us for what we’ll let them get away with while they do important work. However, we can’t ignore that kind of talent, either. If a cousin of King Anduin Wrynn or Jaina Proudmoore walks through these doors, can we really turn away that magical or mental ability running through their veins? But once they get through those doors, we take a closer look. We take people who show us they are far more than pedigree. Only very good men and women. Sharpen, you are such a one.”

I have to admit, Jiroki? I was still completely lost.

Mathias cleared his throat, “So that Dwarf? You know the one, you actually almost blew his cover once, telling Hael he was trying too hard. Hael was our a plant. Hael tried to keep you up with drinking the night before the exam because we asked him to. You wouldn’t fall for it, though. And that death-defying swim across icy waters? Hael can swim like a fish! He was never in any danger, even that shark of his was Hael’s backup.”

“Wait—that was his shark? His hunter pet?!”

Mathias gave a proud smirk, “Ho, yes. And Hael knows a good recruit when he sees one, a fellow hunter. Sharpen, he liked you. He was hoping you’d give in and try to save his life out there in the water—or rather, at least what appeared to be an emergency situation to you. We were really hoping you’d pass that part of the test, that you weren’t like the others. Life first, serving the Light. That is what the Alliance stands for, the greater good. I was willing to make an allowance, that perhaps you were just afraid for your own life. You’d passed all the other tests with flying colors.

“So wait. Milnon Anaar that Draenei? And Felicia Graves, the half mermaid—”

“She’d be a quarter-mermaid then, Sharpen.”

“They both failed the test? But they were superstars. They really, honestly failed?”

“All of them did. Sharpen, everyone in your class got cut.”

I didn’t think, I threw my arms up and let out a celebratory ‘Woop!’ before realizing I’d done it.

Mathias smiled at me. It was the first real smile that I remember seeing on that man.

“Yes, well done. Well done, Agent Sharpen. We recruited from excellent stock. You had the right values all along—we would have preferred that you saved Agent Hael out in the arctic ocean instead of punching him in the face. But then again, you punched me in the face as well and, once I came to, and after I put certain accounts together from those who witnessed things on the beach, it made more sense that you were experiencing a kind of moral outrage. A breach of the ethic code that you yourself live by and that we also live by here at SI:7.”

“…Woah.”

“It may take a few years, and maybe even not that long for the ones using us for fame and fortune to eventually retire. But I’d say our recruitment process that sifts the wheat from the chaff is well in place and functioning. Sharpen, you’re in.”

I thought things over fully this time, “I guess if you’re allowed to punch Mathias Shaw and still be an SI:7 Seal, that is a good sign.”

“If you tell your buddies that’s the way to pass the test, I will punch you where the sun don’t shine, Sharpen Jadescythe, and leave you there.”

I shook my head at him, “Nice to have the honor, but I still don’t like this.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t place all that burden on me, the man to fix your organization. Or other people like me. New recruits, naked to the process. I hit you in the face and screamed that I was a decent person who didn’t want to put up with it, that’s what it took? And all those amoral guys at the top—those are the agents calling the shots. Those are the ones I’ll be dropped off in who-knows-where with, following their orders. This is still a corrupt organization. And I’m supposed to go and risk my life for you? No thank you.”

Mathias scowled rubbed his temples. Jiroki, you and him have that in common, it’s kind of cute. Well, coming from you, it’s cute.

He was gruff, “I can see your sister’s influence coming through. Sharpen, please don’t throw this once-in-a-lifetime chance away? Please, don’t do that. A lot of good can be done.” He growled, “I don’t want to call you a himbo for a second time.”

I stood up right then and there. “I want to leave.”

“And do I have to bring up your questionable connections with the Horde, especially through a certain burlesque troupe that claims to be faction-neutral, but we both know such a thing doesn’t exist.”

“You’re trying to blackmail me?”

“Doing one mission for the Seals is a great way to confirm your loyalty for the Alliance.”

“Walking out of here and not punching you in the face again is another way I can think of! In any case, I’m not on trial here, I didn’t commit any crimes. You can’t hold me here.”

“Unless—”

“If you want to bring up in a Boralus court that I punched you, Mathias Shaw, in the face, and tht you let me? And then you were laid flat out on the beach for several hours before they got the courage to move you? Heck, that’s your call.”

Mathias cursed under his breath. “Sit, please. At least for this last part before you go.”

I did, who knows why. Maybe because Mathias had pulled a file out of the box on the table, and I thought it might be about me. I saw writing in Darnassian on the front.

“You tried to keep a man here by corrupt means. You tried to blackmail me—now isn’t that the very thing we were just talking about? Call me a himbo again if you dare, Mathias. But I listen to my instincts first and foremost. They’ve kept me alive so far, they’ve kept me sane. And I sure sniffed you out, didn’t I? This isn’t a solid organization. It isn’t ethical what you all do here. And don’t give me that crap about how spies need to cross the line sometimes, I’ve heard it all before. Whatever you want to get over on me, it’s not going to work. Now what is that thing?”

“Oh, you’ve heard it before, have you? From your sister?” Mathias passed the dark blue folder over to me. “We do trust you, Sharpen. We want to extend some trust as a starting point. Some months ago, a man came in here just like you did. Another Night Elf man who had the same concerns. I told him, as I’m telling you now, that he could choose his own assignments, work with who he wanted. Especially if he wanted to avoid the corrupt higher-ups. That means you’ll have sort of… grunt work, and none of the real thrilling stuff when working as an SI:7 Seal isn’t a vacation and you’re bound to tangle with personalities, but still—I offered him a clean, good foundation to start with.”

“This his file?”

“Go on, open it. You’ve already signed a nondisclosure contract with us, so I know you won’t blab anything. I’m betting though, that you won’t want to.” Mathias watched me flip through the pages inside, he waited for me to get the gist of it. And that would have been easy to read all over my face. “… Night Elf druid Silas Freedale, one of our more recent and our very best, the excellent swimmer, he went off to Ashenvale to find something extremely important for the Alliance, and indeed for your people.” Shaw crossed his arms again, “But since he never came back, we need someone, someone incorruptible with a real vested interest, to go and find out what happened to him.”

“Is he dead?”

Mathias stared at me.

“Oh! I’m finding that out, then.” I turned a few more pages. “That is, if I even take this assignment. If I even agree to become a Seal.”

“What would you like your codename to be, Raorin?”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You could keep Sharpen. It already sounds like a mysterious spy name. Or even the name of a whole operation. Or, you could go by Agent Jadescythe.”

I frowned, “Flattery? That, I can appreciate. That’s a little less slimy… A world tree! This is about a new world tree? And it’s called Operation Kitten?”

“That’s right. Because our deep cover catform agent most likely got stuck up the very world tree he was supposed to find. The tree hasn’t even been named yet. We just know that he located it, that he chose to go up. But no details on where or exactly when that was. There were… stories about this new world tree for a long time before Agent Kitten found it, from your own druids.”

“My personal druids?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to lump all the Night Elves together. But the druids that work in Ashenvale, tireslessly to save it from the Horde ravaging the land, ruining the forest, they have a pretty reliable oral tradition that says there is another world tree growing right on the border between Ashenvale and the Barrens. Do you know how important such a stronghold could become? The raw power of a world tree itself—if we could find it, and fortify it, your people might be safe from the Horde, forever.”

“How can anyone be safe from the Horde forever? Not unless the Horde is neutralized. Is that how you see it? There are plans in this file outlining a full scale assault on the Barrens, extending as far as the Crossroads. And once you control that, it’s not long till Orgrimmar is in a pincer, with Alliance forces on both sides.”

“There go those dangerous Horde leanings again—”

“Did it ever occur to you that peace might be an option? Respecting the Horde’s side of things, while they respect ours? Perhaps a trade agreement so that they cull the right trees and not the wrong ones? Their people need to eat and survive too, you know. And that’s harsh land they took on, in that part of Kalimdor.”

Mathias let out a low whistle, that I could not be more wrong.

I insisted, “And don’t look at me like that, kingdoms have shared borders before. Just look at Ironforge, you know the Dwarf lands? Stormwind and the Dwarves get along fine.”

“I’ve been told the Night Elves, you younger ones, are bound to have these upside down world views.”

“With respect. I am three hundred years old, sir.”

“And you act like you’re twenty. Like the conflicts these past few decades didn’t happen to you, personally, at all. Like you aren’t affected. The Horde is not a sovereign kingdom, Sharpen. It is a mess. It is an invading army that came to Azeroth to destroy life and civilization on this planet for the Burning Legion, reduce it to rubble no different from Outland, or Argus. The Horde did not manage it because the Alliance stood up to them. End of story. And don’t tell me things have changed since Thrall or Vol’jin or damn her—Sylvanas! As if Garrosh wasn’t the big tip off, and you talk about ethics not being present.” Mathias raised his voice at me, he was so frustrated, “We are life and they are death! Do you understand me, Agent Sharpen?”

“And do you understand that if I do take this assignment, I’m not killing any Horde unless I have to. I’m not killing anyone unless I need to.”

“If you go to the last page, you’ll see we’ve actually asked you for the same. We don’t want you to engage any Horde at all if you can help it. We don’t want them finding a world tree of all things. A death that doesn’t look natural gets investigated and then that will, in time, blow our cover. It could take years to gain control of that tree, and we don’t need a bunch of evidence piling up that it exists and the Alliance wants it that badly, in the meantime.”

I read that part, pinned to the end with a paperclip like it was an after thought. ‘No Horde deaths, no Horde engagement’ it said.

Mathias was very impatient now that he knew I’d read it all. “…Well?”

I told him, “I would come home successful, because I would. I’d find this lost feral druid and then the Alliance would take over that World Tree. And then you would use it to cut off the rest of the Barrens, cut off the Tauren from the Orcs finally. Right?”

“What comes next really is up to King Anduin.”

“But you’ll be in his ear like a buzzing hornet, and he’d have to do what you insist is the best way to ‘neutralize the threat’.”

“Look, Sharpen. I don’t see what the problem is? You’re a soldier for the Alliance. You’ve killed Horde before. You know that it’s essential.”

“In a war, in a battle. I say, we could also use this new world tree to prevent more death and suffering. To end conflicts.”

“So you say.”

“World trees are not about destroying. You want it so badly, but you don’t know the first thing about it.”

“You’re wrong. Do I need to state the obvious?” Mathias meant our tree. Our beloved Teldrassil that was lost. He leaned in, his leather gear creaked, “And what do you think the Horde would do, under Warchief Sylvanas, if they found a second world tree so close to their doorstep?”

“More emotional blackmail? That’s incredibly low, considering we Kaldorei never had enough support from the Alliance in Ashenvale in the first place!”

“It isn’t that, Agent Sharpen. But I do want you to see, somewhere between your values and mine, your world where people can play nice with monsters—you’re a hunter, maybe that’s where it comes from? Or perhaps it was because practically your entire family was down near Suramar of all places when Teldrassil was attacked. Which I always found interesting considering your sister’s intelligence work. And your family’s assassin “friend” Alessandre…”

“Don’t go there. Don’t you dare. I faced extinction along with the rest of my people on that day.”

“All I want you to see is that you don’t have a choice, Agent Sharpen. You must get to that world tree first before the Horde does, however King Anduin decides to handle things.”

I crossed my arms, “I also wonder why Tyrande, who has led our people since the beginning and is a walking agent of good, has been for thousands of years, now has to listen to the counsel of a boy Anduin’s age. Or any Human’s age.” I did have a point. Mathias let me have that. “I want the findings shared with Malfurion and Tyrande first, before anything goes to Anduin.”

“No, Sharpen. I can’t promise you that.”

“And you can’t trust that I won’t do it myself, in that case, considering my family connections. It’s amazing you’re not going through Darnassus to start with.” I tossed the file back to him, let some of the papers fly out. One whipped up into his face. I had pretty good aim, I was proud. “Those are my terms, Mathias Shaw.” Then, I thought better of it, “When I am done, I will deliver my mission report in a meeting with King Anduin and Tyrande and Malfurion, all of them in the same room. In Stormwind Keep.”

Mathias shrugged, looked elsewhere. “If I can pull them all together and their schedules are free.”

“For a new world tree? Now who’s playing dumb.”

Mathias scrunched his face up, as he fit all the papers back into the blue file with gold Darnassian lettering. “Fine. You and I don’t need to agree, Sharpen. You just need to be able to take orders. And, it’d raise the profile of this effort anyway, to do an official handover. You have a deal.” Mathias offered his hand to shake.

“I’ll see you in Stormwind when this is all done, then. I’ll hand over Agent… Kitten, then.”

I admit I grinned like a clever cat, myself.

[skythealmighty]

A girl in a spider costume zooms through the sky on webs strung from her hand, whooping. A narration cuts in of a sassy teenage girl. 

“All right, let’s get this part over with. I’m not the first, and I’m certainly not the last. Cut to backstory!” she said, then snapped. The scene changed.

The girl, outside her costume, is eating a bagel. She has blond-brown hair in a messy bob, blue-green eyes, and pale skin. She’s wearing simple clothes. “My name is Skye King. In my universe, I’m one of two spider-people, though I’m the only Spider-Girl. Spider-Man is in New York. My business is in Seattle. One day, during summer break, I was bitten by a radioactive spider after my 15th birthday. You get the jist, right? Then I had spider powers, yadda yadda yadda. We’ve all heard it before. Well, the thing is, not really. That spider was from another universe (at least I'm 99% sure).” While she said all that, in the cutscene, a spider bit her on the hand and she threw it outside. “I could tell something was wrong, so I decided to cancel my hangout with my friend the next day, telling her I was sick. I couldn’t have been more wrong, but it was a good call. I absolutely trashed my room that day.” It showed Skye in her room, sticking to the bedcovers and the ceiling and her books. “Needless to say, my parents were kinda, okay super mad. Oh well, small price for a little superpower! I discovered during the next few days that I could create portals with my webs, and the first one led to the universe with the graffiti Spider-Man, Miles Morales.” Another scene showed her fistbumping with Miles, masks down on their spider costumes as they sat on top of a building. “There, I officially got my suit from Aunt May with some help. I wanted a little piece of everyone I met, so I asked Miles to decorate my costume a bit. He got the left arm, and I gotta say, it looked pretty sweet! Over the next week, I visited other universes and added to my suit a little at a time. You name them from Miles’s movie, I’ve probably visited them. Peni Parker (got a robotics upgrade from her), Noir (the guns were cool, but he also got a bit of space on my mask), Gwen (I stole her hoodie idea and went to gymnastics), Peter B. (not much, his suit’s the same as the original), and even Peter Porker (got a cartoon hammer, I love Looney Tunes)! They were all really cool, but my story isn’t about meeting them. Way too cliche, and probably done before, too. This little mini story takes place in the universe where that spider came from. So why don’t we finally get started, now that you know who I am?” The scene returned to Spider-Girl swinging from the Seattle Space Needle. She winked at the camera, and the screen turned black.

Skye yawned, sitting up in bed as her alarm went off. “Hey Google, alarm off,” she said tiredly, getting out of bed and getting dressed off-camera. She ate her breakfast, said hi to her family, packed up her backpack (not forgetting her Spider Suit), and jogged out the door to her bus stop. She napped on the bus until it arrived at school, where she was woken up by her Spidey senses. She got off the bus. “Hello again, Edison High,” she sighed, walking into the cafeteria and sitting down at a table full of older students. The narration starts. “This is my average, everyday high school, Edison High. These are my art club friends, Olivia, Jack, Darth, and.. well, they’re important to me, but maybe not to you. My other friends are Sofia, Haylie, Mitchell, AJ, and Micheal. At my high school, nobody apart from Sofia, AJ, and Haylie know I’m Spider-Girl, even though she’s the main topic of gossip. School’s boring, so I’ma skip it.” 

The scene of a high school day is fast forwarded until the very end, where she goes to the bathroom. “I’ve long since made a secret exit, and most girls don’t check the bathroom mirror, so I get dressed in my onesie there. It’s really not that hard, and I have a drone get my backpack home. That does mean I have to do my homework in class, but I’m pretty smart, so I can do it most of the time.” Skye, in her Spider-Girl suit, exits the stall and opens the mirror like a door, walking inside. She drops her backpack into a carrier drone, then opens a secret door from the inside and webs to the top of the school. “All in all, a pretty normal day. No crime at the moment, so I decided to visit another universe again. I mean, why not?” She spun her web in a circle, creating a portal, which she swung into. “I wanted a little something to add to my outfit. But that day? Fate didn’t like me one bit.” She looked around at the other portals, which had markings on them, the logos of the different Spider-Men she’d met. One of the portals was unmarked, and that was the one she swung into. As soon as she did, she attempted to make another web, but failed. “Aw, what? Talk about bad timing..” the Skye in the scene said, before yelling and slamming into the ground. “I think I’ll stop the narration now, so you can focus on the story.”

The screen was black, but then Skye opened her eyes. In front of her was a rainbow Spider-Man, upside down in front of her. She yelped and scrambled backwards in surprise, bonking her head. “Ow..” she muttered, rubbing her head. She flicked her wrist, trying to spin her web. Nothing happened. “Damnit!” she cursed.

“You okay?” the rainbow Spider-Man asked, letting go of his web (which was unsurprisingly rainbow as well) and landing on the ground. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

Skye grinned under the mask. “I’ve had worse. I mean, when you’re Spider-Girl, you gotta be able to take a few hits, right?” She got up, standing in front of the walking rainbow and looking him up and down. “I like the sugar glider wings,” she complimented. “I bet those come in handy a lot, huh?”

He smiled too (though only shown with the eyes of his mask). “Yeah, they do. So, how’d you get here anyway? Super collider?”

She shook her head. “Nah, got here on my own. Part of my powers include going to other universes, weirdly enough. My webs aren’t working, though,” she flicked her hand for emphasis, “so I’m stuck here for the moment. I don’t think that’ll last for more than a couple days, so no need to worry.”

He sighed in relief. “Good, I’m already taking care of four Spider-Children, so I don’t need more.. why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, after seeing her starstruck expression. 

“There’s more!?” she said, sort of high-pitched. She covered her mouth. “Oops. Um, basically, when I run into another Spider-Person, I want a way of remembering, so I add to my outfit.. I was looking to upgrade mine for a while, so this is perfect!”

He laughed. “Alright, I’ll take you to them. Be warned though, they’re all pretty extra in their own way.” The scene cut to him swinging her up to an apartment, setting her down.

“Thanks for that,” she said, embarrassed. “If I had my webs, I wouldn’t need you to do that, though..”

“Nah, it’s fine!” He took off his mask, grinning. “I don’t mind. I’m Thomas.” He held out his hand.

“Skye,” she said, taking it after pulling her own mask off. “Now if you don’t mind, you got some thread and needles?” He pointed her to a room. “Sweet!” she said, running in. “I’ll be back!”

After a few minutes, she came out with the same sugar glider extensions he had, but they were the bi flag instead of the gay flag. “Ta-daa!”

“Nice,” he nodded in approval. “There’s some spare clothes in the closet if you don’t mind sweats and t-shirts.”

She grinned. “That’s what I usually wear anyway!”

The screen showed a Spongebob ‘one hour later’ cutscene, then showed Thomas and Skye watching a movie. She was wearing a blue t-shirt and purple sweats. There was a knock on the door. “Come in, guys,” Thomas said, not taking his eyes off the movie. Skye, however, looked towards the door to see four different Spider-Men come through. One wore a royal outfit with flowers, hair uncovered, one wore a pink outfit with hearts and a baseball cap, one wore an outfit similar to Gwen’s with a V, and the last one wore a blue outfit that had a tie design on it and four robotic spider legs on his back. Her eyes widened.

“Okay, now I definitely need to update my outfit again!” She grinned, dashing into the room she’d been in before where her suit was. The others looked at her.

“Uh… who was that?” the one in the royal outfit asked, looking perplexed.

“You’ll see,” Thomas answered.

After a half hour, while everyone was on the couch with masks down, she came out with the suit on and mask up. The hoodie was up, and on top of it, there was a gray V like the Gwen lookalike’s mask. One of the legs had pink hearts and red flowers, and the other had the same design as the tie design but only up to below the knee. She was grinning, until she realized something. “Oh, right, I never introduced myself. I’m Skye, Spider-Girl!” she said, pulling her mask down and bowing. 

“Virgil,” said the Gwen lookalike.

“Roman!” introduced the royal one.

“Hi, I’m Patton!” grinned the pink one.

“Salutations, my name is Logan,” said the one in the tie.

“Nice to meet all of you!” said Skye, grinning and sitting down with the rest. 

A timelapse showed the day going by, nothing super interesting. The timelapse stopped at the next day during lunch, because that’s where the action is. Besides, this is supposed to be a short story, so I won’t bore you too much.

Everyone was having pizza. “Mm, they do not make pizza like this in Seattle, let me tell you,” Skye said after finishing her first slice. “I almost wish they did, but then I’d never cook for myself!”

Suddenly, everyone froze, Spidey senses going off. “Oh no, why in the middle of lunch?” Roman groaned, setting down his slice and going into one of the stalls in the corner. Everyone but Skye followed him, her going into the suit touch up room. One by one, they all emerged in their Spider suits. Thomas and his gang swung out, while Skye took a deep breath and glided after them using the addition she’d just added yesterday, since she still couldn’t use her webs. They arrived in Times Square to see the Scorpion causing trouble with the Tinkerer, again. 

“Peter always has to deal with these guys, why don’t they ever quit?” Skye asked, perched next to the others on top of a building. 

“Evil never rests?” Logan offered.

“Nah, these guys are just really annoying,” Thomas sighed. 

They all jumped down, standing in front of either the Tinkerer or the Scorpion. Virgil, Logan, and Skye were in front of the Tinkerer, while Thomas, Patton, and Roman were in front of the Scorpion. “Time to kick some ass!” Skye said, crawling up a building and launching herself at the Tinkerer. Soon after, Virgil and Logan swung at him in turn, Logan knocking the Tinkerer out of his own vehicle and taking control, which he then used to stun the Tinkerer while Virgil tied him up. Thomas swung and glided onto the Scorpion’s face, blinding him. Patton and Roman tied the Scorpion up, then Thomas kicked the Scorpion over and over in the face, temporarily stunning him. As if it was second nature for her, Skye swung using her webs and tied the Scorpion up some more, knowing her webs were stronger than the others’ by nature. As she landed on the ground, she looked at her hands and smiled. “Looks like I can go home now,” she grinned to the others. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

“Nah, you’re fun to hang around with. Come back anytime,” Thomas said, waving goodbye. She nodded and made a portal, swinging through as it closed behind her. She hung in place in the middle of all the universes, making five webs above the top of the portal she just came in from. The middle one was a rainbow spider, and the other four were a gray V, a red rose, a pink heart, and a blue tie. She grinned and swung through the portal labeled ‘home’, swinging above the city. She was lucky it was Saturday, so she didn’t miss any school. But how would she explain it to her parents? She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she spotted a robbery. Good never sleeps, she thought, webbing one of the criminals with a sigh. The scene faded to black.

“Hey, don't get mad, I told you it’d be short. Cut!”

@ask-spiderverse-virgil