#i have one more sketch for these two and then ill probably never draw them again

[cfrog]

Ghost and girl are back. Her name is officially Philomena

[bzjohndory]

What are Poppy and Viva like in the BroZone diner AU? You said their regulars but how often do they should up and what’s their dynamic like with the bros?

GOD I REALLY WANTED TO DRAW THIS BUT i dont think ill ever finish my sketch i had for this ask so here:

They show up AT LEAST every other day, if not everyday.

Wanted to keep some key components in their story so personalities are the same but heres what i formed abt them

-Viva and Poppy are half sisters in this AU :)

-Viva was from King Peppy’s first marriage and after they divorced the ex-wife ended up with custody of Viva. Viva’s mom was probably in a weird mental state after the divorce and Viva had to be more resourceful and mature than a kid should be (Viva was really young when they divorced and having to leave her home and her dad scared the shit out of her so she tried staying in her mom’s home as much as possible so she could take care of her mom and make sure they weren’t going to move again. I think she just wanted to protect her one sense of stability)

-Viva found out abt Poppy after King Peppy remarried and Viva was looking for her dad, she longed to see Poppy and her Dad but never wanted to leave her home

-Poppy visits the area Viva lives in by complete coincidence and Viva recognizes her and Poppy stays in her and her mom’s home for a week

-Viva hasnt registered that Poppy has to leave so when Poppy brings it up of having to meet up with Branch to go she panics and shuts Poppy out

-Poppy slides a note saying where she will be going and after a lot Viva finally makes the trip to see what this new place is like

-Poppy introduces her to Brozone Diner and immediately Viva recognizes Clay from an online chatting site the two frequently talked on esp when Viva rarely willingly left the house and Clay wanted to escape his brothers for a bit

-the two are BFFS and made an association for those who are isolated and want to meet those like them

AS FOR DYNAMICS

Poppy-Branch: high school best friends and have a similar dynamic to the movie counter part but have not started dating

Poppy - Floyd: FUCKING BEST FRIENDS I DIE ON THIS HILL they are very comfortable with each other and probably dye eachother’s hair and use the same dye

Poppy-Clay: good friends, id say poppy really looks up to Clay and gets along well with him but gets ahead of herself saying embarrassing shit being too excited since she admires him a lot

Poppy- Bruce: i dont imagine they talk every day but they’re friendly to eachother

Poppy - John Dory: PROBABLY BEST FRIENDS TOO i love this duo personally a lot so some of this is definitely just indulgence but they’re like really alike and talk a lot when JD should be working

Viva - Branch: likes him endearingly as shes very happy her sister found somebody to love

Viva - Floyd: good acquaintances, Viva is comfortable with him and looks out for him

Viva - Clay: Best friends she found solace in him when she could barely get any social interaction outside of online friends; they have been BFFS since their middle school days and are the same age too, Viva probably thinks of him as her favorite person

Viva-Bruce: is the biggest uplifter and complimenter of Bruce’s food if there was a bruce food fan club shes the president, theyre good friends i imagine

Viva - John Dory: MAN. THE OLDER SIBLING DUO. DONT TALK TO ME THEY MAKE ME SICKKKKK. Twin flames literally and also they join together when it comes to pranking their younger siblings

[raynavan]

heavy spoilers for chapter 23 of Always by your side by @ingo-ingoing-ingone!! this chapter was so fantastic i. didnt have words for it. ended up doing 6 (nearly 7) drawings for it instead. i think this is my record- it took me roughly 7 hours. a fair warning! this is both art and a comment to the fic in one. so its rather long!

ok i had an Unreasonable amount of fun doing the background on this one. ended up looking up a lot of the celestial bodies mentioned in the fic, man are they cool! it was implied that Emmet didn't really have a body so! stars instead. the colors were fun- i dont often let myself just. color like this haha! this one was... reall amazing. a fantastic opener! i immediately latched onto the visuals and painted a picture in my mind. it was just so... astronomical?

i actually struggled with how i was going to position these two for a while. at first it was just them coloring in a clearing- then i made them watching pokemon, and then. this! idk- there just something sweet in how Ingo turns around to look at Emmet and... lighting was funky for this one- how a forest shades the things beneath it will always hold a special place in my heart. these two interacting is always so wonderful to read. the gentle ribbing and teasing and... just them chilling and talking was so nice. the fact that it was dragons was even better! dragons are the best. i felt a very sweet and gentle moment needed an equally sweet and gentle drawing. if i could, i might have gone for line less on Ingo and Emmet here as well.

right- this was the last one i did. i think its the only one that i didn't get specifically from what was written. i just... wanted to give Emmet cuddles alright? /lh i had another sketch exploring exactly what Emmet might look, but i think ill revisit that when i... haven't been drawing for 7 hours straight hgfireohgope. the one in this is more simplified. the horror of having your face show one emotion- not even the one your most known for... your voice is toneless and the only was you can show even a fraction of what you feel is by copying what you (supposedly) dead brother used to do. there is a quiet horror in that- and yet Emmet still goes on. he cant feel texture and yet... he deserves many nice things.

this one!!! was originally going to be an Entire piece with a more "realistic" drawing of Ingo sitting behind a fire just like this. when i sketched this out (in the middle of reading it) that was the plan. Jedi saved me by making Emmet draw it like this. you saved me probably an hour ghirepoghpeirh. i... still might draw it how i wanted at some point. also the lighting was added last minute! i thought it would look... more messy with the light of the fire shining on it. i think it looks nice. the scene was sweet and, like Emmet mentioned he did, i put emphasis (or uh... thicker more defined lines) around peoples faces to better define their happiness. it made me happy to read them being happy and then draw them being happy <3

them!!!!!! i do not think it is a secret at All how much i love this au. i was More than happy to draw them again. and!!! being happy!!! perfect. i remembered this was a dream, and decided to blur the background quite a bit of this one- lopsided like its not really being thought about. adored this one. them!! teasing each other!! just!! going through a day!! perfect. amazing. it was really fun the way the small details of their routine was captured. from Ingo just. turning to goop so he doesn't have to pick up his clothes to Emmet just. accepting everything that happened from the mental connection to the shared feelings.

DRAMATIC FORESHORTENING!!!! i almost wanted to play it up More but then i might lose Ingo's expression. the background for this was fun to do- emphasis! strong colors!! looks like something broke. like something was torn away. this whole bit is just. exactly what Emmet fears and its just. ough. Ingo would never do this- we know this, Emmet knows this two- he knows how ridiculous Ingo was being here. and then the climax with Emmet just... falling off... amazing. Ingo's horrified expression is what caught my attention here, though i had a few more ideas depicting Ingo leaning over Emmet. i figured a dramatic drawing here would fit.

so! there ya go. i had. so much fun doing this and! thank you so much for writing this and sharing with us Jedi. if you keep this up, ill just have to keep making more drawings!! i don't think words are enough- not even sure if these can properly express how i felt reading it all (i actual had to get up and pace around bc i got so excited) but! i think that your art inspired my own art is a very beautiful thing.

lets all keep making art with one another forever.

[valictini]

(Kind of a follow up to my silly little comic since I had WAY too many thoughts and I couldn't fit them in because I wanted it to stay light hearted)

My personal take on komahina is that they both absolutely end up falling in love at some point, but Nagito would never allow Hajime to date him.

(Warning, it’s kinda long)

Not only would he feel like Hajime is too good for him, that Hajime would be wasting his precious time on trash, but it would also make Nagito too happy, and Nagito has a bad tendency to link his happiness with his ultimate luck. It would make him think that the joy of dating Hajime would cause catastrophes, so the best, most hopeful thing he can do is avoid dating altogether. In his head, he’s doing the reasonable thing ! He's shielding everyone from his bad luck ! But he would still love him so he would absolutely tell Hajime how much he means to him and hang out and even flirt with him…. so long as he doesn’t reciprocate. Which would probably upset Hajime at first, thinking he’s being played with.

It would require serious mental wrestling to convince Nagito that it’d be ok for him to date anyone, let alone the Ultimate Ultimate. You’d need to convince him that his happiness isn’t always tied to his luck. Dare I say, you’d have to make it so that him being treated with respect and even affection isn’t an exception anymore, just a normal part of life, thus not something he'd feel overly lucky to have. (That one would be more of a collective, long term effort though)

It’s a very arduous task, especially with how unconvinced Nagito probably would be. ESPECIALLY especially if you take into account the fact that you’re on a goddam timer because of his illness.

There is a possibility that Nagito feels more of an equal to the others post game though, since they were all bad guys and thus, all much closer to his own perceived level of trash (not a particularly good way to think, but it's a start nonetheless) I can see everyone working on themselves and their guilt and learn to forgive themselves for the horrible things they all did, and Nagito on the side being like “you all are doing such a good job!” Without realising that he could apply this to his own existence… though he would probably think it can’t apply to him. In his head, he'll forever be trash.

At the end of the day, I think the quickest way for them to make this happen is for Hajime to bring up his talents and basically tell Nagito that his luck is nothing compared to his own luck, and therefore can’t hurt anyone with it. Althought it's probably the most convincing argument in Nagito's eyes, one might wonder if it's really the best solution for these two, especially for Hajime who most likely has his own bagage to unpack regarding his talents. Like, first of all, is Nagito in love with him or the hope his existence apparently brings to the world? Or maybe even Izuru? There's just.... So much to take into account man

Tl;dr komahina is a really cool concept and they totally fall in love but the real challenge is HOW they end up dating because i can't see Nagito allowing that to happen so easily. To me it would either take an extraordinary amount of hard work AND/OR use Hajime's talent flex. But then is that really a good solution when Hajime probably has a complicated relationship with his talents?

Not saying that it's impossible but yeah. It's so hard to pinpoint how ! And I still feel like I'm missing some parameters !

(Not bashing on anyone else’s interpretations btw, just sharing my own, these two have invaded my brain as you can probably tell)

If you’ve read through all this, congrats, here’s a random sketch I drew while figuring out how to draw the comic lmao

[thought-42]

We could live a little larger, split the dividends

Critical Role, Laerryn/Loquatius, 1136 words

“They just need to be.... Pretty,” Laerryn says, gesturing helplessly in an attempt to communicate some ephemeral, nebulous concept of beauty that exists only as an idea in words in her head with no associated imagery. The dwarf behind the counter smiles at her. Fuck, she hopes she’s not recognizable enough to be identified by random service workers. Probably she should have set her spiteful petulance aside and actually listened to Patia’s commentary on the public persona of the previous Architect Arcane. It’s only been a year. Surely she’s not recognizable.

“Are we aiming for a gift? For your mother? Or perhaps an apology of some sort? Sympathies on an illness?” She has an illness, all right.

Laerryn clasps her hands behind her back to keep them still. “No? No. None of those. They’re for... a person. I have an appointment this evening-- a meeting? I think he’d like flowers--”

She’s already spent almost an hour on her hair, and she’d switched between two jackets literally dozens of times. And then she’d got thoroughly distracted by a folder of rough sketches Nydas had left on her kitchen table a week ago, which had eaten up half an hour she didn’t have. Luckily Evandrin had Sent to her to remind her of the time, because he knows her upsettingly well.

So now she’s shifting from foot to foot impatiently, mentally counting seconds as this dwarf looks at her like she’s a small child.

“Is this a personal or professional meeting?”

“Personal,” she croaks out, her voice shifting embarrassingly high at the end of the word.

“And do you know what sort of flowers this person prefers? Colours? Scents?”

“Pretty ones,” she says, exasperated. They’re going around in circles.

The first arrangement the dwarf draws her attention to is some sort of bright pink and white monstrosity that makes her take a physical step back. The next mostly greenery, strange plants and grasses with oddly coloured flowers and weirdly shaped leaves. It appeals to her on a scientific level and a fuck tradition level, but it’s not exactly pretty. He’d either love it or hate it and she’s not willing to live with that uncertainty. Eventually they land on a dense combination of delicate purple flowers and lacey white leaves with a cluster of long elegant blue flowers standing tall at the centre. There’s something there that smells almost like his magic. Which she knows for purely scientific reasons. She’s never met anyone whose magic had such a distinctly alien sensation to it.

“If you want something more customised you’ll need to send a message ahead of time,” the dwarf says. “I’m usually here by noon, if you Send, and otherwise we have a drop box at the front if you’d like to leave a note.”

“This is... a one time thing,” Laerryn says, blithely unaware of her future.

*

“Hello, darling!”

He’s leaning against a statue, silvery violet hair all slicked back out of his face, eyelids brushed with sparkling powder and shoes so shiny the setting sun glints off of them. His eyes are a startlingly deep green, something unnatural and mesmerising. She kind of hates that she always has to ask to see his real face. He’s still just slightly taller than her. It’s infuriating.

She glances around warily, but there’s nobody close enough to hear his greeting.

“Hi,” she says, once she’s closer. “I’m late, I think. Sorry. I-- this is gonna happen. You should just know that.”

“It’s a lovely view,” he says, and then winks because he’s the worst.

“You really just use up all the charm on your day job, huh,” she says, and then “Fuck. Ignore that.”

“You think I’m charming.” He’s far too smug and far too honestly flattered. She can feel the heat rushing to her face and her ears. Every time her ears twitch the delicate copper chains running through her earrings swing very slightly and it makes her hyper-aware that she’s dressed up specifically because she wants to look nice for this man.

“Infer whatever you want,” she says, determinedly keeping her shoulder straight.

His smile sofens. “Usually I prefer hard facts. But maybe in this case I can make an exception.”

She is already making more exceptions for Loquatius Seelie than she knows what to do with.

She loses the battle with her body, hunches her shoulders. Eyes focused on the darkened windows of the Enchantment Guild off to their left she shoves the flowers in his direction. “Here. These. These are yours now.”

He accepts the flowers from her hands gently. “Laerryn, these are lovely. Thank you, darling.” He keeps calling her that. It makes her feel something.

There’s something happening to his cheeks when she looks back at him, a silvery sheen like mercury, darting across his skin and then vanishing.

I’ve reserved a table for us nearby if you’re still interested in dinner,” he says. “But that can be easily cancelled if you’d prefer something else.”

He tucks the flowers into the crook of his right arm, shifting them around a few times. Fuck. Of course he wouldn’t know what to do with them for the entire evening.

“Dinner is fine,” she blirts out, so that she doesn’t appologize for her stupid stupid gift.

“Excellent.”

They offer their arms to each other at the same time. It feels like the most awkward moment of her life, which is fucking saying something. Loquatius just laughs, and offers her his hand instead. She takes it, because there’s no one around to see and his fingers are long and elegant and cool, well-manicured and soft. She wonders if, as a Changeling, things like calluses and scars are foreign concepts. She wants to ask him, so she does.

The conversation takes them all through the walk to the restaurant and their first glass of wine. She desperately wants to take notes, but she forces her hands to still, keeps her focus intentionally on him as best she can. She doesn’t know, yet, if he can appreciate the effort she’s making, but it feels good to make it.

Once they’ve finished their salads, he smiles at her and says “so do you have any conscious control over your ears, or do they just do that on their own?”

Her hand flies up to press her right ear down against her skull. “What do you mean--” He’s laughing at her. He’s laughing at her, but it’s the way Van or Nydas laughs at her, mostly kind. She drops her hand. “I deserved that.”

“Only a little,” he says. “But let me assure you, I’ve answered every possible question about being a Changeling at least ten times.”

“Even the sex ones?”

He grins, startled and white and sharp. “Especially the sex ones. But you get a free pass on those.”

[reidsnose]

spilled coffee

overview: spencer mistakenly spills his coffee all over reader's stuff on a case, but it turns into a happy accident (based on this request)

genre: fluff :)

a/n: ok so i think this is so cute and ive been meaning to write something ab coffee art for so long im so hapoy i got sent this request! as always lmk what u guys think of it :)

masterlist

-

-

you sat at a raggedy table, spitballing with the team in a run down police station in the absolute middle of nowhere. your notebook was open wide in front of you, the blank page taunting your inability to make a good assessment of this unsub.

"hey guys, i think i've got something," Spencer announced, walking into the room.

"thank God," you murmured under your breath.

he began walking over to the board, setting down his coffee next to you. except he accidentally bumped the corner of the table as he crossed the room, consequently knocking over his cup and spilling coffee all over your paper.

he gasped, profusely apologizing and you assured him that it was ok as you wiped it off as best you could, urging him to say what he came to say about the case.

you left your notebook out to dry and the next couple of days went by very quickly, and you nearly forgot about it. it wasn't until you were all packing up that Spencer handed it to you.

"im so sorry again, ill buy you a knew one." he offered.

"no its ok! it just has some character now!" you explained, thumbing through the pages, now stiff and various shades of brown, "mmm and it smells like coffee."

"i'm gonna find a way to make it up to you." he stated as the two of you walked out of the room.

the jet ride was going to be long, and everyone was schlumped, meaning it would be void of fun commentary and be even more long and unbearable.

you sighed, flipping through your stained notebook before getting to the exact page the coffee had been spilled onto. it might have been the lighting on the jet, or maybe the sleepiness on your eyes, but the longer you stared at the blob, the more it looked like a person.

a person you knew... someone with wavy hair that stuck up in all directions, someone who had a cute button nose, someone with kind eyes and a bright smile. someone with an iq of 187 and a particular interest in halloween and chocolate frosted donuts with sprinkles.

the coffee stain looked just like Spencer.

you rubbed your eyes a couple of times but nope, he was still there, in the coffee stain.

you couldn't help but think you were going a little crazy. you had liked him for quite some time, maybe you were just seeing him in everything now. maybe to everyone else it just looked like a coffee blob?

regardless, you took out your pen and started sketching. outlining his perfectly messy hair. and his defined jaw and cheek bones. and his puckered up, oval, kissable lips, curled up in a smile. and his little boop-able nose. and his off center tie.

you weren't sure how long you had been drawing, or how many times you had looked over at Reid to make sure you were getting him down correctly. and yes you were.

all the other times you had secretly sketched him it never turned out right. there was always something that made it like someone looks like Spencer. but never quite him.

until now.

because somehow, this spilled coffee sketch had perfectly captured his essence. maybe because he was the one that spilled it? maybe it had to be done together to look right?

whatever it was you just couldn't stop staring at the wonderful accident that you and him had created.

you looked up again to see him walking over and quickly flipped your notebook to the other side, trying hard to hide your drawing.

"hey," he smiled sitting down across from you.

"hey," you replied, voices low to avoid waking up the team.

"what were you drawing?" he asked innocently.

"oh..uh nothing," you denied quickly.

"oh come on you know how much i love your doodles, show me!"

"you've seen my doodles," you face palmed.

"yes! and i love them! especially the little flower chains you border your paper with sometimes," he giggled.

"well this one..it um didn't turn out right, you wont like it."

"i doubt that."

you sighed, giving into his pleading eyes, "here."

he flipped it over, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open, "WOAH!"

"shhh!! they're sleeping!" you whispered, pointing at the rest of the team.

"y/n! this is absolutely incredible! how did you- out of a coffee spill- and it looks so- wow. i-" he looked up at you, a huge smile stretching across his face, "i'm honored that you chose to draw me. thank you."

"you're welcome, i've tried to draw you before but i could never get it right until now," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up.

his eyes softened.

"nothing says Spencer Reid like spilled coffee," he joked, making you smile. "but how come you didn't add yourself?"

"what?" you chuckled.

"theres a second blob here. right next to me," he pointed.

"yeah but that just looks like... a blob."

"no! that looks exactly like you! look theres your hair, and your eyes, and even the height difference is right!" he explained excitedly, grabbing your pen, "may i?"

you nodded and watched him get to work, sticking his tongue out as he focused. his approach was much different then yours, he drew connected, long shaky lines, and even though it didn't match the style you drew him in it was still perfect. and it still looked just like you.

he finished up, adding his last touches before pushing the paper back towards you.

"spence, i love it!" you breathed, holding it up in-front of you as you felt your heart begin to swell. "look at us. Spencer and y/n"

"Spencer and y/n." he echoed, liking the way your name felt in his mouth.

you smiled, "we forgot to sign."

"oh, right," he stammered, taking the pen and signing at the bottom corner before passing it to you and watching you do the same.

"something is off," you frowned.

"no! i think we look good together." he countered, wondering if you would catch the hint.

"no.." you sighed, taking the paper and holding it close as you scrawled something else.

his heart sank. rejection. you were probably scribbling out his face. or drawing a line between the two of you. this was gonna hurt.

you dropped the notebook back in front of him with a happy sigh. he brought his eyes up, wishing you'd at least had the decency to not show him.

but when he looked he was surprised. pleasantly surprised.

a large heart floated above your heads in the picture.

he grinned at you, his heart making its way back up to his chest from inside his stomach.

"i think we look great together." you grinned back.

his fingers grazed yours on top of the table.

"i agree." he breathed, looking like the physical embodiment of heart eyes.

"hey lovebirds," morgan groaned, "i'm so happy for you but please shut up and let me sleep."

you two chuckled, both whispering an apology, grinning ear to ear.

-

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @takeyourleap-of-faith @vampire-overlord @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni

[sakasakiii]

Do you have any original characters? Whether for Tolkien or in general

hello nonnie!!! eeeeee i was actually really surprised and excited to receive this ask! LONG POST INCOMING warning cuz its time for Rin's Ramblings again

i do have two ocs actually! although i haven't paid them much mind up until recently 😂 I wanted to write Ithilos as an extra healer into that one AO3 story where Elrond performs emergency surgery on Maedhros (and i never did!!!). Marildë came from a concept headcanon I had waaay back in January where I was obsessed with the thought of Maglor having kids (twins??) of his own back in Valinor, but unfortunately being unaware that his wife was pregnant up until just before he had to depart to M.E with the Noldor (something that eats him up like crazy but hasn't been able to tell anyone but Maedhros)

heheh so yeyeye... these are my Tolkien ocs!!! although they had been banished to the Void of my mind up til u asked hehe. When it comes to OCs I absolutely ADORE though, @astral-romances has Aredhel's triplet children I have had utter the delight of getting to know better recently, so go check them out if you haven't already!! (they are so SO cute pls stan Walya and Canyo) 🥺

now in response to the second part!! i uh,, i do have non-Tolkien ocs actually 👉👈 i wont go on about them too much here lolol, but ill place the rest under the cut due to it not rly fitting in with the theme of this blog!

when i was a fandom drifter last year i used to work on my own stories WAY more, but now that I've been into the Silm consistently (its the longest fandom I've ever stayed in cuz it has such a lovely community!!) I barely draw them anymore... but here are some sketches of assorted ocs from all my various stories:

they all come from different ones, but all exist in the same overarching world... I won't ramble about it too much here, but I do have a side blog where I sometimes dump old sketches/art I find when I'm digging through my sketchbooks for archiving purposes. So the stuff there is probably way more detailed than my response here!

still though, THANK YOU NONNIEeeEE im so very flattered you asked!! sorry I ended up rambling more than answering your question LMAOOO but im very grateful i had a chance to talk about these guys for a lil while!! 💓💓 thanks again and i hope u have a wonderful rest of your week!

[cherienymphe]

Unrequited (Thor x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, side of Loki x reader, reader has it bad for Loki

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics​ }

summary: you, a servant, are in love with Loki, your prince. He’s never noticed, and while that’s unfortunate for you, it is much to Thor’s delight because he has noticed. And he can’t stand it.

~

You stood along the wall with the rest of the servants, waiting as patiently as ever. The other girls beside you had been fidgeting for a while, Ingrid huffing for the fifth time in minutes, and you supposed that you couldn’t blame them. The feast had commenced hours ago, and it seemed as if an end was nowhere in sight. You, however, were more than happy to wait.

A familiar hand lifted into the air, long fingers snapping to beckon you over. Without hesitation, you answered the dark-haired prince’s call, feet hurrying to take you to him. You knew what he wanted as soon as he lifted his goblet, and you were extra careful in pouring him more wine. You’d hate to spill any on him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he absentmindedly said, the words falling so easily from his lips.

You’d heard them probably a thousand times, and just like before, you always asked:

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

And just like always, he said:

“No, that will be all.”

You kept your smile in place as he waved you away, heart sinking as you turned to join the rest of the servants on the wall. Your fingers scraped along the pitcher in your hands, and you let your eyes fall to the ground as a particularly loud laugh climbed out of the king’s throat. You cringed at the grating noise, lip trembling as you forced your beating heart to still.

Your eyes finally rose again, landing on the prince, and your heart clenched in your chest. His dark hair shone as it brushed along his broad shoulders, long fingers dancing along the rim of his goblet. He stood out amongst the rest of the rowdy guests, his quiet disposition a stark contrast in the rowdy room. He was always quiet though.

That’s what you loved about him.

Prince Loki didn’t care to be the center of attention…just like you. He spent his time reading and writing. Occasionally, you’d walked in on him drawing a sketch or two. On most days, he was subdued, preferring to observe those around him. You noticed that he took his time when talking with people, seeming to really mull over his responses before voicing them. He was such a breath of fresh air from-.

Your thoughts were cut short by that laugh again, and you winced. King Thor bellowed, completely tickled by something Hogun had whispered to him. You straightened and glanced away from him with a small sigh.

You had no ill feelings towards the king…none of consequence anyway. Everything about him just seemed to overwhelm you. He was too loud or too big or too abrasive. He was just too much. For as long as you’d known him, he was loud and demanding and a bit spoiled. Not to mention impulsive. He and Loki were so different that you often found yourself wondering how the two could even be related.

Fortunately for you, it seemed that Loki had finally grown tired of the antics, waving you along as he stood. You set the pitcher down and rushed to follow him, trailing behind him like a pet would. Sometimes you thought that you should feel embarrassed at how completely devoted to him you were, but you couldn’t find it in yourself too.

The prince was beautiful, and not just because he was a god, but because he was Loki. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his pink lips had never once formed to say anything to hurt you, the opposite in fact. His voice could soothe even the crankiest of children. Prince Loki had never been anything but kind to you, even allowing you to borrow his books.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

You knew it was silly. He was a prince, a god, the highest caliber of royalty there was, and you… You were a servant. He would never look at you the way you looked at him, but you knew that his brother had a reputation for pulling servants into his chambers through all hours of the night. Heat settled into the pit of your stomach as you thought of Loki doing the same to you.

It became clear early on though that he was not like that. At first, you thought that it had just been you, and disappointment and sorrow had eaten away at you for weeks, but you soon realized that no one was warming his bed. You hoped that one day that would change. Even if that was all the prince wanted from you, you’d happily give it to him.

You’d do anything to please him.

“Draw me a bath,” he tiredly murmured just as you closed his chamber door behind you.

“Of course.”

You breezed past him, and through his bedroom, making your way into the bath. Loki didn’t like his bath water too hot, and you waded your hand through it many times to make sure it was just right. You added some soaps to it, grabbing the bowl of flower petals you’d placed beside the tub this morning. You were seated on it, tossing them across the water just as he made his way inside. You set it down, hurrying to help him undress.

“Thor was more energetic than usual tonight,” he said, sighing as he eased into the warm water. “How do you always manage to get it perfect?”

That last part was said so softly that you wondered if you’d imagined it, and you knew that it must have been said more to himself, not meant for you. You smiled anyway.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my prince?” you genuinely wondered, resting your arms and chin on the large bath.

His head was leaned back, eyes closed as he soaked. A small smirk danced along his lips, and you eyed it.

“As well as to be expected, I suppose. I’ll never understand why Thor demands my attendance to such trivial gatherings. Nothing more than a self-congratulatory circle jerk,” he sneered.

You swallowed a laugh at his crude language.

“Pardon my wording,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. Would you like for me to wash your hair?”

You were already moving as you asked the question, but his soft ‘please’ warmed your heart. Your fingers were gentle in combing through his locks, massaging his scalp. A low moan rumbled deep in his throat, and you ran your eyes over him as he relaxed under your ministrations.

When you were done, you cupped some water in your hands a few times before letting it run over his hair. You swallowed when he began to rise, and as much as you didn’t want to, you looked away.

“I’ll go turn back your bed,” you told him as you turned around to give him some privacy.

As you pulled his sheets and covers back, you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over the cool material. You wondered how comfortable they were, how cool they’d feel against your skin. How cool they would feel while the prince had his way with you…

You snatched your hand back like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You swallowed down your wanton thoughts as Loki exited, fully dressed for bed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, my prince?”

Your voice was soft as you asked the same question you did every night, hoping against hope that he’d finally say what you wanted to hear. That he’d ask you to stay, ask you to share his bed, ask you to please him…

He threw you a smile, so small it was barely there, but you knew him so well that you could easily spot the subtle change in expression.

“That will be all. You’re dismissed,” he told you.

With a shaky nod, you turned and left. The minute you were in the corridor, you pressed your back to his chamber door, tears in your eyes. The desire that coursed through you should have terrified you, but it only fueled the hope in your heart. You had to hope that he at least desired you half as much as you did him.

When you finally got your legs to move down the hall, you passed the king’s wing. A feminine giggle echoed down the hall, and you turned your head just in time to see his chamber doors slamming shut, the tail end of a flowy dress nearly getting caught.

You blinked, lips parting as your shoulders sagged.

Your fingers ghosted over the beauty products before you, brows furrowed in confusion. You knew that it was wrong of you to sneak into Ingrid’s room, but you were desperate. You only wanted to borrow a few things that she wouldn’t even notice were gone. She had so much.

You bit your lip, wondering if this was even the right thing to do. What if he laughed at you, thinking you silly for this? What if he didn’t take you seriously after this? What if he thought less of you? What if you were only making a fool of yourself? With a sigh, you dropped Ingrid’s rouge just as her door opened.

There was a frown on her striking features as soon as her eyes landed on you. It was late in the night, and her hair was perfectly mussed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You had suspicions that she was the one you saw going into the king’s chamber earlier.

“Never pegged you for a thief, Y/N,” she chuckled, closing her door.

“I wasn’t stealing…only borrowing,” you replied unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” she brushed you off, nearing you to see what you had.

She took it and turned it over, a small smirk gracing her lips.

“…and…just who are you trying to get all prettied up for?”

Your mouth opened and closed, words failing you as you pondered over whether or not you should tell her the truth. Deep down, maybe a part of you wanted to get caught. Maybe you wanted to ask for her help? You doubted that she’d help you without the truth though.

“Don’t tell me… You’re trying to gain the king’s favor…?”

Her voice was colder, eyes hardening as yours widened.

“The-the king?” you exclaimed, eyebrows rising.

She scoffed, running her eyes over you.

“I already have to fight for his attention with just about every other woman in this kingdom. I’d hate to have to put you in your place because you got way in over your head-.”

“No, no, heavens no,” you said, frowning in disgust. “I am not trying to seduce the king.”

The thought made your stomach turn. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on you as you slowly rose to your feet.

“Well, then who? Because a girl like you doesn’t go rifling through other people’s things just to seduce no one,” she argued.

“Well, trust me, it is not king Thor. He’s all yours. He’s not exactly my taste…”

Her frown deepened.

“Who is?”

A soft sigh escaped you, and again, you wondered if you should be truthful or not. Ingrid would probably press you for details, and you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself further by admitting you were hopelessly in love with prince Loki. Your eyes reluctantly met hers again, and her face evened out as her eyes lit up.

“The prince,” she whispered, a genuine smile on her face, a light scoff escaping her. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet… I am. You were right. The king isn’t your taste.”

You swallowed.

“Can you…help me?”

“You sweet summer child,” she tsk’d. “You do understand that while the prince is definitely no Thor, he is still a man. There’s a very high chance that he’ll only want one thing from you.”

You rubbed your arm, gently shaking your head.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just…want him.”

She let out a long exhale, eyes softening as she eyed you.

“I see. How…cute, but I’ll help you.”

She grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

“You wait on him hand and foot. I always thought you were just being a dutiful servant, maybe even a bit of a pushover, but now it all makes sense.”

“You don’t have to tell me how silly I am,” you mumbled.

“I’m not,” she chuckled, placing a finger under your chin, lifting your head. “I’m commending you.”

You were sure the confusion was clear on your face.

“The prince has seen how wonderful a servant you are. I’m willing to bet that he has never had one complaint about you. He thinks you’re perfect, and now you will show him that you have even more to offer.”

Her smile grew, and so did your nerves.

The night was spent with Ingrid teaching you everything she knew. How to walk, how to smile, how to speak. You hadn’t realized that seducing required so much work, and you suddenly realized that it was going to take more than you thought to get what you wanted.

When morning came, she helped you dress, whispering words of encouragement to you. She assured you that you could do this, could have him right where you had wanted him for years, and with her guidance, you left to go down to the kitchens to gather his breakfast.

You breezed into the prince’s chambers like you did every morning. You walked through his receiving room and laid out his breakfast before making your way to the large windows on the far-left side of his room. You pulled the drapes aside, letting the sunlight in just as a groan sounded from behind you.

“Is it morning already?”

His voice was always husky in the morning, deep and groggy from sleep.

“Yes, my prince. Do not forget that the king requested you join him this morning for a meeting regarding the-.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he sighed. “Heaven forbid Thor tend to his duties as a king should without me by his side to guide him.”

When finished, you turned to help him out of bed. All of his movements halted as you neared, and you avoided his eye as you went to turn the cover back. You could feel his eyes on you, and your body grew warm under his scrutiny.

Ingrid had lent you one of her dresses. It was the typical cream garment that all of the servants donned, but the neckline sat lower, showing off a tasteful eyeful of cleavage. Where your regular dress had loosely flowed around you like water, this one hugged you, accentuating your curves.

You were startled when Loki’s hand found your wrist, stopping you. You finally looked at him, brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stared at you, a small frown on his own face. Your arm trembled at the feel of his hand on you, and he noticed, quickly letting you go. Much to your disappointment…

“Thank you, Y/N, but I can take it from here,” he quietly told you.

You nodded, backing away.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

For the first time, his reply did not come quickly. There was a brief pause, hesitation that had never been there before, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“…no.”

Your heart sank, and you nodded, turning away.

As usual, the king was the last to arrive, everyone else having long taken their seats. Loki had been one of the first to arrive, and you had happily served him water while he waited. Thor strolled into the hall like there wasn’t a care in the world, taking his time in sliding into his seat before beckoning one of the servants over.

Your eyes did what they do best and fell on the prince. Other than his perusal this morning, nothing had changed. For a moment there, you had thought that he finally saw you as you saw him, but whatever you thought you saw was gone just as quick as it had come.

Did he hate the look of the dress? Your face? You had applied rouge to your cheeks and lips, keeping your hair simple. Ingrid had assured you that you looked ‘good enough to eat’, and yet… Your shoulders sagged as a stifling sadness fell over you.

What if it wasn’t a matter of getting him to notice you? What if he already did and simply…did not feel the same way? The thought of Loki never returning your affections because you did not appeal to him made your heart hurt, and you blinked back tears just as the prince beckoned you over for more water.

As you refilled his glass, you felt the odd sensation of being watched. Against your better judgement, you glanced over only for your gaze to connect with that of the king’s. You quickly looked away, topping off Loki’s drink just as the blond spoke.

“Brother, you do not think to introduce your servant to her king?”

You frowned in confusion, and so did the prince as you both looked to Thor. His blue eyes were on you still as a secretive smile graced his lips. You tilted your head at him.

“As many years as Y/N has served me now, you’ve never thought to formally introduce yourself,” Loki told him, frown deepening.

A spark of recognition flitted through the king’s eyes as he gazed at you, and a chuckle left him.

“That would explain why she’s looking as if I’d asked her why the sky is green,” he jested.

As he pointed that out, you worked to even out your face. You nodded at him before dismissively turning to Loki.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Stay close though. I have a feeling Thor will drag this meeting far beyond what’s necessary,” he complained.

You nodded at him, eyes lingering as you hovered for a moment before your feet reluctantly moved you back to the wall. Loki offered his input throughout the meeting, but it seemed that the king never liked whatever the prince had to say. You could see him growing more taut by the minute, and you longed to place your hands on his shoulders, easing his tension.

You wondered if this was all you’d ever be to him. A servant. The possibility of that seemed to be growing by the minute, and you started to feel so silly for thinking you could ever be anything more. You considered being bolder, possibly even just confessing to him, but you didn’t want to think about the humiliation if he rejected you.

Or worse.

What if he was so affronted that he dismissed you for good? You couldn’t truly imagine such a thing happening, but your mind was running wild with the possibilities. When you came back to the scene before you, Loki was rising, voice clipped.

He was angry, you realized, and you frowned. You took a small step forward as you eyed him, hating the way his face was twisted. He seemed to be scolding his brother, and when you looked to the king, you found his blue gaze already on you. Your frown deepened, and you hurriedly looked away just as Loki pulled away from the table, waving you along.

Without a second glance to the king, you hurried to follow him. He was grumbling to himself when you caught up to him, running a hand through his hair.

“What is my purpose of being there if he isn’t going to listen to a word I say?” he wondered.

“My prince, you know that your brother has always done what he wants to do,” you softly told him.

He slowed to a stop, shoulders heaving as he sighed. You reached for him before thinking better of it, pulling your hand back.

“You are right, but it does not mean I have to like it.”

You hated to see him so bothered, and you stepped closer.

“Would you like something to eat from the…?”

You swallowed the rest of your words as heavy footsteps approached, and you both turned to watch as the king neared. You took a few steps back to stand behind the prince, quietly acknowledging Thor. Your eyes landed on Loki again as his frown deepened at the sight of his brother.

“Loki, the meeting was far from over, and there is still much for us to discuss,” Thor boomed, a frown of his own covering his features.

The dark-haired man heaved a sigh.

“I’d hardly call it a discussion, brother if you aren’t actually listening to a word I say,” he complained.

Thor opened his mouth to say something when his eyes caught yours. He appeared to think better of it, blue eyes quickly running over you just as Loki turned to look at you as well. You frowned at the king’s perusal.

“Fetch something from the kitchens for us, and then bring it to my chambers,” he softly ordered, rolling his eyes.

You bit back a smile at his evident irritation with the king before nodding.

“Right away, my prince.”

As you walked past the king, you felt something catch along the fabric of your dress. You turned with a slight frown, but both the king and the prince were already walking away. You blinked, writing it off as you made your way to the kitchens.

It took you no time to put a platter together, grabbing some ale. When you returned to the prince’s chambers, he and Thor appeared to be locked in a stalemate. You set the tray down between them, filling their goblets as they glared at each other. You felt a bit awkward, so you touched Loki’s shoulder.

“My prince…”

He blinked, finally looking away from Thor before reaching for the platter with an angry huff.

“Thank you, Lady Y/N,” Thor said.

You sent him a quick smile in return, barely sparing him a glance before turning your attention back to Loki. His green eyes found yours, and they softened.

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Thor and I have much to discuss indeed it seems,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, and you could feel the king’s gaze searing into the side of your face.

“If you’re sure. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

He shook his head, and reluctantly, you stepped away. With a quiet sigh, you left his chambers without a farewell to the king.

The days that followed were…odd, to say the least. The king seemed to be around Loki a lot more, and by default, that meant he was around you more as well. You didn’t know how to feel about it, but you didn’t think you liked it. Not only was his presence upsetting the prince more than usual, and therefore upsetting you, but the king tended to stare a lot.

Having always been strictly a servant for the prince, you hardly interacted with Thor, but the few times that you did, you didn’t remember this being a part of his behavior. His ever-watchful eye unnerved you, and you soon started to wonder if he knew how you felt about the prince. You prayed not, because he didn’t strike you as the type to keep it to himself.

Unable to hold your tongue regarding his hard to ignore presence, you brought it up to the prince one night.

“It’s all rather tedious,” he sighed. “It’s nothing that I believe truly requires my input. That’s excluding his grand idea of me finding a wife.”

Your chin had been resting on the tub, fingers running along the smooth surface, when he spoke. You froze, feeling as if someone had taken a knife to you as you slowly lifted your gaze, eyes landing on him. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, the perfect picture of relaxation, a contrast to you at the moment.

“…what?”

Your voice was small, but the worry must have been evident, nonetheless. Loki chuckled.

“Do not fret,” he told you, finally opening his eyes. “No strange woman will be coming here to demand things of you anytime soon. I’m merely humoring him. Although, I will admit that he does seem to be rather persistent upon the idea.”

He moved to rise, and you looked away.

“It’s preposterous if you ask me. He suggests I began looking for a wife when he has yet to find a queen?”

You didn’t laugh along with him, knowing that the king had a rather annoying habit of getting whatever he wanted. The rest of the night was spent in silence as you helped Loki prepare for bed. If he noticed your strange behavior, then he did not comment on it, and for that you were grateful.

After quickly leaving his chambers, you found yourself amongst the rose bushes in the garden. Your shoulders shook as tears kissed your eyes, chest clenching at the thought of the prince binding himself to someone else forever.

A part of you had always known that this day would come, but you had never wanted to acknowledge it. You had hoped that something would happen before then. Of course, how could you expect that to come true when all you did was stare after him like some lovesick fool? A tear skipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away just as you heard footsteps.

You thought nothing of it, knowing that many people ventured into the gardens throughout all hours of the day. However, when the footsteps stopped behind you, you had no choice but to turn. Surprise and confusion filled you as your eyes landed on none other than the king. Unlike before, you couldn’t get away with ignoring his presence.

“My king,” you greeted, standing.

You worked to school your features as he looked over you, a crooked smile on his lips.

“It is rather late for you to be frolicking about all by your lonesome, is it not?”

You frowned at his tone but brushed it off.

“I just wanted some solace and fresh air to think,” you told him.

He hummed, and you moved to leave.

“Goodnight, my king.”

He stopped you, and you looked to him with a small frown.

“It is late and dark. Allow me to walk you back to your chambers,” he offered.

You shook your head.

“I appreciate the offer, my king, but there’s no need. I’ve walked these dark halls alone many times before,” you replied.

You went to step around him, but again, he was there. You swallowed down your annoyance, biting your cheek.

“I’d feel much better if you allowed me to. I’d rest easy knowing you made it back safe.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you nodded, choosing to pick your battles with the almighty Thor. He rested his hand on your back as he walked you out of the garden, and you stepped out of his reach. The walk back to your room was filled with silence, but you were not bothered. Your mind was too crowded with thoughts of Loki.

He said that he was only entertaining Thor, having no intentions of taking a wife anytime soon, but that could easily change. The king had a way of getting what he wanted one way or another, and for some reason, he wished for his brother to be married. Your frown deepened.

“I’m sorry for my odd behavior at the meeting the other day. You did not look as I was used to seeing you,” the king said after a while with a small chuckle.

“It’s quite alright,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence before he spoke again.

“I do hope everything is alright. You appeared rather upset in the gardens…”

You shook your head, somewhat annoyed at his uncharacteristic behavior. You had never known Thor to be so observant of another unless it affected him. The only time you’d notice him pay so much attention to a woman was when…

Your lips parted, and you looked away as realization hit you. Your eyes slowly looked to him, and you found his attentive gaze already on you. You pursed your lips, annoyance filling you.

“If it appeared that way then I apologize. It wasn’t my intention. I merely have a lot on my mind,” you told him, voice clipped.

“Such as?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Your tone left no room for questioning, and you heard him huff. Relief filled you when your door came into view, and you bowed to him with a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking away. You felt him grab your arm, gently, but it still startled you, nonetheless.

You looked to him with wide eyes, brows furrowed. He stepped closer, and if it weren’t for his hold, you would have stepped back. His gaze was intense, sparkling with something you had seen all too often, and disgust filled you.

“If my brother is mistreating you in any way, you are always more than welcome to serve me instead,” he quietly said, voice thick.

Your frown deepened, and you pulled your arm away before stepping back, watching as his face fell.

“Why would the prince be mistreating me? He has never been anything but good to me.”

He cleared his throat.

“I just worry that your behavior might have something to do with him-.”

“As kind as that is, it is not necessary. As I said, I merely had a lot on my mind. The prince could never put me into a foul mood. Goodnight, my king.”

You swiftly entered your room before he could reply, and you placed your ear to the door. He seemed to stand there for a while before finally leaving with a huff. You only sighed in relief when he was gone, quickly ridding yourself of your dress.

You quickly slipped into one of the night shifts Ingrid had lent you, feeling naked in the flimsy fabric. You felt like you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t allow the king to get his way and have Loki married. The night air felt even cooler as you stepped out of your room.

You felt scandalous, but so many of the other women had done what you were currently doing a thousand times before. There was no need to feel ashamed or weird about it. Still, if anyone caught you, you’d have to come up with something.

The walk to the prince’s wing felt long. It wasn’t late enough for him to be asleep, that much you knew. He usually had his nose buried in a book at this time. You slowed when you got to his door, heart surprisingly steady in your chest. With a deep breath, you smoothed the fabric before knocking on his door. You could hear his footsteps approaching, but with a frown, you realized that his weren’t the only ones you heard.

You looked over your shoulder just in time to see the king approach, his wide eyes taking you in. Your own widened just as the door opened behind you, and you felt your body grow cold at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Y/N?”

You spun around, facing Loki as confusion filled his features. He ran his eyes over you, a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths just before he finally noticed his brother.

“Thor. What is the meaning of this?”

Your mind whirled, and you blinked.

“I…believe that I must have been sleepwalking, my prince. I’m so sorry-.”

“Nonsense. Here, the nights are colder these days,” he said, taking off the robe he was wearing before covering your shoulders with it. “What are you doing here, Thor?”

You too wanted to know the answer to that, and it was hard to keep the irritated frown from your face as you looked to him. His own eyes were on you, and you knew then that he saw through your lie. He cleared his throat.

“I came to discuss something with you, brother,” he said.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, surely it can wait until the morning. I must walk Y/N back to her chambers to ensure she makes it to bed safely,” he told him.

You smiled at him at him as he pushed you along.

“Thank you,” you told him.

You caught the frown on the king’s face, but you ignored it as Loki rested his hand on your arm.

“You’ve never been known to sleepwalk before,” the prince murmured.

“I know. Well, at least not that I know of. I’m not sure what happened,” you lied.

“Anything could have happened. You could have fallen down the stairs, or one of the unscrupulous characters who roam these halls could have happened upon you.”

You sent him an appreciative smile. His hand was warm on your arm, and you inhaled, breathing in the comforting scent of him. You basked in his presence, but all too soon, you reached your door. You took off his robe, handing it back to him, but when he grabbed it, you didn’t let go.

A frown was on his face as you tugged on the fabric, pulling him closer. You blinked at him, smile widening as hope filled your eyes, unable to miss the way he ran his eyes over you.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

His eyes widened, face falling as you made your intentions clear. Realization bled into his gaze.

“You were not sleepwalking…were you?”

Reluctantly, you shook your head. He heaved a sigh, and your face fell.

“Y/N…you are my servant. A good one. I cannot use my authority to-.”

“Why not? The king does it all the time-.”

“I am not Thor! I refuse to be,” he said, and your lips trembled. “I will not take advantage of you.”

You grabbed his shirt, pushing yourself against him. You watched his throat bob, a look in his eyes that you had always prayed to see.

“I want you to,” you quietly said, hurrying to continue when you noticed that he was about to protest. “My prince, I would do anything for you. I would give you anything you asked of me.”

He exhaled, and it was shaky, and you smiled. He hesitantly leaned in, and your nose brushed against his. He whispered your name so softly, the sound going straight to your heart…and stomach.

He kissed you, and you moaned against his lips. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and one of his hands pressed into the wall, the other going to your waist. Your heart soared, and you felt like you were floating as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Take me,” you breathed into his mouth.

He froze, and you could have cried. Your heart sank as he pulled away, his chest heaving, and lips swollen and red. He smoothed down the fabric of your night dress.

“I…am giving you the day off tomorrow,” he murmured, and you frowned.

“What?”

Panic filled you, but he hurried to ease it.

“Do not fret. I merely have much to think about and…I cannot do so properly when you tempt me so.”

Embarrassment filled you, and you looked away as a deep chuckle escaped him.

“Things are starting to make sense, and I’m realizing that you have been tempting me for days,” he whispered.

“I would do it again,” you said, kissing him.

He hummed into the kiss before pulling away and opening your door. He gently pushed you inside, green eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before.

“Sleep well for I shall not abandon you.”

You smiled at him, biting your lip as he turned to leave.

“Loki…”

He paused at the use of his name, looking over his shoulder. You sighed, lashes fluttering.

“I love you.”

He blinked at your confession, lips parting. He took a step towards you and kissed you one last time. You watched him walk away, and when you closed your door, you slid down to the floor, the happiest you’d ever been.

Your happiness only increased the next morning when you noticed a folded slip of parchment that had been slid underneath your door. When you opened it, Loki’s handwriting greeted you, and your eyes widened as they skimmed over each line.

He wanted to meet you tonight in the master chamber of the abandoned wing. You briefly wondered why there, but his next few words informed you that Thor’s presence had been rather persistent lately, something you too had noticed, and he did not wish to be interrupted.

You spent your entire day off in a daze, wondering what tonight would entail. You remembered everything that Ingrid had told you, even some of the things that had made you squirm, and there was a very high chance that you would be doing those things tonight.

When the night finally came, you felt your nerves increase like no other. It was late, and the corridors were empty, bare feet walking on the cool floor. You wore nothing underneath the robe, body bare and clean from your bath earlier. You weren’t afraid. You trusted the prince more than you trusted anyone else in the world.

The room was empty when you entered it, but light was cast onto your features from the candles placed around the room. The bed was made, but you wasted no time in turning it back, robe slipping from you, a whisper of fabric in the quiet room. It fell to your feet, and you slid into the bed, pulling the sheet to your chest as you waited for Loki.

You didn’t wait long, and you sat up when you heard footsteps approaching. A soft smile danced along your lips, excitement filling you as Loki approached. You watched as the handle turned, but when the door creaked open, it was not his form that filled the entryway.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, a frown taking over as confusion and fear and anger filled you. Thor’s eyes met yours, and you felt your breath pick up, chest heaving as he shut the door behind him. Your lips were parted, at a loss for words as you fought to voice your thoughts.

“Well…this is a first,” his deep voice hummed. “A woman has never been disappointed to see me before.”

“…wh-what? What is the meaning of this? Where is Loki?”

He did not answer you right away, and your frozen frame finally moved as he took a step forward. You hurried off of the bed, clutching the sheet to you as you reached for your robe.

“I see the way you watch him. Such devotion in your eyes,” he murmured, almost in awe. “What man would not envy such loyalty from a woman such as yourself?”

You froze again, jaw clenching and fingers tightening as the truth hit you.

“You tricked me,” you quietly spat, glaring at him.

You didn’t bother to school your tone, king or no king. You were disgusted with him. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his features, and your anger grew.

“How else was I to get you alone? Your eyes only ever see my brother,” he said.

“So you take it upon yourself to use deception to get me alone with you? Because that’s the only way I’d ever do so.”

His own jaw ticked, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You practically fall on your face to get away from me, but him you throw yourself at like a common whore,” he sneered, finally exposing himself.

You surmised that he saw you and the prince last night, and your stomach turned. You took no offense to his statement for it was true. You’d do anything for Loki.

“It’s okay for women to act that way as long as its for you,” you said. “I would do anything for the prince…and you can’t stand it.”

You shook your head at him, watching his face twist into anger.

“You’re like a child,” you said in disbelief. “You get anything and anyone you want, and still, you know no satisfaction.”

“You will watch how you speak to me,” he ordered, taking another step forward.

“You have tricked me! And for what? Because I want your brother and not you? You’re despicable,” you threw at him.

“One more word of disrespect, and I shall have your tongue,” he threatened.

“The prince would never allow such a thing to happen,” you smugly replied.

He straightened, and he knew it was true. You threw the robe around you, only allowing the sheet to fall once it was secured.

“You do not spare me a glance,” he finally said. “It is as if I am not there.”

You snorted.

“What does it matter? I have always shown you the proper respect, my king, but you are angered because I’d rather fall at the prince’s feet than yours? There are lines of women in this kingdom ready to do your bidding. Leave Loki and I be,” you snapped, flurrying past him.

He stopped you, and you sharply inhaled.

“Surely you could be just as happy giving me what you so desire to give him.”

You frowned, offended. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Thor was hurt by your rejection. You shook your head at him, disbelief coloring your tone.

“You do not understand. I love the prince.”

You watched his fall, lips pressing together as he registered your confession.

“My loyalty and devotion to him is because of my love for him. I am in love with Loki. Do you get it now?”

He took a step back, letting go of you as he blinked, realizing that this was no matter of fleeting lust.

“That look that you envy so much is love, not desire. It angers you so because you have never known it,” you told him.

He glared at you, and you returned the look. You watched as he picked at a piece of lint on your robe, lip curling over his teeth.

“Then I will simply have to make you love me as well.”

He yanked you towards him, and you yelped, kicking at him. He pressed his mouth to yours, forcing a kiss on your lips, and you pushed your hands against his chest. He tore at the robe that covered you, and fear gripped you, a scream bubbling in your throat, but he swallowed it down.

You had always thought that Thor was too much, a list of things falling under the vague statement, and too strong was quickly added to it. He had you naked before him in no time, and you bounced against the bed as he threw you onto it. He fell over you, hands pinning your wrists down as he took his fill of you, eyes tracing every curve of your body.

“There is a part of me that regrets taking you away from my brother, especially like this, but the part of me that wants you all for myself already won.”

He kissed you again, and you only started to cry when you felt him moving to release himself. You had been prepared to ruin your reputation for the prince, risking the fate of marrying a second son or marrying no one at all. You loved him, but you would never risk such a thing for the king. Yet here he was, taking that choice away from you.

You screamed for Loki, desperate and afraid, but Thor’s lips covered yours once more, swallowing your cries. His beard tickled your skin, and his blond locks brushed over your face. You could feel the tip of him brush against you, and you trembled beneath him. He ignored your cries and your please, pushing into you so swiftly that the pain didn’t even register until moments later.

You yelped into his mouth, and he moaned into yours, trembling at the feel of you wrapped around him. Tears spilled from your eyes, anger and sadness paralyzing you. The king was in heaven…while you were in hell.

“Loki,” you sadly murmured, chest hurting at the thought of never being with him.

This angered Thor, and he snarled just before pulling his hips back and snapping them against you. You gasped in pain, nails digging into his arms as more tears ran down your face. His lips kissed at your cheek and neck as he thrust into you, low moans leaving him.

You turned your head away, anger increasing at the extent of Thor’s selfish nature. You hit at him, slapping his shoulders and face, curses flying from your lips. He quickly grew tired of your antics and grabbed your wrists, slamming them down beside your head. You sobbed in frustration.

His heavy breathing filled your ears as he slammed into you, every thrust making your heart clench in pain. You struggled to get your arms out of his harsh hold, but he only tightened them. You knew they would be sore in the morning.

Against your will, your core grew slick under his ministrations, the sound of his assault reaching your ears, making you cringe. He tried to kiss you, but you kept moving your head, refusing to give him what he wanted.

“You shall grow to love me as well,” he murmured.

You shook your head, and he pressed his lips to your jaw, groaning against your skin.

“I wish for you to show me the same devotion that you give to my brother.”

His thrusts grew slow, gradually pushing into your slick walls until you were forced to feel every vein and ridge of him. He moaned, a low sound from deep within his throat. You felt him shudder, and you did as well as warmth filled you, his cum slowly leaking out around his cock. He softened, but barely so, and fresh tears spilled.

He forced another kiss on you, grinding his hips into yours as he fucked his cum into you, the wet sound reaching your ears.

“I can give you the world too,” he groaned into your mouth. “I shall not rest until you look at me like you look at him.”

~

tags: @mcudarklibrary​ @darkficreposter​ @xoxabs88xox​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @hurricanerin​

[jitterbugjive]

Something I wish more people would understand is how unhealthy and misguided I was in my early 20s. I came out of a life of mental and sexual abuse, for a bit I had a much older boyfriend than me that I didn’t realize until fairly recently was grooming me since I was 14. I was a hyper sexual teenager due to the exposure I had in childhood and I sought people out constantly to ERP with, even adults, without really thinking anything was wrong with that. I had an old friend who started running away from home to look for random adult men to sleep with so my understanding and feelings towards that kind of situation got all twisted and confused and I didn’t know how to help my friend. I had another friend who was pulled in to a 3 way by another minor and an adult, and the other minor was also the sort who actively looked for adult men who would be sick enough to sleep with her. And my best friend had a sister who was also exhibiting this behavior despite my friends’ many protests, because their mom didn’t give a single fuck about anything. I had an older babysitter, by older I mean in his 60s, who would bring up conversations about sex with me and show me porn on TV from when  I was 10-13. I was dealing with unchecked PTSD which made me overly reactive, prone to fits of anger and anxiety.

My point is, back then I didn’t have any kind of professional help or anywhere I could go for answers on things I didn’t understand or had a limited understanding of. When I ask the question ‘what do you do if a kid is seeking out adult sexual attention’ it’s not because I’m trying to blame kids for this, it’s because it scares me when kids are unknowingly, maybe even knowingly, exposing themselves to danger for whatever screwed up reason they may have. And no one wants to talk about that kind of situation, so I couldn’t find any answers. I couldn’t find an appropriate way to process my feelings on the matter, my understanding of it, the way I viewed it, I couldn’t find what the correct way to feel or deal with it was. Again, because no one wants to talk about it. With my naivety and personal experience, I at first held resentment towards kids like that, because I remember being put in danger because of them or they put my friends in danger, and those kids seemed very sure of their choices even when they were perfectly aware it was wrong. One of them I knew, even as an adult, didn’t ever think anything was wrong with what they did, they didn’t come with that regret you hear most people talking about. I regret the way I’ve reacted to these situations and I regret the way I phrased things when I was trying to come to terms with this issue that I’d been honestly traumatized by.

Another thing I didn’t understand in my early 20s was appropriate boundaries, because I wasn’t given appropriate boundaries as a kid I only knew one big basic thing: Don’t do anything sexually explicit with minors.

And when it came to RP, I thought that meant PG13 content was okay. I thought if there was a fade to black, or a time skip, or an implication, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Now, there are literally only 2 instances I can think of where there was any sort of implication of sexual acts between characters with a minor, I still made sure nothing explicit was shown or explored and I was of the impression that I was just letting the other person have fun because that’s what they were in to. And that was a mistake. Not as big of a mistake as it could have been, mind you, but I’d never cross that line. I thought I had a good line drawn in the sand but I didn’t really understand where it was supposed to be. Because if we’re gonna be honest here, looking back I know now even romantic fluff RP between an adult and a minor isn’t okay, even if it’s through characters and not as ourselves.

I know now how much of an emotional impact RP can have on a person, considering most of my romantic relationships started with RP. When you have a character you deeply connect to interacting with someone else’s character, it’s really easy to start mistaking your character’s feelings for your own. You could believe because your characters get along so well that maybe the two of you can get along romantically too. I’m not saying that RP shouldn’t lead to romance, but that it can easily blind a person from how their RP partner really is. So it’s dangerous to RP with kids like this. I should know, my abusive ex that groomed me until I turned 18 in order to date me certainly had me convinced we were meant for each other just because our characters clicked and my character happened to be a representation of myself.

Something I’m really ashamed to admit as well is a serious misjudgement on my part, where for some reason I assumed bodily fluids weren’t NSFW. Probably because I’ve seen people get away with censoring out naughty bits but leaving the spunk in an image, or just drawing the character with spunk on them or something. Point is, people were getting away with it not being flagged as porn, and my dumb brain was like ‘okay so it’s not that bad’. I need to make something clear here, I don’t entirely remember what happened or why it happened, but it’s true that Bedeviled Derpy had a post that showed spunk in 2 of the images and it was drawn from some sketches of mine by a teenager. I don’t believe I would have requested such a thing, I certainly didn’t script it to say ‘draw spunk here’, in fact the sketches don’t show any indication of a mess anywhere. I just remember being given the finished images with the spunk being added, and I was dumb enough to think “oh yeah this is totally okay for a SFW blog” and my brain didn’t even register like ‘hello yes a child drew this maybe ask them to remove the spunk also spunk isn’t sfw or child friendly in any way shape or form’

Some people, maybe only a handful, or more, I don’t know, but some people have this assumption that my mindset in all of this was like “Hahaha I’m taking advantage of a minor” and that’s just... not it?

I’m a colossal dumbass, I admit that, and I was really irresponsible, but it was NOT because I had any intentions on preying on a child. I just don’t do that.

The things I said and did, I did out of ignorance, and most of the bad stuff people talk about me saying was from 5+ years ago, before I got any help, before I had anyone to walk me through these incredibly complex emotions and opinions that were ingrained in my head since childhood.

I just wish that people could see I had no malice or ill intent, I wish people could realize they’re way overthinking my actions and taking things a lot more personally than they were ever meant to be. Maybe if they could see this for what it is rather than assuming I’m a villain who purposefully did everything wrong, they could learn to move on in a healthy way.

I understand I did a lot of harm and there’s no undoing that.

But I do NOT deserve to be accused of pedophilia. Pedophilia has literally ruined my life and my perception of the world. I’m a victim too, and just because I became an adult doesn’t mean I suddenly know right from wrong. That’s not how becoming an adult works. You’re allowed to make mistakes as an adult, being an adult doesn’t mean you won’t make mistakes any more. Yes it’s easier to say to someone ‘you were just a kid, it was a mistake, you didn’t know any better’, but adults have a hard time knowing ‘any better’ too. We’re always growing and learning and I’d like to think people are smart enough to see that I have grown in to a better person.

I hope people can find it in their hearts to forgive me, but I fear some people are too far gone down the rabbit hole of being convinced that everything was on purpose and from malice, that I’m some evil mastermind who thrives on manipulation and taking advantage of kids. I’ve only ever associated with 2 minors since becoming an adult and I have no intention of associating with any more that aren’t directly connected to my family or my friends.

Anyone who actually knows me would know I have a 0 tolerance for IRL pedophilia, when I found out a member of one of my groups was showing nudes to minors he was immediately kicked out and I kept tabs on the situation to make sure he’d be caught by police. When a member in my server was exposed for ERP and orbiting with a minor, I kicked him out too.

I worry about kids to a point that it’s part of my PTSD, I have anxiety attacks just worrying about how a kid might be getting harmed, the last thing I want to do is bring harm to them.

And I did cause harm, I didn’t know that was what I was doing, but I did, because I wasn’t mature enough to understand how to interact with kids as an adult. And again, I’m just incredibly sorry things had to even come to this. I’m not lying when I say I think about this every single day, and sometimes spiral in to really bad anxiety because of it. It affects me heavily.

I want to move on.

And I want the people affected to move on too.

Because dwelling on this isn’t going to do anyone any good.

[maplecornia]

chapter 16

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.12K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: okay DAYUM i must've on something when writing this because BOOM is it SPOICY

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

He takes you to a gazebo, a secluded hidden porch behind a grove. You can't see much through the shower, but you can tell that it's exquisitely made. The faded paint on the wood adds an antique look to the strong structure. The wood is molded and manipulated to create designs around the gazebo. Designs, and curves that are heavily accented by the vegetation growing around it.

As you draw nearer, you marvel at the way the rain manages to make it look even more gorgeous, the fat drops joining together and dripping off of every side making it seem as though there were tiny miniature waterfalls made just for it.

The trees around the gazebo shield the wind and the rain, so it's warm here, a small shelter within the storm. The scent of wet wood fills your nostrils, mixing with the aroma of wet grass and bark from outside. It reminds you of days spent on the porch back when you were a child. On either side of the gazebo, secured immaculately against the walls, there are two long benches of mahogany.

Taehyung carries you to the one on the right side, setting you down softly. You let yourself down easily, your hands trailing off his skin and resting at your sides once you are secure. Taehyung tries to ignore the way it sends shivers down his spine, and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling away.

Luckily, you are too distracted admiring the bench beside you.

The wood isn't splintery like most; it's smooth, no doubt coated with a thin sheet of resin so that it would look nice and polished. You let out a small gasp at the gazebo’s amazing artistic structure, praising whoever created it.

Though simple, it’s very detailed and beautiful.

You run your hands over it briefly before reluctantly pulling away and removing the many things you carry on your back. Taehyung helps you out, taking your coat without a word and carrying it over to the left bench, where he lays it out to dry. You remove the backpack and satchel, setting them down beside you.

Turning to him, you open your mouth to try and catch his attention. But as soon as you catch sight of him, you falter, your mouth going dry.

With his back to you, Taehyung has removed his hat, shaking out his drenched hair before setting it down on top of your coat. He then proceeds to remove his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head, and plopping it down next to your drying coat. However, it sticks to the T-shirt beneath and he manages to pull that halfway over his head before it drops.

Giving you a perfect view of his toned back, slick with rainwater.

You swallow hard at the sight, the image of the rainwater accenting and highlighting those perfectly robust muscles annoyingly refusing to erase itself from your mind.

As he begins to turn around, you have to look away, praying to God that he doesn't notice how red you're turning.

Thankfully, he doesn't, but he does look at you in confused amusement before his gaze travels to his backpack you hold tightly in your lap. He smirks, glancing at you.

“Is that for me?” his question startles you, and you jump a bit before looking up at him.

For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, and you look up at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. He widens his eyes too, a bit mockingly, before gesturing towards the backpack. Still confused, you look down at your lap and start with the realization.

He wants his backpack.

Damn girl, what did you think he was asking for?

Embarrassment rising with a hot flame, you nod meekly, holding it out to him. Smiling, he takes it out of your hands, turning around to set it on the bench as he rummages through it, making sure none of the rain got on any precious items or papers. As he does it reminds you that you should probably do the same, and as you turn to your satchel, you groan a bit at the thought. You know things are bound to be bad there, and at the thought the dread grows deeper in your gut, twisting like a cruel knife.

Sighing, you slide the satchel over to you and place it in your lap, before unzipping it and looking at the hell which befalls you.

There’s the shoe you put in the bag rather haphazardly, and you take it out now, beating off the dirt and dust gathered from the ground. You use the bench, making a hollow beating sound against the wood. Tae glances over his shoulder, a bit surprised, chuckling with amusement as he sees the sight. You don't notice the glance before he turns away, just continue your task until you feel satisfied that it is finished. Nodding a bit, you place the shoe beside you on the bench and turn back to the bag.

Taehyung sets down his backpack, and turns to you, letting out a soft sigh. You don't notice as he watches you with unveiled amusement, chuckling softly at each facial expression you wear so carelessly on your sleeve. He walks over to you and sits down softly on the empty bench seat. You're too focused on your task, so when he glances over your shoulder to peer at what you're doing, you have no recollection of it.

As your hands pass over your sketchbook, your stomach churns with despair. Heart pounding with foreboding, you set your satchel carefully on the wooden plated floor, pulling it out. You take a deep breath setting it in your lap before opening it into your world of wonder and creativity.

Beside you, Taehyung takes in every drawing, every sketch, struck silent by awe and amazement. He finds every single creation, every movement your pencil made, every line, to be beautiful. Almost exquisite. He can see how much care and preparation you put into every idea, even the ones you hardly thought about at all.

Each one holds a purpose, a story behind it.

He wishes that he could look through each one for a bit longer. He wishes that you wouldn't flip through them as though they were useless or too ugly to look at, mere pages you have already seen, already read. Because he hasn't seen them, he hasn't read them, he hasn't been able to experience this particular part of you.

He hasn't had the chance to.

You hardly notice the glance or the change in attitude beside you. You're too distracted by the next page you turn over.

Your recent sketch.

The one you've been working on this whole day.

Ruined.

It received the worst from the rain, fat blotches of dried rainwater seeping into the paper, mixing with the pencils' soft touch. Blending the light shades with the dark shades, and causing it to exude through the protective barrier the thick, constructive paper has and into the next page. It's still a bit damp and as you look at the distorted picture, you find it growing blurrier and blurrier by the second.

And this time, it’s not because of the rain.

As the first tear falls in disappointment, you give a slight start at the sight of it creating another blot on your page.

You hadn’t noticed that you were crying.

Frantically, you quickly wipe the trail off of your cheek and dab at the tear stain on the page before taking a shaky breath. It doesn't help. It just causes the lump in your throat to turn tighter and the tears to begin pushing at the backs of your eyes, longing to break free.

Maybe your real frustration isn’t about the picture at all.

Maybe it's about everything that you have kept inside.

Maybe it’s about him.

But you refuse to let that be the truth.

You said you were fine.

You have to be fine.

Anger and impediment rising behind your tears, you grit your teeth as they escape the cage you have hid them behind for so long. Hot tears of pain and vexation pouring over your cold cheeks, you take the page, wrapping your hands spitefully around the exposition as though that would exude your vendetta. Pulling it frustratingly out of your sketchbook, you shake with aggravation at the sight of it.

Blaming it for your fate, blaming it for your weakness when you know it’s your fault.

It’s always your fault.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath before crumbling it in your hands. Hopelessness gripping you like a parasite, you exhale shakily, more tears dotting your vision as they threaten to spill over on top of everything else.

“Stop!”

You freeze as his hands cover yours, immobilizing you. The cage closing once more, and your tears slowing their destructive path, you slowly turn to him in shock.

You had forgotten he was there.

Taehyung looks at you in concern. His eyes are filled with worry, pain, empathetic sorrow. He purses his lips together, carefully unfolding the tight grip you have around your crumpled-up paper, but never letting go of your eyes.

He uncurls your fingers one by one, his nimble touch careful and gentle against your skin, soothing. With just one touch, he erases any worries you have had before, making them seem like a far-off dream instead of a recent scar. He only looks away once and that is to see the crumpled up piece of paper in your hands, as he slowly takes it out, and removes his hands from yours. He begins to uncrumple it and you lower your eyes to it, your heart hurting at the sight of what you've done.

It was all for nothing.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to let your tears spill over once again.

You watch as he uncrumples the piece of paper, smoothing it out on his leg. He sighs as he sees it, and you watch him with wide miserable eyes. Eyes that search for reasons why. Even now you're nervous as he stares at it, taking it in.

“Why did you do that?” he asks softly before turning back to the paper and giving it a small, sad smile. “It was beautiful.”

You sigh, looking away and at your folded hands.

Why do you still care? It shouldn’t matter anymore.

“It's ruined.” You say, coldly, and his head snaps to you. You swallow hard, giving him a small smile, but you know that it doesn't reach your eyes.

“It was all for nothing.” You whisper, under your breath, your voice breaking at the end. It doesn’t help that he is looking at you as though your words wound him. You take a shaky breath before turning away and leaning down to zip up your satchel.

“No, it’s not.” He says softly but firmly beside you. You scoff before rising and turning on him swiftly.

“What do you--” you falter as you raise your eyes to him, startled by how close he is to you. He’s not even looking at you, his gaze is completely focused on your drawing as he holds it almost devotedly within his fingers.

“Look.” He instructs you, giving you the smallest glance and you let out a small exhale of breath. You can see his slight smirk as he looks away, and you know that he saw your little panic attack at how close he was. You wait a bit before, almost reluctantly, you lean close, jostling his shoulder with yours.

“This might not be what you intended by the sketch, but it's what it made me feel.” He explains, and you nod slightly. He takes a slight pause, softly shaking his head before continuing, one thought churning in his mind.

She doesn’t know, does she?

“You made her look like she was in pain, as though she lost something, or was trying to save something and failed. The anguish and agony on her face can stir something in your heart, something that can't exactly be described. It was as though just looking at it...my heart was being torn out of my body, broken, and then put back as though nothing had happened. As though everything would be okay as long as it was returned to me, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Everything seemed worse. Now I knew her pain, now I knew her heartache, and there was no way to cure it. No way to fix what I had broken. But that’s not all. It was as though she were alone, as though she were lost. As though there were no one left to show her the way.”

He breaks off at the end, as though gathering his thoughts, or too overwhelmed with emotion to say anything else.

You glance at him as he pauses, an unspeakable expression on your face.

You made him feel that?

How could he know so much without knowing anything at all?

“I know you think that the rain destroyed it, but I think it needed that extra touch. I think that that’s what it was missing. It adds a faded look, a sort of detachment, something that expresses her self-hatred, her pain, her anguish. It's that one moment where nothing makes sense, where the whole world is completely and utterly messed up. Where you're….” He trails as though searching for the right words to say, but you already know them.

“Lost.” You finish for him.

Bewitched, you reach out and touch the soft paper as though seeing it through new eyes. He looks at you, a bit shocked at how you read his mind, but it quickly turns into a soft smile and he nods, looking back to the sketch.

“Yeah, and you’re lucky because the rain didn't get rid of the features on the girl's face, nor the pile of bones she’s kneeling on, so the message still comes across. Even after you crumpled the paper up, the texture still manages to add a sort of obscure and sinister look which deepens the agony she is experiencing.” He says, nudging you a bit accusingly, still not happy that you crumpled it the way you did. You nudge him back, chuckling softly before glancing up at him from underneath your lashes.

“Keep it. If not for yourself, then keep it for me.” He says, biting his bottom lip as he holds you within that alluring gaze.

“Why?” you ask, looking from it to him, still a bit unsure.

“Because…” He falters, finding it hard to explain his attachment to the drawing. As though he's searching for a way to voice his emotions.

You search his face, trying to find the secret and unveil it. It's as though he’s put up a shield to block all his emotions from you. A hidden mask over his face makes it near to impossible to read him.

“Does it matter? I mean I don't want you to throw away such a beautiful piece of work. Even through the rain, some things are still beautiful. Sometimes even more so than they were before.” He turns to you, offering you the ripped page. After a moment of hesitation, you take it from him, exhaling a small breath.

Maybe he is right, maybe these flaws, these damages are what make it special.

“Okay.” You agree, giving him a small mischievous smile over your shoulder. “But on only one condition.”

He nods, holding his hand over his heart and one in the air beside him as though he were pledging a promise. Smiling, you high five his hand, wrapping your fingers around it and smirking up at him as his eyes open and he looks down at you in amusement. He raises an eyebrow at your expression, tilting his head in mock interest.

“Well?” he asks, leaning his head down a bit to yours as if trying to belittle or intimidate you. “Name your poison.”

“You have to sign it.” You say, pulling your hand away from his and extending your pinky finger instead. "Promise?"

His hand hovers in the air for a moment at your absence before he links his pinky finger with yours and smiles.

“Is that all?” he asks, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek with excitement. He chuckles softly before finishing your promise, touching the two of your thumbs together in a simple link. "Then I promise."

You look at him from above your linked fingers, and when his eyes meet yours you can't help but let out a delighted laugh. You pull away, holding the paper towards him, and raise your eyebrow.

"Well?" you inquire, and he chuckles, shaking his head slightly, as he whips out a pen from his pocket.

“Do you just have those wherever you go?” you ask incredulously, and he rolls his eyes. He quickly signs the back of the paper before handing it to you. You take and turn it over to look at his signature, still a bit wet from the ink. He pockets the pen before looking at you and tapping the signed paper.

“Now you definitely can't lose it, little Michelangelo.” He instructs with superiority, and you scoff a bit at the nickname before turning to look at him dubiously.

“Why not?” He meets your gaze with those mysterious eyes, eyes that could find the key to your soul if they tried hard enough, and you try your hardest to ignore the way they melt your heart.

“Because now there’s a part of me on it.” He says quite simply even when the words aren't simple at all. You stare at him, uncertain. Unsure of what to say, unsure of how to react.

So you stare.

Your heart is beating so fast, but it's like you can't even feel it at all. You hardly notice as the two of you seem to draw closer and closer to each other. As though you were two magnets who are drawn together by some invisible string which neither one of you can see, but can certainly feel.

At this moment, you notice everything about him.

The way his eyelashes curl at the corner of his eye, making them seem almost catlike in their almond shape. The way the rain has made his skin look even softer, even smoother, how he seems to radiate beauty. The way his eyelids have this soft shadow around them, so soft that you know it can't possibly be makeup, but still noticeable enough to make his eyes pop out. This close, you can see the small copper flecks, the ones that turn his eyes that amber color. The ones that sparkle in the sunlight every time it rests on his face.

You see the new things too, things you never realized before.

Like how his hair slowly curls around his temple.

Or how every time he looks at you, his eyelids slowly lower and he regards you with a hazy look. A look that makes your heart beat faster than you thought possible.

Or how whenever he does his silly habit of licking his lips, it turns them more red and noticeable and…

A honk of a car horn in the far distance startles you and you immediately break apart, the small connection vanishing as well.

You stand, dropping the sketch securely on top of your satchel, and wander to the other side of the gorgeous gazebo, the pain in your ankle almost fading completely away. You smile to yourself at the sight of the car there, narrowing your eyes as you try to identify it. You don't know much about cars, but from what you can see it looks small and black. Not small enough to be a sports car, but just small enough to be considered….a minivan perhaps. Maybe a Suburban….a car that reminds you of the ones that BTS use…

Your eyes widening in realization, you turn to look at Taehyung.

It can't be.

He’s not looking at you, he’s staring at the screen of his phone, mouthing a string of curse words. As he glances up and sees your expression, he swallows hard, almost guiltily. He opens his mouth to say something, but the car honks once more and you turn around as Tae stands swiftly, your heart beating fast at your newfound analogy.

He didn't tell anybody he was leaving….did he?

Well, why would he?

He was on the bus for heaven's sake, you should have known he was out there without anybody knowing. If any member of BTS wanted to go anywhere, they certainly wouldn't travel by community bus. They couldn't, for fear of being recognized.

You want to kick yourself for not thinking of this sooner. Instead of being rational, you were too distracted by the idol to think of anything else. What could the people at BigHit possibly be thinking right now?

That he's been kidnapped?

That he's run off?

Or perhaps it's something worse. Besides, how much trouble would you be in if they got the wrong idea? Especially considering your new position…

You're so stupid.

Taehyung brushes past you, hurrying over to the bench and quickly packing his stuff. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and secures his cap as you give him a perplexed look.

“Taehyung--” you start just as he pulls your coat off of the bench and turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with urgency. He places the coat around your shoulders and stares deep into your eyes, his frantic panic clear on his face.

“We have to go.” He hisses, brushing past you and pulling your satchel out from under the bench. He gathers the stuff you had out drying, and places them into the satchel carefully, along with your sketch. Frustrated, you shove your arms into the coat and sigh.

“Go where? In case you haven't noticed, there’s a storm happening outside. Besides, who is that anyway?” you snap, annoyed at yourself and a bit at him as well. He shakes his head, zipping up your satchel and turning to you. You can see that he’s piqued as well, maybe even frustrated and you wonder why.

He’s the one who wasn't being safe.

Who knows how many people are out there that want to hurt him? Or how many fans he has that would notice him even with the cap on his head? He was putting himself in jeopardy and to what?

To ride on the bus?

That can't be it.

“I don't care.” He says, placing the satchel over your shoulders as well and taking you by the hand. “We have to go.”

You were right when you said his reason wasn't to ride on the bus.

He left without saying anything to anybody...

When he wasn't done with his day of work...

When he still had many things on his schedule...

He did all of that just so that he could meet you.

Just so that he could tell you that he heard you sing, give you the flash drive of your voice, the flash drive he still holds in his pocket. And yet...he still hasn't found the right way to tell you. The right way to give it to you, the right way to say what he wanted to say.

That when he heard you sing, when he heard your voice, he felt as though he wasn't alone. He felt as though there was someone else out there who understood. Someone different from Jimin, from BTS…

Someone who could feel what he felt, and understand who he was.

That your voice aroused those emotions in his heart, in a way that had never happened to him before.

How you have a gift, and it was the gift that brought him to you.

As he drags you behind him, darting towards the entrance, you give out a slight cry of surprise stumbling after him with your bruised ankle.

However, he doesn't get that far, stopping in his tracks after a few steps.

You don't notice, staring at your feet and begging them to cooperate, so you run smack dab into his back, letting out a small shriek. You pull back, rubbing your nose and glaring at him, but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

He’s frozen on the spot, his eyes wide with panic. You furrow your brow, before turning to look at what he’s so fixated on and nearly pee your pants. You curse under your breath at the sight, looking up to the sky as though God could help you in this situation.

What have you gotten yourself into this time?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: pretty spoicy no? (¬‿¬) the PART 2 version

chapter 17 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[markynaz]

7/28

Dawn / Birthsign Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 1462 Content Warnings: Brief Death Mentions Ao3 Mirror: here

To nobody’s great surprise, Skyrim was batshit bloody fucking cold at night. Especially in the wee hours of the morning. Just before dawn, the cold settled so thick and glacial over everything that for anyone but a Nord, it almost hurt to draw breath. No matter how many thick blankets or warm furs one had wrapped around themself, there was always a wish for more.

Time had softened Andalmo’s memory of how godsblinded amazingly pisspoor freezing it was just before dawn. And yet, here he was, sitting on one of the great stone ledges of Ustengrav in the wee hours of the morning and wondering whether cursing Kyne out would help or hurt his chances of becoming an icicle. At this rate, he’d give his left pinkie toe to see the sky lightening in the west. He probably wouldn't even feel if it snapped off now.

He took a shallow breath, cuddling up further into his thick cloak, keeping the barrow’s entrance in his peripheral vision. Two more moments and he gave in to the temptation. The tiniest of flames flickered at his gray fingertips - just enough to send hot flares of magicka pounding through his system, forcing his blood flow back to a normal level of warmth.

Amazing that he was looking forward to the dawn now, wasn't it? Dawn had always been his least favorite part of stakeouts as a Blade. It just seemed to signify a night wasted most of the time - a final confirmation that yes, far too much time had passed, and they needed to do something about that.

He remembered remarking decades ago to his partner Sotha that he could happily do without ever seeing another dawn. “Not in a death way,” he quickly had to clarify, “but it really wouldn’t be terrible to wake when the sun is already up for the rest of my life.”

She'd given him an incredulous look, golden eyes glinting in the dim streetlights of the Arboretum District. “I thought you came from a farming town. Don’t farmers get up at dawn?”

Andalmo had snorted. Morthal was not a farming town. There was nothing to farm here, really, except perhaps mushrooms and swamp water, and in any case, Andalmo had never planned on returning.

Those plans had gone to shit now, though. The Blades gone, his team of five unceremoniously murdered trying to hold Cloud Ruler Temple against the Thalmor long enough for seventeen other Blades to escape across the mountains into Skyrim. Sotha had, he hoped, escaped - he’d watched her jump from the ramparts and disappear into the woods himself. The daughter of Morrowind’s Hortator was too important to be captured as a political prisoner by the Thalmor.

He’d escaped only by playing dead, not that it was really an act with the state that twelve hour battle had left him in. And now….

Now he was freezing his fingers off, waiting for dawn, or, better yet, waiting for the door to this stupid fucking barrow to open so he could know he’d been right in this ambush.

At least, he hoped it would be an ambush.

Andalmo tried to draw his cloak tighter around himself, though there was no more fabric left to gather, and glanced to the west again. As stubbornly dark as ever.

It wasn't even that he minded the nighttime. He remembered Miralnu, another Blade of his little team of five, grumbling about it once - “What do Blades and thieves have in common? Sneaking around at night.”

“Vampires too,” Andalmo had said dryly. Sotha had smiled instead of laughing, because they were all three on a roof, being very quiet, not to give away their position. Rather as Andalmo was perched now on the barrow.

“Let us not forget to count ourselves among that august body,” she'd said, mimicking a posh Imperial voice, and Andalmo snorted at the memory. Then he regretted it. That meant inhaling again, and by the infertile cocks, balls, uteruses, and assorted other genitalia of the Divines, the cold stabbed all the way in.

No, he didn’t mind darkness one bit. Ever since Mirmulnir fell to his hand and merged with his soul two weeks ago, he’d almost preferred traveling at night. Or with his hood up. Or with an illusion covering his face and masking his voice. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but decades of being on the spymaster’s side of Blades operations had left him very ill-suited to the fame brought on by the songs of every half-penny bard with a rhyming vocabulary, and the leaflets with sketches of his face and lurid tales of accompaniment. One thing they all got right - the Dunmeri tear track tattoos of loss running curves from the corners of his eyes to his jawline. He’d got them done in the Gray Quarter, blinded by tears of grief, not yet reconciled to the loss of his life and career and friendships in the Blades. He…. hadn’t really thought through the implications of having large, identifying facial tattoos.

But then, his favored spells had always come from Illusion.

The western half of the sky was almost beginning to lighten, he thought. He checked it against the eastern horizon, turned his head back and forth several times, before deciding that it was.

And then he couldn't decide whether this was good or bad. The bad news: he may have wasted the night. The good news: he might soon be able to delve into this barrow himself and retrieve what he was after. The bad news, reprises: if his instincts were right and someone else was after it, he might not find them to confront them in the winding halls of a Nordic barrow.

Mirmulnir had barely been dead ten seconds, his soul still scorching Andalmo’s mind with rage, when the ground had shaken with the Greybeards’ call. Dov-ah-kiin. Andalmo hadn't been insensible to what that meant.

He hadn't wanted to face it, either, not really. And it seemed…. impolite to traipse up the seven thousand steps to the Tower without bringing a gift. And he was a Blade - he knew of the rites for greeting a Dragonborn in every age and area, and knew that most likely, the trial would be to fetch the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

Returning home to Morthal had, therefore, seemed the best out of a platter of terrible options.

It had suddenly seemed even better when he'd come into the inn and the whole town seemed to be murmuring about some stranger with an interest in the barrow. An adventurer, they said, and much was made of the strange sword they carried - a long, almost curved blade with no ridge in the middle.

And what, Andalmo wondered, was someone doing near the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, openly carrying an Akaviri katana normally issued to Blades?

It was curiosity that made him leave immediately and set up his ambush. He regretted it a little bit, now. Not the curiosity or the ambush, no. That was going to be necessary - he wanted that horn as a gift to the Greybeards, as a way to avoid the journey for another week or three. But the leaving immediately and camping out all night on top of this barrow?

That, in hindsight, he really could have done without.

Dawn was full breaking now, the marsh starting to lighten so Andalmo could see more than silhouettes. He simultaneously blessed and cursed it. He was no longer having to pump magicka through his system every half hour to stay warm, that was good. But on the other hand…. he now had to decide what to do.

He was still debating that when the distinct scrape of the barrow door opening reached him.

Andalmo released the edges of his cloak. Footsteps crunched across the frozen sedge grass below, and Andalmo slowly reached for his sword, laid out at the ready all night. The leather wrappings of the hilt warmed quickly to his touch once he sent a little magicka down his fingers to help.

He tracked the stranger’s progress by the crunch of their boots.

Three.

Two.

One.

Andalmo swung down from his perch and landed halfway up the stairs, sword coming up to threaten someone on a lower step, just as the adventurer startled back from him. Her own hood fell away from her face, cold-reddened cheeks and chapped lips and blue eyes widened in alarm.

“Now, let's be civilized Blades and discuss this,” was what he’d planned to say. He didn't even get past marshaling his unconcerned drawl before the dawn light allowed him to recognize her face.

She'd been at Cloud Ruler Temple. She'd led the others to escape. She was standing at the stairs of Ustengrav clutching the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to her chest.

“Delphine?”

[sunflowersseemhappy]

Hey there! Could you do Arcana main 6 finding and reacting to MC's sketchbook full of cute little drawings of them? only if you feel like it !

This feels a bit messy but as I’ve been moving I’m probably just too tired to notice! Now I want to draw these sketches tho...

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, but in the meantime here is my Masterlist

Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Asra

A leather-bound book falls to Asra’s feet from the stack he’s putting away onto the shelves.

He hadn’t really noticed it until now, among all the knickknacks of the shop it seems like any ordinary notebook but he’s struck by familiarity. 

It’s like the book and its contents are calling to him, like a long-forgotten memory.

Kneeling, Asra hesitantly turns the open book over and there is… a drawing of him. Sitting slouched against a table as his hand hovers over an image of Faust looking for his affection. 

He remembers now, you drew like this before the plague but he had searched for that sketchbook and never found it after you were gone. He knew you had taken it with you to the Lazaret and it had burned with you.

This is a different book, in a different life almost but your careful sketch is just the same.

Asra is almost in disbelief as he flicks through the book, there are sketches of Faust snuggled up to the crook of his neck, Selasi the baker and Asra with armfuls of Pumpkin bread, Asra walking the streets of Vesuvia, there are more sketches of him than he can count.

He can’t believe he never noticed you drawing, but truth be told he never expected to see your drawings again. He thought your abilities with a pencil and paper were forgotten with your memories.

He should have known better…

As Asra reaches the last page he shakes his head in disbelief at the soft sketch of his sleeping form, perfectly drawn by your hand. Just as he remembers the pages in your old book looked like.

That in itself gives him hope that maybe your memories aren’t as lost as he thought.

 Nadia

Nadia has noticed that you’ve been very engrossed in that little notebook of late, spending the late nights and early mornings scribbling on the pages.

Although Nadia doesn’t make a habit of prying into other people’s (even yours) business, she is starting to wonder what’s so important about that book.

And why you keep glancing at her as you write in it.

Oh, how she tries to resist but its just sitting on the bed and she plucks it up and flicks to the latest page.

Her gaze stares back at her, why it’s a drawing of her!

Nadia is intrigued, she recognises this particular moment from earlier in the day when the council meeting had run late.

In this book Nadia has the same aspirated expression as she stares at her tea rather than drawing her attention to the talks.

She flicks backward through the book and there they are, more sketches of her face, serene and placid.

She’s impressed, dare she say it they are better than many of her portraits. Nothing is left to the imagination, they’re just her as you see her.

Scratching Chandra feathers with a soft smile on her face, tools in her hands and oil and grease on her fingers as she makes a little invention, hair drawn back and laughing as she gallops on her horse.

Clear cut and real, smoothing her fingers against the page Nadia mulls over an image of her with wet hair with just her robe on.

How you manage to catch these moments and put them down on paper like this she’s always wonder but she’ll let you know how flattered she is that you enjoy drawing her so.

 Julian

Another late night at the desk it seems, Julian’s had a few of late but even he is starting to feel the hours catch up to him.

Retiring to bed where you are already softly snoring, Julian takes immediate notice to your little book you’re always carrying around lying in his space.

Usually he would just move it and go to bed, but as he draws close, he notices a face drawn on the page.

Scooping it up Julian almost thinks his eye is deceiving him in the darkness and sleepless haze, is that a drawing of him?

Slipping into bed with the book in hand Julian takes of his eye-patch to get a better look, it is him! Leaning over his desk with a concentrated gaze over the papers in his hands.

He can’t help but give a sly smile to your sleeping form, so this was what you got up to when he wasn’t looking.

He thought he was an alright artist, but you? Wow, he’s speechless over how much care has been taken to get the curve of his nose and the curl of his hair just right.

So as not to wake you Julian takes quiet care as he leaf’s through the pages, most of them have drawings of him and he marvels over them all.

There’s a drawing of Malak preening Julian’s hair (his comical wince obvious), hugging his little sister as if his life depended on it, holding up a pint of salty bitters with that roguishly silly smirk he does.

If he didn’t know any better than he’d think you like him!

Next time he’ll definitely make sure to pose!

But for now, he’ll settle on returning the secret favour by getting his own book and drawing you whenever he can.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to give him some pointers.

Muriel

It’s a lazy morning for Muriel, a rare treat? He’s still getting used to sharing the chores and not having to do as much as he used to.

You’ve gone to work the shop leaving him and Inanna alone for the day, but before he can even begin to guess what to do Inanna plops a familiar looking book next to him.

Your notebook, he’s seen you writing in it all the time and you never go anywhere with out it, he wouldn’t admit it but right now it’s the only excuse he has to go see you.

Picking it up and calling for Inanna to follow the two make their way to Vesuvia, book in hand.

Whatever is in it seems important…

Muriel can’t ever remember looking inside it though, he’s not usually that curious but before he’s even thinking about it, he opens it as he’s walking and halts in his tracks.

There’s a carefully crafted drawing of him, sitting by the fire as Inanna lays at his side whilst he whittles away at a little figurine.

He snaps the book shut a red blush racing against his cheeks, whatever he’s feeling it’s new and he doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or happy that you’ve drawn him.

Now curiosity has completely taken over and he hesitantly flicks to the first page, that one is Asra but as he progresses, he sees Inanna, the hut, your favourite tree, and that doe with her fawn.

His cheeks get redder every time he crosses a drawing of himself, most have tense gazes but between them he sees in each face his soft smiles and almost unnatural gentleness in his eyes.

Is that how you see him? Soft? Gentle? He’s never seen himself that way before, but the drawings don’t feel fake, they’re almost too real.

He sees his hand buried in Inanna’s fur as he cradles an ill chicken, weaving his braids in the morning, standing bare chested in the evening as he cooks dinner. Scars mirrored in the pencil work.

He takes your sketch book to you with a knowing smile.

 Portia

One of the few day’s she gets off from working the palace and she can’t spend it with you.

Apparently the shop has been so busy you’ve had a que going out the door. Portia is disappointed but in times like this it can’t be helped so she decides to indulge in some light reading.

Browsing her small shelves Portia almost doesn’t notice the small book with bits of paper sticking out of it.

But she notices it there, it reminds her of the journal’s Julian kept on medical procedures and stuff, maybe he accidentally left it here or she picked it up from his?

But there on the spine are your initials, plucking it from the shelf Portia turns to a random page and…

There she is on the paper, a drawing! She’s sitting with a blanket on her lap and a needle and thread in her hand as she works at the patchwork quilt she’s been making.

Ooh, she’s never seen such a pretty drawing of her and its not long before she’s jumped on her bed and is flicking through the book.

She’s awing over the drawings and they’re almost too amazing for her to believe. 

There are so many; sitting on the beach, dancing with Pepi in her arms, munching on that delicious cupcake from last week! Oh, she misses that cupcake.

She’s squealing in excitement over the drawings, she has such a talented and cute partner. 

Lucio

Lucio’s been without you for all but an hour and he’s already bored, how did he ever entertain himself without you?

He’s never been a willing reader but soon enough he finds himself browsing the shelves out of pure boredom.

Then he spots it, small leather-bound book with one of Camio’s gorgeous feathers peeking out from the top. How did that get there when Camio has the same aversion to books Lucio does?

Disinterested Lucio plucks it from the shelf and turns to the page where Camio’s feather sits and wow…

There’s a wonderful drawing of Camio sitting proudly on the back of a chair as Lucio pets the bird. Sure, it’s only pencil but its better than the painting he had done of the bird.

And there’s more, as he flicks the page, he finds himself. Standing bare-chested with the dogs and giving them a fuss, he remembers that. Last week if he’s right.

As he flicks through the rest of the carefully crafted sketch book Lucio can only guess this is your work, how busy you’ve been drawing him...

He is absolutely flattered; you draw him much better than the portrait artists (maybe because it actually looks like him).

There he is applying his makeup, chasing the dogs after they stole his prosthetic, Camio sitting on his head with proudly puffed up feathers.

He’s enthralled that you draw him so well, maybe he’ll commission you to do some portraits but for now he’ll enjoy the ones in the book.

Maybe he’ll do a cheeky pose for you when you’re back!

[levihantrash]

new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

[daddysfangirls-anime]

To bare my hate (2/3)

Warning: Angst, language, mention suicide, attempted suicide, mention of child abuse, death, murder, blood

Mirio x reader

1 | 2 | 3

Taking Nezu and Aizawa’s advice Mirio was determined to spend more time with (Y/n) but only to prove to them that she was a Villain and had bad intentions.

“What are you doing” Mirio demanded as he found (Y/n) sitting in the grass outside writing in a journal and watching people.

“Getting sun. Vitamin D is very important for the immune system,” she stated looking up and smiling gently up at him. Looking at her notebook and quickly snatches it from her looking at what despicable plans she was writing down. Instead, he finds pictures, more specifically, sketches of different people ranging for students to teachers, they were really good. Mirio scoffed and tossed the book back at her hitting her in the head. She mumbled a soft ‘ouch’ rubbing the spot on her head that was hit she still smiled at him sweetly.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“What are your plans?”

“Well, I’ve finished my homework so I don’t have much to do for today. Maybe I’ll take a nap after this. Unless you want me to do something for you that is”

No, Villain would give up their plan so easily although she seemed nice he knew it could all be an act. He had made the mistake of misreading a situation before and lost Eri the first time he would not do it again.

He took a seat on the grass next to her and said nothing. She didn’t say anything either continuing her drawing and watching people.

“Why are you drawing these people?” Mirio asked

“People are interesting. People look interesting. Everyone is different. If you look close enough you can see even the smallest differences.” he looked at her confused.

“For example, Present Mic is more tired than Aizawa. You see, Although Aizawa is always sleeping about he is always alert, well-minded, and his work is done. Present Mic, on the other hand, is always drinking coffee, speaking often loudly and rapidly, acting erratically, forgetting, and falling behind in work. Plus Aizawa has two jobs a hero and teacher Mic has four a hero, teacher, Dj, and running a radio station. Aizawa and Mic just handle stress differently. Aizawa often avoids unnecessary stress if possible with his naps while Mic likes to run into stress head first or panic. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Aizawa and Midnight that man wouldn’t function properly.”

She turned her journal towards him showing him a sketch of Mic sleeping at his desk Aizawa putting a blanket over him and Midnight closing his laptop.

“You seem to know a lot about the staff here”

“Well, I do spend a lot of time with them. They are my family.” (Y/n) began to gather up her things and stood up “ This was nice we should do it again sometime. Bye, Bye Mirio.”

Mirio wanted her to stay talk to her more possibly get more out of her but he couldn’t find a way to keep her there and instead watched her walk away. She seemed so kind, so nice, and innocent but Mirio knew better this had to be an act of some sort. She was playing everybody and he was going to expose this game sooner or later. He was going to learn her secrets. She was a villain and he was going to prove it.

-

Mirio continued the action of spending time with (Y/n), even though he didn’t like her or want to, learning as much as he could or what she would tell him. Mirio's treatment towards her was unkind and a few people witness. He had a habit of insulting and belittling her and even physically hurting her, but nothing too serious( the small physical assaults stopped after Tamaki stepped in). But the most upsetting part was that (Y/n) took it all with a smile she never spoke ill of Mirio, never told on him, or fought back. She took it and never said a word just smiling and letting him go on.

“You’re not being very nice,” Nejiro said scolding Mirio as they watched (Y/n) walk away smiling as usual. (Y/n) hadn’t done very well on a test when the results fell out of her binder Mirio picked them up and began making fun of her for her low scores.

“I’m trying to provoke her so she’ll so her true colors”

“It didn’t look like that” Tamaki mumbled to himself but the others still heard him, they choose to ignore the comment.

“She’s a villain how is no one else seeing this?!”

“Probably because they’re so focused on the guy that’s bullying her,” Aizawa said casually walking by them

“Who?” he stopped and looked directly at Mirio.

“You. You are so convinced she’s a villain that you didn’t take a moment to think that maybe she’s a victim.” Aizawa said walking away shaking his head with a look of disappointment.

“He’s right,” Tamaki said he was now facing the wall appearing in a slump.

“You should talk to her and actually get to know her. Ask her what really happen? You might find out something new and interesting” Nejiro said poking his cheek before leaving him in the hall very confused and conflicted.

-

“Are you a villain?” Mirio said barging into (Y/n)’s room she was lying across her head she slowly sat up.

“No”

“Your parents were heroes and good people and you killed them.”

“... I let them die but I didn’t kill them.”

“How is that not the same thing?”

(Y/n) dragged her feet she didn’t want to go home she wasn’t ready to go home but it was too late she had done everything in her power to stall going home. Staying late at school doing homework, studying, and helping teachers, Taking a long way home, pretending to get lost, offering help to those she pasted. But now there was nothing more she could do and she had to meet her faint.

As she took slow steps home it began to rain but she didn’t pick up her pace if anything she took smaller steps and let the rain soak through her clothes she didn’t care.

Honestly, (Y/n) was praying neither of her parents was home and they instead got called away on some useless job. (Y/n) parents are famous pro-heroes their high popularity stemmed from them being an adorable couple with compatible quirks. But what happened on the outside was always very different than what happened on the inside. On the outside, they were heroes they saved people and worked for justice on the inside they were none of the such she had the scars and bruises to prove it. Looking can be deceiving.

As she crossed the bridge leading to her house she stopped and looked over the edge.

Maybe this life wasn’t cut out for her. Maybe that was what all this was life telling she wasn’t wanted and that she should go before it got any worse. She steps to the railing. Maybe she should join Ken. Ken was a friend of her life got too hard for her both home and school the bullies were too much and she deicide it was all the signs of life telling her to give up and give up she did jumping off of this very same bridge and year and a half earlier.

But as much as she wanted too she couldn’t join Ken she had promised her she’d become a hero for her. And she was working towards that goal attending UA, although it was a bit of set back being put in the general education course she would continue to work towards her goal and make Ken happy somehow.

Stepping back from the railing she continued her slow walk home.

When (Y/n) finally arrived home she found her front door ajar slowly and quietly she steps in the house. In the hallway by the front door, she found her father a large amount of his left side was missing and blood was everywhere. He was dead. But she wasn’t phased she didn’t care carefully stepping over his body and around the blood, she continues into the house.

She hears whimpering in the living room and follows the sounds. There she finds three men in plague doctor masks. Two standing against the wall and one kneeling over her mother who was beaten and bloody laying on the floor.

Ignoring the men she looks down at the woman laying on the floor. The woman reached for her with shaky hands

“..Mother?”

There was a cry and then her blood was everywhere and her head was gone.

“Oh” was all (Y/n) could say as she looked at the blood-stained couch. She was unphased by the woman's murder, honestly, she couldn’t call her mother and probably shouldn’t she never was.

The man stood and slowly walked towards her “ I just killed your mother yet you don’t seem phased. why is that ?”

“She was never a mother, to begin with, nor he a father... Are you going to kill me too? Can we do it somewhere else I don’t want to die next to them.”

He stepped forward raising his hand towards her cheek just inches away from touching her “You’re... interesting”

“ I... I just didn’t care at that point... God, that’s terrible isn’t it” (Y/n) said laying on her back covering her eyes at the ceiling a small smile on her face.

Mirio was really confused now. He was upset to hear that her parents, pro heroes at that, were abusing her but he was also angry thinking she had walked away with Overhaul after she witnesses him kill her parents. It was all confusing.

“Your parents were hurting you and you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked now sitting at her desk.

“I didn’t think anyone would care, they were pro heroes and I was a little girl who already had a bad record. I was blamed and accused of a lot of things I didn’t do at school. After they were killed it was found out because our house had security cameras Overhaul had taken the footage from that night but left everything else. The police found it but didn’t do anything with it because they were already dead. They didn’t make it public as they didn’t want to ruin their image after death.” she sighed  

“Why did you join Overhaul? You watched him kill them.”

“No one ever cared abomhut me before he came along. Not even the heroes were good to me. He took care of me he was so good to me” (Y/n) closed her eyes as tears slowly streamed down her face “ He was so good to me, no one was ever good to me. I-I didn’t deserve such goodness, I don’t deserve it”

As (Y/n) began to sob Mirio didn’t know what to do rolling over he puts a gentle hand on her shoulder as she continues to cry. And they just sit there without words.

[shoichee]

KNB OC

Name: Shirobi Arisu

School: Touou Academy

Zodiac: Pisces

Note: I gave it an attempt to draw her portraits in the Production I.G artstyle! Excuse the lazy anatomy and messy sketch lines, er... hope they don’t distract you too bad? Also EXTREMELY long profile, hence the cut! This is a 300-follower special, but perhaps I’ll do something with Shirobi in the future! (Shirobi is her surname, Arisu is her first name)

Appearances

Personality

she is very much described to be “fox-like” in demeanor, slipping in and out of conversations naturally and with ease, being able to show different aspects and sides of her to different types of people

her default persona in encountering new people is a noble, unassuming/demure one in order to gauge how they interact with her before adjusting accordingly // you can see what that looks like here

a very innate actress, but the most cynical description of her would be “two-faced,” though it’s important to note that her personas are not so drastic that they seem like different people (like Akashi’s situation); perhaps if someone was keenly observing her for a while, they would notice

she does subtle shifts in aspects of her personality’s repertoire because of: 1.) becoming more compatible with people, and thus, having the most efficient conversations without having “annoying, unnecessary” conflicts with them, and 2.) studying people in different social settings is interesting to her

as a result of her jumping around and exploring different sides of her to different people daily, she does wind up suffering from mini identity crises and mental exhaustion very frequently

after a whole dismantle of her *mostly harmless* mind schemes (particularly by a close friend or two later on), her “true self” would be a deflective “tsundere-like” character, since her visceral reaction is for her to always slip into a convenient persona for the situation rather than being initially honest with herself and the people around her, and without the security of a “persona,” she gets flustered and embarrassed very *very* easily

hobbies in her free time include either being alone to sleep and not worrying about how to present herself or reading various works of (non)fiction (of many genres)/psychology to study people and how they tick (bonus: became a recent internet junkie after finding greater convenience in just finding articles and blogs instantly with a simple click)

irony: she finds talking to people inconvenient and tiring but she finds it intriguing to study them in all aspects of behavioral, cultural, and social means (so she kind of has to talk with people)

certified ambivert

if she does approach to someone, it’s almost never for the reasons of “making friends;” if there is no intellectual gain nor tangible benefit from talking, then she won’t bother partaking in it

because of her recent upbringing, while she may not show it, she despises arguments and fights, so when situations escalate, she will attempt to either smoothly divert the subject elsewhere and/or trivialize the matter to a degree; if all else fails, she will simply disengage from the conversation (essentially avoiding confrontation) // note: see “background” section for context

Teiko-era Personality

pleasant and friendly, albeit shy

perfect example of a polite goody two-shoes and teachers’ pet but still respected among her classmates for her genuine cordiality

very reserved individual but at this time was slowly breaking out of her shell to try to befriend her classmates to distract her mind from thinking about her home life

post-divorce/3rd year of Teiko: see “background” section for context

               *while still maintaining her amiable grace, she slowly detached herself from her acquaintances and classmates, keeping to herself a lot more while critically studying them increasingly as months went by; she began to talk with others only when it was a necessity

                                   *(occurred during her 1st year of Touou) a few months after she graduated from Teiko, she stopped going to the gym after school to observe the first string’s practices and only went to their games for Kōzō’s sake (especially when he fell ill) // her observant skills quickly picked up, even from their games alone, that the Teiko team’s dynamics have completely changed (which she relates this revelation back to Kōzō in the hospital)

                                   *her current personality will hit full force once she enters high school after graduating from Teiko

“Last Game” Personality

reverted mostly back to her genuine, cordial self, but is still very spontaneous in showing different aspects of her personality in different situations, although most who know her can see right through her now (unless she really wanted to fool them, she probably could)

attempts to be more honest with herself and with others, especially in trying to unpack years of compartmentalization starting from her Teiko years

if she’s caught off guard, she will definitely become a flustered tsundere type of person

a happier person now that she’s made friends to rely on (•̀ᴗ•́)و (e.g. Momoi and Sakurai)

Background/Family

her multifaceted personality stemmed from her home life, where her parents became increasingly volatile and erratic when interacting with each other before they finally divorced her 2nd year of middle school

she constantly observed how her parents would initially act romantic on some days, but on many other days, they’d either tiptoe carefully around each other during conversations or they’d immediately fight

                    *rather than focusing on the discord of her home, she’d observe how they’d interact with each other in every situation and how despite being the two same individuals, they both act differently with each other every time they meet, thus feeding her intrigue on how individuals act in various social settings and cues

her parents would later on (shortly before divorcing) only meet up for motives of financial discussions, decisions on who she would live with for the week, etc. and they would no longer spend time together out of sentiment and love

                    *this imprinted into her belief that conversations that bring mutual benefit/reward are much better than other casual interactions, since she sees that they don’t provoke the unnecessary conflict/fights like other interactions do (e.g. seeing her parents fight when they talk about anything else)

Kōzō Shirogane (her great uncle, Teiko’s ex-coach) and Eiji Shirogane (a distant relative, Rakuzan’s current coach) are both from her father’s side of the family, hence she attended Teiko on behalf of Kōzō’s request in exchange for him paying for all of her school’s expenses (he wanted to spend more time with his great niece before he fell completely ill)

she and Kōzō would often be on the upper floor to observe practices together, and she would be immersed in studying how players would interact with each other on and off of courts; he was the one that got her into watching sports games (basketball in particular)

she graduated from Teiko a year before the GoMs did but would frequently visit their practices after school with Kōzō (until he fell ill)

she took after her mother’s surname after the divorce

Kōzō Shirogane fell ill shortly after her parents’ divorce

after graduating from middle school, she lives alone in an apartment under Shirogane’s name

she is not close with her parents but goes to visit each of them separately once in a while when Kōzō makes her go see them

she sees Kōzō as more of the father figure and cares deeply for him, and as for Eiji, she respects and admires him, but she isn’t close with him

ever since Kōzō fell ill, she would visit him in the hospital biweekly and update him on highlights from critical games from middle school and later on, inter-high and winter cup

Headcanons

she is the opposite of Kuroko in which she has a huge presence; it could be because of her hair color, hair pins, the many ways she carries herself throughout the day, or all of the above

why does she wear tons of hairpins? we don’t know, but she thinks they look nice and keeps the unruly hair out (for convenience)

sports games are fun for her to watch up close IRL because she can detect/study the mental games and simulations sparking across different players without having to talk to other people at all // televised games are useless because they cut a lot footage and cameras jump around too much for her to discern anything cohesive on the players

(if she ever got to speak with them) the most interesting people for her to converse with and study would be Midorima (because of his oha asa’s obsessions), Imayoshi, Hanamiya, Akashi, Teppei, Mitobe (she can actually understand him), and Momoi (when she doesn’t fawn over Kuroko)

no one knows what to genuinely get her for her birthday, let alone knowing her actual birthday; the closest thing they know is her zodiac sign

                     *throughout her deduced “birthday month,” different people will approach her with different gifts with what they thought she was interested in (because of her different personas she exhibited with each person): porn mags, antiques, shopping coupons, snacks, comic gags, etc.

                     *she keeps her birthday on the down low to prevent any chances of people being suspicious of her character when they try to throw a party for her and realizing she has these drastic “hobbies” and “interests” with each person // plus she doesn’t see a point of having a party because she knows how these familiar acquaintances would act in this particular situation

                     *she’s a fan of attending other people’s parties to observe them without being in the spotlight for once

she could be considered as part of the “uncrowned” generation considering her cognitive/mental skills and deduction (and she’s the same year as them)

                     *she and riko could be rivals as 2nd years in that sense, along with Momoi when she becomes a 1st year

Role/Skill

if she ever joined a sports club, her critical role would be monitoring and improving cognitive (mental) acuity especially in the following brain functions of: information processing, memory storage, attention, and situational judgement (and how they all respond and handle high pressure), since she’s so keen on studying people and how they act in different situations

she would also study opponents’ levels of acuity especially during huge pressure and high stakes

she will note environmental factors as well as lifestyles on every player; home players would get the according lists of tasks to work on to improve their acuity (which may include diet changes, mental exercises, adjusted sleep schedules, etc.) on their own and get tested on set dates

                 *will also initially ask home players to do a quick self-survey on possible genetic factors that would affect cognitive performance as well as any prescription/drug history

during club hours, she shows a very professional, polite side that purposefully distances herself from the rest of the team, and she is initially solely there to do her job and get compensations from the coach (until eventually she stays because she actually cares for the team)

Interactions

Kuroko: (Teiko + present)

polite with each other, although both will joke with each other in such a way that others can’t really tell if a joke just passed between them or if they’re being serious

she shifts her personality to be slightly more deadpan and delivers more dry humor when she’s around Kuroko

bonus: she addresses him with the nickname “Kurokuro” with the deadpan delivery, and others don’t know whether to laugh or be concerned

she doesn’t jump from his sudden appearances; while she doesn’t detect where he pops up most of the time, when he does, she just shrugs it off casually or does the dry “ahh i’m scared” or “wahhh you scared me” with surrendering hand motions whenever people around her get a genuine jumpscare from him

Kise: (Teiko + present)

with him she becomes more expressive and mildly snickers at their jokes together

the moment his fans come though, she’ll ditch him no questions asked; their constant interrogations and verbal grillings + fangirling are inconvenient to deal with // she’ll observe their behaviors from afar and take note on fan culture though, so she wouldn’t ditch him per say

she finds the fact that Kise can switch between a serious, determined persona and a flamboyant, energetic one so quickly really intriguing to witness every single time

Kise turns to her for mundane advice because “she’s just smart,” but she finds it really annoying and often gives him vague (but still valid) answers to shoo him away

Midorima: (Teiko + present)

she talks to him the most, mostly because his oha asa obsessions and meticulous rituals and schedules are ridiculously fascinating

she takes on a more serious persona (which is easy since she’s a pretty serious-like person to begin with) and subtly challenges Midorima, poking and prodding with very well-veiled questions to uncover the bottom of his obsessions

she does study up a bit of astrology and arcana books because of Midorima // one day he caught her with an astrology book on hand, and he immediately assumed she was into horoscopes as well, to which she did not deny a thing and let him convinced himself that she was (she’s gotta do what she’s gotta do)

after that ordeal, he gave her lucky items for her sign sometimes back in the Teiko days

just two smart brains having casual conversations about school

in the present day, if Takao was there, her persona switches to the one similar to what she’d use with Kise, and both would make snide remarks about Midorima

Midorima is slightly confused in seeing a subtly different side to her but he figured it was just Takao’s antics

Aomine: (Teiko + present)

when it was the days of “Puremine,” she was a supportive character, being slightly more blunt and more outspoken

she was extremely observant of his talent, and she was one of the first people to notice that he was going to bloom in talent before anyone else while also knowing its consequences // she subtly dropped hints for Aomine to slow down his pace in practicing, playing, etc. and to take a step back from basketball, but the blue-haired boy was an idiot so he didn’t pick them up one bit ((AKASHI DID THOUGH, UH))

with current Aomine, she’s presenting a more indifferent persona while further pushing a blunter side of herself when interacting with Aomine

like Imayoshi, she’s picked up on his dilemma and inner turmoil very quickly, but she wasn’t like Momoi who was actively trying to help him // she wasn’t enthusiastic in exerting effort when she knew that what he really needed to have his conflicts resolved was a definitive showdown on the courts

she doesn’t understand the appeal of porn mags at all, but feigns interest in them especially around Aomine (when they attend Touou Academy) to figure out why are people at her age so enthralled by them; Aomine definitely thinks she’s into them and gets her mags of half naked people for her and he’s extremely smug about it (“because we’re bros together” // “you’re welcome,” as he slaps her back way too hard)

she doesn’t really hang out with Aomine in Touou, maybe sometimes after school when she finds him up in the rooftop skipping practice when she’s in the mood to study how he ticks and annoy him for certain reactions to either prove/debunk her predictions

Momoi (Teiko + present)

she takes on a “girlier” and “cutesy” personality to be more compatible with Momoi to get along with her common interests

doesn’t really hang out with Momoi during the Teiko days unless Momoi approached her first with either data analyses, questions, or pleas to come with her to either: go shopping, drag Aomine, follow around Kuroko, etc.

Momoi addresses to her as “senpai” or “chan”

(during Teiko and present) asks her questions about her “love life” with Kuroko in a way that makes Momoi think she’s someone who believes in romance and lovey dovey things (she’s quite neutral about it IRL)

when Momoi finds out they both ended up at Touou, Momoi pounces on her every chance they get and drags her around because “we’re best friends!” // she goes along with it just to see how things turn out

she ends up being Momoi’s listening ear as she rants about Aomine’s awful habits or her worries about the team

Momoi begs and pleads her to join the team and assist them in some way; she outright refused, but Momoi is also intelligent in which she comes up with new offers everyday to try to convince her

she finally agrees when Momoi asked the coach to pay her a weekly salary (poor guy, but then again he’s rich) for her work and take Momoi’s word that the addition of her would be nothing but beneficial for the team’s success

because they're both on the same team together, they both spend even more time together to do analyses on both their own team members and other schools’ players

attends Touou’s games and only watches from first row seats in the audience in order to conduct naturalistic observations on both teams; she will never be on the benches unless it’s the semi-finals onwards

Murasakibara: (Teiko + present)

there isn’t much to study on this guy; he’s as straightforward as a single-file line

she either acts more of a casual childlike persona (by calling him “Muramura” or “Sakisaki-san”) or exhibits more of a stern, serious side (e.g. the persona used with Midorima) depending on the situation/context

she definitely bribes him with snacks and food to do convenient favors (in addition to using childish nicknames), or she throws the snacks far, gives them to someone else, eats them in front of him, etc. to elicit reactions from the man-child

she knows it’s better for her own good to NOT purposely provoke the scary side of Murasakibara, but when that side does come out for other reasons, it’s showtime for her; she’s going to be observing him with hidden glee

she doesn’t talk with him after graduating from Teiko; the next time she’ll see him is during the winter cup, particularly with yosen vs. seirin // it’s another movie marathon for her just watching every players and how they interact with each other (a LITERAL showdown between Teppei and Murasakibara.... Kagami and Himuro.... Himuro and Murasakibara—yeah it’s a field day)

Akashi: (Teiko + present)

she and ore-Akashi get along swell; she is at her surface self the most when conversing with him, not having a need to adjust herself that much from her initial “polite” persona

lots of theoretical talks and hypotheses in studying people and the world; they both respect each other very much

boku-Akashi is a different story; she starts avoiding him tactfully after his other side awakens

the saying “it takes one to know one” is especially true in this case: Akashi is very much aware of her two-facedness, and she is uncomfortable at the fact of him knowing such an innermost secret about herself

at the same time, she knows about where his “other side” “disappeared” to, whereas no one else hadn’t had a clue

both know about each other’s gimmicks and personalities, and throughout the rest of their years at Teiko, it’s a bunch of mind games and careful maneuverings around each other

Akashi finds it thrilling because it’s reminiscent of shogi

she finds this stressful because what the hell please leave me alone i’m trying to avoid you

after she got over her initial anxiety of this newfound revelation of new Akashi, she carefully treads this game and takes the advantage to study how this new side of Akashi ticks

he DEFINITELY caught what she was trying to do with Aomine in dropping hints; in response, he used his role as captain to push Aomine to try harder in games

she DEFINITELY caught what he was trying to do in pushing Aomine in “motivating” him; problem was, she wasn’t going to sacrifice her effort, wellbeing, and life to go against Akashi

after graduating from Teiko, when she still used to observe their practices and games, she was still very much uneasy and tried to downplay her presence to avoid Akashi’s scrutiny (sadly, her presence is too significant) // she really wished she was a Kuroko

she was able to breathe easier once she finds out later that they’re both going to different high schools; she continues to watch more of Rakuzan’s games after finding out that’s where Akashi ended up attending to figure his dynamics with his team + basketball and then predict his current mannerisms off the courts

when ore-Akashi comes back, she’s suspicious at first, but after confirming his character in person, she’s relieved that the “old him” was back (but slightly disappointed that his other self is gone // she kind of found that side of him more interesting to observe)

he still knows how many personas she has under her disposal, but he isn’t going to snitch any time soon

GoMs together: (Teiko + present)

to not give away the fact that she shows different sides to everyone, when everyone gathers/is nearby, she (at least attempts to) becomes a wallflower to observe everyone and act appropriately in the situation if she’s ever addressed to in the group; her name will always come up in some shape or form so she’s prepared to present a neutral persona without throwing people off

since the GoMs all attend different schools, it’s easier for her to socially maneuver around, however she is still cautious when near crowds (before/after games) and groups of people (such as Touou’s team) because they tend to call her over (but she’ll smoothly pretend she didn’t hear/was preoccupied and she’ll slip away)

Haizaki: (Teiko + present)

dear god, she hoped not to ever directly interact with him

he was a morbidly interesting person to observe, from far away // she’s trying to comprehend how this one middle schooler is already so immoral and violent

he’s definitely tried to hit on her, but she smoothly slipped away before he did anything else

it was a never-ending game of weasel and snake; he fancied her because she was someone who was mysterious and “hard to get,” but she’s always slipping away because he was extremely annoying to converse with and she definitely doesn’t want to end up in a fist fight with this guy

this constant chasing was significantly quashed after Akashi ordered him to quit the team (who’s to say that Akashi hadn’t also noticed that Haizaki was trying to harass her? respect women juice)

Haizaki noticed her outside the stadium before his match with kaijo a year later; she was outside ready to enter in before he blocked her way, but after a lot of sugar coating and sidestepping to try to diffuse the situation (she fooled him by feigning interest in him using a slightly more flirtatious, sly persona), she escaped from his grasp once again // it agitated him and that’s why he continued to prowl around outside before he chanced upon Alex and Himuro

Imayoshi: (present)

this guy is an Akashi; he picked up on her multifaceted personality frighteningly fast

except that instead of being wary and observant of her like Akashi would, this guy openly makes passive-aggressive remarks referring to her personality; no one except her would understand his real intentions behind those comments (they inwardly scare and piss her off)

he also had the upperclassman advantages to openly talk to her very casually and harp on her (on the other hand, Akashi was a year younger than her), so he very much does every thing to get under her skin and rile her up

she employs a more sarcastic persona to match up with Imayoshi, but that just makes him more determine to break her facades; in the end, to keep her cool, she just settled for a default polite persona while still shooting occasional flippant responses at him

TLDR; this guy has the same hobby as she does in getting reactions out of people to study them, except Imayoshi is an actual psychic in deciphering people out; perhaps he’s even better at these things than her

Momoi unintentionally helps her out by always telling Imayoshi to “stop bothering her so much,” and all he does is a mock-surrender, replying cheerfully that it was all in good fun

he definitely makes her job harder by trying to be a smartass when she gives him instructions and lists in how to improve his mental acuity; she quickly shuts his attempts down, and he always calls her an “absolute killjoy”

while she knows it’s beneficial to observe an individual who has a similar hobby like herself to see and compare the similarities/differences, Imayoshi makes it really difficult because his keen senses plus her huge presence makes him able to pick her out most of the time

                     *she’s only able to safely observe him when he’s on the courts

                     *other times, she dutifully avoids him unless when she’s doing her job

are they friends? it’s hard to say; they act like they’re familiar with each other but it’s a love-hate relationship // she respects his intuition but she frowns on his personality (it’s the fact that he acts like he knows everything and she knows he also puts up a few “nice guy” facades of his own)

he’s probably the first guy to actually break through her personas completely and get her to snap and yell at him unabashedly one evening when they were walking to a nearby convenience store because he was tagging along (Momoi was with Aomine at the time)

                     *at that moment, she probably also gave Imayoshi a shock for his life for the first time outside of the games

                     *she coughed and went back to her polite persona like nothing happened and that just made him so much more amused

they’re frenemies and rivals, trying to outdo the other in poking each other mentally and out-acting the other

Sakurai: (present)

first impressions of this kid: she pities him a lot

sometimes, she says various things to see if he‘ll apologize just to see which trigger words get him in a sweat to say “sorry”

she’ll either be a *gentler* polite person or take on a more stern/serious side (used with Midorima and sometimes Murasakibara); the latter would be used to try to toughen the poor guy up mentally

increasing Sakurai’s cognitive acuity would be the most difficult considering the fact that (combined with Momoi’s data) there’s a direct relationship between his physical and mental stamina; if he’s extremely exhausted, his mental sharpness declines dramatically along with it

he’s not considered the sharpest tool in the shed, and his naiveté tends to show when he asks innocent questions about her and her life, and one day, this guy accidentally hit the nail on the head when he asked about her family out of curiosity, which was her touchiest subject

                     *she did have a moment of shock and took some time to recollect herself and deflect the subject elsewhere, but Sakurai picked her hesitance up as a sign of offense and spewed a plethora of apologies (to which she had to calm the boy down)

                     *from that point on, although still curious, he became a lot more observant and cautious of how she acts around other people (at first he was watching so he can learn how to not offend her and overstep his boundaries)

as time progresses (especially after their loss at the winter cup), and the more Sakurai just asks her about many things, she does loosen up around him; he does eventually bring up the topic of family (not necessarily hers, but his own) to try to encourage her to talk about her own

Sakurai would be the type of person to be uncharacteristically determined and blunt in particular situations with people whom he considers his friends: here, he would confront her and asked if she was alright and if things were going okay at home

                     *out of curiosity in where he got that confidence boost and respect for him being mentally stronger, she does open up slowly one topic/talk at a time spread out for the next few weeks

both of their different curiosities for each other would lead to them being close friends ´･ᴗ･` (she makes him a more self-assured person and he gives her time to be her true self [or at least develop one], and other than annoying her with his occasional sorry’s, he doesn’t overwhelm her with his presence)

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part one

synopsis:

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

❁

Or: Heather contracts the Hanahaki Disease. Other than the fact that she’s quite literally slowly but surely dying due to flowers rooted to her lungs, she has a problem; she doesn’t know who exactly her unrequited love is for, or how to prevent the disease from worsening. Can she figure out who her “beloved” is and snuff out the floral illness before it claims her for once and for all?

pairings: heathney (heather x courtney), BG gweoff (gwen x geoff), BG izva (izzy x eva)

word count: 15,226

warnings: suicidal thoughts implications + descriptions of coughing/vomiting

A/N: there are two endings, happy and sad! feel free to choose which you deem as the true ending :) thank you for reading!

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

i. daffodils & gardenias; unrequited and secret love

It starts with a petal. Well, if Heather were to be honest, it had started far beyond the first initial petal, but all the pieces fell into place when the very first petal fluttered from her lips.

Her science teacher was going on and on about the instructions for their next lab — something about carefully dissecting a pufferfish that had long since died, but Heather paid no mind to it.

Instead, she observes.

One of her favorite things to do was observe those around her. It was like dissecting them, similar to how her science teacher was now demonstrating on one of the pufferfish, and their internal thoughts and behaviors. Who they unconsciously drifted to, who they repelled and fought with — or, to be more precise, where the weak links in her class were located. With this frequent and diligent studying, she knew exactly how to break certain students and their allegedly tight-knit friend groups.

Take Bridgette, Geoff, and Alejandro, for instance; all Heather had done was slightly insinuate to the gullible, blonde girl that Alejandro liked her, and she was putty in her hands. Of course, Heather noticed Bridgette stare and stare at Alejandro nearly around the clock, but Geoff, Bridgette's actual boyfriend, hadn’t. She did him a favor, really — all it took was her to mastermind him walking in on Bridgette and Alejandro during a Halloween party, and Heather was satisfied.

Currently, Geoff and Bridgette were sitting awkwardly and stiffly next to one another — a huge mistake on their parts, in Heather’s opinion, to choose to sit next to one another after only beginning to date during the summer, but Heather had never had the patience for high school romances. Bridgette had tried to slide apology notes to Geoff’s direction, but for once, his eyes were glued to the board and the notes went unnoticed.

Heather noticed them, though, and she had to stifle a laugh.

The rest of the class is more or less the same. Some were pointedly looking away from the experiment their teacher was performing, and some were sketching in their notebooks, like Gwen.

There had to be three people genuinely paying attention — Geoff, for obvious reasons, Beth, because she currently had a B in the course and thought it was the end of her small-minded world, and Courtney, because she was, well, Courtney.

It’s when Heather’s eyes stay on Courtney’s head of hair that didn’t have a single strand out of place that it happens.

A scratch in the back of her throat digs into her, but Heather swallows it down instead of clearing her throat. If she did it too loudly over something so mediocre and unimportant, her classmates would just assume she was trying to stir something seeing as how it was the end of the last period of the day and, while Heather loved the occasional entertainment at the spite of her peers, she wasn’t in the mood that day.

And so, Heather waits and makes stray sketches in her notebook — repeatedly writing her name in cursive, drawing hideous illustrations of her peers, anything to pass the time until the bell rings. When the bell finally sounded off, punctuating the end of the day, students unceremoniously gathered their lump of notebooks and textbooks and scoop them in their arms, leaving the classroom in a cluttered, chatty, and hurried mess.

The first one out the door is Geoff, followed by Bridgette on his heels, Heather notes, but she can’t bring herself to follow and eavesdrop and what would possibly be one of the most interesting breakups Wawanakwa High had seen since Courtney and Duncan’s infamous split. She’d probably overhear the details of the split from somebody else, anyway.

The devil seemed to have spawned at the initial thought, as a prickly voice accompanied with a light tap on Heather’s shoulder made with the eraser end of a pencil is what tears Heather’s eyes away from the door. She has half the mind to berate whoever it was for pestering her at the end of the day, but falters when her eyes meet the other’s.

Courtney’s narrowed dark brown eyes are unamused. When Heather rises from her seat, Courtney tilts her head up to meet her gaze — Heather was taller than Courtney, even with the pair of wedges the brunette had on that day.

“I expect you were paying attention,” Courtney’s tone is sickeningly sweet and mocking, the specific one she uses around people she thinks are below her in terms of intelligence, or just in general. She has seen Courtney use it around the young kids she tutors, Duncan, jocks, Heather herself, and practically any student in their school who has managed to sour her mood, which was mostly everyone. “We are partnered for the lab, after all —”

“We are?” Heather questions dryly. She had expected Courtney to pick up on her sarcasm — Courtney had made it her job to scribble Lab with Courtney on every available space in her planner on the days leading up to the experiment, after all — but judging by the brunette’s eyes narrowing further, she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

“Yes,” She hisses through clenched teeth, before frowning. “Whatever, I actually paid attention —”

“And I thank you for your service,” Heather remarks just as dryly as before, sauntering out the door.

“Wha — hey, where are you going?”

Heather snorted softly. “Come and find me,” she chastised sardonically. She had figured the answer to be obvious, but Courtney never failed to surprise her in one way or another.

Courtney scoffs and follows her, falling into place next to Heather. She fixed the headband on her head that matched her clothes as she rolled her eyes so far back Heather couldn’t help but wonder if they saw the back of her head.

“Haha, very funny,” The brunette doesn’t laugh, which makes Heather crack a smile in satisfaction. Winning with Courtney was always exhilarating and thrilling. “See you tomorrow, Heather,”

Heather hummed, waving a lazy and half-hearted hand over her shoulder, already bolting in the direction of the student parking lot. “See you,”

When Heather is finally in the solitude of her sleek, black car — her parents wasted no expense when it came to spoiling her, despite neither being the affectionate or loving type — the thing building up in the back of her throat is finally released into the palm of her hand, and all Heather can do is stare at it.

She’s coughed up bile and phlegm before, and she’s heard of blood being coughed up as well, but the tiny, dainty and crumpled thing laying in her hands was unheard of and felt unreal as it rested in her palms. She was suddenly aware of how dry her hands were as she felt the thinness of the soaked object, given that it had been resting in her throat.

Rifling it in her hands, Heather scoffs when she realizes just how ridiculous it was to believe she had just coughed up a flower in the school parking lot. However, she blinks harshly and firmly, and when she opens her eyes, the yellow petal is still there.

A foreign feeling of confusion and uneasiness settles over her like a blanket, but she instead scoffs once more and crumpled the petal, wrapping a tissue around it to keep it from dirtying her leather seats, and rolls out of the parking lot, avoiding any acknowledgment of the flower petal she’s convinced she imagined coughing up.

(On the ride home, she coughs up two more additional petals, too — one white and curved to perfection, looking much too angelic and innocent for having just been lodged up in her throat just moments prior, and the other the same shade of yellow as the first. Heather ignores both, and tosses them out the window to sink further in denial, similar to how she felt her stomach sink as she watched the petals flutter aimlessly to the ground, destined to be run over or stepped on.)

❀

That night, after finishing both her math homework and leftovers for dinner, Heather switched off the lights and settled into her bed before impulsively flicking open her laptop. It was for school purposes, her parents insisted, and was to never be used at night when she should be asleep, but quite frankly, Heather hadn’t cared much for her parents’ opinion of her considering their clear distaste for her.

Her fingers mindlessly fly across the keyboard, the same feeling of dread from when she was stunned upon the initial discovery of the petals resurfacing.

why am i coughing up weird shit

Healthline - Signs of Lung Illness

If any of the following symptoms apply to you, be sure to contact your health agent and schedule an appointment to discuss your symptoms and possible diagnosis. If you experience a burning, aching, or squeezing sensation in your chest, illnesses such as Lung Cancer, Pleuritis, etc. may be at play.

why am i coughing up petals and how do i stop it

Derrit - r/AskDerrit, in an old manga I read today, the Hanahaki disease was a plotline. Is it real? I can’t find any research indicating an answer.

BlaineleysBitch: no. the entire premise of the disease doesn’t even make sense. it’s not real.

Mr.CocoNutty: tbfh i haven’t heard anything about it? i’m sure if it were real there would be some coverage abt it considering how unbelievable it sounds

KittyKat16: yea, i don’t think it’s real, but it would be really cool if it was!!

what’s the hanahaki disease

Wikiresource - List of fictional diseases

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. The flowers in particular symbolize the specific love and relationship the patient has for the enamored, as told through flower language. Hanahaki can be cured through the confession of the victim's feelings. The response of the enamored is unimportant. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamored returns the feelings, they will be cured.

how to get rid of hanahaki disease without having to confess shit

Making sure to groan inaudibly — her parents were under the impression she was asleep, after all — Heather pressed her finger down on the backspace key with a familiar scowl on her face, her finger remaining in place atop the key long after the words had been removed. The feeling of resentment and annoyance was familiar, but the overwhelming confusion and petals she felt building up in her throat were not.

Sighing, Heather rubbed her eyes gently yet urgently. Mindlessly, she resorted back to her idle habit: observing.

Assuming she had the disease that was supposed to be fictional, somebody had swooped Heather off of her heeled feet without her even realizing it. That had to be impossible, as Heather wasn’t dense enough to not realize something as obvious as feelings for another. After all, she read people and their infatuation with others as easily as one read magazines — who was to say she couldn’t do the same for herself?

Recalling the wiki page, Heather sighed as she began to re-type. The article had said that the flowers she had coughed up symbolized her love for whoever her crush was in flower language, and seeing as how it was her only lead on whoever her supposed enamored was, Heather wanted to crack down who it was exactly and quickly exterminate any and all contact with them to execute any possible feelings.

how do you identify a flower

PlantCapture - What Flower Is This? How to Instantly Identify Flowers

If you already have a photo of a flower saved on your phone, you can also instantly identify it by uploading the photo to PlantCapture. Once you've instantly identified a flower, PlantCapture stores it in your library. You can easily go back to see how many flowers you've identified.

Heather whipped out her phone with another sigh as she begrudgingly began downloading the app. Watching the small icon load, she scowled even deeper. Even the smallest inconvenience in the entire situation was enough to dampen her mood even further, despite the fact her own alleged feelings brought this on herself.

Remembering she had tossed out her only petals, Heather just barely resisted another groan before a familiar scratchiness formed at the back of her throat. Being sure to cough quietly, Heather slipped the petal out of her mouth as she winced at the taste of copper rolling down her tongue. The article hadn’t mentioned anything about blood, Heather bitterly notes, before shaking her head at her own stupidity. Of course there wasn’t a full list of symptoms for a disease that was believed to be fictional.

Switching flash on, Heather got the results of her flowers instantaneously as promised: the yellow and white flowers she had been hacking up all day were daffodils and gardenias, respectively.

Heather’s fingers flew to her keyboard once more automatically. With bated breath, she hoped that the results would be specific enough that she could put an end to the investigation that night and stomp out whatever ties she had with her “enamored”.

But, as noted from Heather’s luck that day, things rarely went her way.

what do daffodils mean

FlowerDictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

Daffodil symbolizes regard and chivalry. It is indicative of rebirth, new beginnings and eternal life. It also symbolizes unrequited love.

what do gardenias mean

Flower Dictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

The gardenia is a flower that symbolizes purity and gentleness. However, this symbolism often depends on the color of the gardenia. ... Another symbol of the gardenia is secret love between two people and also joy.

Upon quickly searching them up, the results did little to ease the dread pooling in her. The test was definitely correct, as it seemed, but was entirely unhelpful when it came to figuring out the identity of whoever it was that Heather had unknowingly developed an unreturned love for.

Slamming her laptop closed — a bit too loud for her liking, but beats pass and she doesn’t hear the annoying patter of her mother’s footsteps reach her room, so she assumes she’s in the clear — Heather grunts one final time, unceremoniously moving her laptop back on her desk. Raising the petal to her line of vision, Heather has to squint to make out some of the details. This one was white, identifiable even in the dark. It was a bit crumpled from having been clutched so tightly, and still wet from her own coppery blood.

A gardenia, Heather recalls with another scowl that was deeper and more ferocious than the last were. Meant to symbolize a “secret love”... so much for a clue.

She wonders, her last coherent thought before succumbing to sleep, how big of a secret her love must be for it to have left Heather herself in the dark on who her loved one was.

At the thought, Heather wrapped her blankets tighter around herself, lulling herself to an uneasy sleep of blood, thorns, beautiful but deadly flowers, and a figure in the distance who looks so comforting and familiar whose name is on the tip of Heather’s tongue, but can’t be reached.

❀

ii. amaryllises & white chrysanthemums; pride & loyalty

Despite Heather’s praying to a God she didn’t believe in, the flowers didn’t disappear overnight. Instead, they bloomed rapidly in her lungs, and at times when she felt the familiar tickle in the back of her throat, flowers in full-bloom were coughed up.

They would be beautiful, if not for her own blood staining them, a grim reminder of what would become of her if she did not find a fix, and soon.

Still, Heather was nothing if not quick on her feet. She managed to keep her illness under the wraps — of course, her second in command was Lindsay, so it wasn’t difficult to conceal her bloody bundles of flowers as just “feeling under the weather”; any other person would be suspicious of the foreign scratchiness and hoarseness her voice now had, the way she would breathe shakily as if her lungs were rattling and about to give out, or the way she barely restrained the flowers from being coughed up after a gym class, but since it’s Lindsay, Heather can get away with her lie.

When Lindsay sweetly wishes for her to feel better, even dropping off a bowl of badly homemade chicken noodle soup, Heather couldn’t help but scoff as she shook her head at the feeling of guilt lingering in the back of her head, and the feeling of bloody flowers in the back of her throat.

❀

With every fistful of the flowers beginning to stain her clothes, Heather took responsibility for her own laundry, for the first time in her life. Her parents put on a spectacle of overexaggerated joy and relief when she announced it, saying that, oh, thank goodness their darling was beginning to take responsibility instead of pooching off of them; Heather had just forcefully smiled and nodded, as she always did now, and excused herself to hurriedly put in the first load.

Her clothes were stained red in her own blood. Some petals began to stick onto her clothes, as well, and the last thing Heather wanted was the intrusion of her parents and their nosiness as she deciphered just who she was coughing flowers for.

Interestingly, the flowers she was now coughing up were different. Amaryllises and chrysanthemums, as she had identified — the red flower was the former of the two and symbolized pride. The white chrysanthemums, wide with many intricate petals, symbolized loyalty and the truth. Thankfully, they were more of a clue than the daffodils and gardenias with their meanings of unrequited and secret love.

That still didn’t mean that Heather had any clue of who they were for, though — she just knew that they had to be high-maintenance, and part of her refused to believe she would unconsciously fall for someone who had to be so pretentious, but seeing as how the thought sent her into another bout of coughing sloppily disguised, it had to have been the truth.

Heather was beginning to hate the sensation that arose when she felt a coughing spur coming on. She hated how she could feel a crumpled lump form in the back of her throat, squirming its way up her throat and nearly out her mouth. It feels hot, sticky, and suffocating, and when the flowers come up, Heather hates them too, and especially whoever her beloved is. However, the disease doesn’t cease even just a little, and so Heather finds herself heaving, coughing, and puking chrysanthemums and amaryllises in the middle of the night as she ponders on who it is she’s supposed to be loving.

Still, she manages to keep herself from hacking during class in front of her peers, and that’s all that matters to her, even when the flowers she chokes on splinter into her like thorns in her side.

❀

It’s here that Heather messes up. Well, to be fair, she messed up as soon as she began feeling things for whoever it was that had captured her sight unknowingly, in Heather’s opinion, but that was irrefutable and couldn’t be helped.

This, however, could have been helped.

Like many things, it started at school. Like the first petal that had been coughed up weeks ago, it started during science class, when she felt the feeling of hot bile, blood, and petals rising in her throat as Courtney bent over their lab report. She didn’t notice Heather’s discomfort, as her eyes were fixed on the report, her brows scrunched together in concentration.

At least, that’s what Heather thought, until Courtney suddenly looked up from the report and eyed her curiously. “Are you feeling alright?”

Heather barely contained her surprise at the sudden inquiry. The only person to ask that was Lindsay, not even her own parents, let alone her (unofficial) rival and (official) lab partner.

Upon seeing her confusion — had she done that bad at a job of hiding it? — Courtney sighed and looked back to their work. “To be honest, you’re quieter than normal and you look kind of sick — you look like you’re going to pass out at any time now.”

“Thanks,” Heather mutters coarsely, finding her voice. Despite her calm exterior, she could feel her heart racing, and the flowers itching their way up her throat.

Courtney squawked indignantly. “Hey! I’m just being honest!”

“Mhmm,” Heather hums absentmindedly as she rises from her seat. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She barely hears Courtney’s grumpy and hesitant “Fine,” before stalking out the room, grabbing a hall pass on her way out. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, out of sight from her peers, Heather dashed as quickly as she could to the solitude of the nearest bathroom. She slams the stall door closest to her open noisily, thankful there was nobody around, and heaves into the toilet as the blood and flowers bloom from her mouth.

They hurt more than the daffodils and gardenias, now that they’re coming out as full flowers accompanied with a few stray petals rather than just petals, but Heather shoves the thought to the side in favor of pulling her hair away from her face. The toilet bowl is filled with a hideous mixture of blood and petals, and Heather feels like a decaying corpse as the energy leaves her, crumbling to the ground as she heaved from the aftermath of the coughing fit.

Picking petals from her backmost molars, Heather spits once more, the remaining drops of blood falling into the sink. Her chin is wet and sticky with her own blood, and she’s sure her teeth are stained red as well; Heather half-heartedly debates asking her parents to pick her up as she flushes the toilet, whisking away most of the evidence excluding the blood dribbling down her chin from her mouth and a few stray petals, before deciding she’d rather vomit flowers rooted to her lungs for the rest of the day than be with her family.

As she rinsed water from the sink in her mouth, Heather nearly spits it out in surprise when she notices a bathroom stall crack open from the mirror. Then she actually spits the stained water from her mouth, whirling around to threaten whoever it was to secrecy. When her eyes meet a head of blue hair, she falters slightly, and that’s all it takes for the other to take control.

“You too?” Is all Gwen asks, having recovered from her initial surprise. She doesn’t look grossed out by the blood, and instead joins Heather by the sinks.

Narrowing her eyes, Heather recoils to what she knows best around Gwen: defense. “Excuse me?”

Gwen laughs, sardonically and self-deprecatingly, with a hint of amusement. It’s the most Heather’s seen her laugh to her since, well, ever. Then, still in astonishment, Heather felt herself stagger back and her eyes widened when pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers fell from Gwen’s blue-lipsticked lips, gracefully fluttering to the tiled floor.

Suddenly, Heather understands, but Gwen still unnecessarily elaborates. “The flowers. You too?”

Heather only hesitates for a split second before sighing and staring down at the sink bowl. “Yeah,”

“Didn’t expect it from you of all people,” Gwen chuckled humorlessly. “Didn’t think the Queen Bee Heather knew what emotion was, let alone be stuck in unrequited love,” she mocked bitterly. She turns to Heather, gaze softening. “So, who is it?”

Heather blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gwen snorted and gestured to the petals and trail of blood on the tiled floor. “The flowers, honors student,”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, Heather paused before admitting, “I don’t know,”

Gwen grunted disbelievingly. “Come on, I know you don’t like or trust me, but really, who am I going to tell?”

“Hey, I’m actually being honest here!” Heather snapped, glaring at the goth. Of course, I’m told I’m lying when I’m actually being honest… she thinks with a scoff as her scowl returns.

“Whatever, have you tried…” Gwen trails off, frowning as her brows scrunch together. “I don’t know, I just knew who mine was for—”

“Who?” Heather asks curiously, having not picked up on Gwen displaying any of the usual symptoms of a horrid teenage crush. No staring, attention-seeking, stuttering, or blushing — it was the same behavior for everyone with Gwen.

The goth hesitates only for a split moment before sighing and giving one name: “Geoff,”

Heather hums, unsure what to say. Gwen narrows her eyes, seeming to just remember who she was talking to.

“Seeing as how we’re one and the same right now, if I catch you telling anyone, I will spread the news of your diagnosis, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Weird Goth Girl, your secret is safe with me,” Heather promises, the corners of her lips twitching up at the use of the old nickname. “Just help me clean up all this before someone walks in,”

Gwen nods once, before bending over the sink and coughing a few more flowers and petals in the sink, blood spilling from her mouth. Awkwardly, Heather pats her back, unsure what to do, before realizing she should probably hold her hair back.

“Thanks,” Gwen murmurs, her voice even more hoarse and tired than normal. Heather just gives her a nod before crouching down to pick up the flowers trailing the ground; Gwen hurries to grab a mop from the back closet to clean the blood.

It’s when Heather comes across the petals of the pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers that a pang of empathy spurs in her. She turns to Gwen.

“Those type of roses specifically mean joy, the white carnations mean purity and loveliness, and the yellow coreopsis means cheerfulness.”

Gwen looks up from her work and blinks, taken aback, before smiling slowly and softly. “That fits him,”

Wordlessly, the two set off to finish the cleanup of their shared death sentence in the form of flowers and blood, when the bathroom door flies open once more. Both Heather and Gwen look up, eyes wide in surprise. Before either can communicate, a thunderous voice and a ticked-off Eva enter the area.

“Get back to class, we have to clean up —” she gets cut off from her own demand, faltering at the sight of Heather and Gwen bent over the floor, cleaning blood, flowers, and bloody flowers. Her eyes flit back to the duo who are too frozen and flabbergasted to speak. “What happened?”

Heather opens her mouth to bullshit her way into an explanation as she always did when Eva’s eyes suddenly narrow dangerously, intercepting the unsaid lie. She spits out one last order before turning on her heel, leaving the bathroom.

“Meet me in the library after school. Come alone, and hurry up and get back to class so no one else walks in on you.”

After her departure, all Heather and Gwen could do was stare at one another, wide-eyed and depleted of the fluttery itchiness of their lungs and throats, for once, before resolving to hurriedly finish garnering the crumpled flowers and washing the blood down the sink.

Heather goes back to class for the remaining minutes of the day, her mind elsewhere even as Courtney berates her for the long bathroom break. Her mind drifts to Gwen’s sardonic laugh, the goth's utter defeat after finishing hacking, and the way her eyes are avoiding Geoff’s direction, instead fixated on a pink charm bracelet Heather had noticed her fiddling with on multiple occasions before.

The image of Gwen choking on her own blood and petals momentarily and the sound of her warbled snort had been seared in Heather’s memory, and all she could do was wonder. Wonder if, in due time, her own condition would mirror Gwen’s when she inevitably lost to the disease that was slowly but surely suffocating her.

❀

When Eva had instructed her and Gwen to meet with her alone, Heather had assumed that that applied to Eva as well.

What she had not expected, however, was for her and Gwen to be seated with Eva and two of the most arbitrary (personality-wise, that was) redheads Heather ever had the pleasure (?) of meeting.

She scowled. With herself, Gwen, Eva, Izzy, and Harold, they had practically formed their own little Losers Club. Brilliant.

Harold awkwardly coughed, having declared himself the unofficial leader.

Gwen scoffed, leaning back into her seat. She leaned her chair, balancing it on two legs at a dangerous angle. “What is this, Hanahaki Club?” Gwen mockingly questioned, mirroring Heather’s thoughts.

Harold guiltily smiles. “Well, no. See, Eva here —” Eva glared at the boy, scowling. Harold faltered for the fifth time that meeting, gulping — “had Hanahaki awhile ago. Last year, I think. She confessed to Izzy, and the rest is history.”

Izzy nodded enthusiastically. She grabbed Eva’s hand, making the latter blush furiously at the unprompted gesture. “Yup! Our getting together was actually like this one Romanian film —”

“Anyway,” Harold interrupted. “I noticed Eva’s symptoms and helped her, which we intend to do with you two. Now,” he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, casting a pensive look to Heather and Gwen, who exchanged glances. “Which one of you has Hanahaki?”

Before Heather can think to lie and save her own skin, Gwen answers truthfully. “Both of us,”

“Gwen!” Heather hissed. The mentioned shrugs.

“What, you think you’ll be able to resist coughing up flowers during this?” At Gwen’s words, Heather felt her face twist as she felt an itching in her throat. Satisfied, Gwen nods and turns to the others. “Thought so.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Eva begins. Her tone is softer than before, but just as commanding. “Hanahaki… it’s hell. But just ease your suffering by confessing. I didn’t want to risk my life when a few words could save it.”

At Eva’s words, Heather can’t help but feel a surge of jealousy at her words, her sureness. At how she and Gwen just knew who their flowers were for, and how Eva had the mind and courage to confess.

If she did know who the amaryllises and chrysanthemums that were rooted in her lungs were for, would Heather confess? She wasn’t sure, and she hated the uncertainty.

“Yeah, but, he just broke up with his girlfriend,” Gwen murmured, tracing a finger on the table as she spoke in a low voice. She seemed fascinated with the intricate design of the wood, now, refusing to meet the eyes of her peers that were softened with sympathy. “And… he just sees me as a friend. ‘One of the guys', you know?”

A beat passes before Harold frowns, a hand on his chin like some wannabe Sherlock, Heather notes, face expectedly contorted in pensiveness. “Is it Geoff?”

“Bingo,” Gwen says dryly.

Izzy turns to Heather, the hyperactivity from before dulled as she looks serious for what had to be one of the few times in her life. “And you?”

“What about me?” Heather sighs, though she knows that they know she knows what’s being insinuated.

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Eva echoes. Her face is not contorted in anger, like Heather assumed it would, but rather thoughtfulness. Neither is her voice thunderous or disbelieving — Eva seemed to seriously be contemplating the likelihood of it. She turns to Harold. “Is that even possible?”

The redhead looks just as lost in thought as Eva. He shrugs. “Maybe…” He shifts his attention back to Heather, who is beginning to feel as if she were being prodded at, dissected, and inspected by her peers. “Have you tried thinking about it?”

“Excuse me?” Heather asks, taken aback. Her scowl diminished momentarily in her surprise, before it fell back into place, more intense than before. “What do you think I’ve been doing? Analyzing the flowers and flower language like I’ve gone insane —”

“I mean,” Harold interrupts, “have you tried… I dunno, fantasizing about the people in your life? Like, placing yourself in your ideal date with them to see if the flowers spur in your throat? It worked in this one manga —”

Heather droned out the rest of his rant, frowning to herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Anyway,” Eva cut Harold off with a silencing glare. The boy in question audibly gulps, shifting in his seat and indiscreetly glancing away to the opposite direction. “What do your flowers mean?” She looked to Gwen and Heather.

“The first round were marigolds,” Gwen admits carefully. “They mean jealousy. The second had mistletoe and yellow tulips — they mean affection and longing, and the tulips meant good friendship, or something like that. Now, I have pale pink roses, which mean joy, white carnations, which mean purity and loveliness, and yellow coreopsis flowers, which mean cheerfulness.”

“My first flowers were daffodils and gardenias.” Heather found no reason to lie now. “They mean unrequited and secret love. Way to spell it out,” she chuckled dryly, and humorlessly, and pretending to not notice the varying amounts of sympathy from the group. Her throat stings. “The ones I have now — amaryllises and chrysanthemums — mean pride and loyalty.”

Eva raises her eyebrows. “High-maintenance? Wouldn’t have expected that from you,”

Heather grunted. “Shut up,” Her throat hurt too much for a better rebuttal.

“You know, it’s probably Courtney,” Izzy hums half-jokingly with a grin. Gwen barely stifles a laugh.

Feeling her face flush and a lump form in her throat, Heather opens her mouth to argue, but is silenced when Harold shoots her a look.

“So, to recap,” Harold draws their attention back in, “The flowers represent who you love and/or your dynamic with them. Heather, try finding some privacy and think of your ideal date with people you know who are prideful and loyal, okay? We’ll meet up here on Monday. Hopefully you’ll have figured it out by then.”

“Fine,” Heather agrees, clumsily gathering her things. Her throat is burning, along with her chest and she’s sure her eyes are stinging, and she desperately wants to cough, but not now, and certainly not here with this audience. “See you Monday, Hanahaki Club,” she mutters sarcastically.

Half-hearted laughs register in Heather’s ears, but she’s already out of the library and dashing to the second nearest bathroom, not wanting to be walked in on. Her focus had been shifted from her illness momentarily, but now that it had been remembered, it was all it took for her to cough up the familiar flowers to the bathroom floor, unleashing a familiar strangled and warbled choking noise, accompanied by foreign tears.

❀

At night, when Heather’s parents and siblings are fast asleep, Heather lies wide awake in bed, tossing and turning. Whoever her beloved was was causing her to be unable to sleep at night, and when she was awake, she would cough on petals and blood, and she just craved to sleep.

Part of her wondered if it was possible for her to choke on the flowers in her sleep, before concluding that it didn’t matter. She was going to die, anyway.

Her mind wanders back to the secret meeting in the library, and of Harold’s advice. She had never wanted to date any of her classmates, but seeing as how she had the disease, it was a waste of time groveling in defeat. Instead, she shuts her eyes, and thinks of her fantasy.

Intimacy is what comes to mind first. She doesn’t like intimacy with her family or friends, but maybe she’s a sucker for looking into someone’s eyes and holding hands and telling someone I love you and meaning it. It doesn’t make her a sap; it just means that her needs are impossible to fulfill.

Eyes still shut, the image of her perfect date materializes in Heather’s head. Limbs entangled around one another as she and her mysterious person cuddled on a couch while watching an arbitrary film. Sharing a cup of hot chocolate and blankets as the chilling air from outdoors was kept out from inside by the heater. Talking animatedly about their interests and such over the movie, gazing into one another’s eyes; no judgment was to be found in either. It was peaceful and isolated, and perfect to Heather. Her parents never showed affection, and couples in high school never lasted — that type of love wasn’t real, but Heather allowed herself to fantasize, still, for the sake of finding who her enamored was.

Thinking it was best to start with the girls Heather was acquainted with that fit the bill, Heather sighs before imagining the ambiguous person as her classmates.

Leshawna. She’s the most faithful person Heather knows of, and she’s certainly proud. The flowers remain still and unmoving in her lungs, and so, she decides to move on.

Gwen. Unsurprisingly, the flowers don’t itch. The goth was more of someone Heather could respect, anyway.

Eva. Still, no reaction. Part of her is grateful, as she didn’t want to face the wrath of Izzy ever.

Dakota. One of the least likely, but it was possible, Heather supposed. They had some things in common, after all.

Court—

Her dark brown eyes were the only thing that had materialized in her mind when the flowers came out roughly and swiftly. Her blood is hot and thick in her throat as she tries in a daze to not suffocate on it, but still, she chokes on it. She can feel tears springing in her eyes and the sweat piling on her back and under her armpits; she can feel her chest burning in indescribable pain that was unlike any of the other coughing fits. It’s worse than anything she’s ever endured which is, granted, not quite the resume, but nevertheless, Heather feels as if her body is tearing and ripping itself apart while simultaneously hastily stitching itself back together by the amount of pain unleashed from her floral disease.

She scrambles to the sink of the bathroom attached to her bedroom, retching into the basin. The blood and flowers look like an artful arrangement, though Heather barely registers its appearance through both the pain and the unwavering amount of hatred coursing through her at the thought of Courtney unknowingly inflicting this upon her. Somewhere, she’s sleeping peacefully, while Heather is choking on her own blood and the flowers rooted to her lungs from just the mere thought of Courtney’s eyes.

Finally, mercifully, after a few minutes, the coughing fit ceases, but all that’s left is Heather’s heavy heaves as she attempts to retain her breath. Her vision flickers as black dances across her vision, and all she can smell is an overwhelming smell of metal and cleaning supplies. Her sink looks like the delicately painted masterpiece of an artistic sacrificial seance scene with all the blood and flowers. With a sigh, Heather strips of her bloodstained clothes, tossing them in her hamper to wash in the morning. After changing into a new acceptable and clean pair that Heather is sure will be ruined in a few hours, she brings out the cleaning supplies from under her sink and begins to clean at a feverish pace in a dazed state.

Ah, Heather thinks bitterly with a crazed and forced smile on her face, scrubbing extra hard on the sink as the thought flits in her mind, I get it now.

❀

“It’s Courtney,” Heather admitted to the group with a scowl present on her face. None had to ask her to elaborate, and none mention her scowl or her cough at the name. Heather’s scowl deepens further when she notices Gwen and Harold sighing in unison, sliding money to Izzy and Eva, who gladly accept them, with defeated sighs. “Wha —! Did you guys seriously bet on this? I’m literally dying over here!”

The words silence the group before Gwen snorts, and with that, the rest join her and laugh. Heather has half the mind to tell them that they’re in a library, but realizes she sounds freakishly like Courtney. Plus, for once, Gwen is choking on her laughter rather than flowers, so Heather allows it just for once with her own small smile and laugh.

“You know,” Harold manages to choke out, eyebrows raised in either surprise or amusement, “I didn’t take Courtney as your type.”

“Me neither,” Heather mutters. “Who did you think my type was?”

He shrugs. “Alejandro was my main suspect. I thought Justin was Eva’s crush, at first, to be honest.”

The laughter dies down momentarily as the group stares at Harold in confusion. Gwen, cracking another smile, mutters, “Harold, they’re lesbians,” before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

This time, Heather joins in more easily, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The flowers momentarily disappear, along with Courtney and thoughts of her love.

❀

END OF PART ONE