#it would be more of a resigned and somewhat reluctant position for him to be in

[venusvalhalla]

I've seen a lot of people speculate that Olrox will keep helping the protags and maybe even join the mc group in season 2 but I have not seen anyone wondering if he'll actually just keep working for Erzsebet. and maybe even become a new Drolta or something. like what if Mizrak's cruelty hardened his heart. what if he just goes full evil

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2023 No. 9 - Mistaken Identity

Scogan Bingo challenge Pillows

"Logan …" These two syllables contained at least three exclamation marks which was an achievement all by itself, considering Scott should actually still be in that certain blissful post-surgery condition of being drugged to the brim and that his voice currently had about as much strength as an 80's stereo with dying batteries. Somehow, the guy still managed to file a complaint approximately 10 minutes after waking up, and right now, Logan was even far too happy about this so unexpectedly quickly returning energy to give him shit for it.

He just didn’t have time to deal with that familiar, strangely beloved nagging right now. "Give me a second, Slim. Almost done." At least that was what Logan hoped, taking a good long look around the luxurious guest apartment on the top floor of Stark Tower that should be their shared accommodations for an undetermined period to come. A half-smoked cigar almost forgotten dangling from between two fingertips, Logan walked the spacious floor of the living chambers, the bedroom, and the bathroom once more, trying to make out any possible too-tight hallways and obstacles, anything he might have missed regarding Scott's current sensitive needs. At least the kitchen, he didn’t need to include in that last patrol, he thought with a wry grin, firmly closing that door.

Scott was a walking disaster in any kitchen even at his best of health, and right now, Logan wanted him even less anywhere near a stove. That was what takeout and Stark's servants were for. While Logan wasn’t thrilled to make either of them dependent on an Avenger of all people? After the clusterfuck that had been the last Hellfire Gala, their means and options were limited, and Tony and Emma had both insisted. Not to mention, right now Scott was simply in a shitty position to refuse such kind offers from friends, family, and business partners. They might both not be horribly hot on it, but until Scott would be better, enjoying and making use of all merits that came with residing at one of Tony's homes was the best choice.

Logan just needed to make sure, his lover wouldn’t get his cute ass in trouble right again, after Logan had only just pulled it from another deadly torture trap. Stark's scientists and medics, together with Synch, should not have had spent almost two days for nothing, making sure, Scott would be back to fighting shape in a couple of months, with any luck, instead of spending the rest of his days in a wheelchair and basically blind. Somewhat convinced that there were at least no tripping hazards and impassable spots in the apartment, Logan strode back towards the bedroom, reluctant to leave Scott alone for too long, no matter how believably Emma had convinced him, the procedures had gone as well as could be expected and that Scott was now on the mend. There were far too many things for Logan's taste regarding that recovery that could still go wrong. Not to mention that short moment yesterday in the operating theater when he'd seen his lover as hopeless and resigned as never before since he knew that stubborn asshole. That was definitely something Logan didn’t want to encounter again anytime soon. If what was left of mutant world for the moment was to keep one of its most important leaders and Logan was to keep the man he finally was no longer afraid to admit he loved just as much as the woman whom they'd both just lost to that very same last tragedy … Then he needed to be around and attentive a little more than was usually in his nature, little as he might like it. Following that trail of thought, Logan grimaced at what was left of his smoke in his hand when he realized, some ash was about to give the expensive red and gold carpet an interesting new pattern. Impatiently, he hurried to the next best sink to get rid of the offending object.

"Logan …" This time, there was a hint of amusement in that meek sound.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right with you." The unplanned detour back to the kitchen had a very positive side-effect, Logan realized, remembering that those instructions for watching over his lover, especially in the first few nights had named proper hydration as one of the top priorities. While Logan had already stored a whole six-pack of that disgusting mild sparkling brew that Scott preferred, next to the bed, he'd forgotten to bring either glasses or straws, and he couldn’t find the latter in that damn kitchen for the life of him. Which sucked because Logan wouldn’t be around 24/7 for glasses refills, as much as he would have loved to …

This time, the voice came from the kitchen speaker connected to the apartment's internal communication line that Logan had had a very entertained-looking Synch install for him in here earlier, just in case even his enhanced senses couldn’t pick up at a possible call for assistance from the bedroom for once. "Logan, if you don't get your ass in here right now, I'll try out that miracle construction of Stark's just to come and get you." Well, that didn’t sound a lot like an emergency. More like Scott was indeed about to do exactly what he was so strictly forbidden from right now, just to kick Logan's ass.

That would have been so fucking in-character for the guy that Logan decided to rather not fight Scott for once, returning to the bed at least with those glasses, a package of crushed ice under his arm, and an impatient eye-roll on his face. "Like hell you will. Not before they tell you to. We can talk about sitting up tomorrow morning though, if you're not too much of a pain until then." Logan draped the glasses next to where the first bottle was waiting, on that movable tray that was just one of the many high-tech attachments that Stark had equipped that bed with that inevitably would have to serve as the center of Scott's life for a while. Not paying attention to a scowl on his lover's face that not even the thick white bandages temporarily blocking his sight could hide, Logan sat down on the mattress right next to where Scott was perched in a slightly upright position under three blankets and went for the final check. Which included, trying out for himself if he could reach all remotes for TV, trays, and communicators from the mattress without twisting and turning any more than necessary. It was a bit of a stretch, but between them, Scott notoriously had longer arms, so …

"Logan." There was an unexpected tenderness in Scott's voice when he spoke up next, along with a tired vulnerability that Logan cared a lot less for. But in a way, that, too, was positive. It assured Logan that for once, his lover knew exactly that after his latest ordeal, he was in for more than his body could deal with for now, since all people capable of healing such severe damage within minutes were not available for the moment. "You're …"

"… basically done, so shut it. I think you could use another one of those." Logan frowned at a couple of pillows in Scott's back that were already denting in under the weight that was this partly external metal construction serving as a replacement for Scott's shattered spine until either everything Synch and those doctors had put back together earlier would be ready to function on its own … Or until what was left of their race would manage to undo that whole latest catastrophe and bring back everyone and everything they had lost. Including a physical shape for one of their heroes that didn’t need nanobots, titanium, computer programs, and electricity to function.

"… fussing," Scott continued his own sentence, unfazed, that smile broadening on his healing lips which almost had their beautiful, full curve back, those at least.

"I'm most definitely not." Logan crossed his arms with an irritated grumble until he remembered that Scott couldn’t see that right now and lowered them again with a sigh. Deciding that the pillow could probably wait, he sunk back a little deeper into the mattress and cautiously sneaked his arm under Scott's unmoving shape instead, shuddering at the touch of that exo-spine against his elbow.

The smooth coldness, broken by wires and artificial joints, was quickly made forgotten by the sensation of Scott's skin under Logan's agitated caress on his neck, fortunately. The pulse under Logan's fingertips was still a little slow but it was strong and steady. Scott's tall, usually so resilient shape was also no longer drenched in the sickening scent of poison, infection, and the rusty, perverted contraption that would almost have blown him to pieces either. There was a little too much stubble for Logan's taste on those high cheekbones, and they were a little too hollowed still and far too pale …

But Logan was pretty sure, if he went searching for a razor now or brought up trying to get on the balcony for an hour or so of sun tomorrow, Scott would cut his throat with a glass shard. "Fine. Maybe. A little. Can you blame me?"

"Never did. So stop obsessing. You know that's my job." Scott leaned into that suddenly trembling touch against his neck with a sigh, his battered body relaxing against the almost rock-hard mattress a good deal more immediately.

Huh. Maybe Logan didn’t need to worry so much about getting his lover comfortable whenever he wasn’t in here as long as he made sure not to fuck up when he was. Starting, apparently, with being less obvious about feelings he hadn’t even really let into his own soul yet that Scott could pick up far too easily. The guy knew him damn well for someone who hadn’t been around for the better part of the last few years. And why? Because the two – the three – of them had been stupid enough to let political troubles and diverging missions come between what they'd shared for a just as short as intense, wonderful time on that damn moon. Scott wouldn’t want to hear that, but the truth was – that he was lying here in this lousy state right now, partly was due to Logan not being there in the right moment. Well, he'd always been a huge fan of not making the same mistake twice. "Your only job is getting back on your feet right now, Slim. You let me worry about the rest." Logan leaned in to kiss any possible protest off those pouting lips before it could come, frowning again when those damn pillows dipped even lower under his additional, not inconsiderate weight. He needed to instruct JARVIS to get something better in here as soon as Scott was no longer awake to punch him in the dick for it.

"You can't babysit me for the next five months," Scott reminded him with as much firm determination as he could manage right now, one weak arm loosely slung around Logan's shoulders so he couldn’t back away. "I need you out there more than ever right now. I need you to look out for the others until I can go back to doing that myself. And even until then, don’t think for even a second that I'll be spending my days only crying into chocolate ice cream over Say Yes To The Dress and pining for you to return. I'll have Stark set up a proper communication central in here the moment I'm no longer on even too much Vicodin to not want to fuck you stupid right now. I need to be in touch with everyone still around if we want to make this whole thing right."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Slim." Logan was reluctant to bring up that subject on top of everything already wrecking Scott's soul. But if he didn’t want to risk another possible hit, not only mentally but maybe in the shape of a dangerous attack on this building, too, if someone with the wrong intentions and allegiance did the math? Then he had to get that new insanity out of his lover's still quite trauma-addled brain as quickly as possible. "You're basically a dead man walking right now. Most might not believe it's you if they see you just on a screen, especially with your fancy Freddy Krueger imitation of a face right now. And some others will demand an explanation for the Capitol. Captain Krakoa is not exactly popular with the kids right now."

"I'm not going to apologize for things I didn’t do," Scott gritted out, the increasingly shaking hand not busy clenching down on Logan's hair for purchase turning into a harsh fist. "I'm done with that."

"I'm not asking you to." Logan bent down for brief, soothing kiss to Scott's still slightly heated forehead. "Just to stay under until we found out who took your mantle, and word has gotten around that this was not on you. We don't want any unwelcome visitors here as long as you can't leave on your own two legs if necessary."

"Anyone who needs actual proof that I didn’t attack humanity is no longer welcome in my life, period." Scott's expression only darkened further, and Logan knew, if he hadn’t been ordered to keep his eyes shut until the last of these dangerous infections of his lids had healed, there would be a warning flash of red behind his usual ruby shields right now. "People had decades to memorize the lower half of my face, Logan. Few only ever even saw me only with a pair of glasses on. If they still can't tell my fucking jawline from someone else's? Apparently, I did even more wrong than I thought whenever I went out there. I'm not waiting until they want to book me for Men's Health again to make that right. We've lost too many and too much for that."

"Pretty sure there was never one of our kind on Men's Health, Slim." Logan let out an exhausted sigh but decided that was a discussion for tomorrow. Or at least for the time when Scott would be allowed to open his eyes again and the question of starting to work would become an actual, real issue. Until then, Logan had at least a couple of weeks to get some sense back into that guy. And as usual in mutant world, things might already look a whole lot different a couple of days from now. "How about you start on that beauty sleep right now though? I'll check with Stark and Emma if there's anything you should know." Logan already made a move to get out of bed again when he paused at the feeble but unmistakable touch of a large, bony hand around his wrist, the unspoken, still slightly shy word on Scott's slightly opened lips.

On second thoughts, things like communicators existed. And he had a more important duty here to do, obviously. "Slim, I don't think that's …" This time, Logan interrupted himself with a grimace. Maybe there was a thing as being too worried.

It at least didn’t look unbearably painful when Scott straightened up on his elbows a little once Logan was back beside him, and reached for his still mostly paralyzed left thigh with his teeth clenched, his upper body twisted to the side as much as the corset temporarily restricting him allowed. Still an impossible endeavor for now, though.

Good thing, Logan was usually far better without a lot of words anyway. Scooting close enough, he carefully pushed his arms under his lover's compromised shape and helped him turn to his side before snuggling up against him, cautiously bracketing those long, haggard legs with his own, his face buried against Scott's neck. The obstacle of the exo-spine between them was nothing more than a neglectable resistance against Logan's own metal-enhanced chest while he deeply breathed in that grounded, clean smell that was his lover's beloved scent, his own eyes quickly falling close as he listened to Scott's heartbeat and breathing becoming even more slower and more regular. Well, that probably meant, there was indeed no need for any more pillows.

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

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

@scoganbingo

[sxlver-sweet]

Izana and getting affection from his significant other. I think he would be touch starved. Thoughts?

Sry I just need fluffy content and I’m manifesting you pspspspsspspsps Arba

i have arrived. but please keep in mind that i’m still somewhat uncertain about his character, so some of this is probably ooc for him. i apologize ahead of time.

oh, he would absolutely be touch-starved. with the life he’s led, there’s no doubt about it. i feel like when you first start showing him affection, he’ll be tense and quiet, reluctant to reciprocate and uncertain as to how he should even react in this situation. you might assume he doesn’t like it, but he does. he just… isn’t positive how to communicate it without scaring you off.

but, over time, he’ll start to notice how secure he feels in your arms, like he can lay his head on your chest and tell you anything that comes to mind without fear of judgement—like you’re the pillar bolstering the weight of the world and preventing it from crashing down on his shoulders. he’ll start to notice the tingling warmth that seeps through his entire body when you grasp at his hands and the enticing compulsion that tugs at both his heart and mind, urging him to relax in your hold because your touch just feels so… so comforting.

without pre-established boundaries or the experience learning social cues that he traded in favor of learning how to fight and assemble an empire, he’ll be quick to reciprocate. it’ll be awkward and stiff and sometimes, he’ll approach you the wrong way, but he’ll adapt quicker than most out of sheer oblivion when it comes to reading the room. still, that doesn’t mean there won’t be a stage of hesitation. initially, he’ll just kind of hover around you awkwardly. he won’t ever ask for you to show him affection, but you will often feel his stare burning into you when your attention is occupied, or you’ll sense him pacing discreetly or fidgeting nearby, pausing every so often to sneak a peek over your shoulder. pls he just wants you to acknowledge him😭

when he finally feels comfortable reciprocating, he’ll constantly have his hands on you. izana “i say my love language is literally anything other than physical affection, but if you aren’t touching me right now, we’re going to have problems” kurokawa. whenever you’re standing around zoned out, he’ll snake his arms around your waist, humming as he sways your bodies back and forth in rhythm with his spontaneous melody. he’ll loiter around you when you’re busy, gauging every shift of your muscles and bounce of your knee as he searches for an opening to cling to you or drop a kiss to your temple. he likes when you toy with his hands—bending his fingers at the knuckles, lovingly tracing your fingertips over the lines etched into his palm, and comparing hand sizes. in public, he resigns himself to a hand on your waist and nothing more, but around his subordinates, he’ll kiss your cheek or temple and freely embrace you. after all, what are they going to do? stand up to him? tease him? yeah, okay.

Y’ALL, he’ll really sit there with his fine ass and softly kiss the pulse point on your inner wrist while murmuring about how you’ll rule the world with him, warm breath caressing your skin and electricity darting along your nerves with every brush of his lips. he’ll feel your pulse hammering beneath his bottom lip and ask you what’s wrong. like mF WHAT. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY?

WAIT WAIT WAIT PLS GENTLEMAN IZANA?? GENTLEMAN?? IZANA?? gentleman!izana, who scours the internet and brainstorms with kakucho for guidance on what the fuck he’s supposed to do on dates. gentleman!izana, whose dumbass brings a jacket for you in ninety degree weather because the website he consulted told him to, and now he’s staring blankly at you and internally fretting about why you turned down his offer. gentleman!izana, whose hair is stirred by the breeze and smile is tilted impishly as he lifts your hand to plant a kiss to your knuckles, greeting you with an endearing “darling.” IM HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH THIS SKDKCKSLA

i’m so sorry i went overboard with this.

[ethereaiin]

pspsps a2 waltzing would be pretty snazzy of you

features; you and a2

[au]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ever since you were young your mother has always been strict, especially when it came to how you presented yourself. You were the daughter of the only grand duke in the kingdom and she thought it was imperative that you appear as perfect as your title suggested.

Being the sole heiress to the grand duchy held many benefits but forced just as many responsibilities onto you, which your mother oversaw with a keen eye. While you were given the best education in the country and excelled in various aspects of etiquette, there was only one subject you had trouble mastering.

Dancing.

You weren’t sure what it was about it that caused you so much trouble. You had the best instructors around, the top dancers handpicked by your meticulous mother, yet even they were still not enough to instill the precise movements of a basic waltz into your head. You couldn’t even count the number of hours you spent watching them elegantly sail across the ballroom floor, spinning and stepping in sync with the music before one of them offered their hand out for you to put all you saw into practice. Yet it would only end with you stepping on your instructor’s toes or dancing the wrong part altogether.

Your instructors never once told you what exactly you were doing wrong. They merely smiled lightly, shifting uncomfortably on their bruised toes as they spoke insincere assurances that you definitely improved from the previous session. But you knew it all to be lies. You danced nothing like them. Not as graceful, nor as nimble.

Compared to them, you were akin to a newborn fawn who just learned to use their legs. At this rate, there was no way you were going to be able to dance at your coming-of-age celebration without embarrassing yourself completely. Your mother would never let you see the light of day if you managed to step on the toes of your partner and you can’t even imagine the disappointment from your father.

You were the grand duke’s heir, after all, there was no room for mistakes. Even for something so minor as dancing. Already, you can imagine the face your mother would make when she witnesses your terrible dancing tomorrow during practice.

“She’s gonna kill me when she finds out.” You sighed as you sunk deeper in your seat, a plate of cookies placed before you alone with a steaming cup of tea. Many thoughts clouded you, many of them pertaining to your mother and some of them belonging to your beloved. “There’s no way I’m going to give him that promised dance. . .”

By him, you meant your unofficial fiance, Cirian Lacan. While you two were not yet formally engaged, you’ve been promised to each other since birth. It was an age-old agreement that had yet to be fulfilled due to the fact that both of your respective families had never produced children of opposite genders. Well, until now at least. You and Cirian were on great terms and you considered him to be a very precious childhood friend you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with.

To say he was excited about your coming of age ceremony was an understatement. He had his own the year prior and was determined to be your first dance and you, being ignorant to the true difficulties of a simple waltz, wholeheartedly agreed. You wanted to make him happy but at this rate, you’d only give him several bruised toes and a terrible experience.

“My lady, you must sit up properly.”

Came the stern voice of your appointed personal maid and guard. You glanced up towards the left side of your chair where A2 stood, her face pulled into a small disapproving frown at your slumped form. Your lips formed a small pout, but you chose wisely to do as she said. You were a firsthand witness to her monster strength and you did not want to see what she would do if you refused.

Your maid was an odd person, one whose origins you were never fully informed of and was often shrouded in mystery. Your mother appointed her to you shortly after you were named heir to the duchy for ‘protection’ but the woman currently standing next to you looked as if she couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone wield a sword. She was tall and delicately lean, but under that maid’s dress, you weren’t sure if there was even an ounce of muscle to be seen. Not to mention her name. It was strange and sounded more like a pseudonym than anything else.

The only thing you had learned of her so far apart from her no-nonsense personality, was that she and two others like her were ‘gifts’ from the royal family. Your father would only relent that much to you and the other two that supposedly came along to your residence with her were nowhere to be seen.

“They are doing their work, my dear.” Your father said from his seat at his desk. His eyes never once lifted from the stack of papers in his hand to address you, yet you could still feel the warmth in his tone. This was how he displayed his affection and patience for you. Never once raising his voice in your presence or running you off when you so obviously intruded on his work. And then, under his breath, “Out of sight, out of mind.”

You never did understand what he meant by that and you were pretty sure you were never meant to hear it. Yet whatever the other two did, it was much more secretive than what A2 did for you. All you could do for now was hope that your father would explain more once you’re declared head of the family.

“A2, can’t you see I’m in a crisis right now?” You huffed, twisting yourself in your seat towards her and sitting in an even more improper fashion than you were moments before. Your new positioning seemed to noticeably peeve A2 who furrowed her brow. “If I can’t get this dance down, mother will kill me. . . and Ciri,” Your avert your gaze, your eyes softening as your mouth quivers into a frown. “oh I can’t even imagine what he’d do.”

“Cry, probably.” A2 remarks and you throw a light glare in her direction yet she shrugs it off with an indifferent bow of her head as if she were apologizing, but you knew she wasn’t. “I tell only the truth, my lady.”

As much as you wished to defend your fiance’s honor, you were well aware of his meek nature. A2 was right. He was more likely to cry if you ended up making your first public dance together a complete disaster. You only had one shot at this and if you failed, not only would you break the promise you had with Cirian but those nasty nobles who’d been attempting to gather as much dirt on you as possible would jump on this opportunity. They would use any flaw you had to their advantage, anything to keep you from getting the grand duchess title.

“There must be something I can do. . .” You nibbled at the nail of your thumb, a habit you accidentally picked up and one both A2 and your mother hated. While you were a normally composed person, the thought of your nearing coming-of-age ceremony and your lack of knowing a relatively simple dance seemed to have driven your nerves up the wall. “If I can’t dance, I should just avoid doing it shouldn’t I?”

Your gaze, which had fallen to the ground in thought, rose only to meet A2’s for approval. You wouldn’t say you and her were close, but the fact that she spent the most time with you out of all your servants, made her feel something akin to a friend. But with her, there was always a line in the sand she purposely drew. She never once made the effort to get closer to you and often discreetly blocked your advances from getting to know her. You respected her decision and despite her reluctance to open up, you still very much liked her.

She was pragmatic in nature and voiced her opinion often enough that you thought of her as honest. Her indifference towards you and the rest of the world was somewhat refreshing. Unlike other servants, she didn’t try currying favor with you and if there was a noble that bothered you for a little too long, she always made sure to tell them off in your stead. She didn’t care much for social standing and if she wasn’t the personal maid to the second most powerful family in the Leiden kingdom, you were sure she would have been hanged for how impartial she truly was with people. Her mouth would one day get her into trouble, you were sure of it.

When she gently smacked your hand away from your mouth, you could see the glint of resignation in her silver eyes. “Do you really want to learn that useless dance?”

“Hey,” You started, your hand settling back into your lap as you watched her move to stand right in front of you. “I won’t deny that dancing is useless. . . in fact, I couldn’t agree more.” You nodded to yourself with certainty and a satisfied smile. If only your mother and Cirian thought that way. You could be saved a hell of a lot of trouble.

“But this is what’s expected of me.” Your smile dropped at the thought of your father and all he had to sacrifice to get where he stood. “I really shouldn’t neglect this just because I hate it.”

“For a girl your age, you think too deeply.” You glanced up at her surprisingly soft tone. She presents her pale hand for you to take and you do so without much thought. Throughout the few years she’s been by your side, you definitely trusted her a little more than anyone else. “Being terrible at one thing won’t kill you, nor would it make your father think any less of you. No one expects you to be perfect, [name].”

She pulls you off towards the large open clearing of your room and it’s only when she has her hand on your waist that you realize what she’s doing. “While I can’t help you with much of anything in regards to your studies, this is something I can assist you in.”

Before you’re given the chance to process her earlier words or even the fact that she was helping you with dancing, she spins the two of you around; gliding effortlessly across the floor. With your hand caressed gently within her own. You stare at her with widened eyes. Everything about her in this moment had taken you by surprise, but you didn’t find yourself hating it.

A2 could be a kind person if given the chance and while most people had never minded how hard you exerted yourself to even resemble a bit of your father, she was the first person to ever realize the high expectations you set up for yourself. Your mother called your ambition and strive to be the makings of a true leader, but you sometimes found them to be nothing but burdensome. More than anything, you just wanted someone to tell you it was okay to mess up. Even just a little. Her sentiment warmed your heart in ways you could never truly convey into words.

So, with a cheerful grin, you swayed along with her. Though, your eyes stayed trained on your feet if only to avoid ruining the nice moment.

Dancing in silence may have seemed odd to an onlooker, but you swore you could hear the melodic beat in your head. You hummed along to the non-existent song, momentarily glancing up from your feet to meet A2’s curious stare with a grin. At first, you had trouble keeping up with her graceful steps, and more often than naught, you stepped on her toes. Each time, you apologized with reddened cheeks, yet she shrugged them off with a light smile and a shake of her head.

She was a much more diligent teacher than you initially expected. For every mistake, she told you exactly what you had done wrong and where you needed to improve. Yet, she was also so very patient. She went over countless parts of the dance, repeating the moves you had trouble on and never once expressing anger when you didn’t seem to get it.

This repeated for hours on end and well into the night before you finally called it quits. While you were exhausted with your chest heaving and small beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face, A2 looked as if she were not tired at all. You shambled over towards your bed, plopping down before looking to A2 who seemed to have read your mind and was fetching you a towel.

“Thank you,” You said with a sigh as you took the towel from her before patting the softened cloth against your cheek.

There was a few moments of silence between you that you used to compose yourself. Your heart settled into its normal steady rhythm and your exhaustion mellowed into fatigue. A2 stood in front of you, hands folded neatly at her waist and eyes lowered to give you some privacy.

“You’re very good at dancing.” You finally say as you drop the towel to your side. “When did you learn?”

“When you did,” A2 says as she lifts her eyes to meet your own. Within her silvery gaze, you can see obvious amusement. “I learned from watching you.”

A2 was always such a perfect maid. Doing everything to a tee and perfect in all aspects. You were unsurprised to hear she was a quick learner as well as a talented dancer. It was a shame her talents were held back by her class. If she were of noble lineage, you had no doubts that she would have given even the crown prince a run for his money.

Yet, there was something about her that was strayed from her normal indifference. You noticed it the most when the two of you were dancing. Her face looked so serene. With a ghost of a smile on her lips and eyes fluttered shut as she twirled you along to your hummed song. She was undeniably beautiful then and even someone so oblivious as yourself could see that.

You hummed at her reply, leaning back on your hands as you stared at her with a wide grin. "You like dancing, don't you?"

"It's. . . Okay." She says with a shrug of her shoulders. "Nothing special, really. I don't know why you nobles make such a big deal out of it."

"So then you wouldn't mind helping me out again, would you?" You offer your hand out for her to take and she does before pulling you off your bed. "You're a fine teacher. Better than those 'professionals' mother hired."

When you're up on your feet again, A2 attempts to let you go but you only tighten your grip on her hand. She looks at you, her brows high with a curious expression on her normally stoic features.

"Let's go another round, A2." You grin as you pull her towards the middle of your room once more. "There's a lot more I need to work on if I want to be perfect."

The woman behind you merely smiles, her pale cheeks tinged red as she nods to no one in particular. "As you wish, my lady."

[sxfterhearts]

wounded

24. [7:25 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse

➳ word count: 2,504 words

➳ summary: 24. “Just because,”

➳ author's note: this will probably turn into a two-shot, inspired by new era yugs. all creds for the gif below to @jinyoungot7​, thank you so much 💖 i’ve been sitting on this idea for a bit too long + rewrote it 3 times (bc my dumb self forgot to hit save) so i really struggled to form the right words. i hope you’ll forgive me for this! any form of feedback will be very much appreciated 💕 (also: imo = aunty)

wounded // scarred // healed

A rush of stiflingly hot summer air pummeled through the double doors of your family’s restaurant, disrupting the once cool atmosphere created by the air-cons. Being reminded of this season’s unforgiving behaviours urged you to lift the straw of your cool drink to your lips.

The sip of iced Americano, however, got stuck in your throat when you laid eyes upon the restaurant’s newest patron.

Yugyeom. Kim Yugyeom, with his untucked shirt and loosened tie, took confident strides across the dining area in the direction of the kitchen window where chefs would place finished dishes, ready to be served. Your brain short-circuited for several moments as you did nothing but watch him from your position behind the cashier. His actions were that of a regular’s as he arrived at the window and stuck his head through the opening in the wall, his hand coming up in a small wave to catch the chefs’ attention.

It was then that you registered, quite belatedly, the bruises and splotches of crimson littered across the back of his raised hand, tarnishing the fair skin.

You distinctly remembered that you saw plasters wrapped around his fingers earlier today when you sat beside him in class. His current wounds made the older ones seem like insignificant paper cuts. It wasn’t unusual for Yugyeom to turn up covered in fresh cuts and purple bruises, though. In fact, you had grown so accustomed to this that you started stocking up on assorted Rilakkuma plasters. Since the start of the semester when you were assigned the furthest desk from the whiteboard, you learned how to disinfect open wounds with saline solution and cover it properly with pastel-coloured dressings, all courtesy of Kim Yugyeom.

“Imo, can I please order takeaway? One bibim naengmyeon and one mul naengmyeon, double serving of pickled radishes, two eggs and extra-”

“Yugyeom-ah!” Your mother’s unmistakeable voice pierced through as her head peeked out of the little window, coming face to face with your desk partner. She addressed him with such a warm and motherly tone, which left you surprised and confused. “Oh, oh dear… It’s best if you take a seat, you can have your dinner here. I’ll pack Mark’s in a takeaway container, don’t you worry.”

“But Imo, I need to get back, Mark-”

“No buts, Yugyeom. I already memorised your orders. Sit down, your food will be ready in a second.”

“Imo, I can’t-” Yugyeom protested weakly, waving his hands in refusal, but you knew it was all for nought. Attempting to deny your mother’s orders were an impossible feat.

A short silence ensued. You guessed this was caused by your mother’s signature death stare. Having been on the receiving end countless times during your lifetime, you were well aware that it could make anyone’s skin rise with goose bumps or a chill to run down their spines.

“Okay, Imo…” Came Yugyeom’s resigned voice as his lanky legs dragged himself over to the vacant seat closest to the kitchen.

You took this as your cue to question your mother in detail about how she became so familiar with your class’ bad boy. Unfortunately, you were met with a curt reminder of the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the counter as she busied herself with blanching the buckwheat noodles. When she was in her element, there was no way to deviate her attention from the task at hand.

Rummaging through the cupboard, you fished out the white box with a red cross stuck on the top of the lid. Taking a few moments to steel your quickening heart rate, you were struck by the realisation that this would be the first time seeing Yugyeom outside of school in the entire five years you spent as classmates. He was a quiet boy, never uttering a single word in school, even when the teachers were asking him questions, landing him a semi-permanent spot in detention. Most days, he would plug one earphone into his ear and rest his head on folded arms, taking frequent naps as the class learned about organic compounds or Punnett squares. He was also handed multiple demerits for breaking the school rules, which ranged from getting into fist fights with seniors who bullied students for their lunch money, or wearing one too many piercings (especially the shiny ones), to refusing to get a haircut when his fringe began to grow past his eyebrows, obscuring his eyes.

The most intimidating aspect about sitting next to Kim Yugyeom, however, was that nearly every week you were forced to come face to face with angry gashes and wounds that he seemingly gained overnight. He always turned a blind eye when you succumbed to your curiosity and inspected his injuries from your seat, mere inches away. Wordlessly, you would clean the damaged skin with practiced hands, then patch it up with a plaster. Rilakkuma, you decided, suited him best. The plasters matched his yellow Rilakkuma earphones. You even caught him occasionally staring at the plasters when you stayed in class during lunch, the only period in which he remained awake.

“Y/N,” Yugyeom called as you drew the seat next to him. He stared at the table, refusing to meet your eyes.

Your ears perked up the moment your name left his lips; you were not used to this. It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to speak. Usually you went about your everyday tasks silently, with little words being exchanged. It was a silence that grew comfortable over the semester, and you found yourself appreciating the peace it brought during stressful times.

Conversations between the two of you had only started up recently. This was largely attributed to your father, who worked front of the house, being ridiculed by your classmate’s parents when they visited the restaurant. They complained about your father’s complete lack of competence when they had to wait forty-five minutes for their food to arrive, only to receive the wrong dishes in the end. Furious, they shoved the plate of food off the table and stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to settle the bill. Your father was left to clean up the scraps in front of all the other customers, severely damaging the restaurant’s reputation.

The classmate, a snobby, pampered girl, confronted you in school the next day by rudely pushing your books and stationery onto the floor, just like her parents did. You held back angry, frustrated tears as she ridiculed you and your family in front of all your other classmates, tearing you down to shreds. Yugyeom, rousing from his nap, caught the girl’s wrist before she had the chance to slap you across the face with a notebook.

Everyone grew quiet then. The boy had never done anything to gain attention, always preferring to remain behind the shadows in perfect silence. “Keep it down, you’re ruining my sleep.” Yugyeom hissed threateningly. She cowered in fear and backed off, never to provoke you again.

“Look up, Yugyeom.” You instructed, returning to the task at hand. With a concerned gaze, you conducted a thorough examination of his injuries. The cuts on his hands and the bruises on his knuckles were fairly standard – a quick clean and plaster should do the trick. You got to work, pulling out the alcohol-free cleansing wipes and dabbing over the torn skin with gentle fingers. The boy flinched slightly upon the first contact but behaved rather well as you continued to tend to his hands. Your gaze flitted over the two spherical scars on the underside of his left forearm as he reached forward, closing the distance between the two of you. They were cigarette burns, you figured. You could feel Yugyeom’s fingers brushing against your temples as he pushed strands of your short hair back to rest behind your ears, the tips of which glowered pink at his actions.

“What happened this time?” You asked, somewhat rhetorically. You knew full well that Yugyeom would never divulge the events that led up to his injuries, no matter how persistent you were.

He hummed in response, as though that were an appropriate answer, and scrunched up his face slightly to express his reluctance in answering your question.

The wound smack bang in the middle of his nose presented itself as a bit more of a challenge. While Yugyeom was no stranger to facial injuries, often sporting shallow cuts close to his brow or near his chin, this was much deeper; much larger. It drew unwanted attention and tarnished his otherwise handsome features.

A dull thud sounded as a bowl of cold noodles landed on the table. Your mother stood over the two of you, shaking her head as she handed you a warm towel. You accepted it, still utterly clueless about how your mother was so well acquainted with Yugyeom and his injuries. “Y/N-ah, use this to clean the wound. If it’s still bleeding a lot, apply some pressure to it.” She then turned to the boy, tutting in disapproval. “Yugyeom, I’ve always respected your privacy when you show up in my restaurant covered in cuts and bruises, but this is where I draw the line. Your injuries are getting more serious. You and I are going to have a serious talk once you finish your dinner, young man. It’s been two years and I can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, are we clear?”

You watched as Yugyeom nearly heaved out a sigh, but decided against it in the last minute. “Yes, Imo. Thank you, Imo.”

Your mother, with her hands perched atop her waist, nodded gravely before strutting over to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more. A million questions swarmed in your head as Yugyeom took the towel from your hands, pressing it onto his wound as he began to devour the bowl of cold noodles. This has been going on for two years? You wondered to yourself. Two long years, and yet I’ve never even ran into him in the restaurant. There’s no way, he must’ve been here when I worked over the summer. Maybe he was just sitting in a corner, eating in silence… As usual.

“You’ve been coming her for two years?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity getting the better of you. “But why?” Why didn’t you tell me? You thought silently, the rest of the sentence unable to leave your mouth.

Yugyeom shrugged as he picked out two halved egg yolks from the boiled eggs with his chopsticks. “Just because,”

Because you pitied me? Because you were ashamed of me? Because you couldn’t face me in school without thinking about that incident caused by the girl’s parents?

“It’s not like that.” The boy said flatly, his eyes meeting yours with a resolute gaze when he noticed you withdrawing, getting lost in your thoughts. “This is the only place that sells naengmyeon all year.”

“What?” You muttered in disbelief.

“I have naengmyeon every Friday, even in winter. The food is good and I only live five minutes away.”

You nodded at his explanation. Perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

“I was also trying to hide most of my injuries from you.” He admitted in a low voice, barely audible above the white noise of the restaurant. Yugyeom took another mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing appreciatively as the refreshing flavours soothed his senses. “Fridays…” He paused, eyes wandering vacantly around the vicinity of the restaurant. “Fridays are gambling days for my uncle. He’ll gamble, lose, drink and come home for dinner. You know my older brother, Mark?”

“Yeah, I know Mark.” It was hard not to know about Mark. Before he graduated four years ago, rumours about him spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. The one rumour you distinctly remembered as a first-year student was that he maintained good grades by doing, for a lack of better word, favours, for his female teachers.

“Mark would rush me out of the house before our uncle got home. He acted as my uncle’s babysitter by cooking him dinner, and then as his punching bag when he had to take out his frustration. I was home once when it happened, some time last year. After that I made Mark agree for us to take turns.”

Your head started to spin as your brain worked to process this new information. “Wait so, the cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of that…?”

Yugyeom nodded, still staring beyond the double doors. The sun was beginning to set. In the back of his mind, he registered that his uncle would be home soon. “Honestly, Mark had it worse, especially in the first few months after.”

He meant after his parents passed away two years ago. A car accident. They were coming home from their anniversary dinner. It was raining. There was a truck going around the corner at insane speeds, towards their car. It swerved. Their car plummeted off a cliff. They died instantly, the aunties gossiped as they filtered in and out of the restaurant. Poor kids, they would remark, casting pitied looks at the brothers.

“Your mother, she’s really something else.” He said with a small smile while picking up a few pieces of cucumber and radish. “The first time I came in, the restaurant was about to close. She took one look at me and forced me to press a piece of frozen beef on my bruise. She talked to me the entire time she was dressing my wound, I swear my ears nearly fell off.”

That sounded exactly like your mother. She loved to nag, but it always came from a place of genuine concern. “Imagine being her daughter.” You joked, grateful for the slight comedic relief from the heavy nature of the words you shared. It was one of the few proper conversations you had with your desk partner.

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t my mother.” Yugyeom said, his tone so broken and devastated that you felt your heart ache within your chest.

You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying your best to provide him with some form, any form of comfort. “I’m sure she cares for you like her own son. Especially since she’s been making you dinner every Friday for the past two years.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“She even nurses your injuries.”

“But you do that too.” He pointed out without missing a beat, a teasing glint in his eyes as he finally turned to look at you.

“I…”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Yugyeom replied with a knowing grin, returning back to his dinner.

I care about you too, a lot. You confessed silently, resting your heavy head on your palms as you watched him eat. The golden shine of the sun casted upon his pointed features. Despite the old scars and the new wounds, he glowed.

A part of you realised that after so many months, you had finally broken-down Kim Yugyeom’s iron walls. School would be very different from now on.

[langdxn]

Can you do 15,19,33 with outpost!michael and innocent!reader? You’re such an amazing writer and I always make sure to look out for your stuff♥️

Aww thank you so much for your kind words! Also are you trying to kill me with this ask? Because I’m definitely dead 🥵🥵🥵

“You take my fingers so well don’t you?” // “Do you need me to finger you first?” // “Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.”

Outpost 3 was home to one reluctant purple.

You didn’t know why you were put into the position of power in the Outpost, but your numerous attempts to question Venable’s decision and let you help the overworked greys only resulted in punishment. You settled for hiding in the shadows, emerging only at mealtimes and important summonings in the library.

Langdon met your gaze at his introduction to the Outpost, but you somehow eluded him for another week. Not that you were trying to hide from the intimidating Cooperative representative with hair like spun gold, you had simply spent too long in this underground lair mapping out less populated areas, planning journeys down dimly-lit corridors and finding solace in dark recesses.

Maybe your hiding places were too good.

Maybe he couldn’t sense you because you were too innocent.

Unfortunately for you, you’d finished your current book ahead of schedule. Living in an underground outpost and temporarily book-less is a fate worse than death, so you had no choice but to make an unplanned trip to the library. You scuttled down a dark passageway that led straight to the balcony above the library. Hesitantly approaching the bars, you peered over the edge to scope out the population of the room and deduced the library was unoccupied. A curt sigh of relief escaped your lips as you stepped tentatively down the metallic spiral staircase, shoes left wisely in your quarters to avoid any unnecessary clanking.

A glance at the shelves suggested you’ve definitely been in the Outpost too long — you’ve read everything within arms reach. Craning your neck further up, you spotted a curious, tattered, red leather-bound tome, one shelf too high for you. A beacon to your literature-starved eyes, you hastily devised a plan to climb via the edge of the precarious shelves. Good thing you left your shoes behind.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you hooked your toes on the lower shelf and raised a hand to grab the offending book above you. Fingertips grazing its weary spine, you hauled yourself up and hooked a finger on its upper edge.

“Truman Capote, interesting choice,” a voice came from behind you, making you lose your footing and fall to the floor, gripping onto the shelves to avoid tumbling into a heap.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you chuckled lowly as you turned to face your distraction. Expecting Gallant’s warm, giggling face, your gaze landed upon a different blonde. A tall, confident, regal blonde. “Ah, nice to meet you, Langdon,” your eyes darted to your feet, dusting off your purple dress in case the shelf debacle left you dishevelled in front of the man in authority.

“You’re a hard lady to find, Miss Y/N,” Langdon hummed, perching on the back of a nearby couch, hands clasped together landing in his lap.

Heading to take a seat next to him, you adopted his relaxed position to demonstrate your demeanour, unintimidated and friendly, regardless of the mystery of the Cooperative ambassador’s identity.

“Sorry, it’s nothing personal, I just don’t socialise with anybody in here. What do you think of them so far?”

Michael leaned back, somewhat surprised with his shoulders raised.

“People in here never ask what I think.”

“Well I just did.”

Reassured, he settled back into his thoughtful pose.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t choose to spend my time with these people.”

You stifled a laugh and nodded warmly.

“I couldn’t agree more! I just don’t vibe with this Outpost,” you sighed, entwined hands waving expressively in front of you as Langdon listened intently. “I’m not like the other purples, I’m not a control freak, I’m not above anybody else.”

“I’ll let you in on something,” he leaned in closer, lowering to a whisper. “None of these people are above anybody either.”

“I like you, Langdon, you speak my language.”

A spark flew between you in that moment, like a jigsaw piece falling into place.

“If you’re not like them, does that mean you’re innocent?”

“I don’t know, maybe I am. Maybe I’m just not their type, thinking and talking about sex all the time.”

“You’re a virgin?” Michael shuffled to face you, piercing blue eyes boring into you. Evidently, it was taking all the self-control in his body to resist touching you, resigning himself to nervously wringing his hands.

“Is that such a surprise?”

“You’re a physically attractive young woman, Y/N. The fact that some idiotic frat boy hasn’t polluted you already is more of a surprise.”

Michael made no secret of eyeing you from your head to your feet dangling from the couch, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Well I’ve never been good at making moves on guys, I never really know what they want.”

“Popular consensus would say that men have the same trouble with women,” he declared, a hand trailing under your skirt to tantalisingly graze your purple velvet-clad thigh. “Most men, in fact, but not me.”

“You know what girls want?”

While his one hand journeyed further towards the radiating heat between your legs, the other gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know what you want right now,” he purred, hovering his lips just above yours. “As you’re a virgin, do you need me to finger you first?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, hanging on that particular word that rolled off his tongue and set all your nerves ablaze. Unable to form the words to respond, you nodded furiously and edged your legs open further.

“Good girl,” Langdon husked, delicately swiping aside your panties and gently sinking one finger between your pulsing folds. A soft gasp slipped through your parted lips as you adjusted to the foreign sensation taking hold of you, the soft stretch of your walls as he explored you from the inside.

“Langdon,” you panted as your head swung back, inspiring him to trace light kisses over your exposed throat.

“Michael,” he hummed as he ventured a second finger into your core, “my name’s Michael.”

“Michael,” you repeated and repeated like a mantra, keening your hips into his touch as stage fright pricked at your cheeks. Michael moaned hungrily against your neck, smiling broadly as you melted into him.

“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.”

His dismissive degradation pricked at your cheeks, a sweet burn spreading across your face as you accepted the quivering, desperate mess to which his electric touch had reduced you. Curling his fingers into your walls, Michael pressed urgently against the most sensitive spots inside you that triggered a building tension in your gut, a firework at the brink of explosion.

“That feels,” you stuttered frantically between sharp, shallow breaths, gripping onto the couch and digging your nails into its thick leather. “That feels amazing.”

His free hand journeyed to cup your chin, drawing you in for a deep, intense kiss, using your blissful state to increase the pace of his thrusting digits inside you.

“You take my fingers so well, don’t you?” He praised softly against your lips, revelling in the helpless mewls tumbling from your tongue. His arm wrapped around your neck to brace himself as he pumped inside you relentlessly, the burn in his forearm worth every flick of your head and every keen jitter of your walls as you unravelled for him.

“Michael, I—“

“It’s okay baby, I can feel you’re about to cum. Let go, let go for me.”

Shedding your reservations just as he asked, an unfettered scream burst from your lips as Michael held you upright, gently stroking your walls to ride out your orgasm. Between the pounding pulse in your ears, your legs shaking against the leather couch and your own frenetic breaths, you caught Michael’s animalistic growls as you released, taking all his strength to not pin you down and pound you into the furniture.

Withdrawing his soaked fingers, Michael parted his lips and dipped both onto his tongue, hollowing his cheeks to suck gently as his eyes clenched blissfully for a fleeting moment. “You taste like heaven, my angel.”

Composing yourself quietly as you took to your feet and let your dress fall to your ankles, you grasped Michael’s wrist and pulled him into you, twirling you both around to slam him against the bookcase.

“You don’t seem so innocent now, Y/N,” he growled, watching your hands exploring beneath his velvet waistcoat and blood red dress pants, an inquisitive grin spreading across his plump lips as you deftly sank to your knees. “What is this anyway?”

“Returning the favour, Mr Langdon.”

[ikesenrambles]

Hi, if you're doing headcanons, how about this? The MC (and probably Sasuke) hand-draw memes to entertain themselves, but the warlords find them hidden in her room while MC is away. How do they react? Whichever warlords you want to do is fine. :)

Thank you so much for sending in a request! I love memes, and I absolutely loved doing this request. I’m sorry that it took so long to do - I wanted to make sure I did it justice~ I hope that you enjoy it and that I was able to deliver!

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡ It would really ~meme~ a lot to me.

MC’s Doodles: Nobunaga and Hideyoshi

Sitting on the dais, a thoughtful smile plays on Nobunaga’s lips as he carefully studies a lost page of your sketchbook. “Hideyoshi, come here,” he commands. Immediately, Hideyoshi rises to his feet and approaches.

“Our new chatelaine is rather entertaining, don’t you think?” Nobunaga muses. “She captures my likeness quite perfectly. Even the emotion behind some of my deepest desires and my most intimate whims…”

“If you would allow me to see…” Hideyoshi’s voice trails off. Nobunaga hands him the slip of paper only for Hideyoshi’s eyes to widen in flustered disbelief. “Is this… k-konpeito!?” he blurts in a panic, shaking his head furiously at your seemingly blatant disregard for Nobunaga’s health. “My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I will not allow this kind of provocative propaganda in the castle!”

“Stand down, Hideyoshi.” The simple command from his master is enough for Hideyoshi to bow deeply in apology. “It’s a rather tasteful portrait of me,” Nobunaga tells him. “I would like to see it displayed in the castle.”

With a hesitant sigh, Hideyoshi nods in reluctant resignation. “As you wish, my lord. I’ll see it done.”

MC’s Doodles: Ieyasu and Mitsunari

“Mitsunari–!” An astonished, overemphasized gasp penetrates thoughtful silence as Hideyoshi comes swooping in between Mitsunari, Ieyasu, and Masamune, who are snooping through your private sketchbook behind the closed doors of your chamber. “Don’t you know how rude it is to look through another person’s belongings without permission?” He scolds the three with a firm shake of his head, grabbing the book from Mitsunari. “I expected better from you two especially,” Hideyoshi puffs in frustration, turning a pointing finger toward Ieyasu and Masamune.

Ieyasu rolls his eyes sarcastically in response while Masamune chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head at Hideyoshi’s overreaction. Per usual, it takes a few moments for Mitsunari to fully return to reality, his eyes continuing to scan the space in front of him despite his hands being empty. When he finally does, he cocks his head to the side in curious consideration, mulling over the words written on the page he had just studied. “I don’t quite understand,” he admits with sheepish innocence. There is not an ounce of offense or annoyance in his voice.

“This is…” Hideyoshi stifles another sound of surprise as he allows himself a peek at the contents of your sketchbook. His face reddens at your unexpected profanity. At a loss for words, he quickly closes the book shut and tucks it back under your pillow. “Lord Mitsunari, please be assured that she was only joking–!”

“Don’t even bother,” Ieyasu interrupts Hideyoshi with a scoff as he attempts to explain the illustration to Mitsunari. “It’s a joke, Mitsunari. Someone as dense as you couldn’t possibly understand.”

Mitsunari’s face softens at what he interprets to be gentle reassurance from his close friend, Ieyasu. “Of course, Lord Ieyasu would never say something with the intention to harm,” Mitsunari says confidently, flashing an even wider smile at Ieyasu, much to Masamune’s amusement and Ieyasu’s utter disgust.

MC’s Doodles: Yukimura

It’s a hot, summer afternoon. You and Yukimura are lazing under the cool shade of a tall tree, enjoying the rare luxury of idle time, when inspiration for a new kimono design suddenly strikes you. You ask Yukimura if he would retrieve your sketchbook for you, which you left in his room.

Yukimura agrees, finding your sketchbook tossed on your futon. Curiously, he flips through a few pages of your designs to admire your artistic ability. Before long, however, a particular doodle of yours catches him off-guard and captures his attention.

The illustration seems to depict Yukimura himself. He spends a few moments just staring at it, trying to decipher what it could possibly mean. “I don’t get it…” he murmurs to himself, stumped.

“Of course you don’t.” Yukimura hears a soft sigh behind him as a hand clasps him gently on the shoulder. “Please tell me didn’t call her this right after you two…” Shingen’s voice trails off.

“Right after we…?” Yukimura repeats thoughtlessly, not quite sure of what Lord Shingen meant to ask him. Shingen only raises an eyebrow in response until the young vassal, finally understanding, cringes. Embarrassment appears all over Yukimura’s face as his cheeks flush bright pink.

“O-of course I wouldn’t!” he says defensively, shutting the sketchbook closed with a loud thud. “Anyway, it’s none of your business what we did–uh, or didn’t do–!”

Shingen can’t help but smirk at Yukimura’s denial. “Ah, so my little Yuki is now a man,” he muses teasingly. “Had you paid more attention to my habits, perhaps you would better understand how to please the second sex.”

“The what now–?” Yukimura groans at Lord Shingen’s unsolicited advice, marching out of the room. “It wouldn’t make sense to compare her to a summer’s day. They have nothing in common,” he grumbles under his breath on his way out.

“I really failed you, didn’t I?” Shingen mumbles with a disappointed sigh.

MC’s Doodles: Kennyo

“Looks like the Oda princess left behind her valued notebook… how foolish of her,” Kennyo speaks in a grim tone, a sinister smile appearing on his scarred face as he picks up your forgotten sketchbook. “Now…” The vengeful desire in his darkened voice is tinged with self-satisfaction. “What precious secrets could Nobunaga’s favorite woman be hiding?”

The man’s husky voice cracks slightly as he stammers out in confusion, “Is that… me?” He coughs loudly to counter the bewilderment - and even slight embarrassment - in his speech, forcing a frown to mask the sheepish expression on his face as a warmth begins to spread across his face. “As if the hatred in my heart could be distilled by such simple means,” he mutters with a bitter scoff as though offended by your uncanny ability to read him.

“Abbott, is everything alright?” One of the disciples peers into Kennyo’s shed, concern in his eyes. “We are all set for the ambush tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Kennyo whispers, a sickeningly twisted grin appearing on his face. “Tomorrow, we will take back the dignity that was stolen from us at Honno-ji. We will purify our perished brethren with the spilled blood of the Oda.”

Once the disciple leaves, Kennyo turns his attention to the little weasel curled up in the corner. “Come here, Hozuki,” he calls to it in a soothing voice. It nuzzles into the palm of his hand, enjoying his gentle touch.

Suddenly coming to terms with his predictability, Kennyo sighs in frustration, crumpling your drawing and discarding it on the floor before continuing to pamper the tiny animal.

Sasuke’s Doodles: Kenshin

Yukimura and Shingen stand around Sasuke’s study table, completely in awe of a hidden treasure they’ve happened to stumble upon in Sasuke’s room: the ninja’s precious research journal.

Sasuke’s handwriting is hurried but clean: nothing less than they would have expected from the genius ninja. On lined pages are complicated mathematical formulas and comprehensive calculations that neither Yukimura nor Shingen know what to make of.

From behind the two, the sliding doors are roughly thrown open as Kenshin strides toward them impatiently. “What’s taking so long? I’m thirsting for the thrill of battle,” Kenshin mutters with a disgruntled sigh.

“Hold on just a moment,” Shingen orders, beckoning Kenshin to take a closer look at Sasuke’s notes.

Ever stubborn, Kenshin firmly refuses. “I will not.” Forcefully, he shakes the journal from Yukimura and Shingen’s prying hands. As the three tug on the notebook’s pages, the journal falls flat on the floor, opened to an even more perplexing illustration.

A doodle depicts Kenshin casually choking Sasuke, who, even in his precarious position, wears a mask of nonchalance. Written in bold text underneath the drawing are the words, “You’re weak Sasuke.”

Upon seeing the drawing, Shingen laughs softly. “It looks to be a friendly joke about the Dragon of Echigo’s peculiarities,” Shingen muses aloud.

“A joke?” Yukimura scoffs and shakes his head. “This happened for real. I would know. I was there!”

Kenshin’s frown soon softens into a smile that, though genuine, is somewhat terrifying given the context of the illustration. “Ah, yes,” he murmurs in a voice that almost carries with it a sense of nostalgia. “I remember Sasuke’s first days with us.” Picking up the journal, he reminisces fondly of the ninja. “There’s nothing like some good-natured sparring. I wonder, perhaps Sasuke is trying to tell me that he would like a rematch.”

Sasuke’s Doodles: Ieyasu

You are out shopping with Ieyasu when you catch Sasuke stealing glances at the two of you from behind a gingko tree. “Just a moment, okay?” you reassure your boyfriend, squeezing his hand softly as you let go to hurriedly rush to Sasuke’s side for a quick conversation.

When you don’t return soon enough, Ieyasu becomes suspicious. Both you and Sasuke can feel his hot gaze observing from where you left him, his fingers curled in a fist around the baskets of groceries that he’s been carrying for you.

“What were you talking to him about?” Ieyasu asks as he possessively wraps his arm around your waist in a show of territory in front of Sasuke. You can’t help but giggle at Ieyasu’s inability to hide his jealousy. His face flushes at your soft laughter, and he avoids your gaze, embarrassed.

“It’s not me that he’s interested in,” you tell him, retrieving a piece of paper from the sleeve of your kimono. “Here. He wanted me to give you this.”

Ieyasu snatches the note from your hand. The pink shade of his cheeks deepens as he reads over it “Ng–!” A quiet sound of surprise escapes his lips, followed by an uninterested scoff. “This… I…” He sighs, tucking the note away. “I don’t understand why you hang out with that weird ninja.”

“Yasu, he’s my friend. Be nice,” you scold him teasingly, tugging on the sleeve of his kimono. “Come on, I told you, didn’t I? There’s nothing to be jealous about.

“Who said I was jealous?” Ieyasu scoffs again only for the timid blush of his cheeks to betray the annoyance in his voice. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter who he’s interested in, anyway.” He pulls you even closer. “You’re mine and mine alone, okay?”

Bonus Meme:

All of the above memes were made by yours truly! The alignment chart above was found here & filled out by me!

If you want, tag yourself for the alignment chart~!

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧ 

A special shout out to @mythiica for reviewing my memes for quality! It gave me the confidence I needed to be myself with these! (＾▽＾)

[inkstainedhandsandcoffee]

Headcanons about my Radiant OC Ruairi:

Why? Because I’m bored and it’s a good warm up for something I’m rewriting about Von Teppes later. Because Tumblr, this Ammit of a website, ate the last one before I could post it.

Yaga:

If they were to meet, it would likely be because Ruairi aka Magpie would be trying to steal Yaga’s cauldron. Honestly I can hardly imagine Ruairi without this headcanon somewhat involved, because it’s something he would absolutely want to have for himself.

I think because of that, Ruairi and Yaga would have a Wild E. Coyote and Road Runner kind of relationship for a while, (don’t ask me who is the coyote and who is the road runner, they switch it up every interaction.) that would slowly evolve into a mentor/student type of relationship the moment Yaga realizes that Ruairi isn’t just some crazy low life; he’s just half-feral, trapped in a losing battle with kleptomania, and hasn’t had anyone to guide him since he was ten.

Dragunov:

I could see Dart getting caught up in one of Magpie’s heists. He can’t stand Ruairi, not in the slightest, alter-ego or not. He might have more sympathy for him if he found out about Ruairi’s infection, but Dragunov’ll never like Ruairi. He’s just too irritating of a person, especially when it comes to Inquisitors.

Ruairi’s long standing belief that the Inquisition is full of prissy elitists, combined with his criminal ways and constant jabs at the Inquisition doesn’t help change Dart’s opinion either. While Ruairi may dial it down if he really got to know Dart, he’s never going to completely stop making fun of the Inquisition.

Sometimes I think about writing a fic about Magpie working with Dragunov as his informant/partner as the duo try to bust the Domitor’s operation together.

“What’s the difference between the Inquisition and a cactus? In the Inquisition, the pricks are on the inside.” -Ruairi

King Herkles:

Oh boy, breaking into the royal palace would be one hell of an adventure for Ruairi and that would be a post in of itself, but for now let’s focus on Ruairi and King Herkles interactions.

In a place as high security as Bome, Ruairi’s criminal persona Magpie wouldn’t work too well in general, and casing the palace like it was any other robbery would draw far too much attention, so I think his best bet would be to go undercover at the palace as a servant.

While I know even then it would be unlikely for them to meet, (Ruairi would want to keep a low profile anyway) if Seth can meet the king by crash landing in his pool while riding a Nemesis all by chance then so can Ruairi.

So let’s say King Herkles notices a young man joins his servants’ ranks. Great! Someone young enough to understand slang and memes and poor enough to know which ones the common people use. He could help Herkles figure out how to cool, right?

Yes and no. After getting over the initial shock of being dragged into the role of Meme Consultant ™, he would be conflicted about whether to use his new position for good or evil.

“Ruairi, what’s a thot? I heard some kids talking about it earlier. Does it mean something cool?”

“.......It’s short for thoughtful person.”

Melie:

I consider Ruairi Melie’s foil for a reason; both have hard to control infections, both became looked down upon and outcasted because of their infections; the difference is Ruairi gave up trying to prevent his infection from defining him, Melie never did.

If Ruairi was part of Melie’s arc, Melie would push him to do better and in turn (perhaps inadvertently) Ruairi would push Melie to do better.

Seeing Ruairi treat himself like a lost cause would undoubtedly force memories of her time in the Vicqueens to resurface as well as test and strengthen Melie’s resolve. She’s likely going to take Ruairi’s resignation personally and might even project her some of her own struggles on him.

Whereas seeing Melie fight him on how he deals with his infection as well as her relationship with the others would spark some hope in Ruairi that maybe he can be more than his infection again. He doesn’t like it one bit though. That hope opens him up to rejection and failure again, and by god he’s going to do whatever he can to stomp it out. Spoiler: he couldn’t stomp it out.

While I don’t think he’d join the gang, (and if he did, it would be with reluctance and he’d probably be denial for a little bit on his reasons why he joined.) he’d likely meet up with them every once in a while and help them out. (And if that help was a tiny bit illegal, they didn’t need to know that).

[kendrixtermina]

On the Three Lords’ Leadership Styles

I seem to have made another rambly meta post

One underappreciated but very consistent Detail throughout all routes is that Edelgard’s followers are invariably shown to be very dedicated, it’s kinda one of the main hints that she’s not actually evil even on the AM and SS routes where you don’t explicitly find out about that.

This is mostly shown through engage and death quotes instead of outright cutscenes (though you get Seteth observing how the imperial troops fought to the last and clearly weren’t forced to be there, since you napped most of her would-be underlings thanks to Byleth’s own considerable heroic charisma) 

One memorable moment is the Arianrhod Paralogue in AM where Manuela and Hanneman show up as empire-aligned enemies if you didn’t recruit them.  Hanneman even goes down saying that he doesn’t mind dying for this new, reformed empire (and given his backstory it makes all the sense)

Then there’s her random generals Randolph and Ladislava - in the empire route you find out that they were some of her first meritocratic appointments and super popular with both the armed forces and the general populace. I don’t think it’s ever outright stated that Ladislava’s a commoner but she sure doesn’t mention any title. And of course Edelgard gives this speech to her classmates about how they can totally leave if they want and how ppl like them are the true face of the empire not the corrupt elite from the last generation that they’re about to sweep aside.

It’s not for nothing that she’s got the highest charm stat and growth in the cast, we’re supposed to understand that she’s one heck of a compelling leader.  

Of course this isn’t blanket likeability... she’s authoritative, inspirational even, in a lot of her supports she doles out pep talks or accommodates ppl’s quirks so that they can excell on their own terms, but she markedly comes off as the taskmaster/ with a student-council-president sorta vibe in most of them whereas we see plenty of Claude and Dimitri just goofin’ around with their buds. She’s kinda resigned herself to being unable to rely on anyone and never being understood - Even people who know her enough to have some in-depht understanding of her (such as Hubert or Ladislava) speak of her with a sort of awe

This is markedly not something she wants or likes, she makes a point of speaking about teamwork and togetherness and doing chores just like everyone else, but due to a mix of her natural personality, her position as the soon to be most powerful person on the continent and her backstory she just genuinely finds it hard to step out of Business Mode. (that’s a big part of why she latches onto Byleth the way she does. They’re pretty unphased and flippant, they were raised away from politics and got their own fearsome reputation/ crazy power, so they approach her on a more even basis like its no big deal.)

It’s the tragedy and contradiction of someone who has sworn themselves to creating a world where she could never have existed. She’s playing by the unfair rules of a rigged game so that she may un-rig it if she wins.

Actually all three just want the others to treat em like a normal person because they’re ultimately all good humble people but Claude, being the one with the most social skills, is the only one who actually gets the others to do it.... though one also has to consider that the Alliance is less centralized/ more participatory to begin with, he has only somewhat more power than, say, Lorenz or Hilda.  Though it’d say that Dimitri’s the one who comes the closest to being just one of the group, for all that his friends won’t drop the honorifics, they are emphatically his friends. Though it must be noted that only Bernadetta and Hubert give Edelgard the ‘lady’ treatment and the whole bunch feels pretty comfortable complaining at her (and she generally takes the criticism to heart), though to be fair the Black Eagles all just kinda have sorta quirky and/or irreverent personalities (and that is a huge part of why I love them so)

Due to her exceeding pragmatism she’s not completely above cloak-and dagger tactics or deception (see when she pins the nuke on the church and much pertaining to the faustian bargain) but by and large her underlings know what they’re fighting for and why, and she prefers to fight enemies head on and give them a fair chance to surrender as long as she can do so without jeopardizing the end result. (Evidenced by many dialogue options, cutscenes and even some of her lecture questions)

It’s also a marked contrast to Claude who also has lofty idealistic goals, but doesn’t tell a soul until he’s already winning and knows ppl will likely follow him no matter what. This also ties into his arc of becoming more open and less jaded under Byleth’s influence, but it’s also a genuine difference in their leadership styles. If you show your hand and show what you stand for, people will also know what you stand against and you’ll have enemies. That’s part of why he didn’t join with her right away though he agrees with her goals, he says she’s antagonizing everyone and that that will be “hard for the people to get behind”. 

Meanwhile Claude remains elusive so he can promise everyone whatever they want (on full display with the Knights of Seiros but also with the random Alliance merchants), though this also makes ppl distrust him just due to his secretiveness alone. As Hilda points out he’s not just waaay less untrustworthy than he seems, but actually pretty reliable. His big secret ambition is as benign as world peace and his big secret as simple as that he grew up in another country... not sinister at all. 

As a leader he appeals to ppl’s self interest, trying to figure out their deal and give them what they want, and explicitly tells them all to run if things get tough. He’s surprised when people don’t (see the sad sad scene that happens if Hilda dies) and has a lot more reluctance with asking ppl to put themselves in danger than the other two, perhaps because he’s less invested himself; Leading the Alliance is his side gig,  a means to an end, not the end all be all cause of his life, he’d escape if given the chance so why shouldn’t his allies? Edelgard is likewise consistent - her allies gave it their all so how could she surrender and escape? 

In Dimitri’s case, people follow him largely out of personal loyalty, both because Faerghus culture is just big on honor and fealty, because they’re close friends of himself and his father, and also because they like him for his own virtues.

The most extreme case would be Dedue who for the most understandable of reasons doesn’t care about Faerghus at all, his loyalty is to Dimitri and Dimitri alone.

In AM their faith eventually pays off, otherwise they kinda follow him to their deaths because he stubbornly continues without thinking of negotiation surrender or even damage control. To be fair to him tho, he never actually asks anyone to follow him on his kamikaze mission nor does he hide his intentions, but the others kind of build their hopes on him anyways. 

But we can’t really judge him solely by his worst moments; In general he’s a honorable guy with more empathy than is good for him and he really makes a point of making other people’s suffering his business, most apparent with how he’s promised to improve the standing of Dedue’s people (after his return in part 2, Dedue explicitly says that the empathy is why he follows him and that as he ses it even Dimitri’s vindictiveness comes from a place of empathy for the victims of evil) or how he’s ready to swear a blood oath when Byleth’s father gets killed and just gets very emotional on their behalf - it’s easy to see how that would attract people. For better or for worse he’s more a heroic figure than a politician per se. 

He feels alot on behalf of other people and he’s got a real service mentality. If he weren’t the prince he’d probably go into public service anyways, or charity maybe, he’s constantly doing stuff like rescuing passers-by and taking in random orphans.  He’s also markedly the one of the three who always stays the ruler until his death. Part of it is from his sense of duty and later on, wanting to atone for his past sins, but he’s a genuine chronic do-gooder, and he strives to resolve conflict while making all sides happy even if it means taking a risk to builde a bridge (quite notable when he helps out Claude after their last encounter was anything but friendly)

He clearly and transparently cares a lot so ppl believe things will be better if they get him on the throne (and as per his ending narration he does a lot to help the poor and downtrodden is he does get it)

So really all three have a lot of appeal to potential followers in different ways, depending on what those followers would value in a leader. 

[rottenbrew]

◈  Nyx Lovette ◈ Entry for @lunisims Mason’s Bachelorette Challenge. ( I hope you grow to love her as much as I did!  ♥)

❈────────────────────•✦•❅•✦•❈ ────────────────────❈

➽ She was born on February 24, 1843, making her 176 years of age. Also making her a Pisces!

➽  She is half Hispanic from her mother’s side, and half French from her father’s.

➽  If ever pushed past her boiling point, or if she ever gets super angry or upset, (which is super rare) Nyx tends to curse under her breath in French and unintentionally puffs her cheeks out because of her overwhelming frustration lol.

➽  Nyx is a nerd for astrology and science, however due to the duties and mannerisms that were begrudgingly expected of women during her time, she never got the chance to pursue her dream of studying the massive universe she admires outside of what her father taught her.

➽  Nyx’s father, Vincent Lovette, was a renowned scientist and inventor of the 19th century, and was also infatuated with Greek mythology, thus naming his daughter after the Greek Goddess of the Night, Nyx.

➽ Nyx’s “dark” form takes after the way she used to dress when she was still alive in the 1800′s. Elegant, yet bold due to her preference of predominantly dark colors.

➽  Due to her age, Nyx is relatively wise, however she never truly interacted or experienced worldly progressions starting from the late 1900′s - now. She remained in hiding, so now that she’s willingly returning to the “real” and open world, (because she gained enough power to develop an immunity to the sun) she always gets excited like a child when experiencing the small things that others would find irrelevant or common. (Phones, amusement parks, dishwashers, HD films, etc.)

➽ Despite the pain she endured in her past, Nyx is still a very kind and cheerful individual. She takes joy in the simplest of things and focuses on the good in everything despite how harsh the world and people may be sometimes.

➽  Nyx was on the brink of death after giving birth to her first and only child, Zocrates, and the doctor attending to her was actually Vladislaus Straud. Mercifully turning her just in time, Vlad took Nyx under his wing, but strictly demanded that she was to forget she even had a son, as she would be forced to resign from ever being in his life due to her new form, and to protect their secret.

➽ Remaining in despair due to never being able to interact with her son, Nyx has always had a strong yearning to have a family and kids to call her own once again. Having to long for such things from afar, Nyx would sometimes sneak away from Vlad’s careful eye to play with the children from her town in her bat form as she appeared less menacing and at the same time preserved her secret. The kids all decided to nickname her “Baby Bat” as her bat form is relatively petite and her eyes were big and round like a baby’s.

➽ I also like to imagine that maybe Nyx and Mason met in their bat forms, with Nyx being extremely surprised to run into another vampire as she’s never met another one before (at least in her experience in the outside world) besides Vlad, especially not under those circumstances either. She would probably fly and circle around him like an excited dog lol!

Private Download if Chosen!

Nyx’s Backstory under the cut.

Nyx, as mentioned before, was born to a French scientist and nobleman, and a Hispanic seamstress. Their names were Vincent and Ximena Lovette. For the majority of her childhood and adolescence, Nyx was raised with nothing but love and admiration from her parents. Her father prided himself in knowing that his daughter was being raised with a proper education and opportunities to keep learning due to his status and position as a scientist. Although her mother, who was a bit more traditional as she knew what the future had in store for her daughter despite her growing knowledge, somewhat disapproved of her husband’s teachings, supported and loved her to the fullest. In 1849 however, Ximena fell ill to tuberculosis, and passed away a few short months after. Nyx, 6 at the time, missed her mother deeply, but the loss hit Vincent the hardest. He was undoubtedly and madly in love with his wife, that her death devastated him so much so to the point that he refused to step out of his office for weeks on end. During this time, Nyx took it upon herself to take care of him, and despite her small stature and inability to do certain things, she’d always make sure that her father would eat in the morning, evening, and night. Leaving new fresh clothes on the edge of his bed everyday, and always making a hot pot of tea for him around noon. One fateful day though, when Vincent managed to drag himself up from the pit of depression for a brief moment, he wandered around the house, re-imagining all the times he’d see his loving wife go about her daily routine with a gentle smile on her face. On the dining room table though, was a piece of paper, with writing scribbled on it. A child’s writing. It read “ Things that might make daddy happy.” 1. The telescope! He always likes to look at the stars with it. 2. Leaving drawings on his desk! 3. Making him his favorite breakfast but I don’t really know how.. 4. Picking some flowers! I’m going to go do that now- The list ended there, but on the bottom was a raggedy, but adorable stick figure drawing of Nyx and her father, hand-in-hand, with an angel smiling from above. Her mother. Vincent, with tears flowing down his face, clenched the paper tightly, and from that moment on found the reason to keep fighting. To move on. And that was to make sure he could always provide for his daughter, his pride and joy, and make sure she would never have to worry about how to make her father happy. He had to be strong, for her.

Nyx, now reaching her adolescent years, was beginning to catch the eye of many suitors. By the time she was 17, she already had 5 men asking for her hand in marriage. Nyx was reluctant though, despising even the thought or proposition of marriage. She wanted to keep learning, to invent, to find out what secrets the unreachable heaven in the stars had to reveal. But her priority for education was short-lived, as she realized that in order to uphold her family’s status and honor..her father’s status and honor, she had to marry one of these men. Out of all of them though, the least gut-wrenching and well..insistent was a lad named Clarence. Like Nyx, Clarence showed solemn interest during their meeting, but was a collected person unlike her other abrasive suitors. He was also the youngest out of them all, being 23. After long hours of conversations, meetings, and dinners together, they both came to an agreement and understanding. They knew they weren’t in love with each other, and were both similar in the fact that they were doing it for their families, so they came to terms that although they were to be wed, their relationship was to mostly remain platonic and distant. Even though this upset Nyx, as she would need to succumb to all the stereotypical “housewife” duties, she felt relieved in knowing that this would at least bring her father a bit of joy, knowing that she would continue to be cared for and wouldn’t be left to struggle financially. She was happy..for now.

The wedding was set on the exact date of Nyx’s 18th birthday, and the ceremony was big, as every aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, sister, pretty much everyone and their mother attended. But Nyx felt nothing. She appreciated all the happy faces that came to watch her be given away, but she always dreamed that her wedding day would be less miserable. The day went by in a flash, and before she knew it, months had passed, and her “what was supposed to be a stoic relationship” with Clarence increasingly worsened. They did not have the same priorities or standards. Clarence always putting her down for her courage to speak up for herself, and refusing to let her continue her studies as she needed to “finally know her place as a woman.” That’s when he announced that soon she would need to bear him a child, to ensure that his legacy and fortune was to be guaranteed. Feeling disgraced and defeated, she knew there was no fighting this, as this was exactly what she knew she was getting herself into. Nyx got pregnant, giving birth to a beautiful baby boy a short nine months later. Holding onto him for the very first time, Nyx felt the strongest pang of genuine love as she held this tiny creature tightly, who was sleeping ever so peacefully. But she felt herself getting weaker and weaker..something was wrong.The nurses ran out in a panic to grab the head doctor, and she knew then and there that these passing moments were most likely going to be her last. Clarence walked into the room with a dangerously calm and unnerved expression, and with the very last strength she could muster, handed her baby over to his father. The moment she felt the weight off her arms, it felt like her entire body gave in and was ready to shut down. She sunk her head back into the pillow, and her vision began to blur. “His name.” She heard. “What do you want to name him? It’s the least I can do for you, since...” Clarence’s words trailed off, as his face finally began to give way to a sullen expression. Nyx thought for a moment, and the instant thought of her favorite philosopher popped into her fading mind. “..Socrates...” But it couldn’t be common like that, she thought. “With a Z...” She heard a soft chuckle from Clarence, and she smiled softly. “Alright then, Zocrates it is..I will make sure to give him a good life, do not worry about that.” Nyx relaxed at hearing that, as that’s all she wanted for him. She sighed, and closed her eyes. She heard the footsteps of Clarence exiting the room, but after a few minutes heard the approaching of a different set of footsteps. Too exhausted and weak to open her eyes, she felt a sharp pinching on her neck, and everything went black.

The rest is all self-explanatory, as she awoke as a blood-thirsty creature of the night. Devastated that she needed to sever all ties with her son and her father..All the things she’s ever cared for and loved. She appreciated Vlad and looked up to him, but watching the years go by without a hinge...watching her father grow old and pass on..and her son..At one point the pain was far too much for her to bear, and she wished that Vlad would have just let her pass away like those that she loved. To live forever was a gift, but at the same time it was the worst curse that can be bestowed upon someone. Due to this, she locked herself away for a number of years and hibernated, putting aside all her vampire training and morals. 

Bringing us to the present! Nyx is in better spirits, and is finally awake from her deep slumber. She began to put her training before everything else, and soon managed to become powerful enough to resist the sun’s deathly, yet beautiful rays. She’s never been more ready to put herself back out there, and to see all the wonderful new things the world has to offer. Nyx is ready to accept whatever experiences are coming her way with open arms.  ♡

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’  ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.  

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

[maandags]

Purple Ties (Shiro x reader)

Requests: hai can i have an  imagine with shiro x reader with a fake relationship trope? thank u ^^ ---- wb shiro and female reader with like a bunch of tropes? like, childhood best friends, locked in a closet, sharing a bed, fake relationship, things like that? Feel free to take away or add tropes if you have an idea just anything really tropey would be g 👌

Hey! Since these requests were very similar, I thought I’d combine them! I hope you enjoy!

~Water

Word count: 2.3 K

Genre: fluff

Notes: masterlist - cheeky Shiro is a Good Shiro

---

You blinked, not entirely trusting yourself to speak at the moment. You stared at Shiro, who leant against your doorframe, his arms crossed. “Well?” he prompted. “What do you say?”

You swallowed back a burst of white-hot panic, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“Let me‒let me think about it, all right?” you said, mimicking Shiro and folding your arms over your chest. Shiro pouted.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just for a couple days! Besides, Mum and Dad adore you. Literally nothing could go wrong.”

You were not so sure of that.

Here you were, just a couple of minutes ago, minding your own business, when Shiro knocked on your door and announced that you had to play his partner for a week. In three days, he was supposed to be at a family dinner with his parents, and he was supposed to bring a date. He’d decided that you were just the person to ask.

Which got you a bit conflicted. You had been actively trying to ignore any eventual feelings you might have developed for Shiro over time, stuffing them away in the deepest parts of your soul and not acknowledging their presence. It was easier that way. It was easier to pretend that you wanted to be nothing but friends, like you had been for the past twelve years, than to try to deal with feelings that could possibly rip all of that apart, should they not be reciprocated.

You hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t worth the risk of losing twelve years’ worth of friendship. You loved Shiro more than anyone, and you would take the safety of your friendship over all else, even if that meant one-sided pining for the rest of your life.

But pretending to be in a relationship with him‒just so that he could prove a point to his parents‒could throw your whole head upside down. Your head was spinning, your mind a hurricane of thoughts. You didn’t know what to do.

Shiro had been very clear: it would be pretending, and nothing but pretending. No more, no less. You had to admit that even though you knew that he didn’t like you that way, the words still stung a bit.

But as you looked back up at Shiro’s face, his hopeful expression, you sighed in resignation and cursed your apparent inability to say no to him. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Shiro’s face lit up and he opened his mouth, but you held up a hand to silence him. “On one condition.” Shiro raised an eyebrow, caution creeping into his expression. You grinned. “I get to pick your outfit.”

--

You straightened Shiro’s tie, its purple standing out starkly against the black shirt he wore. You fiddled with the buttons on his blazer, furrowing your brows in concentration and nervousness. Your fingers were trembling.

It was stupid; you had been at Shiro’s for dinner just about five thousand times, especially as you grew older.  You were very good friends with the entirety of the Shirogane family: after all, you had known them since you were six years old. You couldn't remember a time when they weren't a huge part of your life.

So why were you nervous, almost scared, now? You knew, even though you weren't ready to admit it to yourself, that the nerves probably didn't have a lot to do with the Shirogane family dinner, but more with the one Shirogane that was standing beside you at that moment. You shook your head as if the gesture could possibly rid you of any nerves coursing through your veins.

"Are you done?" You jumped. You hadn't realised that your hands hadn't left Shiro's blazer, and were now resting against his chest. You quickly drew them back, feeling your cheeks go red with embarrassment. As you stepped back, you turned your face away and smoothed down your own clothes, even though they were already impeccable.

“Yeah. It’s‒it’s good.”

You spun on your heels and started towards the front door, letting Shiro jog to catch up with you. “Are you nervous?” he asked, bumping his shoulder to yours. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were a little tense; you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling nervous too.

“No,” you lied. Your voice came out a little higher than usual and you were sure that Shiro would notice that you weren’t telling the truth. If he did, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he grabbed your hand, startling you.

“What? We gotta make it look at least a bit real,” he said, averting his eyes and pursing his lips. You hummed, not trusting your voice to stay steady. You hoped, in the very back of your mind, that your hand wasn’t too clammy in his.

As the two of you approached the door, Shiro's grip around your fingers tightened.

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey. It'll be fine. It's just pretending, right? It's not like it means anything.” The words stung in your throat, but you forced them out anyway.

Shiro cleared his throat. “Yeah. Of course,” he said softly. Avoiding each other's gaze, Shiro rang the doorbell. The meal was about as awkward as you expected. Which was to say, not very awkward at all, as long as you avoided questions about you and Shiro's ‘relationship’. You chatted away with Shiro's parents, trying to seem as relaxed as possible.

The evening trickled by, and if you didn't think about the circumstances you could almost imagine that it was a normal night, just you and Shiro's family having dinner and talking. Nothing special about that. You thanked them for the delicious meal and sat back in your chair.

“Takashi, Y/N, I know you have probably dreaded this moment, but we're gonna have to get to it sooner or later.” Mr Shirogane said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands. Your blood turned to ice. Here you'll have it, you thought, and braced yourself for “the Dad talk”.

“Dad-” Shiro started, his face bright red, but Mr Shirogane shot him a raised eyebrow and he swallowed back whatever it was that he was going to say.

“You'll sleep in Takashi's old room. I'm trusting you to not do anything…” he suppressed a smile. “... inappropriate.”

You were positive you were about the shade of an overripe tomato by now and you resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands. A glance to your right told you that Shiro probably felt the same way; he flushed a deep crimson from his ears to the base of his neck. “Thanks, Dad. We'll keep it in mind.” Mr Shirogane pretended not to notice the death glare his son sent his way.

Then, thankfully, Mrs Shirogane changed the subject by cheerfully announcing that there was cake to be had, and on the way to the kitchen she pinched Shiro in the cheek and cast you a knowing smirk.

“So, I can sleep on the couch if you want. I can go into the guest room or something?” Shiro awkwardly stood in the doorway to his room, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, shifting his weight from one leg to another. You were sat on the edge of his bed, inside the room you had spent so many hours as a child, and later, as a teenager with your best friend, combing knots out of your damp hair with your fingers.

You bit your lip. What you were about to suggest was dangerous‒especially now, when you couldn't very well keep your emotions in check. But you also didn't want to think about what would happen if Shiro's parents walked in on him sleeping on the couch. You sighed. “Don't be ridiculous. We'll share the bed. Done it plenty of times as kids, why should it be different now? Besides, as you said, we gotta make it look real.”

Shiro cocked his head, hesitation clear on his features. You rolled your eyes now, slightly annoyed at his reluctance to just sleep beside you. “C'mon. I won't eat you.”

Finally he gave in, sighing as he slipped beneath the covers next to you.

Even with Shiro's back turned to yours, you couldn't help the slight acceleration in your heartbeat. That was when you knew you were a goner. You shifted onto your back and stared at the ceiling, wondering how you would ever get to sleep.

You woke up to Shiro spooning you. His arm was slung over your chest, pulling you closer to him. His face was nuzzled into the back of your neck. You felt his warm breath wash over your skin. You counted to ten, needing the time to steady your breathing and clear your thoughts. When Shiro sighed in his sleep and tightened his grip on you, you stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your heartbeat to steady. Careful not to disturb Shiro, you slipped out of his embrace and immediately regretted it: the morning chill sent shivers down your spine. It was early: outside, the sun had barely started to rise and the house was still silent. Shiro's parents must still have been asleep. You took a deep breath and headed for the bathroom. You needed to clear your head.

Gripping the edge of the sink, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes had a slightly panicked glint to them, your hair was dishevelled. You splashed some water in your face. The cold temperature brought you somewhat back to reality. You looked back to your reflection again. You recalled the feeling of Shiro's body pressed against yours. Then you regretted it, feeling your face go red and your heart speed up. You sat down on the edge of the bathtub and lowered your head into your hands. "This can't go on," you muttered to yourself, your voice muffled by your fingers.

"What can't?" You jerked your head up and immediately made eye contact with Shiro, standing in the doorway and leaning against the frame. His hair was as dishevelled as yours. He squinted slightly, not fully awake yet. You cursed internally. Great. Amazing timing, Shiro.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," you said, standing up, mustering a smile and smoothing down your clothes. But you knew that lying to Shiro wasn't a good idea: he'd see right through you. You were right.

Shiro frowned, stepping forward. "No, I'm serious. It's six a.m, Y/N. What is it?"

You wanted to sob. Seeing him with such a caring expression on his face only intensified your desire to kiss him right then and there. His eyes held a warmth you would never get tired of. But he saw you as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet you'd just shared a bed with him.

"Look‒I don't think this is a good idea, all right? I don't‒I can't‒" You cut yourself off, uttering a frustrated grunt and waving your arms around, trying to grasp for words you couldn't find.

Shiro raised his hands, taking another hesitating step towards you. "What do you mean? You can tell me."

You breathed a bitter laugh. You can tell me. You knew, because you always told each other everything. Everything, except the one massive secret you'd kept from him for over six months. But you were tired of hiding your feelings, and maybe the eerie silence that still filled the house had you sitting on edge as well. "I don't want to go on and pretend that all I want to be is friends!" you whispered furiously, careful not to wake Shiro's parents.

Shiro sucked in a breath. Here you'll have it, you thought. I fucked up. You tried to hide your flinch, a whole new kind of silence falling upon you like a thick blanket. Forcing back tears, you tried to push past Shiro, but he grabbed your wrist and gently said, "Wait."

You waited, because how could you not? Shiro deserved an explanation.

"For how long?"

You didn't ask what he meant. With an awkward shrug, you mumbled, "Couple months? Half a year? Don't know. Didn't‒I didn't count." You refused to meet his eyes until he breathed a laugh.

"So you mean I could have asked you out months ago and you would have said yes?"

You almost choked on air and you felt your cheeks heat up once more. You turned to face him. If you'd had the balls to ask me, you thought wryly, but only responded with a quiet, "I guess so."

"So," Shiro chuckled, a baffled smile curling his lips, "you mean I could have done this months ago?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours. You froze, surprised by how perfect his lips fit on yours, how nice it felt to have his hand cup your cheek and tilt your face that little bit upwards. Then you melted into his touch, arching your back and pressing your body flush to his. Your hands came up to rest on his chest, and then tentatively one hand crawled up his neck and you buried your fingers in his already dishevelled hair.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle. Still, your chest seemed to be on fire, the feelings you had ignored for months now crashing into you. Shiro finally pulled away, just enough for both of you to catch your breath, but stayed close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek and you gently laid your forehead against his. A laugh bubbled past your lips. Shiro raised an eyebrow at you, a grin of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"It's nothing. I just‒I love you. Very much."

Shiro softly pecked your mouth, smiling against your lips. "I love you too."

[thevalerianwars]

NORA COOPER - TAKEN BY KATE Age: 26 Portrayal: Willa Fitzgerald Alliance/Occupation: Loyalist/Baker Relationships: Thomas Cooper (brother), Nicholas Stafford (deceased secret fiancé), Laura Harris, Maria King (best friends), Roy Cooper, Irene Cooper, Nancy Cooper (cousins), Virginia Wood (new friend), Charles Calvert, Louisa Wilson (friend)

went to work for the staffords when she was eight as a scullery maid at the palace

tbh she was in complete!!!! awe!! of her position there and was proud that she was able to serve the royal family (even in this small capacity!)

nora had been reluctant to leave home with an ill mother, a little brother, and a father who was often away but she knew that they needed the extra income more than they needed an extra set of hands at home

nora loved her father, but she never understood what could be so important to take him away from his family so often (he never could seem to provide any of them with a straight answer)

one day he left and never came back

several months later, word reached them that he was dead

the coopers never did discover that he had given his life so that others could live and that he was a secret moralist who aided fleeing witches and their families

he raised his children as loyalists to protect them …. although he one day meant to tell them the truth, when they were old enough (unfortunately, that day never came)

soon after, her mother died, too, leaving nora and her brother on their own

while working at the palace, nora met and fell in love with nicholas stafford!

she was rather wary of him, at first, because of his reputation and all the other girls warned her that he would likely to love her and leave her

but slowly he broke through her defenses and she started to fall in love

they kept it all a secret - but nicholas had promised her that one day, he would renounce his claim to the throne and go and live a more simple life with her

as long as his father lived, however, it could never be … he would not allow for his only son and heir to give up everything for a kitchen maid

of course, the king had other plans for nicholas, but he promised her that he would never marry anyone else but her

and as soon as his father died, he would go to margot - who he knew would be a much better queen - and tell her everything

but then nicholas died - breaking nora’s heart!

she doesn’t think she could ever love anyone else again!!!

she’s also discovered that she may be pregnant and she’s terrified about what to do about it or how to explain it

so she’s recently resigned from her post and returned home where she’s trying to reestablish the old bakery her parents used to run, hoping she can make it somewhat profitable if and when she has a child w/o a man to help support her

she’s told her brother, tom, everything, and he’s determined to look out for his sister and his future niece or nephew, whatever happens

[an-ambivalent]

The Little Mermaid [Yandere! Jungkook] [Reader-Insert] Part III

A/N: This story will contain content that can make you uncomfortable. Read at your own risk.

Also, as you read this story, you may find it weird. It’s cool if you don’t like it, I had this idea, and I really wanted to write it. It maybe be cringe to you, but its fun for me, so if you have any negative feedback, please keep it to yourself :)

It was late at night, and the entire town was asleep. It was pitch black and the weather was humid. There was a slight breeze in the atmosphere that caused the plants to sway. The water glistened underneath the bright light of the full moon. It was not everyone’s ideal time to visit the beach, however, [Name] often visited the beach late at night when she had a lot on her mind.

For [Name], it was tranquil and relaxing to walk on the beach in the stillness of the night, when there was no one else there. She was simply alone with the wind and nature to accompany her. She loved to walk on the sand with bare feet because the sensation of squashing the sand between her toes was greatly satisfying.

The guilt from her failures was still consuming her. Even though a walk on the beach at night time  normally relaxed her, at the moment, it did not help even one bit. She felt depressed, and confused about what her next decision should be.

[Name] sighed as she stopped walking and gazed into the horizon. Momentarily, she distracted herself from her self-deprecating thoughts by focusing on the scenery around her.

She stared at the ocean, which was glistening like diamonds. It was so marvelling that it was odd. The more she stared at it, the stranger she started to feel. Initially, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against shore of the beach was insignificant white noise. However, slowly but surely, it got louder. She heard it clearly in her ears. Then, as if her body had a mind of its own, she started to walk towards the ocean.

It only took [Name] a few steps until she felt the sudden coldness of the water against her skin. It caused her to yelp in surprise and snap out of her trance.

What the��? How did I get here? [Name] wondered as she glanced down at her feet which were in the water. She furrowed her eyebrows in thought. Logically speaking, she should have walked back to the sand, and return home as soon as she was able to since the water’s coldness at night would give her a cold.

But she could not.

It was difficult to explain, but [Name] could not bring herself to leave even if she wanted to. If anything, she walked further into the ocean until the water was up to her waist. It was as if an unknown higher force was bounding her to the water body and preventing her from leaving.

After a while, [Name] simply gave up, and stood still in the water, shivering.

She regretted wearing just a simple, sleeveless and short white dress to the beach. To distract herself from her coldness, [Name] decided to return to her thoughts.

After her encounter with Jungkook, who was irresistibly handsome, Prince Taehyung had dragged [Name] away to talk with her. Despite her professionalism, and how she never tried to mix her personal feelings with her work, Taehyung could read [Name] like a book. She did not know how or whether understanding others, just after being in their presence for a short while, was a talent he possessed. Taehyung was impeccably skilled at knowing what was on someone’s mind. For that reason, he was a great judge of character, and was said to be an excellent future King who would bring endless pride to his country.

If it was someone else in [Name]’s position, they would have been in serious trouble. They would have been fired on the spot due to their failures and incompetency to not only lose all the important cargo, but also the labour. Additionally, they would be labelled as a disgrace and as a result, they would never find work again; their entire life would have fallen apart.

However, none of that happened with [Name]. If anything, the only reason why Taehyung was upset with her was because of how harsh she was being on herself. She had proposed to resign. She felt as if she did not deserve her job, and at the very least, as a  punishment, she should lose it and everything else she worked hard for. Since Taehyung was reluctant about her resignation, it was obvious that he had a soft spot for her.

Taehyung could be a very persuasive person, but in this instance, his persuasion skills were useless. He tried to assure [Name] that it was not her fault, and tried to remind her of what an amazing person she was -- honest, strong, courageous, caring, and countless of other adjectives. He almost pleaded for her to not resign or give up completely. But for the most part, his words fell on deaf ears. He managed to convince [Name] to give her resignation a bit more thought, but that was about it.

[Name] felt overwhelmed from everything. She had reached her breaking point because tears prickled the corner of her eyes. Her lips quivered, and her vision became blurred with tears.

“I wish I could just run away from everything,” She mumbled out-loud to the night’s emptiness. It was a thought that was spoken without intention. For that reason, shivers of surprise and horror crawled up [Name]’s spine when there was an unexpected response.

“You can,” A voice whispered in her ears, and fingers brushed the nape of her neck. The touch felt somewhat slimy, but the feeling was so minute, it felt like a figment of her imagination. Afterwards, the touch on the skin of her neck felt like normal human fingers.

“You just have to be mine,” He whispered, causing [Name] to whip backwards in disbelief.

She gasped loudly in surprise.

“Jungkook,” [Name] breathed out.

Jungkook smirked at her, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“[Name],” Jungkook breathed out; he sounded as if he was high on ecstasy.

[Name] was looking at him with wide eyes. Jungkook felt his breath escape his lungs. Whether that was because he had been on the dry lands for too long, or [Name]’s magnificent beauty, he was not sure.

“You’re so beautiful,” He breathed, as he leaned closer to her face, and his hand travelled upwards from her waist towards her breast.

[Name] felt herself unable to move as Jungkook pressed his lips against hers. The moment their lips met, a sudden euphoric feeling combusted throughout their bodies.

[Name]’s eyes lost their shimmer, and they looked hazy. Additionally, it wasn’t too long before their kiss began to become rougher, hungrier, and [Name] was becoming desperate to breath. The euphoric feelings morphed into suffocation, and [Name] started to beat her hands against Jungkook’s chest. This only made him tighten his grip on her waist, before he painfully squeezed her breast with his other hand.

[Name] yelped in pain, and she started to thrash around in his grip , and tried to pull away from Jungkook. But nothing happened, and he continued to kiss her viciously. The ocean waves rose higher, and a massive wave painful hit against the back of her shoulders.

Dark spots clouded her vision, and whatever life she had left in her body, was sucked out of her in mere seconds.

Jungkook finally released his hold on her. His irises were wide in astonishment and arousal. He felt so amazing. He was finally able to breath as the ocean waves went over their heads.

Jungkook had never felt this alive and powerful before. He felt like a true King.

He was unaware of the fact that his human transformation had dropped, and he was back to being a merman. All he could focus was on [Name].

The last sight that the [h/c] female saw was Jungkook. Instead of his short black hair which were swept to the side in his human form, his hair was long. It floated with the rhythm of the water gracefully behind his back. He had a metal headband with what looked like horsetails, framing his face. His ears were long and pointy like an elf’s. His chest was bare, and he had a giant tale. Jungkook caught [Name] in his fin-like arms as she went limp and lost consciousness. Then, he brought her body close to his.

He looked at her with a sickening obsessed gaze as he spoke.  

“Now, we’ll be together forever, my love.”

Part II | Part IV  | Masterpost

[wouldadepressedpersonmakethis]

NORA COOPER - OPEN Age: 26 Portrayal: Willa Fitzgerald Alliance/Occupation: Loyalist/Baker  Relationships: Thomas Cooper (brother), Nicholas Stafford (deceased secret fiancé), Laura Harris (best friend), Roy Cooper, Irene Cooper, Nancy Cooper (cousins)

went to work for the staffords when she was eight as a scullery maid at the palace

tbh she was in complete!!!! awe!! of her position there and was proud that she was able to serve the royal family (even in this small capacity!) 

nora had been reluctant to leave home with an ill mother, a little brother, and a father who was often away but she knew that they needed the extra income more than they needed an extra set of hands at home 

nora loved her father, but she never understood what could be so important to take him away from his family so often (he never could seem to provide any of them with a straight answer) 

one day he left and never came back 

several months later, word reached them that he was dead

the coopers never did discover that he had given his life so that others could live and that he was a secret moralist who aided fleeing witches and their families 

he raised his children as loyalists to protect them .... although he one day meant to tell them the truth, when they were old enough (unfortunately, that day never came) 

soon after, her mother died, too, leaving nora and her brother on their own

while working at the palace, nora met and fell in love with nicholas stafford! 

she was rather wary of him, at first, because of his reputation and all the other girls warned her that he would likely to love her and leave her

but slowly he broke through her defenses and she started to fall in love

they kept it all a secret - but nicholas had promised her that one day, he would renounce his claim to the throne and go and live a more simple life with her 

as long as his father lived, however, it could never be ... he would not allow for his only son and heir to give up everything for a kitchen maid 

of course, the king had other plans for nicholas, but he promised her that he would never marry anyone else but her

and as soon as his father died, he would go to margot - who he knew would be a much better queen - and tell her everything 

but then nicholas died - breaking nora’s heart! 

she doens’t think she could ever love anyone else again!!!

she’s also discovered that she may be pregant and she’s terrified about what to do about it or how to explain it

so she’s recently resigned from her post and returned home where she’s trying to restablish the old bakery her parents used to run, hoping she can make it somewhat profitable if and when she has a child w/o a man to help support her

she’s told her brother, tom, everything, and he’s determined to look out for his sister and his future niece or nephew, whatever happens

THOMAS “TOM” COOPER - OPEN Age: 22 Portrayal: Thomas Brodie-Sangster Alliance/Occupation: Neutral/Thief Relationships: Nora Cooper (sister), Ben Wilson (friend), Roy Cooper, Irene Cooper, Nancy Cooper (cousins), Josephine Turner, Jesse Turner (friends/allies), Emma Turner (interest) 

with an often absent father, an older sister who worked at the palace, and a dying mother, tom was often left to himself 

super independent!!! 

honestly was always super resentful towards his dad who he saw as a man who just neglected his family (he had NO idea that he was secretly risking his life to save witches who were being hunted!!!) 

as soon as both of his parents died, tom went to look to find a way to support himself

after drifting in and out of different occupations and trades, he finally settled on one that suited him ... and that was, to steal from people to earn his bread

basically the valerian wars verison of robin hood tbh in that he only steals from the rich and gives to the poor!

just wants to help people who are in bad situations kind of like how his family was b/c of his dad! 

often has a lot of assistance w/ this from jesse and josephine turner 

has a softspot for single mothers/orphans!!!!

sUPER cocky and confident 24/7

the sass is strong with this one

always has a sassy and witty one liner to throw at you

super bright and logical most of the time .... but can also bE DUmB

lOVes flirting at emma turner who DEspises him but that only eggs him on tbh 

recently his sister has left her job working at the palace and is trying to reestablish the bakery their parents once owned ... she’s also confided in him that she was secretly engaged to nicholas stafford, the recently deceased heir to the valerian throne! and that she may also be pregnant with his child

tom loves his sister more than anyone else in the world and would liTERlaly do anything for her!!!!

is determined ot help her and use the money he’s earned (*cough*stolen*cough*) to help support her and her baby 

[malmuses]

A Very Human Risk - Part 2 - Dean

Notes

Thanks for reading! Here’s Part 2. We switch back to see what Dean is up to, left at the motel. I have all of the rest of the parts of this fic finished now, so unless I tweak anything more, they should go up steadily over the next few days. Enjoy!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

A Very Human Risk

Part 2 – Dean

Dean scrubbed his nails back and forth across his scalp, watching an assortment of small chunks decorate the plastic bottom of the beige motel shower. Ugh. That was one messy hunt. His body ached and he registered pain that needed to be dealt with, more than one spot yelling out for attention after being ignored while they drove.

There had been many more vampires than they anticipated, the planned swift decapitations quickly turning into wild, life-preserving slashes as more and more of them piled in from the darkness in the corners of the warehouse. Thank Chuck that Cas had his grace these days. There were things Dean missed about his best friend being human, but during a hunt like that he’d take powered-up Cas any day.

The filth in the shower began to drain away and he finally began to actually feel clean. He stood for a minute, looking up and letting the water cascade down onto his face. We should check in with Jack and see if we need to make any stops on the way home, he thought vaguely. Sam and Cas hadn’t been too keen to leave the kid back at the bunker, Dean knew. The case Sam had caught online, a bunch of disappearances and bloodied bodies stretching up the coasts of the Carolina's, had seemed simple enough though. They should have been able to kill the vamp, drive overnight and been back in Lebanon by lunch the next day.  Should have known. When do we ever get simple?

The pipes creaked and shuddered loudly as he shut off the water, reaching out from the aged shower curtain to grab the a towel. Pressing it roughly to his face, he took a moment to dry his eyes and take in the smell of basic laundromat detergent. A thin river of blood escaped from a long gash just above his left hip; washing the dried blood off seemed to have opened it back up. Dean assessed it with practiced eyes and decided no stitches were needed, the bleeding should stop on its own once he dried off. None the less, he pressed the towel to his side as he stepped out of the shower into the suddenly cold bathroom air, grateful again that Sam and Cas had gotten off so lightly from the fight.

Realizing his duffel of clothing was on the end of one of the beds, he paused briefly inside the bathroom door, listening to see if his brother or Cas had returned from their very sudden beer trip. Cas may be immune to my human charms but there are definitely some things Sam could do without an eyeful of, he mused idly as he stepped out into the empty motel room. He quickly rummaged through the old bag he carried on hunts and stepped into a pair of boxers, still keeping the towel pressed to his hip. Where did I put the first aid kit? He wondered, thinking that a quick swipe of peroxide couldn’t do the gash any harm. Those vampires had been dirty as fuck, after all. Briefly remembering throwing it into Sam’s bag, Dean lowered himself to perch on the end of the bed closest to the bathroom door. Gigantor didn’t even stop to throw his bag into the room before he zoomed out of here. It was strange, but in the scheme of things, whatever. If Sam wanted to run out awkwardly and do something secret then so be it. Dean had gotten much better the past few years at letting Sam do his thing. He did wish he hadn’t taken Cas though… even if he wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, Dean had tried to keep the angel by his side as much as possible since he returned to them. The idea of him being gone, even temporarily, still left a heavy weight in his stomach. Son of a bitch is too careless, it’d be just like him to get himself hurt on the way to a damn grocery store.

The crunch of gravel close to the door indicated the Impala’s return, and Dean heard a low rumbling voice outside the room. A quiet conversation seemed to be occurring, but he couldn’t quite make it out. Reluctant to open the door in just boxers and a slightly bloody motel towel, he resigned himself to standing up and sorely hobbling back and forth at the end of the bed as he waited, trying to stretch out his aching knees. The bleeding from his wound - from the blade one of the ambushing vamps had whipped out, he assumed - was already beginning to slow, so he maintained pressure and muttered under his breath about his companions’ priorities.

After a few more minutes of hushed conversation the door opened with a click, and the strikingly handsome angel swished through the gap, framed by evening sunlight and his trench coat flapping dramatically in the breeze.

“Always gotta make an entrance, huh buddy?” Dean commented dryly, stepping towards the end of the bed once more. He grimaced, pain shooting through one knee as he twisted it slightly. That sucker’s gonna be sore in the morning.

Castiel didn’t look up immediately, though Dean could have sworn he saw a tiny grin pass his face as he stepped over to the nightstand, letting his blade slide out of his sleeve so as to place it next to the lamp and cheap plastic alarm clock, where it made a gleaming friend for Dean’s resting gun. “I believe that humans think first impressions count….” he began, before his vivid eyes raked over to see Dean lowering himself awkwardly to the end of one of the beds, one leg held out stiffly in front of him and a bundle of bloodied cloth pressed to his left hip above his underwear, fresh bruises just beginning to bloom all across his otherwise undressed skin. “Dean?”

In a flash, the angel was at the older Winchester brother’s side, his eyes a fraction wider and his face intense. “You’re more injured than I had realized. Let me help.”

Dean held up a hand defensively. “I’m alright, really. No mojo to be wasted here. I just wanted to make sure the cut was sterilized before I got dressed and you two ran off so fast you took the first aid kit with you.” He glared up at the angel, but it is half-hearted, a joke more than anything. “Where’s Sam? He’s got the stuff in his duffel.”

“Oh, he… uhm.” Castiel reached up to rub briefly at the back of his neck, his other hand resting on Dean’s shoulder in concern. “He felt like getting a room of his own tonight…. I’ll go get him.”

What the hell?

* * *

“So, uh, you all good?” Sam asked, only his shoulders and head visible around the motel room door, his feet still firmly outside.

Cas had returned a moment before with the small leather wash bag that contained their first aid supplies, Sam in tow behind him, though it seemed he didn’t have any desire to actually come into the room. Dean raised an eyebrow at his oddly-behaving brother, but said nothing about it. “I’ll be fine. It’s almost stopped, see?”

He lifted the once-white towel away from his side, and Sam looked at the gash, nodding briefly as if satisfying himself that it wasn’t deep. “Alright then. I’ll be in my room having some introvert time if you need anything. I, uh…. I’m not next door.”

“Huh?” Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother’s odd wording, but he was already gone, the door thudding slightly behind him. Instead, Dean turned to Cas. “What’s up with him?”

Cas blinked, and Dean noticed him pull somewhat awkwardly on his tie at Sam’s cryptic departure. “Why would I know Dean?”

Slowly folding his sore knee back towards the bed, Dean rolled his eyes slightly heavenward and shook his head. “Nevermind. You’re all weird. Let me just get a band aid on this so we can call Jack to check in.”

“That may require more than a band aid, Dean.” Cas intoned seriously, crouching down next to the bed so that he was eye level with the wound. And eye level with my crotch too, Dean thought heatedly. All this time on Earth and still so awkward…he still has no idea of appropriate behavior sometimes...

Without asking if Dean wanted any assistance, Cas reached into the wash bag for a small black plastic bottle of peroxide and a cloth, soaking it and raising it up to the wound wordlessly. His touch was delicate, and Dean marveled for a minute at how the angel’s fingers could be so gentle and yet could so easily cause such destruction. “Thank you,” he murmured after a moment, barely breaking the silence while Cas worked.

“Of course.” The blue eyes snapped up to Dean’s face with an easy smile, and their eyes locked for a moment as they almost always did – a kind of strange magnetism of the soul that Dean had given up questioning many fights ago.

“Stand up Dean, so I can get this on straight.” Cas gestured upwards, a long strip of gauze and roll of medical tape in his hand. He stood up himself, rolling his shoulders out of the odd crouch he had maintained while cleaning the angry gash. Quickly, he placed the items on the ugly floral comforter while he shucked off his trench coat, folding it almost respectfully and resting it across the back of a nearby chair. He pushed up his white shirt sleeves as he stepped back towards Dean, and the slightly taller man finding himself dumbly thinking, Always so white. I should ask him if he puts bleach in his laundry. Does he even do laundry any more?

The quiet between them seemed charged with something odd as Dean watched Castiel’s fingers position the long strip of gauze into place, following the cut down and around from his side along the angle of his hip bone, to where it thinned out and dissipated right before his boxers began. The tape was then pressed lightly into place to hold it. Dean was so focused on watching as the angel’s fingers moved softly back and forth, smoothing the dressing down perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary, that he didn’t feel the blue eyes resting on his face until the hand stopped, resting immobile on his hip.

“Dean.” It wasn’t really a question, so Dean didn’t respond. He let his gaze meet Castiel’s and waited, holding the electric look with a calm silence that would have been suffocating with anyone else. 

Why does he look so tense today? 

He considered asking, parting his lips with a tiny lick, when he felt Cas’s forefinger slowly trailing down the path of the wound, so light as to barely touch. From Dean’s freckled hip and on down, the finger continued until the hem of his boxers just fractionally moved aside as the digit’s journey came to an end, resting on the edge of the medical tape. 

“Does that feel better now?” Cas’s voice was gravel, and his finger was fire.

Dean heard blood pounding in his ears. 

“I….uh…yup. Yup. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

The angel tilted his head to one side just a fraction, a curious glint to his eyes as he studied the man before him, and Dean was immediately taken back to the first time they met here on Earth. That same expression, looking deep into Dean’s face with a silent honesty that no human he knew had ever managed. You don’t think you deserve to be saved.

For a second, Dean thought Castiel might say something similar now, but instead he smiled slowly, his pillowy lips parted to reveal startlingly white teeth. “Yes Dean, you are fine.”

Wait…was that…. Is he flirting with me? Does he even realize? Of course not. Nope. Dumbass.

“And now you’re frowning. I said the wrong thing, again.” Castiel’s smile was gone, a tiny frown of his own creasing his brow.

“No, no man… it’s just usually when people say someone is fine, they are inferring that the person they’re talking to is attractive. It’s a flirtation.”  Dean grinned a little, thinking it’d be amusing to fluster the angel a little – but Cas was as blunt and nonplussed as ever.

“Oh. Well, the statement is correct either way. Your form is very pleasing, Dean.”

Your form is very pleasing. Jesus H. Christ. Pleasing. Like… in general? Or to him? Does he even see me like a human would?  For a bizarre fleeting second, Dean considered praying to Chuck for assistance understanding his rebel son, but immediately put the kibosh on the idea. Last thing I ever, ever want to talk to Chuck about. The asshole would probably write all about it afterwards. Or smite me… never really got around to asking what his stance actually was on how and where humans use their parts. Not that Cas would always follow what….

Cas was staring at him. Staring in confusion as Dean stood with a strange, contemplative expression on his face, running through an inner monologue that was swiftly heading towards where Cas would or would not put his…. parts.

“Drink.” Dean spluttered swiftly. “I need a drink after that drive…. Where’d you and Sam put the beer?”

Cas blinked. “Beer? Oh… uh. Right. We went to the grocery store. Yes.”

Dean doesn’t need Chucks help to understand the expression on the angel’s face then – it went, Oops. We never actually went to the grocery store.

* *  *

Dean tucked the on-sale six pack under his arm and took a couple of strides towards the cash register, before he turned back to grab a second one. It seemed like a drinking kind of night.

He had briefly yelled at Cas, not really because of the beer, but…. Stop being weird, damn it. What were you and Sam even up to? Then he had shoved the angel in the direction of the shower and grabbed the keys. There was no way he was getting through the night without a drink. Throwing down a twenty for the beers, tucked them all under his arm on the same side, so he could dig in his pocket for his phone.

Next time you need to keep a cover story intact, remember the damn beer.

A text came back immediately.

Sorry.

Dean waited…. but nothing else.

Seriously Sam? That’s all I get?

Yes.

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped the beers onto the back seat of the Impala, giving up and sliding the phone back into his jacket pocket. Fine. Sam can be a secretive bitch all he wants… he’ll tell me eventually. Always does.

That’s all for today folks! Back soon with Part 3, so we can finally get inside our wayward angel’s head.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6