#neither black nor white - this one - this particular colour

[ambular-d]

Any Voiceplay fans?

So I’ve been hooked on watching Voiceplay reactions on YouTube for a while.  (If you’re not familiar with them, please take a moment to treat yourself to their covers of Oogie Boogie’s song, We Don’t Talk About Bruno, and Hoist the Colours in particular, but they have a lot of other great videos, too.  Their bass singer, Geoff Castellucci, has also done some stunning solo work.)

The reason I’m bringing it up here is because Voiceplay are known as the ‘Theater Kids’ of the a capella scene for their dramatic and entertaining costumed presentations, and I noticed some curious details about the Hoist the Colours video that I thought might spark some interest among fellow Good Omens fans (and possibly Tolkien fans as well:)

All else aside, this is a phenomenal piece of music that’s well worth your time to check out.

Two of Voiceplay’s members, Cesar and Eli, have similar vocal ranges.  But in this video they’re positioned, costumed and singing in what appears to be almost competing parts in the arrangement.

In the center we’ve got featured guest Jose Rosario Jr., dressed as a ship’s captain in a white shirt and black coat.

On his right is Cesar, dressed in pristine white (curious choice for a pirate), who maintains a somber expression throughout the performance and for much of it, sings in gentle, almost ethereal tones.  His scarred ‘blind’ eye makeup only adds to the overall haunting impression.

On Jose’s left stands Eli, clad similarly but in black, singing loudly and powerfully, with a sinister grin on his face and greedy, grasping gestures.

The music swings back and forth between them, and one almost has the impression the devil on Jose’s left shoulder is trying to overwhelm or drown out the angel on his right--but Cesar doesn’t let Eli get away with it!  At one point (around 2:20) he actually cuts Eli off, not loudly himself but with a soft, intricate run that abruptly takes the wind right out of Eli’s sails.

A bit later in the piece, Cesar shows us that he can sing powerfully, too.  Nearing the end, it looks as though Eli may triumph after all--but ultimately it’s neither the angel nor the devil who wins the day.  They fall back into balance with Jose, as Geoff (who has piped up now and then to remind us he’s there, right next to their perpetually overlooked and underrated genius beatboxer Layne, but hasn’t really joined in the competition) carries us through to the end.

Apart from the angelic/demonic symbolism, which I have to believe was very much intentional, I think I caught an echo of the Singing of the Ainur: a loud, proud, greedy theme trying and failing to overwhelm a sweet, solemn melody that refuses to be silenced.  Unlike the discordant braying of the followers of Melkor, though, there’s nothing ugly or unpleasant about any part of this song.

ETA: Forgot the mention the lighting, which is a soft blue overall; but with a glare of red that falls for a moment over the entire group early on; later it reappears over on the left, where it illuminates Eli more than any of the others, and at one point he (and only he) is sillouetted clearly against it.

[muzaktomyears]

The BBC's Audience Research Report on the Magical Mystery Tour film

THE BEATLES

present their own film Magical Mystery Tour

Tuesday, 26th December 1967 8.35-9.25 pm, BBC

Size of audience (based on results of the Survey of Listening and Viewing).

It is estimated that the audience for this broadcast was 25.7% of the population of the United Kingdom. Programmes on BBC 2 and ITV at the time were seen by 1.1% and 15.4% (averages)

2. Reaction of audience (based on questionnaires completed by a sample of the audience. This sample, 368 in number, is the 18% of the BBC 1 Viewing Panel who saw all or most of the broadcast).

The reactions of this sample of the audience were distributed as follows: -

A+     A      B      C      C-

%     %      %     %     %

6       6      14    23     51

giving a REACTION INDEX of 23.

3. There was, it seemed, very little ‘magic’ about this particular mystery tour, most reporting viewers, in fact, finding it virtually incomprehensible. There was no theme or story line, they complained, the programme appearing to consist of confused, disconnected shots of the weirdest things and suggesting a nightmare rather than a mystery tour. Indeed, three quarters of the sample could hardly find a good word to say for the programme, considering [it] ‘stupid, pretentious rubbish’ which was, no doubt, intended to be very clever and ‘way out’ but which was, they thought, a complete jumble with neither shape nor meaning and, certainly, no entertainment value whatsoever. The following are just a few of the many outraged comments:

‘The biggest waste of public money since the Ground Nut Scheme.’

‘Positively the worst programme I can remember seeing on any TV channel.’

‘A load of RUBBISH. We have made better home movies ourselves.’

‘I could not understand the thing at all – was this a “take-on” by the Beatles?’

‘I found it unspeakably tiresome and not the least bit funny – but perhaps this is “sick” humour, in which case I am emphatically not “with it”.’

4. The small minority who did enjoy the programme hailed it as something completely ‘different’, the tour idea providing a framework for a ‘zany’ but fascinating piece of television in which anything could – and did – happen and making a most refreshing departure from the usual run of programmes. A schoolboy had this to say: ‘It was one of the best Christmas programmes we have had for a long time. The idea was clever as well as original. It was very funny in parts. A marvellous programme in black and white – in colour, it would be indescribable’. Even those who usually admired the Beatles, however, often confessed themselves bitterly disappointed in the film – it was just not good enough to throw together a seemingly haphazard collection of pictures, shove in a few songs and call it ‘a magical mystery tour’, they said, and a programme like this could do the Beatles’ reputation nothing but harm. The songs were, for some, the only redeeming feature – however poor their film-making, these boys could certainly write good songs (Continued)

[wordgoods]

207 Words That Describe Colours

General Colour-Related Words

ablaze – bright and full of light or colour

a riot of  [colour] – a lot of different bright colours together

bleached – made very pale by chemicals or strong sunlight

bleak – gloomy; sombre

blotchy – discoloured, patchy

bold – very bright, clear, or strong in colour and therefore easy to notice

brash – big, bright, or colourful in a way that is not attractive

bright – strong but not dark

brilliant – vivid, intense

chintzy – too colourful and in poor taste

clean – light and fresh

cold – colours such as white, blue, and grey that make you think of things that are cold

colour-coded – marked with different colours to make it easy to see different features or uses

colourful – has bright colours or a lot of different colours

cool – cool colours, such as white and blue, give an idea of cold instead of heat. Colours with blue or green in them are called cool colours

dappled – covered with or forming areas of lighter and darker colour or light and shadow

dark – strong and not pale in colour

deep – dark and strong

delicate – pleasant and not too strong

discoloured – changed in colour and no longer looks new, clean, or healthy

dusty – used for describing a colour that is not bright because it has some grey in it

electric – bright, metallic

fast – colours that are fast will not become paler when clothes are washed

festive – bright and colourful in a way that makes you think of a celebration

fiery – very bright in colour, especially bright red, orange, or yellow

flamboyant – brightly coloured or decorated

flaming – brightly coloured red, orange, or yellow

fluorescent – very bright and seems to reflect light

fresh – clean colours

gay – brightly-coloured or attractive

glistening – sparkling or shining like glitter

glittering – shining; sparkling

glowing – glowing colours are bright and look warm

harmonious – harmonious colours or parts combine well with each other

harsh – very bright

iridescent – showing changing colours in different types of light

jazzy – bright, colourful, and attractive

loud – very bright in a way that does not show good taste

matching – with the same colour, pattern, or design

medium – neither light nor dark in colour

mellow – soft and warm in colour

multicoloured – consisting of several different colours

opalescent – seems always to be changing colour slightly

pastel – having a pale soft colour

prismatic – multi-coloured, brilliant, bright

psychedelic – brightly coloured and have big unusual patterns

pure – a pure colour is very clear and beautiful

restrained – not too bright in colour, or not decorated too much

rich – strong in a pleasant way

sepia – sepia photographs are old and are a red-brown colour

showy – brightly coloured and attractive

soft – pale, gentle and pleasant to look at

sombre – dark in colour, especially grey or black

splashy – brightly coloured

tinged – something that is tinged with a colour, feeling, or quality contains a small amount of it

tinted – containing a small amount of a particular colour

two-tone – two-tone shoes or clothes have two colours

vibrant – bright and colourful

violent – very bright and almost painful to look at

vivid – a vivid colour is strong and bright

warm – warm colours have red, orange, or yellow in them.

watery – pale

Words That Describe A Lack Of Colour

colourless – dull or lacking in colour

dotted – a series of small spots or marks

faded – less bright

flecked – having a spot or small patch of colour

light – lacking brightness or saturation

monochromatic – having one colour

monotone – all one colour

muted – subdued or softened colours

neutral – having very little colour

opaque – incapable of allowing light to pass through

pale – something light in colour or washed out

primary – basic colour

rustic – plain; simple

tinged – a small amount of colour

tinted – slightly coloured

translucent – allowing light to pass through

transparent – clear; see-through

watery – containing too much water; diluted

Words That Describe Specific Colours

alabaster – very white and smooth.

amber – between brown and yellow in colour.

amethyst – light purple.

apricot – a shade of pink tinged with yellow

avocado – with a pale green colour.

ash – the colour of ash

azure – bright blue.

baby-blue – light blue in colour.

beige – very pale brown in colour

black – having the darkest colour, like the sky at night when there is no light

blue – something that is blue is the same colour as the sky on a clear sunny day.

bluish – similar to blue or slightly blue in colour

bone – a shade of white the colour of a bleached skeleton

bottle green – very dark green

bronze – an attractive brown colour

brown – something that is brown is the same colour as wood or coffee

brownish – similar to brown or slightly brown in colour

burgundy – dark red

canary – having the colour of a canary; of a light to moderate yellow

caramel – light yellowish-brown in colour

cerise – bright red-pink in colour

chalk – a pure flat white

charcoal – something that is charcoal is dark grey in colour

chartreuse – bright green-yellow in colour

cherry – a red the colour of ripe cherries

cinnamon – light red-brown in colour

claret – dark red in colour

cobalt blue – a shade of blue tinged with green

copper – red-brown in colour

coral – with a colour between pink and orange

cream – yellowish-white in colour

crimson – dark purple-red in colour

Day-Glo – extremely bright yellow, orange, pink, or green in colour

dove-grey – light grey in colour

dun – between brown and grey in colour

ebony – dark black in colour

ecru – very pale brown

eggshell – like an eggshell, for example white-yellow in colour, not very shiny, or thin and delicate

electric blue – very bright blue

emerald – bright green in colour

fawn – light brown in colour

flesh-coloured – the colour of white people’s skin

gold – something that is gold is the colour of gold

golden – bright yellow in colour

green – something that is green is the same colour as grass.

greenish – similar to green or slightly green in colour

greige – between very pale brown and grey in colour

grey – between black and white in colour (gray – the American spelling of grey)

hazel – light brown and slightly green or golden in colour, used especially for describing someone’s eyes

ice blue – a very light blue colour

indigo – between dark blue and purple in colour

inky – mainly literary black, or a very dark colour

iron-grey – dark grey in colour

ivory – something that is ivory is a yellowish-white colour

jet-black – very shiny and black in colour

lavender – light purple in colour

leaden – dull and dark grey in colour

lilac – pale purple in colour

lily-white – pure white

lime-green – bright yellow-green in colour

livid – mainly literary dark purple or blue-grey in colour

magenta – purple-red in colour

maroon – dark red-brown in colour

mauve – pale purple in colour

milk-white – the colour of milk

milky – the colour of milk

navy blue – very dark blue

nut-brown – medium brown in colour

off-white – slightly yellow or grey

olive – dark yellowish green in colour

olive – dark grey-green in colour, like many military uniforms

orange – between red and yellow in colour

orangey – similar to orange or slightly orange in colour

peach – yellowish pink in colour

peacock blue – dark blue-green in colour

pea green – bright green in colour

pink – between red and white in colour

pinkish – similar to pink or slightly pink in colour

pitch-black – completely black or dark

plum – between red and purple in colour

puce – between dark brown or dark red and purple

purple – between red and blue in colour

purplish – similar to purple or slightly purple in colour

red – the same colour as blood

reddish – similar to red, or slightly red

rose – dark pink in colour

roseate – pink in colour

rose-coloured – pink in colour

rosy – pink in colour

royal blue – deep blue

ruby – a deep red colour

ruddy – red in colour

russet – red-brown in colour

rusty – red-brown in colour

saffron – between bright yellow and orange in colour

salmon – orange tinged with pink

sandy – pale yellow in colour

scarlet – bright red in colour

sea-green – green-blue in colour

sepia – something that is sepia is a red-brown colour

shocking pink – very bright pink in colour

silver – light grey in colour

silvery – like silver in colour or appearance

sky-blue – the colour of the sky on a bright clear day

smoky – light grey in colour

snow-white – very white

sooty – black or dusky in colour

steely – steely blue is grey-blue in colour

straw-coloured – pale brown-yellow in colour

tan – light brown in colour

taupe – a brown-grey colour

tawny – between yellow and brown in colour

teal – between blue and green in colour

terracotta – brown-red in colour

turquoise – bright green-blue in colour

ultramarine – very bright blue in colour

umber – yellow or reddish brown in colour

vermilion – bright red or red-orange in colour

violet a- blue-purple in colour

white – something that is white is the same colour as milk or snow

whitish – similar to white or slightly white in colour

wine – something that is wine is a dark red colour

yellow a- something that is yellow is the same colour as the middle of an egg

yellowish – similar to yellow or slightly yellow in colour

[whileiamdying]

Mandela's call after the Soweto uprising of 1976

The African National Congress brings you this URGENT CALL TO UNITY AND MASS ACTION by political prisoners on Robben Island to all patriots of our motherland. Nelson Mandela and hundreds of our comrades have been in the racist regime's prisons for more than 17 years. This message by Nelson Mandela addressed to the struggling masses of our country was written to deal with the present crisis gripping our enemy and in the aftermath of the Soweto uprisings. It was smuggled out of Robben Island prison under very difficult conditions and has taken over two years to reach us. None the less we believe the message remains fresh and valid and should be presented to our people. His call to unity and mass action is of particular importance in this Year of the Charter - 25th anniversary of the Freedom Charter. The ANC urges you to respond to this call and make 1980 a year of united mass struggle.

Oliver Tambo: President, ANC

MANDELA'S CALL

RACISTS RULE BY THE GUN!

The gun has played an important part in our history. The resistance of the black man to white colonial intrusion was crushed by the gun. Our struggle to liberate ourselves from white domination is held in check by force of arms. From conquest to the present the story is the same. Successive white regimes have repeatedly massacred unarmed defenceless blacks. And wherever and whenever they have pulled out their guns the ferocity of their fire has been trained on the African people.

Apartheid is the embodiment of the racialism, repression and inhumanity of all previous white supremacist regimes. To see the real face of apartheid we must look beneath the veil of constitutional formulas, deceptive phrases and playing with words.

The rattle of gunfire and the rumbling of Hippo armoured vehicles since June 1976 have once again torn aside that veil. Spread across the face of our country, in black townships, the racist army and police have been pouring a hail of bullets killing and maiming hundreds of black men, women and children. The toll of the dead and injured already surpasses that of all past massacres carried out by this regime.

Apartheid is the rule of the gun and the hangman. The Hippo, the FN rifle and the gallows are its true symbols. These remain the easiest resort, the ever ready solution of the race-mad rulers of South Africa.

VAGUE PROMISES, GREATER REPRESSION . . .

In the midst of the present crisis, while our people count the dead and nurse the injured, they ask themselves: what lies ahead?

From our rulers we can expect nothing. They are the ones who give orders to the soldier crouching over his rifle: theirs is the spirit that moves the finger that caresses the trigger.

Vague promises, tinkerings with the machinery of apartheid, constitution juggling, massive arrests and detentions side by side with renewed overtures aimed at weakening and forestalling the unity of us blacks and dividing the forces of change - these are the fixed paths along which they will move. For they are neither capable nor willing to heed the verdict of the masses of our people.

THE VERDICT OF JUNE 16!

That verdict is loud and clear: apartheid has failed. Our people remain unequivocal in its rejection. The young and the old, parent and child, all reject it. At the forefront of this 1976/77 wave of unrest were our students and youth. They come from the universities, high schools and even primary schools. They are a generation whose whole education has been under the diabolical design of the racists to poison the minds and brainwash our children into docile subjects of apartheid rule. But after more than twenty years of Bantu Education the circle is closed and nothing demonstrates the utter bankruptcy of apartheid as the revolt of our youth.

The evils, the cruelty and the inhumanity of apartheid have been there from its inception. And all blacks - Africans, Coloureds and Indians - have opposed it all along the line. What is now unmistakable, what the current wave of unrest has sharply highlighted, is this: that despite all the window-dressing and smooth talk, apartheid has become intolerable.

This awareness reaches over and beyond the particulars of our enslavement. The measure of this truth is the recognition by our people that under apartheid our lives, individually and collectively, count for nothing.

UNITE !

We face an enemy that is deep rooted, an enemy entrenched and determined not to yield. Our march to freedom is long and difficult. But both within and beyond our borders the prospects of victory grow bright.

The first condition for victory is black unity. Every effort to divide the blacks, to woo and pit one black group against another, must be vigorously repulsed. Our people - African, Coloured, Indian and democratic whites - must be united into a single massive and solid wall of resistance, of united mass action.

Our struggle is growing sharper. This is not the time for the luxury of division and disunity. At all levels and in every walk of life we must close ranks. Within the ranks of the people differences must be submerged to the achievement of a single goal - the complete overthrow of apartheid and racist domination.

VICTORY IS CERTAIN !

The revulsion of the world against apartheid is growing and the frontiers of white supremacy are shrinking. Mozambique and Angola are free and the war of liberation gathers force in Namibia and Zimbabwe. The soil of our country is destined to be the scene of the fiercest fight and the sharpest battles to rid our continent of the last vestiges of white minority rule.

The world is on our side. The OAU, the UN and the anti-apartheid movement continue to put pressure on the racist rulers of our country. Every effort to isolate South Africa adds strength to our struggle.

At all levels of our struggle, within and outside the country, much has been achieved and much remains to be done. But victor~ is certain!

WE SALUTE ALL OF YOU!

We who are confined within the grey walls of the Pretoria regime's prisons reach out to our people. With you we count those who have perished by means of the gun and the hangman's rope. We salute all of you - the living, the injured and the dead. For you have dared to rise up against the tyrant's might.

Even as we bow at their graves we remember this: the dead live on as martyrs in our hearts and minds, a reproach to our disunity and the host of shortcomings that accompany divisions among the oppressed, a spur to our efforts to close ranks, and a reminder that the freedom of our people is yet to be won.

We face the future with confidence. For the guns that serve apartheid cannot render it unconquerable. Those who live by the gun shall perish by the gun.

UNITE! MOBILISE! FIGHT ON!

Between the anvil of united mass action and the hammer of the armed struggle we shall crush apartheid and white minority racist rule.

AMANDLA NGAWETHU! MATLA KE A RONA!

[cloverque]

monochrome (miya atsumu)

黑白 (宮 侑)

your life is like the black and white panels in a manga, until a certain someone dyed his vivid colours into yours

5190 words

past highschool, present post timeskip, nostalgic themes(?), tiny enemies to lovers trope, theme revolves around unconfessed love until years later

a reuploded request from an anon-then-now-my-friend! <3 not edited

Monochrome. Your life was like the black and white pages in a manga; dull and neutral. There was nothing special about you, for the most part, you were ordinary.

At some point, almost every girl would like a colourful romance. One with blooming roses, scintillating sparkles and handsome young men. Topped off with promises of abiding love and vibrant days filled with never ending mirth.

However, you never pursued it, nor did it find you, and that was alright. Besides, what was the point of heart throbbing ardour if it were all to come to an inevitable end?

With a few clicks, your computer was turned off. You began clearing your desk, sorting out your folders and files when your colleague spun around in their chair.

“Hey, (l/n)-san. Did you hear?” The mousey woman enquired. A small smile was etched across her makeup coated face as she continued. “There’s going to be a dinner function! It’ll be held in the fancy hotel across the building.”

Your coworker across your table stood up to peer pass the desk divider. She chimed in with avidity, “I’m soooo going tonight! I heard the other divisions has a ton of hotties. No way in hell I’m gonna turn down a chance to meet ‘em!”

“Geez, you’re always thinking about men...” The lady beside you sighed, before returning her gaze back to you. “So, wanna go together?”

You shook your head, “Count me out. I already have plans tonight.” As you got up and shifted your handbag, you smiled apologetically. “Let me know if anything interesting happens, though.”

“Oh, okay... See you tomorrow,” she bid you farewell, albeit disappointedly. You nodded and bid the duo the same.

When your back was turned to them, the lady across the divider whispered to the one beside you. You knew what they were prattling about: that you were plain and boring. Wordlessly, you left the room, your heels clacking against the tiles as you made your way to the elevator.

As the double digits on the digital screen changed to singular ones, you closed your eyes.

Truthfully, it would be a lie to say that your life was completely monochrome. It was once colourful, after all, despite being for a short period.

Those days had involved a boy named Miya Atsumu, and he was the one who had brought colour into your high school days.

It all began in a manga shop.

You were in your second year of high school then, and would frequent a manga shop on the way home. It was sandwiched between a decently sized Lawson and an antique shop, on a quieter side of town.

The shop was abundant with not only manga, but also multifarious classics and second hand books. With its reserved location, not many knew of its existence, thus it went unnoticed by hordes of rambunctious manga fanatics.

It was perfect for you; your little safe place. However, you didn’t know that it was also frequented by a particular faux blonde.

You had wandered in with a specific title in mind, looking forward to getting your hands on it the whole day. Meanwhile, the boy’s brain was so preoccupied with volleyball and upcoming matches that he didn’t notice you, in an identical school uniform, lingering in the same section.

And like a sick cliche, your fingers bumped into his.

Withdrawing your hand, you snuck a side glance, only to see a broad chest in your line of sight. You slowly tilted your head to meet his steely gaze. Flinching, you practically whipped around when you realised the boy was towering over you.

“Um, sorry...” You mumbled out whilst backing away.

Atsumu’s brows were scrunched together as he took in your form. He half expected you to latch onto him with your eyes, but you were looking away, at anywhere but him.

Maybe once you got a good look at him, you’d react like all the oestrogen in his life. Squealing his name, asking for his number, all thirsty for his attention.

However, all you did was stand awkwardly, without uttering a single word. The oddity took him aback slightly. Thus, he decided to play with you a bit.

The teen perked his brows slightly before pointing at the manga’s spine. “Don’t cha want this?” He gestured, making you nod. A cruel smirk sneaked up to his handsome face.

You thought he was going to pass it to you. Instead, he slipped it out of the shelf and sauntered away. He slapped a few notes onto the cashier’s counter, making the store owner jump at his boldness. The boy with the undercut swiftly shuffled towards the entrance, his book bag slung over his back with the manga dangling from his long fingers.

Gawking, you watched as the automatic sliding doors opened for him. You wanted to call him back, to demand him to return it to you. But you knew it was impossible. The manga wasn’t yours, after all.

The blonde cocked his back to catch a glimpse of you. Noticing your conflicted expression, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He stuck out his tongue at you, cackling as your eyes widened and your face flushed. Then he left as soon as he came.

Your entire body trembled with embarrassment and humiliation. What just happened...!?

To make your day worst, you later learnt that the manga was the last one in stock. The rest of your day was spent stabbing your food and antagonising your pillow.

The next day, you found him again in the manga shop, but with grey hair. You almost dropped your book bag as you stomped towards him, fuming and ready to pounce on him.

The ash grey haired teen glanced at you with a deadpanned expression as you stopped beside him, shaking with infuriation.

“How could you do that to me yesterday!? You took the last one! The! Last! One!” Your nostrils flared as you exhaled. “Now I have no wait an entire week– And why’s your hair grey now–!?”

Despite your confrontation, the boy remained unfazed as he cocked a dark brow. It took him a few seconds to realise. He glanced up at the ceiling then back at you.

“Sorry, I think you’re mistaken,” he began politely, maintaining a neutral expression. “But the person you’re talking about is probably my obnoxious twin.”

This encounter had ended with a deep bow and a deluge of apologies. Nodding, the more reserved twin gave you a cold ‘ok’ before ambling away.

Since then, you realised that there were two twins in your school: the Miya brothers. The asshole was Atsumu, and the quieter one was Osamu. Or at least, they had seemed that way to you, on account of your personal experiences.

You wondered how you had never noticed them until now, especially when they stood out during assemblies due to their dyed hair. Not to mention their questionable popularity with the girls.

Maybe Osamu was reasonable, but who in the right mind would fall for someone like that blonde jackass Atsumu!?

On one occasion, you were shuffling past the gymnasium for a nurse’s errand when you saw a glimpse of the volleyball club. Bright blonde hair swished past the doors, and you remembered your meeting with the haughty male.

“Nice kill!” A deep voice hollered, followed by the high pitched squeaks of shoes against polished floor. You peeked past the doors, eyes shining with curiosity, when the twins you had met suddenly jumped into the air.

Your eyes were set on Atsumu as he deftly set a volleyball for his brother, who spiked the ball without delay. Sweat glimmered down the faux blonde’s forehead, tracing his jawline before dripping onto the floor. The slap he gave Osamu’s hand reverberated in the gym as they shared matching grins.

Seeing them together really highlighted the fact that they were carbon copies of each other. Your train of thoughts were derailed when a member with dark hair and narrowed eyes pointed in your direction.

Atsumu glanced at you, his smile turned upside down whilst you jolted up. With confident strides, he was in your face in an instant. He gave you a once over before grimacing.

“Get lost.”

Then he slammed the door shut in your face. As you stood frozen in place, unable to register what had happened, Osamu pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“‘Tsumu, that’s no way to treat a lady.”

His golden haired twin simply snorted in response.

Your next encounter with Atsumu took place at the manga shop again. A fight had broken out between the two of you, both unwilling to relent. Gripping the limited edition copy tightly in your hand, you refused to budge.

There were extras, but you had arrived first before the haughty boy and both of you had touched the same copy. Consequently, warring with each other.

Both of you shared exasperated expressions, tugging and pulling desperately for the manga. Neither wanted to throw in the towel. Atsumu was much stronger than you, clearly, his biceps flexing as he clenched his teeth and tried to pry the book from you.

Meanwhile, your two feet were planted firmly in the ground, all your strength poured into rooting yourself into the tiles or risk falling backwards if he were to let go.

However, he would not in a long time.

“Let go, you brat!” He chided, grunting with exasperation. Tugging it back harshly, you almost stumbled.

Growling animalistically, you retorted, “Never!” Then you lunged forward to bite his hand.

The blonde released the manga with a yelp, shoving your face off his hand brutishly. You stumbled back in response, tripping and landing on your bum. A string of saliva dribbled down your lips as you stared up at him, grinning victoriously.

Atsumu glowered, holding his bitten fist with his other hand. A row of teeth had punctured his skin, and you realised there was a little blood. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

As you stood up and brushed your school skirt, you adjusted your book bag and gripped the manga to your chest. Trembling with anger, you were giddy with pride and sheepishness.

“You slammed a door in my face, asshole!”

Then you rushed past him to pay for your purchase. Atsumu turned to watch you leave, your loafers tapping against the floor softly as you ran off. But when you hopped out of the outlet, you gave him a side glance and stuck out your tongue.

Atsumu recognised the gesture; he pointed a middle finger in return.

Days and weeks went by like that, with Atsumu and you contending against each other to buy the weekly Jump, the first copies of mangas or limited edition prints. It was childish, for two seventeen year olds to tousle with each other.

Atsumu would ruthlessly tug on your hair, screaming bloody murder of your existence and stubbornness. Meanwhile, you resorted to calling him all sorts of colourful words, which would result in the shop owner throwing the two of you out. There was even a time when you both were banned from stepping in until you made up.

It happened eventually, and the two of you would at least communicate with less insults and more civilly. Your peace treaty with him didn’t mean letting him snag first copies of new arrivals, though. But Atsumu and you settled it through more human means, instead of ripping out each other’s hair.

There was one moment in which Atsumu had made your heart beat a little faster, too. It had happened like this: you were found beside the school’s vending machine, crying because you had dropped your shoujo manga in a muddy puddle. It would never have happened if it weren’t for a group of girls that bumped into you on purpose.

Your emotional breakdown ended when Atsumu found you in that pitiful state, squatting by a murky ditch with a floating black and white book. He had stumbled upon you by coincidence, as he was buying a Pocari Sweat.

He recognised your (h/c) locks and your figure even from afar, and when he realised you were crying, he was stumped. Sure, you would cry when he tugged at your hair during fights, but for him to see your tear stained face outside arguments felt weird.

Atsumu remained silent, standing near you as you sniffled. You knew he was standing behind you, you could tell him from the hairdo in the shadow looming over you.

Instead of asking what had happened, his eyes scanned the scene and realised that a limited edition manga was floating in the dark brown puddle. Probably yours, he had thought. He connected the dots instantly. Atsumu may be childish at times, but he wasn’t an imbecile.

The blonde setter knew how much you loved your manga, how brightly you would beam whenever you got your hands on them. For you to ruin it must have felt like a heartbreak, or worse.

“Was that the one we bought two days ago?” He mumbled, and you nodded meekly.

With a soft sigh, he approached the vending machine. After slotting his coins in and pressing a button, a drink dropped to the bottom. He bent down to scoop it out, mumbling as he did so.

“You can borrow mine, if ya want.”

At that moment, your mind went blank. This immature boy was going to lend you his? It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this was anyone else, but this was Miya Atsumu you were talking about.

An insolent big shot who refused to let you win. Someone whose mental age degraded when he fumbled with words to support why he deserved to get the first copy. A selfish guy who never wanted to share.

You glanced up at the teen silently, tears still streaming down your face. He flinched as you croaked, “Miya-kun... Are you sick or something?”

“...Never mind. I think I’ll retract my offer!” He huffed, spinning on his heels as he shuffled away.

Scrambling to your feet, you blurted out, “W-Wait! I was joking, I swear!”

You chased after him, and although he couldn’t hear it, you wished Atsumu wouldn’t be able to hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Inevitably, the blonde twin and you grew closer. Sometimes, you would walk with him to school, though it was more like you were third wheeling with him and his brother. The two of them would converse about volleyball, homework, and even little things like bentos and nonsensical topics.

You grew used to their frivolous antics, and Osamu eventually opened up to you as well. The two of them even let you call them by their first names, especially since referring to both of them as ‘Miya’ was confusing.

Atsumu only learnt of your name when you both exchanged it, and when you told him he could call you by your first name, he chaffed you for the overfamiliarity.

There were days when the blonde and you would visit the manga store together. And in time to come, the teenager grew fond of your ebullient nature towards comics. He would poke fun of you for reading ‘unfeminine’ genres, such as horror and sci-fi. Whenever he found you peeking at boy love books, you never heard the end of it.

At the same time, you began to appreciate him, despite his snide remarks and snarky attitude. There were times when his jokes crossed the line you, making you pout and sometimes cry, but he would apologise through his actions, like gifting you the new arrival of your favourite manga.

It was almost impossible to get him to apologise, due to his pride, but he always made up with you in his own way. And for that, you were grateful.

As months passed and you both became close friends, Atsumu began hanging out with you during school hours. On one occasion, the both of you hid in the rooftop to eat lunch. Osamu wasn’t present due to a cold, so it was just the two of you.

Picking up an octopus shaped wiener, you gave it a half hearted glance before popping it into your mouth. Atsumu was rambling about morning practice, blathering on how pissed he was that his brother wasn’t around to spike his perfect sets.

Suddenly, without thinking, you interrupted. “You know, you’re not a bad guy, Atsumu.”

Your eyes were fixated on his when you blurted out. His cheeks were stuffed with rice as he turned to you, surprised. With a perked brow, he gawked at you like you had grown a second head.

“Wait, are you falling for me already, (y/n)?” His deep, buttery voice was muffled by the contents in his mouth.

You grinned and waggled your brows. “No way, your personality is like sewage water.”

With a giggle, you leaned in to take away the small grain lingering by his lips. Your soft knuckles brushed against the corners of his lips and he swore he had stopped breathing.

Atsumu’s cheeks were dusted pink at your kind yet intimate gesture. Nobody had done that to him before, and he was unsure of what to feel.

Taking notice of his sudden silence, you raised your brows. “Atsumu, are you okay?”

“Haaaah–?! What are you talking about, I’m perfectly fine!” He scrunched his brows together, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Then he turned away, his back facing you as he scarfed down the remains of his lunch.

You tilted your head, unsure of what had happened, but resumed eating too. Truthfully, he was a little abashed. Ever since then, his heart would beat a little faster for you too.

Atsumu’s presence in your previously dull life meant new found colours. Days went by in a blur, with jokes, nonsense and memorable memories. He had snuck into your life when you least expected it, and so did you in his.

You began watching the volleyball team‘s matches. Sitting in the back row, you would cheer for Atsumu in your own special way: inwardly.

You didn’t understand much about the game, but you knew that your blonde friend loved it more than anything else, even his manga. So it must have meant something strongly to him, and as a friend, you had to support him.

The game was moving quickly, a bit too quickly for your taste. You didn’t comprehend what was happening, but at least Inarizaki was winning. The intimidating black screen beside the court flashed with a new digit, eliciting an eruption of cheers from the cheer squad.

“Isn’t he cute? He’s kinda dreamy,” a girl in front of you sighed to her friend, and you perked up instantly. Unconsciously, you began eavesdropping. “I wonder if Atsumu-kun has a girlfriend...”

“Are you kidding? Men that hot are either gay or taken!” Her peer bubbled with conceited giggles.

You wrinkled your nose at the insensitive response, but you mulled over her words. You had never seen Atsumu with a girl before. However, there were instances when you stumbled upon him during a confession. You would hide in a bush or behind a wall, listening curiously as the girl rambled on about how much she loved or admired him.

Without fail, his words would be laced with distaste while turning them down. Usually with harsh responses like ‘you don’t even know me’ or ‘I betcha say that to every guy’. He would even go as far as ripping a love letter to shreds.

They were total knock outs to the girls’ feelings. And as they ran away in tears, you couldn’t help but feel devastated for them. Atsumu sure was a prick at times.

“Him? Having a girlfriend? Never in a million years,” you mumbled under your breath.

Strangely, your chest had tightened a little with the thought.

The game finished shortly and the volleyball team gathered together to thank the watching spectators. Atsumu’s eyes bore holes into the black banner hung over the wall when suddenly, he glanced in your direction.

You flinched under his discerning gaze, stiffening nervously. He didn’t know that you were here until now.

His eyes narrowed a bit before a smirk settled on his sweat stained face. Your face burned, a little too hotly for your liking, and you looked down at your shoes to hide it. Why was he staring at you like that?

The girls in front of your row squealed that he was looking in their direction, but when they called out to him, he looked away. His cold attitude almost made you snigger.

Now that the match was over, you decided it was time to head home. You were ready to descend a flight of stairs when a familiar voice called your name. Spinning around, you came face to face with the handsome blonde, who was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Didn’t know you came,” he breathed, arms akimbo as you cocked your head.

“Yeah, I wanted to cheer for Osamu.” You gave him a cheeky, lidded eye smile. An irk mark formed on his temple as he chopped your head with his hand.

The two of you went off after that: you teasing him on his missed serve and how his brother had to pick up his slack. Atsumu bared his fangs and fired empty threats and curses, all the while you pulled your bottom eyelid and blew a raspberry mockingly.

A dark haired teen in a jersey with the number ten stood idly by his teammates. Leaning on a railing, he hummed. “Who’s that, Osamu?”

The mentioned twin watched his brother and you with a softened expression. As the two of you fought like cats and dogs, he chuckled. “Someone who can stand Atsumu more than me.”

“Huh... If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re in love.”

The Inarizaki volleyball club watched as Atsumu pinched your cheeks and spread them ruthlessly, earning a high pitched whine from you. You resorted to clawing his face and Osamu had to put an end to both of your antics–

The voice on the intercom derailed your train of thought. Getting up, you stumbled out of the train in a daze.

You had unwittingly gone down memory lane, a bit too much. As your heels tapped against the concrete sidewalk, you glanced up at the dark sky twinkling with a streak of stars. Clouds rolled by leisurely, and waning luna peeked from her wispy blanket.

The rest of your high school had gone by in a blur, most of it involving Miya Atsumu. There was one time when you went to an anime and manga convention with him.

You smiled fondly at the distant memory: Atsumu was teary eyed as he shook hands with his favourite mangaka, who was a hunched over man. Out of respect for him, he knelt down, to be the same height, and took a photo with him in that state. You had never imagined a day would come when he would kowtow to someone.

Taking out your phone, you searched up for his social media and tapped on his Twitter account. There were posts after posts of his activity in the MSBY Black Jackals.

A silly selfie with a dog filter made you titter aloud. The comment section was overwhelmed with questions of his next match, his day, relationship status and the like.

Atsumu was an even bigger shot now. He also moved nearer to his volleyball team’s hometown, just to be able to practice longer hours there. He had left his hometown a while ago, and the both of you hadn’t contacted each other for years.

You once had his phone number, until a sneaky crow took off with your old mobile phone. No clue as to why that had happened.

Sighing at the thought, you stepped foot into your destination: a manga shop. The same one you had first met him. It never really changed; faded beige walls and oak wood shelves with blanched posters. Walking back in here only reminded you of how colourful your life had once been.

“Welcome back, (l/n)-san!” greeted the young boy behind the counter. He was the grandson of the shop owner, whose knees had deteriorated over the years.

You glanced in his direction. “How’s business been, kid?” He gave you an ‘ok’ sign and your expression softened. “Hope it’s okay if I take a bit. I finally found some time to shop.”

“Store’s closing in ten. Don’t take too long!” He waved back earnestly and you nodded.

Making your way past the familiar shelves, the clacking of your heels resounded in the almost empty store. Your hair bounced behind you as you tread past the sports manga section, past a tall, blonde.

You had failed to notice the old friend behind the mask. The blonde man glanced up the moment you passed, and his eyes widened in shock.

Without hesitation, you picked up the latest issue of Jump. It had been a while since you read manga, as everyday was swamped with work. Flipping through the black and white pages, your mind drifted to the reality in the panels.

You were oblivious to the male strutting towards you. As he approached, he took in your more adultly figure and attire. You were dressed in a white button up which clung to your chest, and a black pencil skirt that hugged your waist and hips.

You looked ravishing, to say the least, and Atsumu had to swallow the lump in his throat. There was no mistake, the beautiful woman in front of him was you.

He stopped behind you, hands jammed into his jean pockets before pulling down the white mask. The man with a dark cap atop his fluffy blonde locks peered past your smaller form to take in the manga in your hands. With a soft hum, he spoke up.

“Something’s never change, huh?”

You jolted up in surprise and whipped around, only to come face to face with an intimidatingly tall man. He was almost 190cm, perhaps, and was built with muscles that even his clothes couldn’t hide. His broad chest was in your face, and you had to tilt your head back to meet him in the eye.

With a lopsided grin, the man took off his cap. His tousled blonde locks sprang out of their cage, and your eyes widened in recognition while he smirked, “Sup, (y/n). How are ya?”

“Atsumu?!” You gasped, the Jump going slack in your hands as you dropped it. It flopped onto a pile of similar copies whilst said blonde placed a finger over his lips.

“Shh, I’m here on my day off!” He teasingly hushed, and you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth to silence your confused screaming.

Was this for real? How could the boy, who had painted your monochrome life full of colour, be standing right in front of you? Right now and right here?

Your eyes flitted from the pooling chocolate brown in his eyes to his larger stature. Raking his figure with your wide eyes, you came to a conclusion: Atsumu had changed.

You knew that he was more built from his self-centred topless selfies, but seeing him upclose was a whole different experience. He has grown taller too, though he had always loomed over you either way, but it was still a little frightening how much he could grow even after puberty. Meanwhile, his undercut was relatively the same, except his bangs were not pushed back, unlike before when they were swept to the right.

The only thing that had remained unchanged was the playful glint in his orbs and the smug smile tugging on his lips.

“I...Is it really you, ‘Tsumu?” You murmured, albeit teary eyes as you removed your hand from your mouth.

Running his fingers through his golden mane, he chuckled, “Do ya know anyone with these good looks?”

Your eyes narrowed playfully and you pinched his cheeks. Huffing, you told him off, “Stop trying to be so suave, weirdo!”

“Geh– But seriously, I thought you died or something! Ya never responded to my texts,” He spluttered out as you pulled his cheeks harder, and he managed to add, “But lucky me, you’re still kickin’!”

“Wait, you what?” Your lashes fluttered in confusion. You hadn’t gotten a word he had said since the beginning.

“I tried contacting you once in a while, but you never replied.” He blinked, and you looked down at the ground, suddenly embarrassed.

“Ah... My phone was stolen by a crow. And I lost your number...”

“Wait, for real? That sounds like something straight outta a manga!” He chortled as a sheepish smile snuck on your flushed face.

When Atsumu had calmed down, he placed his hands over yours, detaching them from his cheeks. Holding your hands gently, he wore a mask of calm. You were a bit confused by his sudden, gentle gesture. You gave him a questioning look, although your heart was starting to pound uncontrollably behind your ribs.

Squeezing your hand lightly, he began quietly. “(y/n), I know it’s been a long time and all... But I never forgot the times we had together. And, well, I know it’s kinda late, but I liked you.”

A blush crept up on both of your faces as he continued clumsily. “I kinda still do, so, well... If you’d like, we should–“

“Shop’s closing!” Atsumu and you jumped up in surprise. The boy was standing at the end of the section, a look of genuine surprise on his baby face. Glowering, the blonde barked fiercely.

“You ruined it, ya moron!”

The teen flinched before scuttling away. You burst into giggles as the upset athlete scowled. Whipping his head back to you, he scrunched his brows together, exasperated.

“What’s so funny?” He enquired, still wearing a frown.

Breathing shakily, you wiped away a tear in your eye. “You never really changed, Atsumu!” With a lidded eye smile, you grinned at him innocently, heart swelling with nostalgia.

His glare softened at your expression. Shooting a quick glance at the returned boy, who was peeking from the shelves anxiously, he clicked his tongue.

“Let’s ditch this place,” he grunted, taking your hand in his again as he dragged you out of the shop. You stumbled but eventually matched his pace.

With an apologetic glance at the young boy standing in the shop, you turned back to Atsumu. “Still as mean and pushy as always, aren’t cha?”

The faux blonde gave you a side glance, still pulling you along. Eye rolling, he slapped back on his cap and looked ahead, “Shut up.”

Neither Atsumu nor you couldn’t deny that both of your hearts were pounding. The two of you ended up taking a long stroll in your hometown, catching up on the pass few years and more. The night also had ended on a high note.

Once again, Miya Atsumu’s vibrant colours had seeped back into the monochrome panels of your life. Perhaps, this time, a romance would bloom between the two of you.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　fin.

[bibliocratic]

I was going to write this for the Aspec Archives week, but I got overexcited, so here we are. 

AU: Mythical creatures. OG Archive team. 

Some CWs apply, see tags. 

The sea is more than water, her elder brethren taught her, warned her, chided her. It is home and harm and hungry, and you should not face it alone. Her siblings were older, ever knowing better, boisterous and boasting braver, but even they worried, scolded and fretted when she swam out too far alone into deep waters.

It will love you, but it will not always be kind, her eldest sibling bit out, snapped to mask their anxiety. There can be no bearings, in the deep-deep down, no anchors to denote where the sky lies.

When her people sleep, they rest wedged into some secure rock or crevice, tails looped around tails so no one is lost while dreaming.

You cannot be a shoal of one, my dearest, my youngest and bravest, the oldest of their shoal had said, when she told her she was planning on taking the rising when the waters warmed. Ascending landward on the tide swell, letting the shimmering scales of her tail split into skin.

She had not used the name Sasha at that time because that was a landward name she chose with care. Her folk gather names like a garland of pearls, to be constantly strung longer through life as age advances them; names for qualities, for momentous events, for hopes and desires. Her first name, gifted by her shoal, was guttural. It starts at the back of her throat, trails off into a susurration through gills. Mer is a difficult language to learn, though not impossible.

Tim tried. There is no one singular language of those who skirt the deepwaters, so he attempts to mimic her dialect. His pronunciation stumbling, he makes tentative sentences with the butchered grammar of fry. Martin’s grammar is even worse, though he picks up the eddies and waves of the sounds easier.

Jon, like most things in life, takes it as a challenge. One day, almost stubborn with nerves, to perform his task to perfection, he pushes out a juvenile approximation of her first name. Clipped and textbook and the stress in the wrong places, but Sasha smiles, showing her sharpest teeth in delight. Instructs him where to hold the hum at the back of his throat, how to roll the third phoneme upwards like an air bubble. Jon repeats it and repeats it, quietly smug and pleased at his achievement, and the sea in her soul rocks fondly at the sight.

She broached landward in the rising two moons after her age of maturation. She was one of a handful to come to shore. A sibling in Brighton who she phones every week, another two in Holyhead. Her first shoal traverses to warmer waters when the season shifts, and she would feel the rock-hollow absence of them if it was not for Tim, inviting her to participate in a hundred-and-one inane activities that keep her from feeling swept out; Jon, with his libraries of questions and intrigues, his quick-silver tongue; Martin, who sometimes swims a little further out from them but who finds her small knick-knacks in charity shops and craft markets and leaves them on her desk for no reason other than he has thought of her.

She makes three necklaces, plain with a strong chain, a single pearl attached. And on a day where her folk traditionally string garlands of seaweed and mangrove roots and colourful plants from coral reefs in a celebration of family –  there is no one word in her language for this idea; it poorly translates into hierarchies like sibling and brethren and elders, but these are not concepts that fit it exactly – she gifts them to the shoal that will anchor her in the depths of the sea, and bestows upon them names. Most Mer names are wishes for quick fins, calm waters, safe shores, and so she wishes these for them in a language they are not quite proficient in yet.

Her landward shoal is smaller than is traditional. But she loves them as treasures of her heart, and thinks she understands what her siblings told her, about anchors.

--

His parents, both harpies from local nests, are perplexed when his wings start coming in.

Must be a colouring from your mum’s side, his dad hums thoughtfully when Tim’s primaries grow in long and shining like struck bronze. He runs a careful finger down the central line of the rachis, and the wing shudders and jumps, the feathers still sensitive, and Tim complains that it’s ticklish. His wings are too small to fly away as his dad dives in, captures him in careful arms, corkscrewing upwards a little off the ground with Tim squirming and squealing and squawking in play, but they flutter and flap nonetheless.

The wing span’s from your dad’s side, no-one from my nest ever went more than five foot, his mother says, rubbing at the dark brown of his downy secondaries. Tim stretches them out wide, eager to boast at their length, the tips of his longest feathers reaching past his arms held out wide.

Danny’s wings are smaller. Magpie like, bold lines of white broken up by blue and black, the same as his parents. Tim’s wings, broader, a colour like beaten brass that tips into gold at the ends, draws attention, but he’s never been embarrassed. His family never treated him differently, so he didn’t dwell on it.

He can fly, though he doesn’t often. After his parents died, and after… after Danny, he moved to London, where there’s tighter airspace regulations and permits involved, so he mostly doesn’t bother. This doesn’t mean never, however. He has learned, while working in the Archives, that from the ground, his wings have enough lift to pick up both Jon and Sasha by at least a foot. He thinks he could probably manage Martin as well, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate fact that Martin is mildly allergic to a whole host of things, including feather dander, meaning he gets a bit watery eyed whenever he gets too close to Tim’s wings, and he’s a sniffing, red-eyed mess come  moulting season.

Anyway, he can always fly when he leaves the city. When it’s been too long since Sasha’s scales touched seawater, she invites him out to the coast. Jon apparently has had enough of the coast to last a lifetime, and Martin gets funny about large bodies of water, so it’s often the two of them. She swims out, the greenish scales of her tail catching the sun-struck water, and he, above, feeling the breeze brush through his cramped wings, follows her wake. When she breaches the surface in a playful arc, he swoops down, trying to catch her at the same time as she tries to splash him.

“You never thought to look into it?” Jon asks. Always brewing with questions. Tim is obligingly holding out one of his wings, and Jon, who takes everything like a project, has books out and webpages up but with no further clue as to why his colouration and span differ so from his parents.

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”

Jon hums, clearly not agreeing, and Sasha rolls her eyes fondly,  and that is the end of that.

-

Marysia had hoped her child would not take after her husband. She’d lit candles and attended masses during her pregnancy, worn the beads of her rosary smooth. Her child had been born on land, miles from shore, and her husband had been a grounded man, who had folded up his pelt on their wedding night for her and swore to wear no other soul than his human one.

But then her husband leaves, the box where he kept his second soul empty, and Martin is eight years old, and he wakes up one morning glassy-eyed and complaining of nausea, his lip bleeding from where his sharpening teeth have ripped the skin, and she knows her prayers were not answered.

It is not unknown, for the second soul of some folk to flourish later. But it is a rough awakening, to have one’s body grow a new skin out of itself, and Martin is off school for over a week, riddled with fever and fervour, constantly parched, crying and sweating out salt-water.

She watches his skin prickle with grey and black fur, blotching with white over his stomach as he coils up under his covers, throws them off only for his limbs to reduce to shivering. His brown eyes have gone black-shot, his cries a mix of language and barks, and Marysia fears she will lose her only child to the sea.

It will be hard for him to fit in, she tells herself. It would be best to choose one, and he has his friends and family and her on land, and who knows where his father is now, and surely it would be cruel, an unnecessary agony for him to endure some other foreign pull away from all he knows.

She does what she thinks is a kindness, though that is neither excuse nor forgiveness. After nine days, his fur has come through, sleek and soft, his whiskers twitching, and she helps him peel it off as one would do clothes, revealing sweat-sheened limbs, his eyes slipped back into brown again. His gaze still distant and feverish, he tries to cuddle into her, and she soothes him while she finishes stripping off his pelt and folding it neatly.

While he sleeps, she burns it in a fire in the back yard.

When he comes back to himself, she lies and tells him that he’s been sick with a bad fever. And he trusts her, and never questions it. He doesn’t understand that she’s burnt a part of him up, scattered the ashes to the winds, but it was for the right reasons. To keep him safe, and happy, and with her.

He grows up human-limbed and cloven-souled, and she never tells him the truth.

--

Sasha floats in an ever-dark, stolen away and hidden. There is a knot, a cage-trap around her legs, which have fused into her tail although there is no water. The sea, far away, like the wail in a conch shell, throbs in her soul as she strains and shouts and snarls in the wrapping of spider’s webs.

The sea is the only thing with her in the dark.

Sound has a particular quality, underwater. She hears it first, an echo that shivers through her, like being thrummed on the backdraft of some shallow wave. And then it is a wash of insistence. A command.

The compulsion uses her names, landward and seaward and it pulls and demands her attention, and she shrieks and cries back, struggling in the depths. She is being called home, up up up to breach the surface, and she cannot help but answer.

There is a crack and the sea splits, and she is choking on cold and dusty air.

“Sasha!” someone is saying. “God, is she – she’s not – ?”

“Get that stuff off her, come on. Sasha. Sash, love, can you hear us?”

A series of thuds as she splutters. A twisting, gnarling screech, and several swear words.

“Jesus!”

“Shit – shit, get her out of the way.”

“Boss, move, give me the – ”

The screech degrades into a glitching, warping scream. There is the multi-layered sound of compressed air, and crackling fire,the woosh and stench of something burning.

In time, she cracks her eyes open to the punch of light. Her tail flaps weakly. Someone is pulling great strands of silk that has clumped like poorly soldered iron around her limbs, making visceral noises of disgust. She’s cold-stream shivering, surrounded by broken wood and chippings.

“Hey, hey, we got you. We got you. You with us, Sash?”

The faint scratch of feathers against her cheek. Furnace-warm arms are holding her.

Jon is kneeling down in front of her. Holding an axe and stinking of smoke, and she knows, she knows, that it was his voice she heard, although she doesn’t yet understand why.

Martin throws a blanket over her as she shivers, her tail shrivelling and bisecting into legs. He has silk in his hair, and his fingers are trembling, but his face is broken with a look of such relief.

“It’s you,” he says, and his hand touches at his throat, at the necklace she made for him. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

It’s Martin in the end that carries her out of the tunnels, tucking the blanket completely around her. He is talking in the scatter-gun way he does when he is anxious, babbling, and she can’t bring herself to listen. He smells of soot and saltwater, and she’s never noticed that before.

She falls asleep, curled up into his hold, drained and shaken, but feeling utterly safe.  

--

Jon is human. Completely, one hundred percent, although Sasha had joked once that way way back there must have been some Spinx in the family. Tim’s long suspected that Martin’s not quite human, no matter how he presents, but that’s Martin’s business, not his. Some folks have lineages that are rare, or mistrusted, or misunderstood, and Tim’s not one to pry.

Jon, though. Human through and through. Which is why he’s so worried.

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Jon says. Martin’s with Sasha, making sure there’s no nasty side effects to her imprisonment in the table. Jon’s had a face on him for a while which means he’s Worrying with a capital W, and it’s taken hours for him to untangle himself into a blustered declaration to the rest of the class, spiked with nerves. “That place, it had her. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I did, but I told her to leave, a-and she could. And she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“And you think that you did that?”

“I – I know I did that, Tim, I felt it, o-or. I mean, I felt something!”

“Ok, alright. Alright. Let’s, let’s calm down and look at this logically.”

Jon goes over what he said while they struggled to rescue Sasha from the deep. It was something he said, he’s sure of it, which is why he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the main archive office space with Tim, his trousers getting dusty and his temper scraping frayed, getting increasingly frustrated when he tries recreating exactly what he did with his voice, going through questions and commands and instructions and inquiries. And while Tim answers, it’s clearly not what Jon’s looking for, and he’s rubbing the hair at the back of his head in the way he does when he’s getting increasingly frustrated and is too bull-headed to walk away.

Then Jon, rolling his eyes and seething in annoyance, asks him a throwaway question, one of many he’s been trying – what’s your favourite colour? (seriously, Jon, that’s what you’re going with?!); What did you do at the weekend? (you know what I did, you and Martin were with me!).

“Why did you join the Magnus Institute?”

They both sit, frozen and horrified as Tim’s mouth opens and his words trip over his tongue in their eagerness to leave his mouth. As his eyes grow wide and water with tears as he cannot stop speaking about Danny, about the Covent Garden circus and Joseph Grimaldi. As Jon sits, ramrod-backed and cannot stop listening, a muscle jumping in his jaw.  His expression wars between frantic and panicking and hungry.

Tim feels wrung out and hollow once he’s finished. Jon’s manic with apologies. It takes both of them a long time to calm down.

“Maybe… maybe you’re a siren or something?” Tim suggests, but Jon is shaking his head.

“It’s this place, Tim. It’s those statements, when I read them. It’s … I – I think they’re doing something to me.”

Tim looks at Jon and the light strikes off his eyes in a way that it shouldn’t on a human.

He touches Jon’s arm.

“We’ll sort this,” he promises. “We got Sasha out, didn’t we? The four of us, we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Jon nods, and gives a small fragile thanks, and that’s human enough for Tim.

--

Marysia told herself she was not a bad mother. That her son was simply a hard child to love, that he had all the worst trappings of his father, his brown eyes perpetually caught with a far-away look that doesn’t know where to place its longing. But even as she sickened, and he sloughed off every facet of himself in a pathetic attempt to please her, she couldn’t find anything but sorrow in her heart to look upon the man grown over familiar in face, a growth that grew deep-set and fungal into contempt.

She almost spat the truth out to him. Once or twice, with the thought that confessing might bring them closer. She wished he’d chosen the sea instead, so she wouldn’t have to look upon her amputated, half-formed child who would always be lost.

But she never did.

And Martin finds out alone, cornered in an unlocked office, his hands dropping the lighter as a thousand eyes open and watch satisfied as they pour his mother’s choices down his throat to choke him.

--

It starts when Martin starts sleeping in archive storage. When Tim watches worms burrow into Jon’s skin at the same time as they latch and gnaw and wriggle under his own. When they get Sasha back, and find Gertrude’s corpse and Jon leaves and gets hurt and hurt and hurt again, and the world around them gets smaller and meaner and there is nothing Tim can do.

He takes to storing food in their desk drawers. Nothing that will go off, or won’t keep. Tins and dried goods and non-perishables. He lines the walls of Martin’s storage room with fire extinguishers of different types, fire blankets, and spare first aid kits bulging with plasters and bandages and antiseptic wipes. He buys blankets and pillows and rope and penknives. He stress-moults constantly, and tucks his feathers out of sight, irritated and embarrassed at the sight of them,  and it occurs to him that nesting is not a healthy way to deal with this.

He wants his family safe. He used to think it was such a small thing to ask for.

He thinks about that when the bomb goes off.

He burns, and he is dying.

His rage and fear burn off into a different fury. That it has come to this, his family so threatened, that all he has to his name is his sorrow and trauma and frustration and vengeance.

Tim wants nothing more than to live. To see them safe. To rail and rage against what seeks to harm them. So he burns and he burns and burns, his wings aflame and his mouth twisted in a scream, and does not die.

They dig him out breathing from the rubble. His skin stained grey with ash and soot.

His new wings stretch out red as the sunset.

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

Travelling Oddities AU #1

Wade Wilson x Poe Dalke

Word Count: 902

Tag List: @heavenshipped @ghostlyvenus-selfships @the-rocknroll-cryptid @cherry-bomb-ships

Summary: I finally wrote something pertaining to my Travelling Oddities AU! In which Wade and Poe become freak show attractions in Ajax’s wicked entertainment business. In this particular piece of writing, we see how Poe gets entrapped by Ajax’s dull “charm,” though it is clear from the start there is something deeply wrong here.

Warnings: Poe has an abusive mother who straight up sells him to Ajax without telling him, Ajax being the piece of shit he is (particularly to Wade), just clearly not a safe nor happy environment all around, Wade getting beat to the ground with a cane.

REBLOGS > COMMENTS > LIKES - Thank you for reading!

“Poe! Get your ass out of bed!” His mother’s ragged voice prompted him out of restless sleep much earlier than he expected. He rolled out from under the covers and stumbled for clothes in his dark room, his hair standing on end. Oh gods, what does she want?

When he came into the living area of the small home he shared with his aging mother and teen-aged siblings, he was stunned to find a well-kept man standing in the doorway.

“There you are,” Poe’s mother grabbed his arm and thrust him forward toward the high-class man. “Where’s my money?”

The man said nothing as he produced a billfold from his dark coat pocket.

“W-wait, what’s-what’s going on???” Poe asked, shaking with nerves. His mother sighed and rolled her eyes as she was handed a large sum of cash.

“I’m selling you to the circus. You’ve grown, I can’t keep feeding your hog-ass. Mr. Ajax will provide you with a new life, and an actual job.” She snorted, turning away and waving the two of them off as she counted the money. “Take him away!”

Ajax and Poe shared a short glance before Poe stepped out of the home… no sense in turning back for his belongings, he didn’t have much in the first place and he doubted he’d need it where he was going.

Ajax led Poe into a carriage and the two set off under the cover of a sunless morning.

“So… the circus?” Poe shifted, breaking the silence.

“A generalization. My entertainment is of a smaller scale, but a higher entertainment value. Your mother told me you have some special talents.” Ajax’s voice was poised and accented… Poe couldn’t quite place his intentions from the way he spoke alone, and they swallowed at the mention of “talents.”

“Wh-what exactly did she tell you?”

“You can change your looks at will. Not just human traits like the colour of your hair or your height, but you can become animals, real and mythical. Do something for me.”

“O-oh? Uhm, right here?? Right now??”

Ajax nodded and Poe took a breath, closing their eyes. “Okay…” He tried to focus. Something small that wouldn’t destroy his new employer’s- owner’s? -carriage. He morphed into his most familiar form; a pitch-black raven with blinding white eyes, and hopped around his seat a bit before reverting back to his human form.

“Fascinating. Anything else?”

“Nothing I could safely show you here…”

Ajax hummed. “I shall just evaluate you at camp, then. There will be new clothes and a bed, and warm meals three times a day.”

“Already sounds better than home.” Poe smiled and Ajax smiled back, though… there was something hollow about the gesture.

~~~

The sky was gray when the carriage arrived at Ajax’s camp, an area of land with several caravans and a metal ring in the center with objects likely for training. A tightrope was also set up, high above the camp.

“We’ll be on the road again soon,” Ajax commented as he lead his newest specimen to his very own caravan, the largest and most extravagantly painted one. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

“Fresh meat!” A voice called out.

“Ignore the jeerers. They’re all bark and no bite.”

“Haven’t you caused enough suffering?! Why recruit more mutants?!”

Poe hesitated in the caravan doorway, but was gently pulled in, the door closing behind them. Neither spoke of the accusation as Ajax showed Poe to his bathroom.

“Wash up. I will have your choice of clothes shortly after. Then I will show you around and we shall set to exploring your abilities further.”

Poe nodded. “Erm. Thank you, sir.”

“No need for that.~” Ajax closed the bathroom door.

Soon, Poe was dressing in a simple, flowing button-down paired with tight, high-waisted pants and leather boots. He turned to join Ajax outside, but heard a hissing behind him and looked back. The window was slightly ajar, and past the glass he saw a scarred face looking back at him.

“Hey!” It whispered, clearly trying to get his attention. Instead, Poe screamed and rushed out to Ajax.

“What, what is it?” The ringleader snapped, looking around for a threat. The stranger sprinted around the caravan, swearing under his breath.

“Sorry, Jaxy, I was just trying to say hi to the new guy!” The man looked almost burnt, his skin rough and devoid of hair, from his head to his exposed chest. Ajax regarded him with obvious disgust.

“What did I say about nicknames, Wilson?” Ajax growled as Poe half-hid himself behind the ringleader, watching this “Wilson” like an unsure child.

“Sorry, Ajax.” Sarcasm and uncaring caused Ajax to raise his cane, swiftly beating the man to his knees.

“Leave him alone,” Ajax ordered, referring to Poe as Wilson seethed in pain below him. “Until he has adjusted, at the very least.”

“Can I at least have a name??”

“Poe Dalke.” Poe spoke for himself, now out of Ajax’s shadow. He felt incredibly bad, but still too put off by the man’s appearance to offer help… the actions against him made him wary of Ajax as well.

“Wade Wilson.” Wade offered his hand and without thinking Poe took it, helping him stand. Ajax snatched Poe’s arm and yanked him back from his new coworker.

“Get back to training.”

“Aye-aye, captain…” Wade sighed and shook himself, limping away from the two.

“Now… where were we, Raven?”

[merakiclosed]

The third mystery book

》Pairing: Mystery Shack Worker!Chan x Reader 

》Genre: Fluff, mystery au 

》Summary: Visiting Gravity Falls once again, you see Chan again that you have had a crush on since last summer. However, neither of you expected to find something like this...

》Word count: 1.4k

》Notes/Warnings: None. I am sorry this is so bad ahhh😅

This is part of my collab with @woozisnoots​ which is here. Make sure to check all of the writers!!! 

🦦🦦🦦🦦🦦

The baby blue sky is littered with white, puffy clouds that radiate joy, ready to travel across the atmosphere as the sun warms your skin. The forest floor is woven with ancient tree roots, speckles of light that filter through the canopy light up the familiar trail. You wonder how many hues of green there are alone in a single tree as they stretch upwards towards the light. Gravity Falls always has this magical aura surrounding it, full of mysteries ready to be discovered. It felt like a breath of fresh air compared to being in the city. It was freeing, not being bombarded by the crowded streets, nor feeling small under the buildings that tower over you. 

You know you’re at your destination when you see the two totem poles that rise from the ground, multiple designs carved into the wood. At the very top owls sit, splashed with colour that decorates them bright and bold.

The floor vibrates as the sound of screaming comes from behind you, causing you to stop your steps to turn around. The white golf cart speeds towards you, two unrecognisable people sitting in the front, waving their arms as they get closer. Your eyes widen as you run out of the way, the cart rushing past you as the two boys scream, the cart swaying side to side as they refuse to slow down, getting closer to the mystery shack before they disappear around the back. Shaking your head, you go back onto the path where the tire tracks are not indented into the mud. At least you won’t get lost now. 

As you get closer, you see the multiple wooden signs that are planted into the soil; messages such as ‘no refunds’, ‘mystery shack this way’. Your worn out shoes lead you on the path towards the familiar shack where the wooden planks hold it together and the roof sits high and pointy. 

The bell on the door rings as you step through, the old flooring creaking under your feet. A smile makes its way onto your face unconsciously as you look around at all of the souvenirs that are set up, all random and mismatched. You missed this. The inconsistency of things, how everything is so unexpected. Looking around, you find that it’s empty apart from you and you wonder if the boy from last year still works here. 

Voices are muffled by the door but you still jump when the door is swung open and the bell rings aggressively. Two boys stand there, muddy and hair windswept as they practically shout at one another, “no that was your fault!” 

“Uhm excuse me? I had to drive that stupid thing thank you very much!” 

A cough comes from the door on the other side of the shack, from next to you, “Soonyoung, Dokyeom what are you doing? Why do you look like that?” he whines, walking closer to the boys who are quite a bit taller than him. The shorter boy continues to talk whilst you make eye contact with the one with purple hair makes eye contact with you, a small smirk making its way onto his face. As you look closer at them, you begin to release that they seem vaguely familiar. Disregarding how the younger boy continues to berate them, your voice speaks without our permission, “Soonyoung? Dokyeom?”  

All three boys look at you in shock, and you can’t help but stare back at the very very familiar shorter boy, “Chan?” you question. 

Soonyoung laughs as he bound over to you, muddy footprints staining the wooden floor as he gets closer to you and shaking you by your shoulders, “Y/n!!! You came again! Has it already been one year??” his voice gets higher pitched as he speaks. In the corner of your eye you see Dokyeom follow him as he wraps his arms around, both of them inabiliying you to move, “It doesn’t feel like a year. Chan here wouldn’t stop talking about you. Oh, how I wish y/n was here. Oh why can’t she live here, or what about if I move there” Dokyeom mimics Chan's voice in your ear, his sunshine smile never leaving his face. 

Chan’s ears bloom a reddish hue as he smiles embarrassedly, waving at you. When the bell rings for the third time, all four of you watch as a short young man walks in, his black hair falling in front of his eyes. You watch as Hoshi’s eyes widen as an even wider smile makes its way onto his face as he sets his eyes on the boy that walks in. Squished in between the two boys you hear Dokyeom aggressively whisper, “Look, Hoshi I know you’re going through your boyfriend phase but calm down, you’re going to scare the poor boy away.” 

You smile awkwardly as the young boy's eyes fall on all four of you, confusion written on his face. You notice the way he lingers his eyes on Hoshi for a little longer before you're dragged along by someone holding onto your shirt, making both of the boy's arms fall from you, though they are both too busy whispering. 

Turning around, you find the suspect who dragged you away. “Sorry for that, Hoshi has a crush on the boy that walks in, Jihoon I think it is.” Chan says, whilst scratching the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. 

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a - uh. Uhm da-walk with me?” He stutters over his words as you drown out the noise of the three behind you. A bright smile makes its way on your face at his words, you’ve had a crush on him since last year, when you came. You didn’t think you’d see him again, so of course you were going to take every chance you get. 

Nodding, you grab his fidgeting hands in yours, “I would love to go on a walk with you.”

🦦🦦🦦🦦🦦

Multiple stands line the forest floor, each with bright colours that reflect the shimmering light of the sun as it starts to set. With only a handful of people, it feels like it’s just you and Chan as you look around the fair; a pretzel in the shape of a question mark in your hand. 

A familiar face catches your eyes, “Is that gruncle stan?” you ask, pointing to where he stands next to one of the fair games, trying to encourage people to come and play. “Yeah, the game is rigged so no one can play.” You laugh a little, remembering how cheap he is.  

His hand brushes up against yours, before you grab his hand in yours, not wanting to let this opportunity go to waste. In the corner of your eye, you see his face form into shock as he looks at you and a small smile settles on his face. 

The night lights of the fair light up and you know that Chan will have to go back to his job soon. Both of you pause, to look up at the sky that sets in hues of pinks and oranges that reflect on his face, making him glow more than he did before. Losing your footing, you stumble backwards, Chan reaching out to catch you, but it’s too late before your back hits the tree behind you. A metal bang resonates throughout the forest, but you know that it definitely didn’t come from. Both of you look shocked for a second before you notice something strange on the floor next to Chan’s foot, “W-what is that?” 

Turning around he crouches down, an outline of a box now prominent and sticking slightly up from the ground, “It can’t be a door right?” you question, joining him on the floor. Chan shruggs before trying to pry it open, his fingers scratching at the edges of the outline. Spiders crawl around, hiding from the exposed light as dust rises from the hole. Reaching in, Chan picks up the singular book that lays there, a golden hand sketched onto the front and a number 3 that lies in the middle of its palm.

Slowly, he turns the pages to find diagrams and entries of creatures. Notes upon notes of supernatural beings and writings that are drawn all over the pages, when one particular page catches his eyes. “It’s hard to believe it has been 6 years since I began researching the strange and wondrous secrets of gravity falls, Oregon. Unfortunately, my suspicions were correct, I am being watched. I must hide this before he finds it. Remember - In gravity falls there is no one you can trust” 

[cowperviolet]

A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.  

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels.  However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t,  after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.   

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

[jimlingss]

The Devil’s Advocate

➜ Words: 11.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Smut, Devil!AU

➜ Summary: The devil is a lazy. selfish. bastard. He never shows up for work and forces you to take his place at the gates of Hell. But when he follows you on your vacation — you have an inkling of his intentions. After all, you are his advocate.

➜ Warnings: Implied smut, violence, killing, etc.

There’s a proverb out there that says: talk of the devil and he is sure to appear.   But no matter how much you talk, curse, and wish for him to show up to his damned job — he never does. So because of him, every single day in this burning inferno eternity, you're always running.   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"   The guards step swiftly away as you sprint past with fire on your heels — they're not unfamiliar with this sort of sight. After all, the same thing happens day in and day out.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. “You're late.”   “I know.” You’re heaving for air while balancing the pile of file folders and paperwork that goes over your head. You drop it on your desk with a massive thump that teeters the desk’s legs from the sheer force and has the people wincing.   He would make another snarky comment but your deep eye bags and trembling hands are pitiful enough.   “Alright.” The angel stands onto his feet again. “First person, please.”   One of Yoongi's assistance in her white robes looks down at the clipboard and calls the next dead soul that's been in line. “Kim Namjoon.”   Immediately, you shuffle your files to find the right one, struggling in the mess of yet another late night. In the meanwhile, the man steps up with a nervous posture, reverent with his hands folded in front of him and Yoongi reads from his own papers.   “Alright. Looks like you were an academic most of your life. A very quiet existence, huh? Never married or any kids. Let's see here. Oh. You dedicated your life to research of koala birth control. A very good contribution to society. You volunteered at soup kitchens a lot too — even on the day of your death.”   “I like to help people,” the man pipes up in a timid mutter.   Yoongi's cat-like eyes flicker to the top of his paper, having never asked him to speak. And the glare from the angel has the man tight-lipped again. “Your history shows you were very altruistic. Looks like you can head to heaven.”   “Wait!” You stand up once you finally find the right file, stopping the soul before it can take a step closer towards the glowy gates.    At your rebuttal, Yoongi rolls his eyes and plops back down into his swivel chair.   “Here we go again....”   You hold the file up. “Kim Namjoon, you were at Imlings Street on October twenty fifth, twenty nineteen, correct?”   “Y-Yes?” The deceased human swallows hard, not sure where you're going with this. But he’s undoubtedly nervous that you're speaking, after all you’re the woman in bright carmine. Namjoon looks at the angel for help but Yoongi doesn't even blink. “I worked near there.”   “And you were there that night at ten?”   “I-I don't remember.”   “Well, you were celebrating your friend's birthday that night, right?”   “Oh yeah…” His brows furrow as it slowly comes back to him.   “And at some point, you were standing near the corner street near Fifth avenue, correct?”   “Yes...? I suppose.”   “Is it true you could see down the alleyway the restaurant called Dog World?”   Namjoon pales. “Umm....”   The deceased human obviously recalls why this night was significant in particular — and it seems to be a memory that he’s attempted to suppress through his entire lifetime.   “Answer the question, human,” Yoongi sighs, fiddling with a pen in his cup holder.   “Yes.”   “And you witnessed a woman being murdered, correct?”   The man nearly starts sobbing. He whimpers, and manages a slight nod.   “We need you to speak, Mr. Kim.”   “Yes!” he shouts, distressed.    “You did nothing to stop it, right?”   “I...I couldn’t!”   “Well, you didn't call the police?”   “I didn't.”   “You just left while the woman was being murdered.” As you speak, the man starts wailing hysterically, aware of where this is going. He attempts to beg for forgiveness, but neither you nor Yoongi pay any mind. It’s always the last moments that humans are filled with regret — the moments when it matters, not the moments when it didn’t. “Are you aware that the omission to act when you have a moral duty to is a grave sin?”   He hiccups, sobbing.   “It is equally as bad to be a bystander as a perpetrator,” you continue. “You could've saved her.”   Yoongi waves his hand. “Alright, alright. You've convinced us.” The angel spares the man from being berated and grilled, granting him at least a bit of mercy. “You're going to hell.”   “No! No!”    He howls at the top of his lungs, but the two guards grab each side of him and begin dragging him past you. The barbed, black gates open wide to welcome him in, creaking on their hinges, and his scream is heard echoing as he’s thrown down the red-glowing, inferno pit.   You don’t know why they’re always crying — it’s kind of insulting to your home.   Hell’s not that bad.   “Next person!” Yoongi calls.   When humans die, most of their souls rise to purgatory — an empty void of nothingness — where they stand in a single-file line waiting to get to the gates. There, the devil and an angel representative come to judge where the soul shall reside as each come up one by one.    But the devil never shows up to do his job, to serve judgment to human souls.   You’re his substitute.    You’re the devil’s advocate.   “Am I going to see you tomorrow?”   It’s been a long day and you feel your eyeballs burning as you pack up the mess of your files. You’ll have to sort them again, but for now, you stuff whatever you can back into your briefcase.   “No, it's my day off. Jimin'll probably be here instead.” Yoongi sips the glittering golden liquid in his chalice. Angels — always so pretentious. “Let me guess, you’ll still be here.”   “Hopefully not.” There’s a small smile gracing your lips, but it’s futile. Everyone knows you’ll have to show up. The lazy devil never shows up and does his own bidding.   “You’re overworking yourself, Y/N,” Yoongi mumbles in disgust as he watches you try to pile your stack of papers that’s practically teetering from side to side. “Haven’t you thought about going on vacation or something?”   “Vacation?” you exhale, arms straining under the weight.   His eyes light up as he remembers something. “Have you ever heard about that famous cruise? What was it again?” Yoongi looks over at his assistant and her eyes flicker up.   “Sins Cruise Line,” she deadpans.   He snaps his fingers. “Right. I heard it was amazing. Each day is dedicated to a deadly sin or something. Too bad they only have it in hell — makes me want to visit some time. But does the publicity live up to the name?”   “How am I supposed to know?”   Yoongi’s eyes dim. His excitement dies on the spot. “Of course you wouldn’t.” The angel grabs his briefcase. “Well see you some time, Y/N. I’m going to my vacation home over the long weekend.”   “Goodbye, Yoongi.”   He enters the gates of Heaven and disappears from sight. You go on your own way, bringing your tall files back. But his words stick to you. They’re devilishly tempting.   //   You’re writing away on parchment with your quill dipped with black ink, preparing more documents and affidavits. But you stop momentarily to roll your neck and ease your tense muscles. You lean back in your chair, staring around at the red room you’re in, and the tiny desk that you occupy. Across the room is the devil’s desk, large and imposing, with an uncomfortable chair across his velvet one. Though the surface has collected a thick layer of dust on the surface.   “Debra!” you shout her name and the sluggish secretary comes in. She has gray hair, kitten heels clicking on the scarlet carpet, skirt past her knees. The demon woman reminds you of church-goer humans who often shout profanities at you as if they’re attempting to exorcise you while you’re just trying to make a legal case — they frequently run into Yoongi’s arms too, impressing neither you nor him.   “Yes?”   You set your quill down. “Have you ever heard of Sins Cruise Line?”   She exhales in exhaustion. “Can’t say I have…”   “Well...then. Umm, can you find me a pamphlet of theirs?”   She stares and then slowly turns away from the room without acknowledgment.   But the secretary eventually comes back half an hour later and slaps the rectangular papers to your desk. She turns away, returning to her front desk, and while you try to focus on your work until the next break, the temptation of the pamphlet sitting at the corner becomes too strong.   You put down your quill to open it.   At once, your pupils dilate. There’s a picture of the glorious red sea, the colour of crimson and a white pristine ship on it. Your indulgence is ours. How fancy. It looks like there’s a variety of facilities and lots of activities to do. It looks fantastic and your muscles are already relaxing as you look at the pictures.   But you can’t….   You can’t just leave your job….   Can you?

Turns out you can — that it is in fact possible.   It’s so surreal, you can’t believe that you’ve somehow managed to actually get time off, that the infamously lazy devil actually agreed to it and will come back to work so you can take a break.   Now you’re standing on the harbour with your suitcase in hand, staring at the white ship in front of you. Yoongi would be proud.   “Cocktail?”   The worker hands one to you on his platter, and you hesitate. “Can I really?”   “Of course.” He grins. “Your indulgence is our pleasure.”   You hold the cool glass while stepping onto the incline to get on the ship’s deck. The chilling wind entwines into your hair and you sip the liquid, your feet afloat already. “Welcome aboard to Sins Cruise Line! Your indulgence is our pleasure!”   The workers wave, giving a warm welcome with perfect smiles. You might be in Heaven.   “We can show you the way to your room. What is your name?”   “Y/N L/N.” One of the demon women takes a look at your ticket and smiles. “Right this way.”   After a millennium of working, this is what you deserve.   You’re given a short, brief tour of the massive cruise ship. “—week-long, each day to indulge in a deadly sin—” And not long after are you brought to your modest-sized ocean view room. “—canal surrounds hell. It’s quite lovely during the night when the water glows red. Have you ever seen it before?”   “No, I can’t say that I have,” your voice trails off and you look at towels shaped into animals on your bed as well as the edible arrangement on your coffee table. “Wow….”   “I’m glad you like it. It’s all complimentary,” the girl giggles. “I should also tell you that today is dedicated to greed. We’ll be having a gambling night down at the casino floor starting in the evening. Other than that, feel free to ask anything whatsoever. We’ll always be around.”   “Thank you.”   And you’re sincere about your gratitude. You’ve never experienced something like this before.   You flop down onto the soft bed before getting up after a moment. There’s too much to explore, too much to see than to stay in a small space between four walls. You’ve done that enough and you find yourself quickly slipping away from your room.   As you pace the area, you muse that you could potentially spend the rest of your existence on this ship, indulging like you should be, giving into temptation, living in a daze, high on bliss—   “Where’s my refill?! I’ve been waiting for five minutes!”   Your smile falls. Goosebumps raise all over your body. The barking voice is so familiar that it sends chills down your spine. It’s an automatic response, like a dog made on alert, and your head swivels over.   Instantaneously, your eyes connect to darker ones. They’re pools of deep brown nearing black. And the corner of their plump lip tugs into a sly smirk.   What the hell was the devil doing here?   “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He abandons his drink on the tray of the server that just rushed over and ignores him in favour of you. The devil makes long strides across the deck towards you and when you stumble back, his smile widens into a friendlier one. Had you blinked, you would’ve missed the sparkle of dangerous mischief in his eyes. “What a coincidence.”   “A coincidence?!”   You’re unintentionally cowering lower than him, posture bending to his imposing aura. He looms over you with his tall height, covering you with his shadows that seems to snicker.   “Course it would be. What? You think I followed you here?”   That’s exactly it — you put in a note requesting time off, and when he asked where you were going via letter, you wrote it down. There’s no way that this was a mere coincidence.   But you don’t dare say it out loud.   “Who’s….who’s working?”   He grins. Of course the first question you would ask him is about work.   “I put Taehyung in charge.”   “He’s not trained!” you hiss in distress, just considering the wrong things he’ll do, the trouble he’ll cause and mess he’ll make for you to clean up.   But the devil man shrugs. “He’ll be fine. So what are you doing now? This is one hell of a ship, huh?”   You’re in hell.    You’re stuck in the middle of a canal, on a cruise ship, with no escape from Kim Seokjin.   //   What was supposed to be an easy vacation has turned into a nightmare.    Every corner you turn, you peek from it. You slink behind pillars to scan the premise. You crawl in the shadows to—   “Are you lost?”   You jump from your spot, turning to find a short worker, an attendant wearing the cruise uniform while adorning a warm smile.    “You scared the living daylights out of me!” you harshly whisper, holding your hand over your unbeating heart.   “My apologies, ma’am. I was just asking if you’re lost. Or are you looking for the way to the casino for our gambling night?”   That’s right. You’ve lost sight as to why you came here.   It’s supposed to be a break, a break from your job, from your stress, from your intimidating boss that never appears at work anyways. You shouldn’t have lost focus on it. You paid a lot of gold coins to be here.   “Where is it again?”   “Oh, turn to your left, walk down the hall and just take the elevator to the third floor. You’ll be right there! Hard to miss.”   “Thanks…”   You shouldn’t waste such a good trip.   Once you arrive at the floor, the intoxicating air overwhelms your senses. It’s hard to think, and the many lights blind your vision, a mosaic of colours that makes the surroundings a whirlwind. There’s the crisp sound of cards divided up, tables and roulette boards spinning, machines being pulled and coins falling out the slots.   Someone hands you a drink and you grasp onto it to stay grounded. But sipping the liquid only intensifies the experience.   You stand back to watch the demons play, gambling the lives of humans souls indebted to them.   “I was looking for you.” A voice pipes up beside you, and you’re genuinely scared this time.   The entity manifested beside you, looking straight ahead. You wonder why you even tried to run today. There’s no point. He’s the devil.   “Why?”   “Just cause.” Seokjin grins, turning his head to stare at you. He’s dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, black trousers tight around his thighs — he’s missing the traditional, black cape that calls attention whenever he steps into the room. “You’re my favourite little worker. So it’s nice to see you in a different setting.”   You aren’t particularly amused. “Where have you been?”   Seokjin shrugs. “Around.”   You thought because he’d be busy with other affairs which would be understandable considering his status in this realm. But to hear such a nonchalant answer brings forth more questions to your mind. “Why haven’t you been to work?”   “I don’t like work much, but you already knew that.” His eyes twinkle with playfulness and plump lips pull into yet another sly smirk. Jin’s voice moves down a pitch into a rumbling timbre. “Plus, how could I ever replace you? You’re the best at my job.”   You don’t know what to say to that, so you take a sip of your drink. There’s too many questions still left unanswered, but you don’t bother asking.   This is all a game to him anyways. He followed you here to pester you on your break, to ruin your chances of rest.   Seokjin is truly the devil.   “Let’s play a game, Y/N,” he sing-songs. “Should we bet?”   “Bet what?” you ask, hesitating. It was never good to make deals with the devil.   He leans in closer, overwhelming you with his aroma and blocking out the intoxicating air manufactured to create a greedy atmosphere. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”   Seokjin laughs at your disgusted expression. He’s a sadist through and through. The damned devil loves seeing pain on your face.   “And if you win, I’ll come back to work. How about that?”   You don’t get a chance to answer before you’re brought over to the poker table. The two of you play a long game, lifting your cards for only your eyes, pupils flickering up to meet his and trying to read his expression. But you should’ve known. He’s too good at bluffing. He’s the devil after all.   And he always wins.   “A deal’s a deal and you made a deal with the devil.”   Seokjin wolfishly smiles when the pair of you join together again and he taps his pink, plush lips with a single finger. Everything about him is made to tempt others — from his clear skin to his eyes shining with endless greed. There’s a gravitational pull that comes from his perfect exterior. He’s a marble sculpture made from the gods’ temptations.   But you don’t feel seduced as you do feel burdened.   “I never agreed to it, did I?”   The devil’s brow quirks and he bursts out laughing. “Now that’s not fair.”   “No, but it is true.”   You walk away before he can put his mouth on you and above the coins clicking, the machines being pulled, you hear the smirk in his voice. “What a sore loser.”   Seokjin is good at reminding you that you’re in hell.   //   The next morning, there’s a loud knock at your door.   “Room service! Good morning, Miss Y/N.” The worker wheels the whole cart in, and your eyes are wide with what he presents you. There’s more edible arrangements, platter of fruits and vegetables and a whole stack of pancakes. “I hope I didn’t awake you from any sleep.”   “Oh no, it’s fine.”   The girl beside him clasps her hands together and presents you with a paper package, including advertisements, directory maps, and all the things you need for the day. “Today is wrath day. There will be an anger room where you can beat and smash things until you’re content. Also at noon, there will be human souls up on the top deck that you can freely torture. We collected the scum of the pit and don’t worry, they’ll be disposed there as well.”   “There’s also a complimentary hate letter you can write to the person you most despise,” the demon boy exclaims with a happy grin.   “We won’t send them,” the girl clarifies. “Don’t worry. We burn them in a pit of fire, but hopefully it can ease some of your anger.”   You thank them for their services and they bow their heads, taking their leave. For the first little while, you chew on some breakfast and go through the package. None of the activities seem particularly appealing to you, but you keep an open mind, deciding to head up to the main deck afterwards.   And of course, Seokjin is taking full advantage of the activities.   There’s a blood-curdling scream.   “Arrow, please.” His palm is out and the worker places another arrow in the devil’s hands. Seokjin positions and fires again, piercing the human in the shoulder, pinning him against the wooden wall. There’s another scream that makes you wince from the sheer volume.    It’s like he’s playing darts.   There are screeches everywhere, pain felt but the humans unable to die.   Seokjin catches sight of you as you’re looking around.   “Y/N!” He waves over with an enormous grin. “Come join me.”   “Thank you, but I’d rather not,” you politely decline.   He shakes his head in feigned disapproval, yet continues to draw his bow when another arrow is handed to him. “You’re too uptight. You’re always dealing with souls, don’t you want to play with one?”   “I work with so many souls, I’d rather not have to deal with them on my down time.”   “You always have rebuttals, don’t you?” Seokjin muses, mostly to himself, and then smiles. “But fair enough.”   You step by his side, watching him fire yet another arrow to the human that’s already died.   You must admit, the screams are kind of delightful.    You turn to watch a demon rip apart someone’s limbs and dangle it in front of them, another throwing someone off the ship into the red canal. And you overlook one of the humans in their pen glaring right at you.    He recognizes you.    You’re the one who dragged him here, who judged his soul and deemed him evil enough for hell. He screams and jumps from his pen, escaping the railings with the vigour of a vengeance boiling for an eternity. He swipes a knife from the table of weapons.   There are gasps of workers. Demons that turn. Seokjin’s eyes harden. His arm drops, bow by his side. You look down. The blade of the knife is poking through your abdomen, the tip of it exposed on the other side and shining from the little light of the overcasted red sky.    “You brought me here! Demon! Witch! You—”   “You know I can’t die, right?” you interrupt with half a glare, more annoyed than anything.   You pull the blade out of you and the metal clangs on the wooden deck. The workers rush over and five of them apprehend the screaming human to chuck him overboard. There’s a loud splash in the canal and others rush to your side, fussing about and apologizing.   “Were you not watching them?!” Seokjin shouts with the true wrath of the devil.   “We are so sorry, we sincerely apologize for any inconvenience.”   “I’ve never seen such an unprofessional group in my entire existence!” he barks back at them.   You watch him and sigh.   Seokjin is baffled beyond belief, berating the workers for not being careful enough, for not securing the pen. He yells at them to clean up the mess, making an absolute ruckus. When his anger simmers down, he turns around, about to ask if you’re alright.   But unfortunately you’re gone. You’ve escaped, vanished out of thin air.   //   Angry?   You used to be angry a lot but then the futile emotion became crushed by the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. After a millennium, you’re too stressed and tired to be angry. Being angry took too much energy.   You retire to your room early, just before dinner, and while you’re wondering if you should rest, your eyes catch the open letter on the vanity. You contemplate for a while before you finally decide to sit down. You grab the quill and dip the tip into the pot of ink. Never has it been easier to write a letter. A letter of hatred towards the devil, Kim Seokjin.   It’s been known that the lazy devil makes your life harder than need be. He draws attention in ways you don’t want it to be drawn. He’s never there when you need him and there when you don’t.   He’s a lazy bastard who never gets work done. Who always pours endless tasks on your shoulders for you to bear. Who never shows up to work. Who never appreciates anything you have to do. He’s sick and sadistic, ego bigger than his own head.   Seokjin is a pathetic leader.   It feels good to write it out, to put your thoughts onto paper. The ink stains the parchment quickly, curves and loops of your letters smooth. You breathe a sigh of relief as you finish and lick the envelope closed, wrapping it up.   He’ll never see it, but it was pleasant to put your anger on tangible material. It’s liberating. And for a brief period, you feel less stressed.   You toss the hate letter aside for pickup.

The worker hums to himself, sack in hand that’s heavy and filled with letters ready to be tossed and burned. He’s had a long day of working and this was his last job before he can rest. But once he exits your room, he’s suddenly stopped in the hallway.   “Mr. Kim.” He recognizes him like everyone else. Once they heard the devil was arriving, they made sure to iron their dark blue uniforms and ensure things were in tip-top shape.   The devil beckons him over once with his hand. “I’d like to see Miss Y/N’s letter.”   “I...I’m sorry, I can’t do that. That’s against policy. We assured all guests that they are entitled to their own privacy and, uh, that would be going against the rules.”   “Rules?” His gaze darkens, becoming cold. Seokjin reminds him, “I’m the devil.”

When you open the door to your room, shivers crawl up your skin, traveling down your spine. You flicker on the light to discover someone seated in the armchair in the corner of the room. Their broad backside faces you.   “I wish you would know how much you stress me out.” He pauses and exhales thoughtfully. “When you’re around me, you stress me out. When you’re not around, you stress me out. I think you truly make hell hell, so congratulations for at least doing one job correctly.”   Mortified is an understatement.   You’re frozen in your spot. The door closes behind you from the momentum. You’re trapped in a room with him, and the devil turns his head to greet you with a smile. Your letter is open in his hand. “I’m surprised, Y/N. I knew you didn’t like me, but I didn’t know you hated me so much.”   He puts it down, slowly rises to his feet and closes the distance between your physical bodies within three strides. “But if you felt so strongly about me, you should’ve said something.”   Seokjin corners you in your small room until your back is pressed against the surface of the door.    “If I felt strongly or not, why should I tell you?” you ask, voice unintentionally shaking.   Even in such a moment, you’re still playing devil’s advocate. It makes him smirk. “Because I’d like to know.”   He’s close to you, aura heavy and imposing. Seokjin doesn’t touch you but you can feel him.   And strangely enough, he doesn’t punish you in the way you think he would for thinking such ill thoughts of him.   “You still owe me that kiss. You can kiss me hard if you want — to try to relent your anger and what was it again? Oh yeah, tell me what a pathetic leader I am.”   Your eyes meet his — yours stern, but his softened. Despite Seokjin’s greased words, he steps back and you move out of the way. He reaches for the door knob.   “You weren’t supposed to read it,” you mutter before he can leave. “Are you…”   “Angry?” There’s a ghost of a tender smile on his features. He doesn’t look at you. He simply sighs. “No, I’m not.”   The male opens the door, but lingers. He decides to grace you with the profile of his beautiful visage. “Earlier. When you stabbed. Are you okay?”   “I, uh, I’m fine.”   “Good.”   //   The following day is dedicated to gluttony. All over the cruise ship are demons feasting, eating, drinking, consumption galore. The banquet hall is vast with a table stretching across the space — every inch of the surface covered in luxurious dishes. The floor is also soaked with wine, the liquid that haphazardly splashed over the rim of demons’ glasses.   It’s hard to resist eating and drinking copious amounts when the gravity quite literally pulls you in. And Seokjin finds you there, leaning on the wall, hand glued to your glass, intoxicated enough not to jump when you see him.   “I never took you for a drinker.” He wears an amused smile as he takes your sloppy form in.   “On the contrary.” You wave a finger in the air. “Why didn't you take me as a drinker?”   “That doesn't make any sense.”   You eye him with a slight pout. “Why aren't you drinking?”   Seokjin shrugs and looks around. “These childish spells don't affect me.”   “Psh. Don't act like you're better 'cause you're the devil.”   “But I am better because I'm the devil.” He smirks. “Stronger. Resistant. Handsomer.”   “Handsomer's not a word. ‘t's more handsome.”   “You're fun at parties.”   “Hey, it's my job.” You sigh, trying to reason with him. “My job that you gave me. I just gotta play the devil's advocate.”   Seokjin smiles, a puff of air leaving his nose. He leans on the wall beside you, looking out and you take the chance to blatantly stare at him, openly ogling. You muse that he almost looks...normal like this. Well, as normal as demons can get. He’s not so imposing.   “Are you sad?”   “What?”   “I wanted to ask if you were sad, not mad. Over my letter.”   “Pft. Sad? I don't get sad. I'm the devil,” he declares as if you need to be reminded.   “Doesn’t mean you can’t be sad,” you huff, “Then you're not hurt?”   “Not really.” The devil lolls his head to the side, peeking at you when you keep staring at him. “I'm already hated by many in every realm. I thrive off the hatred.”   His eyes glimmer with mischief and he leans down to connect his eyes with you at the same level. His breath is on your skin, so close that you can see his lashes one by one. But you don’t move away or lean back as you usually would. Your interest is piqued.   The corners of Seokjin’s plump lips pull.   In the chaos of the masses eating and devouring food like monsters, there’s a private, intimate moment tucked away in the corner of the banquet hall where it’s just you and him. “It's not like I don't deserve it anyways. I'm not a 'good' entity. Since when did the devil help anyone?”   “Since when did the devil need to help anyone?” you ask on impulse. It’s become your pure instincts to doubt everything told to you. “Since when did anyone need help?”   “You're right.” Seokjin grins wolfishly. “But the alternative of hatred is love anyways, and that's sickening.”   There’s a second of silence.   And then you burst out laughing.   Seokjin whips his head over, watching the sound leaving your lips.    “I should bring you love then, just to make you suffer then,” your words slur as you poke his shoulder. “But knowing you, you'd probably enjoy suffering too because you're that sick and twisted.”   The corners of his mouth tugs into yet another smile as a light scoff leaves his throat. The devil can’t love, but what he feels towards you is what he thinks is pretty damn close to it.   //   The day that follows if focused on envy.   The workers greet you with another package of activities to do and a promise that they can get you one thing you’ve always wanted, if it’s within their abilities. But you don’t know what to tell them.   You end up loitering around for most of the day, checking facilities and eating, walking around until night falls where you head down to the luxurious bar, drawn in by the blue lights and entrancing music.    Halfway through nursing a drink at the counter, someone slides up on the stool next to you. It’s not the person you were anticipating unfortunately. Wait.   Unfortunately?   You wonder why you automatically thought it was unfortunate. You momentarily ponder why you were filled with a brief emotion of disappointment when it wasn’t the person you expected.   “Hi, I was just sitting across the bar, but I couldn’t help coming over and telling you that you look stunning in that dress.”   It’s a demon with doe eyes and a boyish smile. He makes you look down at yourself to inspect the rather simple number — compared to the layered robes you often have to show up in for the judgment process, this was just a floor length dress, black and sleek with one sleeve and the other side off the shoulder.   “Thanks.”   “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”   He puts out his hand and you shake it after a short pause. “L/N Y/N.”   “Sounds familiar,” he hums, red eyes piercing through yours. The demon plasters on a grin. “Do I know you from somewhere?”   “Probably not.”   “You’re right. I would’ve remembered someone so beautiful.” The grease reminds you of that someone you thought would have appeared by now, but the stranger isn’t as smooth when he says the one-liners. It doesn’t sound as pleasant to the ears. “Can I buy you a drink, Y/N?”   “Um…”   “Sorry, I’m already buying her one.”   Another voice pipes up — the person you were unknowingly waiting for finally manifested himself.    Kim Seokjin appears with his hair pushed back, forehead on full display, dressed in another one of his dress shirts with sleeves rolled up and casual trousers deliciously tight around the thighs. His pink, plump lips quirk into a smile as he looks at you. Meanwhile, Jungkook visibly pales.   “Oh. Sorry, I, I didn’t know she was, uh, um…” The stranger recognizes you now. With you beside the devil, he recalls where he’s seen you before.   You’re the devil’s advocate. “Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” Seokjin moves his head to the side and Jungkook slides off the stool so quickly, he almost loses footing and falls flat on his face. Luckily, he catches himself and you watch him sprint away practically with his tail caught between his legs.   What a shame. “He was nice.”   “I bet he was,” he mutters, glaring at the fleeting demon’s backside with a force that could light the entire place aflame.   “Kind of cute too.” You turn your head to look back at Seokjin. You’re not sure why it’s so fun to aggravate him at the moment. Maybe you realized it’s a way to get under his skin. “You didn’t have to scare him off.”   “Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten scared so easily,” he refutes and it’s a rather good point. Jin orders a drink, getting served immediately. He sips on it and peeks at you through the rim of his glass. “Were you going to reject him or were you planning on getting his room key?”   “Does it matter?” Your elbow is to the counter, chin casually rested in your palm. You’re discreetly challenging him and it’s a dangerous game, but one you feel like playing tonight. “Shouldn’t I be enjoying myself to the fullest extent, Seokjin?”   His brow quirks at how you call him by his name directly. “I don’t like people associated with me playing with sub-par trash. It makes me look bad.”   “Or it makes you look inclusive.”   The devil scoffs. “You always have a way to argue, don’t you?”   “It’s my job.”   He hums a low note and redirects his gaze at you. “Want to go outside for a breather?”   “I don’t think hell’s air is very fresh, but sure.”   The two of you try to exit the noisy bar. You struggle to weave through the crowd of sweaty demons dancing and grinding on one another. But then Seokjin grasps your shoulder tenderly and shifts you to walk behind him. You realize that the mass of demons splits when he walks through. Even in their inebriated state, they know to cower down and move out the way.   Once it’s clear, you open the west-side door and enter a quiet area absent from any other entity. It’s easier to breathe out here, silent, and you lean against the ship’s railing to watch how the canal’s water glows a deep crimson hue. The ship moves through it, and you listen to the noise of the water sloshing against the side of the ship.   When your head tilts up, you stare at the mahogany sky nearing black.   “I heard the human realm was really beautiful. Apparently they have something called stars and it appears at night. They’re tiny but they twinkle. Have you heard of them?”   He doesn’t respond, but he lifts his hand and waves his palm up. Suddenly, the sky is blanketed in complete black. The shade bleeds throughout, sweeping across the horizon, and you furrow your brows unable to understand what he’s doing. But as you stare, tiny sparkles become apparent.   “They’re only an illusion, but it’s the best I can do,” he breathes out.   Your eyes are wide and you glance at him. “I….I love it….”   “Good.”   Seokjin grins when a smile expands across your face. The stars gleam like jewels spilled across the canvas — what you’ve heard and read about for so long finally in front of you. They sparkle from the distance, glittering, and the longer you stare, more appear. The entire horizon soon becomes filled with them, and you’re breathless.   It’s a shame only you and Seokjin can view them.   “Are you seeing this?” You hold your hand out, trying to gesture. The more you stare, the more it sinks in just how spectacular this feat is. You’ve only ever seen the sky black, red, and maybe a shade of azure when you reach the in-between of the gates of Heaven and Hell. You’re seeing stars for the first time and it’s more amazing than you thought was possible. “Holy hell!”   “Not sure how hell could be holy,” Seokjin laughs and stares at you with a smile. “Do you really like it this much? You’re so simple. I could’ve done this ages ago.”   “I didn’t know…..”   “You could’ve asked.”   “Yeah, but you never answer me anyways when I call,” you murmur without thinking twice, unaware of how his gaze on you softens. Your hands against the railing tighten and you exhale. But eventually, you focus again when it occurs to you such a long stretch of silence has passed in comfortable silence. “What did you request today? Did they fulfill any of your wishes?”   Seokjin leans against the railing and tilts his head to stare at you. “I asked for something they can’t give me.” You meet his intense eyes, wondering what he means. The corner of his plump lips pulls and he blinks, easing. “What did you ask for?”   “It’s also something they can’t give to me.”   “What is it?”   “Your job.”   The devil chuckles, head lolling up to look at you. “Why would you want that? Don’t you hate working for me?”   “Exactly. I hate working for you. I’d rather take over. I would restructure the entire system, I’d delegate more duties, lessen my own workload, I’d be able to prepare better instead of working so last minute.”   “Sounds like you have a whole plan.”   “I may or may not have spent a lot of time thinking about it,” you hum in slight pride.   Seokjin grins and shakes his head. “Too bad the position at the gates is a traditional, symbolic role. The only way you’d be able to acquire it officially through proper tradition is becoming the devil’s lady.”   You know it too. Thought about it after a millennium and damned the rules that restricted your abilities so many times. The only way to claim his position completely was to wed to him and be named the devil’s lady. But it’s an absurd idea, one you never even thought twice about. Although, for some reason, the way the devil says it isn’t like he’s stating a plain, boring fact.   It’s almost as if he’s….considering it.   Seokjin leans in close. His eyes are not unlike the stars, twinkling with mischief. “Don’t tempt me.”   //   The next day that comes is your absolute favourite.   It’s what you’ve been prepared for.   When the workers knock on your door with the usual room service and daily package, you’re ecstatically tearing papers apart and reading all the descriptions, ready to take full advantage of all the activities included. After all, it’s a day of sloth — a day of guaranteed relaxation.   You start off by laying in bed the entire morning, lazing around until you head to the spa. There you get a head to toe scrub, hair and nails done, and you nap in the steam room. The masseuse is also surprised at the number of knots in your muscles and three demons end up working on you, slapping and massaging your tense muscles.   Once you’re finished, you feel like you’re floating on air. For the first time in a thousand years, you’re stress-free. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even Kim Seokjin.   You head up to the deck for another nap, claiming a lounge chair in the corner, and being as quiet as possible to not disturb other demons sleeping away. But before you can drift off, the warm light on your skin ceases. You feel a shadow overtop of you. And you slide your sunglasses down the slope of your nose.   The devil looms over your body with a smirk.    “Looks like someone’s been enjoying themselves.”   You sit up and instantly pull him down to sit beside you. Jin’s brows are lifted in surprise from the affectionate invitation. You grin at him. “Have you been down to the spa yet?”   “No.”   “Hell, you need to go down there right now then. It’s. Amazing. Jin.” From your sheer excitement, he grins and you giggle. Giggle. Now that’s a sound he hasn’t heard from you before. Seokjin can’t help but wonder what other sounds you can make. “You need to go to try it and get the Swedish massage. Can’t say the Shiatsu massage is as good. But try out the deep tissue one. That was good too.”   “How many massages did you have today?”   “I tried all of them,” you sing-song and sit back in your lounge chair, humming to yourself. You inspect your clean nails, the french tips done, holding your hand out in front of you.   Seokjin smiles as he looks at you. You’re so much happier and relaxed. You in your little swimsuit and your translucent, silky cover up.   “What else did you do?”   “Got my hair washed. Got my nails done. Got two kinds of facials. You should just check it out for yourself, seriously, it would be a waste if you didn’t.” Suddenly, your eyes light up over the rim of your dark sunglasses. “Should we go together?”   His plump lip pulls. “You want to go to the spa...with me?”   He’s the entity you hate the most. To be given such an invitation from you is no less shocking. But you don’t seem to care. You even laugh and swat at his arm playfully. “We can go together after I take my nap. It’s all day and I really want to get the hot stone massage again.”   “Okay.” He laughs. The devil’s not a very spa-kind of man, but he’ll go with you.   “We can head down in an hour.” You lay back again, eyes fluttering for a shut-eye, but you keep them open to look at him for a second longer. “Do you want to sleep with me?”   “Careful how you ask that question.” He smirks slyly, making you scoff.   “You know what I mean.”   Seokjin hums a low note, considering something else. “Do you want to watch a show tonight? They’re putting on something in the theater.”   “Really? Sure!” You joyfully agree, so easily at it too, cheeks inflated with your smile. He snorts at how fast you answered. It’s such a difference from your tense self. Not to mention, you’re unbothered with him sitting there at the end of your lounge chair as you drift off and he observes how you’re snoring a minute later.   You don’t realize that an idle mind is the devil’s workshop, and he’s ready to have some fun with you.   //   There’s a permanent skip in your step.    You’ve learnt to navigate the entire area of the spa and you don’t notice how everyone is intimidated with Seokjin here. Even when he’s comedically dressed in a white robe, white towels wrapped up on his head, and feet decked out with white slippers — white from top to bottom as if he’s wearing the skin of an angel. Each demon moves out of the way when they realize the devil is here. But he pays no mind to them, following after you. You, who looks like a true angel with how you smile and how radiant you shine in pure white…..   Although the exterior is a bit ruined when you bark at the masseuses to dig into your muscles harder.   You’re even more giddy after you take your third nap in the steam room and he enjoys dinner with you. It’s hard not to when you’re such great company, and you don’t seem to bat a lash when you glue yourself by his side, joining him to watch the evening show.    It’s a game show of some sort, couples on honeymoons together and answering trivia questions about one another. Seokjin sits beside you, a bit bored as he rests his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm rest. His mind wanders before he finds himself glancing over at you.   You seem to be enjoying yourself and that’s enough for him to sit through it.   He wonders what it takes to make you happy like this all the time.   But eventually his train of thought is interrupted when he catches your eye, when he notices you peeking at him at the corner of your vision, trying to glance at him. His lip tugs into another smirk.   Seokjin leans in close. “Y/N.”   He whispers your name into your ear, hot breath skimming on your skin, and he watches the way goosebumps raise over the back of your arms. He pauses for added suspense.   And then he exhales. “You can kiss me if you want. I wouldn’t stop you.”   An immediate frown forms, your lips lopsided, your entire body stiff again. That’s all that’s needed to make you tense again — it’s so easy that it’s amusing. He laughs quietly at your glare.   One of these days, he knows you’ll give into his outlandish idea. Seokjin just can’t help planting the seed there.   //   Right after your favourite day is your least favourite. Lust.    You’re shaken awake in the morning by a sudden bang. It comes from the room next over despite the walls supposedly being soundproof. You would think someone was being tortured or punching the wall over and over again, but what follows the noises that are loud enough to leak through are moans and whines of ‘harder’.   You are sorely not impressed.   “There’s an orgy party tonight,” Seokjin tells you, crowding beside you at the breakfast buffet. It’s hard to ignore the smacking sound of kissing occurring behind the food bar and it makes the food unappetizing.   “I heard.”   “Are you coming?”   “I don’t know.”   “You should.”   “Why?” you question his insistence.   “I would explain to you what I’ve heard about it, but it would be a...mouthful.” Seokjin fully intends the pun, irises sparkling with mischief.    You feign a glare at him, and he follows you to a table, sitting across from you. The devil digs into his sweet stack of waffles, and tears his teeth into a medium rare steak.   “You’re gross.”   “It’s not gross if you feel the same way.”   “Who said I do?”   “Who says you don’t?” he challenges, bringing your lips into a smirk.   The two of you banter back and forth, and you don’t realize that you’re having breakfast with him willingly. That you’re tucked into the corner of the restaurant serving leftovers from the feast from the day of gluttony. You’ve both fallen into a natural course, fallen in line with one another unconsciously. It’s too easy to be in each other’s presence.   But eventually you part ways, and it’s difficult to weave your way out of the bodies pressed together. Guests are practically dry humping one another and the workers are actively encouraging the lust. You guess this is what they mean by indulging in the sins.   You retire to your room early to escape the scandalous sights.   But your sanctuary is interrupted with a knock on the door.   “Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.” The worker greets you, holding onto a clipboard like a door to door salesman.   “Is there something I can help you with?”   “We were just wondering if you were going to attend tonight’s event. We’d like to know about how many people are coming so we can accommodate them properly.”   “Oh.”   "If you are to attend, we have complementary masks to wear." The worker smiles, cheeks rosy.   A masquerade orgy isn't appealing to you. But your thoughts stray to a certain someone who asked you if you were coming this very morning. Someone with dark hair and dark eyes staring into yours. Someone whose plump lips always pulls into that sly smirk and makes you feel a certain kind of way.   "Sure."   Why not. You came here for new experiences after all.    "Fantastic!" The worker exclaims and gestures down the hall. You hear wheels rolling against the carpet and a girl appears with a cart showing a selection of masks. "Feel free to choose whatever is appealing. We also have a catalogue you can order from for free if none of these are to your satisfaction."   You look over them, from the intricate designs in gold and red, to those decorated with jewels and ribbons, and ones delicately painted. But one in particular catches your attention.   "This one’s fine."   You pick the black lace mask, one that's simple but sufficient.   The night arrives sooner than expected. The sky turns a shade of deep mahogany without a moon or sparkle in sight, clouding the horizon over in uncertainty, while the canal glows a hue of rose.   You enter the ballroom on the fourth floor in a black floor length dress, a slit on your left side to top of your thigh. Others seemed to be dressed even more luxuriously, while some of them are already nude and their clothing littered on the ground.   The room is a circular space, ceiling high with paintings of angels on it — ironically to overlook the sinning. The columns spiral high, decorated with gold and made from shiny porcelain like the floor tiles. Slow music plays in the background, accompanying the soft smacking noise of mouths colliding. There are also chaise lounge chairs off to the side, curtains drawn to cover the private areas. But the shadows and silhouettes show they’re doing something less than decent.   There are three or four people participating behind the curtains, those participating, those watching, those that like to be watched. You even catch moans and whimpers as you pass by.   By oddly enough, instead of disgusted, you feel entranced.   Suddenly someone’s warm arm slinks across your abdomen, rough hands that find purchase on your waist. You gasp as your ass is shoved against their hardening groin. Their other hand palms the meat of your ass. And you find yourself giving in, leaning closer to the body heat that feels like cozy flames.    You turn around, meeting brown, doe eyes behind a white mask. You swallow your mouthful of saliva. Their lips look so soft, irresistible. You surrender without an ounce of self-control, this time to the temptation. The man leans in as well—   But then you’re suddenly yanked away by another.   The spell breaks.    “Buzz of. This is mine.” It’s a familiar voice, a sonorous tone but rumbling timbre. The doe-eyed man nods wordlessly and stumbles back into the crowd.   “Jin?”   Where he’s encircled your wrist, you can feel how his skin is warmer than the stranger’s, like a fire is burning underneath his flesh. Behind the black mask, with tiny sparkles that remind you of the stars, are eyes you recognize — dark pools like chocolate, full of indulgence.    Instantly, he lets you go.   “I’m sorry…”   You’re bewitched by him. And you cave into the magnetizing pull. You latch onto him before he can leave. “You shouldn’t have any reason to be sorry.”   The devil meets your gaze.    Everything about him is to lure and entice you, meant for you to indulge in. From the pinkness and plumpness of his lips, to his eyes that are shaped soft and sheepish. His sculpted face, his scent, the sound of his voice...   The devil would never come to such an event to get himself dirty with lowly demons. His hubris is much too high to be touched by strangers. He’s here for a specific purpose — and you think you know what it might be, or rather, for who.   “There’s a reason you’re here, right?”   Seokjin knows you well too, knows that you don’t like to be touched by strangers. His mouth pulls into a smile. “Do you have the same reason as I do?”   You grasp onto the collar of his fitted suit, lust overwhelming you. He stares at your mouth through half-lidded eyes, his own parted.    “I...don’t want this to affect my job,” you murmur, breath already on his.   “It’s going to affect it either way. You’ve stopped being just my advocate long ago.” His large hands hold your hips. “Why do you think I always skip out on my duties? I have to make sure not to come and replace you. I need a reason to keep you around.”   “You bastard.”   The puzzles you had finally click into place. The dots connect. It makes sense, more than it ever has.   “I know.”   “You’re a selfish prick. But one I still owe a kiss to.”   Finally after a millennium, you relinquish your dignity and fully indulge in Kim Seokjin.   You dance with the devil, mouth pushing against his. Immediately, he deepens it, slipping his hot tongue in to claim you as his. Seokjin makes your lips swell as he kisses you hungrily. Sinfully.   He savours your muffled groan as you feel yourself wrapping in the heat that emanates off his body, drowning in his scent. The devil’s lips are of velvet, addicting, and you can’t stop. You’re too frantic to notice that his eyes are still half-lidded, drinking in your pleasured expression.   But in the middle of the kiss, you sense someone else’s presence. Your eyes peel back to see a female stroking her hands over his broad shoulders. You break apart with a forceful smack, thin string of saliva breaking.    “Fuck off,” you spit at her.   The female demon doesn’t hear you. Her hands slowly trail downwards to the thick lump forming in his tight trousers. But Seokjin catches her wandering palms before she can actually touch him. He throws her arms off him. “You heard her. You’re not invited.”   She openly scoffs, and rolls her eyes before walking away.   You won’t let third parties in. You won’t let anyone else touch him. You’re too selfish and greedy to do so.   “Let’s get out of here.”   Seokjin locks his hands in yours, and you’re finally able to revel in how he looks in his fitted suit, how broad his shoulders are, the thickness of his thighs.    Even when you leave the ballroom, the lustful atmosphere never lessens. Instead, the suspense builds. The tension becomes overwhelming. It’s awkward to stand in the elevator and listen to the boring jazz, suffocating in the small space. The heat is tangible.   You end up tackling Seokjin against the wall. You kiss away his laugh by shoving your tongue down his throat. It’s obscene but you don’t care much for your pride at the moment.   “I won’t be seen fornicating in the elevator,” the devil scolds in a low tone, peeling you away after another ravenous make out session, his grip having been tight on your thigh. “Come on.”   Seokjin leads you to his floor, and the door automatically opens when he steps in front of it. The lust is instantly exchanged for amazement.   His suite room is breathtaking, private windows allowing a wide view of the red canal and the horizon. It’s an open space with many rooms, a luxurious bathroom and enormous bed. Like his own personal home.   “This….this….h-how much does this even cost?!”   “Does it matter?” Seokjin loosens his tie. He chuckles watching you run around, checking all the rooms and inspecting the furniture. “I would’ve invited you sooner, but I didn’t want to get slapped.”   You scoff in the other room, and he follows after you. “You know I can’t slap you.”    “Yeah, but you always look like you want to.”   “Just cause I want to, doesn’t mean I can or will do it.”   “Alright, enough of this chit chat.”   Seokjin picks you up from where you’re marveling at his closet. He heaves you up and over his shoulder, carrying you across his suite and he lightly tosses you onto his soft mattress. The devil corners you. He grabs your ankle when you playfully try to escape and he climbs on top of you, straddling your waist to trap you in place.   “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers as he relishes the way you’re pinned beneath him.   You cock your head to the side. “Really? I think if you were waiting for that long, you would’ve done something about a century ago.”   Seokjin sighs at how you’re trying to pick an argument with him even in such a situation. “Love, if you don’t stop trying to pick fights with me, I’m going to gag you with your own underwear.”   You would nod and be obedient. But it’s intrinsic for you to doubt.    Instinctively, the words spill out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Why are you assuming I have underwear on?”   A muscle in his cheek twitches. Seokjin flips you over, and instantaneously delivers a slap to the meat of your ass. You moan, arching into him, but you quickly turn your head with a frown.   “What was that for?!”   “You know what it’s for,” Jin barks. “It’s going to be a long night if you don’t listen to me, Y/N.”   The devil follows through with his word. It indeed becomes a long, long night.   It’s too delicious to see his irritation. How his ears can turn into a shade of scarlet that matches the colour rising from his neck to his forehead. But you bend to his will after a while, giving into his command.    It’s the most sinning you’ve done. The most indulgent you’ve ever been. Seokjin’s sweat drips on top of you before it’s your sweat on him when you get on top. He’s merciless, leaving bruises along your thighs from his tight grip and where he kept your legs spread. He leaves blue, purple, red marks along the column of your neck. You sink down on his cock enough times that your cunt stretches out to match his girth and length into a perfect, snug fit. And you get to know the flavour of each other’s spit and cum until it’s all you can taste.   You’re glad no one shares Seokjin’s walls or else they’d hear the way your voice grows hoarse over the course of the night. They’d hear the creak of the bed, the slamming of the headboard. Anyone on the same floor would hear your name groaned through those beautiful lips licking into you.   You’re sure if there was another level to hell or damnation — you and Seokjin will be arriving there in each other’s arms.   //   The last day of the cruise finally arrives and you’re devastated.   Tomorrow, you’ll return to work and continue the cycle of late nights preparing documents and affidavits and judging human souls in line at purgatory only for them to scream obscenities at you no matter what gate they end up entering.   Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door.   “G-Good morning, Miss. Y/N!” The male worker jumps, surprised to discover you answering the door. “I didn’t think you’d be in your room.”   “Where else would I be?” you deadpan.   The female demon worker smiles and steps forward. “We have room service for you!”   You widen the door and they wheel the cart in. “We just wanted to ask about your stay here and if there were any concerns whatsoever.”   “Oh no.” You bat your hand. “It was absolutely lovely. Thank you for the past seven days. It couldn’t have gone better.”   “That’s great to hear.” They grin and gesture to the pamphlet placed with your meal.   “We’d also like to mention that there’s a honeymoon package and an express cruise that travels to all three realms, hell, heaven, and human. It’s just a promotion. I thought I’d mention it.”   You laugh, nodding. “Okay, thank you.”   “There’s one event left. A farewell party for tonight for all guests on this trip.”    You receive the invitation. Today’s a day of pride and in its celebration, the cruise has a farewell ceremony where they read each guests’ accomplishments. It’s a sweet gesture, perfect to top off the trip.   But you can’t fully look forward to it when you’re plagued by your thoughts. You still haven’t decided if last night was a mistake, if it was just the lust in the air.    Seokjin was insatiable, that much was clear, and you swear you feel permanently hot in your face. The in between of your legs still ache whenever you move. It’s impossible to try to forget or disregard what occurred. And when you’re unable to cover up his marks all over your neck, you find yourself deciding to wear it with pride.   You wonder how he feels about last night too. If the devil simply likes to spoil his advocates.   But your questions are answered when you see him again at the party.   “Evening.”   “Good evening.”   You raise your wine glasses up at one another in mutual acknowledgment before turning to watch the room. The pair of you are tucked in the corner again as if you were the hosts and everyone else were guests in your domain.   The silence broken by him. “It was...regrettable that you ran out so soon this morning.”   You agree. “It was regrettable, but it’s the right thing to do.”   “You think with your head too much sometimes,” Seokjin muses.   “Jeon Jungkook,” the worker on stage announces into the staticy mic. “He has tricked twenty four humans into giving their soul to him.” There’s a collective ‘ooh’ from other workers and a loud applause. “He works in marketing and coworkers call him proactive!”   They allow every guest to indulge in their own pride and you don’t expect much as you watch, but then your name is called. “The devil’s advocate, L/N Y/N.”   “Persuasive and diligent. In her existence thus far, she’s captured two hundred forty three souls before working for the devil where she’s passed judgment for eighty six hundred thousand sixty six human souls,” they continue to read your long list of accomplishments and it’s seemingly never ending. The worker runs out of breath and has to take a drink of water to keep going.   The devil is in the details after all.   But you didn’t realize you had done so much.   “Impressive.” Seokjin nudges you with a quirked brow and an amused smile.   Suddenly, you’re called on again. “L/N Y/N, will you please come onto the stage to receive a special award.”   “What?”   “Don’t just stand there, idiot.” Seokjin mischievously bumps you forward and your steps stagger. With half a mind, you pass the tables and demons watching you, up the stairs to the modest stage. The spotlight is absolutely blinding.   The worker shakes your hand and gives you a golden frame. Inside is a certificate of accomplishment. It’s stamped with the crest of hell, the official insignia of honour.    “It was signed by the devil, himself,” the worker tells you privately. “He insisted that it would be given to you. Congratulations, Miss Y/N.”   There’s a roar of applause. Your eyes stray off the side to see him, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, a proud smile placed on his features. Something blooms inside your chest.   Finally, you’ve received recognition for what you’ve done, for all your hard work.   You step off stage, cutting through the crowd to get to him. But then you’re stopped by yet another worker. “Miss. Y/N, thank you for being a part of Sins Cruise Line. We’d like to gift you this photo album compiling your best moments of this trip.”   “Oh, t-thank you.”   You move off and out of the way to open the leather album. What you find are photographs you didn’t know the workers took. There’s a picture of you stepping on this ship for the first time and looking out at the horizon with your drink in hand and the wind blowing through your hair. There’s another with you sitting across the poker table and Seokjin on the other side, the dim lights shining on your heads and illuminating your faces.   You continue to flip through, and you discover countless pictures of you and Seokjin together.   Him shooting at a human with you standing beside him. Laughing with Seokjin while you’re both in the corner of the feasting room. Out on the lounge chairs together. At the spa. Watching a show in the theater room. Looking into each other’s eyes in the ballroom before your shared kiss.   They’re beautiful photographs — precious moments captured in time. You didn’t realize you looked at him in such a way, or that he looked at you so tenderly.   You find Seokjin in the crowd again, as you’re grasping the album and the certificate to your chest.   “Congratulations, Miss. Devil’s Advocate.”   “I can’t believe you did all this.” You’re still breathless, unable to comprehend why he would go to such lengths for you.   “You deserve it.” Seokjin matches your softened smile. “Are you sad about leaving?”   “Can’t say I’m excited to go,” you admit. “But I have to go back. There’s probably a lot that’s piled up. Taehyung doesn’t know how to work on cases properly.”   “Well, take it easy,” the devil says with a grin and stares at you for a moment. It’s silent, the two of you gazing at one another, but then he catches himself and inhales a breath. “Actually, I’m planning on restructuring some things. I want to delegate more duties and lessen workloads so others can better prepare instead of working so last minute.”   His eyes twinkle with mischief. He literally took the words right out of your mouth, quoting you exactly. “I’m going to need some advice and personal help for the next while.”   “Personal help?” Your brows raise with a giggle.   “Personal help.” Seokjin nods. “Hey, you’re free right now, right? Do you want to talk it over during dinner?”   Laughter bubbles out of you and your gaze becomes tender. “I’d love to.”

It was undoubtedly hard to walk off that cruise ship.   A part of you wishes it could last forever. But alas, all good things must come to an eventual end.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. He’s humming to himself, but then he sees the demon guard move aside, and his brows raise.   He’s pleasantly surprised. “You’re early.”   “Only a little.” You smile at the angel.   “Welcome back.” He takes his feet off his desk and deadpans, “I missed you. Too many people have been getting through Heaven lately, it’s been disastrous.”   “I’m sure Taehyung wasn’t that bad,” you murmur in the demon’s defense, but it’s weak and half-hearted. You both know he’s pretty terrible — Taehyung’s impatience and lack of meticulousness isn’t exactly great for this job.   “What was worse was that he was so annoying. I’d never thought I’d say it, but I’d much prefer you. Did you enjoy your vacation?” he asks. “I heard you went on that cruise.”   You smile to yourself. “Yeah, it was good.”   “Did it live up to its name?”   You contemplate it for a moment before you find yourself nodding. “I have to say that it does.”   “Wow, just rub in your good time, bitch,” Yoongi mutters passively aggressively, glaring through the slits of his eyes. Then he relents and sighs. “I’m glad you finally took a break. You look better. Healthier.”   “Thanks. Actually, it’s really thanks to—”   “You forgot this file, Y/N.”   A voice pipes up and the guards move aside. A man appears with his cape billowing behind him, dark robes decorated with gold, official and intimidating. Yoongi’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his socket. The angel’s mouth draws open, his nostrils flared.   Seokjin is behind you and hands you the file before taking a seat beside you.    He pushes his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose, focusing downwards to the paperwork. “I have to sign where?”   “Here.”   He’s helping you, has been since you’ve gotten back.    Yoongi doesn’t try to hide his shock. You smile at the angel with a look that equally shares his pleasant surprise and shows how impressed you are.   “You two are close,” Yoongi says when he finds his power of speech again.   Seokjin lifts his chin, glances at the angel and then at you. The pair of you share a warm smile together. “I’d say we’re a bit more than close at this point.”   You already know Seokjin’s intentions — you’re his advocate after all.

[readyplayerhobi]

My Soul To Reap

; Reaper!Hoseok x Harpy!Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff, smut

; Word Count: 31k

; Warnings: Death, violence, mild gore, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie

; Synopsis: A reaper is neither alive nor dead, in this world or the next. Their purpose is to remove the souls of humans and help them pass to the next world. They are not meant to interact with the living for their touch is the ice of the grave and their kiss is to greet death. They are not meant to love.

; A/N: This is a behemoth...sorry it’s so long lol. I hope you all enjoy, I’ve been working on this for over a month now! Please reblog (if you can) so that others can see and read too. Please leave me likes, comments and asks to let me know what you think as I spent so long on it x-x also, remember to check out the other authors in the collab!

; Part of the Fantastical Tales for Curious Souls collab

-

The street is quiet when he appears; the air still and dead around him. Houses of varying shapes and sizes line the well trodden street before him, lamps with flickering flames dancing inside them hanging from poles and houses to light the way. Behind him lies a dense and foreboding forest, their trunks wide and their height tall as they tower over the small town like vigilant sentinels keeping an eternal watch.

But none of that is of particular interest to Hoseok. No, what interests him lies in the ramshackle house in front of him, the facade old with the thatched roof aging badly, threatening to fall through in some places. It wouldn’t be anything special to look at normally, the size and style of it denoting it to be the abode of someone from a lower class.

Hoseok had never understood why humans had such an interest in the cultural standing of others based on social hierarchy and money. It all seemed such a waste of their time to fret over such mundane things. Everyone died poor in the end as no one took anything with them when they passed. He knew that better than anyone.

Yet Hoseok finds he feels almost sad at the house, knowing that it had such an unassuming and unloved life. He wonders for a moment what will become of it before shaking his head, pushing the querying thought out of his mind. The daily lives of mortals were not his domain and therefore they were not of interest to him.

Between one blink and the next, the scenery around Hoseok changes as he shifts through time and reality to appear inside the small home. It’s even smaller on the inside, with a single bed pushed into the corner and a table covered in books to the side. There’s a moment that Hoseok wants to look at them, but he ignores it instead for the human male lying in the bed.

A small sense of relief runs through the reaper as he realises this was a natural death, something that would not be as alarming to the human compared to being murdered or suffering an accident. Over the years, Hoseok had found that humans didn’t react well to being killed, whether on purpose or by accident. Even if it had no bearing on them once they were dead.

But still, it made the process easier.

The siren call of death that guides Hoseok around the world to his intended humans increases now he’s so close, the pull in his veins almost heady as it demands he does his duty. And so he gives in, as he always does, moving over to the male and crouching down beside the ancient bed.

The human’s wrist is warm in Hoseok’s hand, but that doesn’t surprise him. His own body runs somewhere between alive and dead in terms of temperature. It’s a benefit when dealing in scenarios that could potentially cause injury to him. For Hoseok is a reaper, a being who straddles life and death. His job is simple; to take the life of those dying and pull their souls from their bodies before escorting them to the other side. It was macabre, but it was also a necessary part of life.

And this human’s time had come.

Lifting the human’s hand, Hoseok laid his lips on the smooth skin gently and kisses. It was not sexual or romantic, in fact it was the exact opposite. A reaper’s kiss was the kiss of death, the final severing of a soul from life.

He pauses for a second with his lips pressed to the warm skin that is already cooling from his touch before he moves away, looking down at the body with an impassive glance before tugging at the hand. There's a slight resistance, there always is as a soul never wants to leave their body, but he can’t resist the grasp of Hoseok.

His hand falls back to the bed almost unnoticed, for the soul’s hand remains in Hoseok’s own. A gentle pull has the human’s soul standing next to him, looking around in confusion at his surroundings before looking at Hoseok, his brow creasing.

A human would not be able to see him if they looked now, only able to see the dead body lying in the bed. But to Hoseok, he has a silver aura that surrounds him lovingly, signalling that this is someone who has left the mortal realm. 

“What is your name?” Hoseok asks quietly, making sure to keep his tone as warm and pleasant as he can. Death is traumatic for humans, and an unexpected death like this could likely lead to further confusion and possibly even anger despite it being natural. It was better to treat them carefully.

The soul blinks rapidly before frowning. “Jimin. Park Jimin. What…” He looks down at the body on the bed with eyes that widen in fear before he’s crouching, trying to touch the body he had once inhabited desperately. “What is wrong with me? Is this a dream? Why am I there but here?”

Hoseok laid a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, noting the way he cringed away from him slightly but not making comment on it. “Jimin...I am afraid to say that you have passed on from the mortal world. Your soul has left your body and cannot return. I am here to help you move on.”

“What...what do you mean? Who are you? What are you? I have passed...I have truly died?” The questions were common, and Hoseok was pleased with how it seemed that Jimin was not going to be one to argue or try to fight. A soul fighting a reaper never worked out well for the soul.

“Yes, you have died. My name is Hoseok and I am a reaper, your reaper. I ended your life because the Fates have cut your thread and so I pulled your soul from physical body. Now you must move on from here to the other side.” Jimin looks around, slim shoulders curling in to make himself appear smaller.

“What is the other side? Is that heaven? Or hell? Or something else?” Hoseok shrugged in response, the gesture remarkably human for a being who had no humanity.

“I do not know. My job does not involve anything that happens once you have moved on. I am simply meant to get you there.” The soul begins to pace in agitation, running his hand through his hair as his face pinches together in distress.

“But what if I do not want to? Can you make me go if I do not want to go?” Hoseok lets out a deep sigh, lips pursing slightly in annoyance and he only just manages to stop the eye roll. Even though he does not communicate with humans apart from at this moment in their lives, he has managed to pick up on a few of their mannerisms.

Every soul thinks they don’t have to move on, but Hoseok knows that it’s no real life to remain. “I cannot make you go. Moving on is the choice of the soul, but I do not recommend remaining behind. If you do, then you cannot move on until you have completed whatever it is that you feel you need to do. And if you do not complete it...then you can never move on and you will haunt this place forevermore. I would not recommend staying behind simply because you do not want to go.”

His words cause Jimin to pause, and Hoseok isn’t sure whether it’s the grave tone of voice he uses or the words themselves. Whatever it is, the reaper hopes that Jimin will think hard about his choice, because as soon as he leaves this room then he will never see Jimin again.

“Can I...can I leave this house?” His voice is soft and gentle, meek compared to the brief moment of fierceness that he’d given earlier. 

“No. You will be tethered to the place of your death. So think hard Jimin. Once I leave, I shall never come back and you will be forced to try and move on by yourself.” Hoseok crosses his arms over his chest, the coal black suit he wears straining slightly on his shoulders. 

There's a pause as Jimin thinks, his eyes tracing over the reaper slowly. No doubt he’ll see what every other soul sees; ink black hair swept off his forehead carelessly, a beautiful and statuesque face that almost glows gold in the light of the frozen fire and a black suit that clings to him. He probably looks like a normal human, if it wasn’t for his eyes.

Hoseok’s eyes are pale, a colour between ice blue and dove grey that glows almost white from the unearthly energy he channels. He could never pass as a human with his eyes.

“I will go. I do not...I do not want to be alone forever,” He pauses, looking frightened before gesturing back towards his body, trying to avoid looking at it understandably. “What will happen to my body?”

“It will be found when it is found. That is not my concern, nor should it be yours now. Are you ready to move on?” His voice takes on an abruptly formal tone, standing straight and almost smiling as Jimin does that same for some reason. The soul nods hesitantly before doing so again, more forcefully this time.

“Yes. I mean...no...but it does not matter. Th-thank you...Hoseok. Sir.” With that, Hoseok gestures to his side and the space ripples, the imagery behind it blurring as reality tears on itself. The room grows colder and Hoseok is positive that if Jimin were still alive, his face would pale further. But he doesn’t complain, and instead just looks at Hoseok for reassurance.

“I cannot guarantee you will be okay. But nor can I guarantee you will not. This is for you to discover Park Jimin. I wish you will with whatever happens.” Jimin swallows thickly, blinking a few times before nodding. He hesitates a moment longer before taking a deep breath, that he didn’t anymore, and walking through the gap. 

Instantly it slams shut, the force reverberating in Hoseok’s bones and he feels the welcome satisfaction of warmth inside as the death calls recedes finally, letting him know that he has done his job and can leave. Within the space of a breath, he vanishes from the small house and re-appears on the street outside.

Looking back at the dilapidated house, Hoseok sighs deeply and hopes that Jimin’s body will be found quickly before letting go of his power that is holding the world frozen in place. All at once, life returns around him, even though he cannot hear or see much due to the darkness of the night. It had taken less than five minutes for him to complete his job and he felt a sense of satisfaction.

Hoseok’s job was done, and he was free to roam once more until he felt the call of death again. It could be considered a numbing experience, but he had nothing else to compare it to and so simply accepted it as his way of life.

A strong and insistent tugging in his stomach caused him to pause in place though, the part that connects him to death telling him that his services are needed once again. Frowning, he looks to his left at the towering trees as their branches sway gently in the night breeze, leaves rustling quietly.

The pull is strong and insistent, and it’s coming from inside the forest. It’s unusual for him to be required so soon after a reaping, but he can only assume that it’s because he’s so close. Either way, he knows that he must do his duty and so closes his eyes, pulling at the cold, deadly power within him and travelling along that pull to his destination.

When his eyes open once more, not even a second later, he’s at the scene of another death. Only this one causes his brow to furrow in confusion as he takes in what’s happening around him. The ancient trees of the forest tower high above him, their living canopy providing shade in the sunlight but bringing the scene to almost near darkness in the middle of the night as it was now.

Silver slivers of moonlight dapple the ground around him, the light struggling to make itself seen through the dense foliage but it’s more than enough for Hoseok to see what’s happening. Not that he understands it, but then again...he doesn’t particularly understand humans as it is.

Everything is frozen around him as usual; no sounds fill the empty space and no movement stirs the air. He knows that he must be quick, for he does not have an infinite store of power to use and already he can feel the slight pressure building in his skull. His head tilted to the side slightly though as he tries to comprehend what he’s looking at, black hair falling into his pale blue eyes.

Sods of dirt float in the air, simply waiting for time to resume and for them to carry on their descent back towards the earth they’d been pulled from. Two human men stand around a body on the ground, their faces unseeable in the darkness but it’s the man on the floor that interests Hoseok the most.

A human male, dressed in what Hoseok believed to be hunting leathers, is on his knees while a knife tinged in dark liquid gleams in the poor light of the moon. A wide brimmed hat covers his face from view but a quick glance underneath reveals dark eyes that have narrowed with anger.

No, not anger, Hoseok corrects himself quietly before standing. There's a perverse look of pleasure in this human’s eyes and a complete lack of remorse. Without even meaning to, Hoseok shudders ever so slightly before sneering at the man.

Human’s shy away from Hoseok. Something about him unnerves them deeply, as if they can sense the pull of death so close. His eyes frighten them even more, the pale rings around his dark pupils unnatural and bright; the eyes of death looking back.

But Hoseok is never malicious; he takes lives because it is simply their time as decreed by the Fates. It’s his job, his purpose; the very thing he was brought into this world to do, and he accomplishes it without prejudice. Good and evil, young and old, men and women. All die the same way in the end, with the kiss of a reaper.

This human though, this man...he is a purveyor of death like Hoseok. But they are not the same. This man kills for joy, for pleasure, for the thrill of it. His eyes are empty of humanity, full of sick perversement. Hoseok may be a reaper, but he thinks this man’s eyes are truly death incarnate. A painful, slow and torturous death.

Lips pouting, Hoseok looks down at the woman on the ground who is the victim of this disgusting excuse of oxygen and living matter. And he pauses, body freezing as still as the scenery surrounding him while his eyes widen.

Blood smears your back, dark and wet as it pools down the sides of your ribcage from two deep gashes in your back. They run parallel to your spine, along your shoulder blades for a few inches and he stares in fascinated confusion for a moment, strong brows coming together. What was the human doing? And why did your back look so-

He’s distracted from the questions that run through his mind when his shift in position causing something to catch the poor light, the objects shimmering an odd blue-black that somehow stands out even amongst all this darkness. Walking closer to the strange shapes at the foot of one of the other men, his own shoes causing the foliage and fallen branches to crack underneath his feet loudly against the silence of the world, he tries to make out what they are.

This was perhaps the strangest scene of death that Hoseok had ever come across, and he wasn’t sure what was going on. The man he who’s soul he was supposed to escort looked very much like he was alive and healthy, not someone who required a reaper’s sole service. And the woman...what was going on there?

Reaching the black shapes, he crouches down and tilts his head in fascination. His hand reaches out without him even realising, his fingertips running along the soft feathers that make up the large wings discarded onto the floor. They’re soft and lifeless, the arch of them still warm and he traces down to their ends in reverence. 

They end bluntly, ragged flesh still hanging on while cracked bone gleams at him, startlingly white even through the red smears. Looking back towards the woman, Hoseok stares in confusion as he slowly pieces together what he thinks is happening in his mind.

He knew that there were rumours of the supernatural in the human world; stories that scared villagers told each other to keep them safe at night or legends that were passed from parent to child throughout the centuries. Whether it was true or not, he hadn’t had any reason to disbelieve it given what he was.

But he had never encountered someone who was supernatural. Also supernatural. Like him. 

Reapers were solitary. They were born into the world fully formed when needed as the human population grew. He had entered the world long ago, appearing in a forest much like this one. He had only known three things upon his arrival; his name, what he was and what he had to do.

His instincts had kicked in almost immediately when he arrived, the alluring call of death causing him to automatically transport himself to the location without reason. Everything else had happened just as easily, as his body knew what to do. No one had taught him, and he had learnt about the world through careful study in the shadows or the world between that he was in now.

The only time he ever met another reaper was at the site of a large number of deaths, and even then they didn’t bother to communicate. He felt no kinship towards his kind, and he often wondered why that was. Everything else on this planet seemed to be driven to companionship at some point, even if only for procreation.

But not him.

And just as he was a story to humans, the woman on the floor was a story to him. Only you were as real as he was. 

Moving back over to you, he pays close attention to your body and notices the subtle differences between you and the humans. The black nails that are sharpened into lethal claws, the white teeth that were ever so slightly pointed and the solid black eyes that spoke of anger and death. The last point causes him to jerk slightly, eyes widening as he realises you are not dead but very much alive.

And there is no call of death coming from you, which means you will not die yet.

A sudden need for violence fills him as he takes in the pain on your face, the anger at your loss of control and the savage glee on the human’s face. Monster hunters, they have to be. Hoseok had only ever thought these humans went on pointless hunts, chasing fantasies.

How wrong he was.

Hoseok had never once taken a life in anger or violence. He was the epitome of a perfect reaper; he killed when it was their time and only when it was their time. But he wanted to kill them all in this clearing. All of them, for hurting you, a woman who was special like him and whose only crime was being different.

Shame filled him momentarily as he acknowledged his lapse in control, recognised the sheer bloodlust that filled him and how badly he wanted to be like this horrible excuse of a human and to hurt. But then he paused, realising that the pull of death was still emanating from the man.

Another scan around confirmed his earlier suspicions; there was no sign of anything that could kill, or even hurt him. So why had Hoseok been called here? Why was this man’s soul ready to leave?

He stiffened as realisation entered him. Hoseok was supposed to take this man’s soul, yes. He was supposed to provide the kiss of death and lead his soul to the afterlife. His thread had been cut by fate and he was simply waiting to die now. But it was Hoseok who was to be his cause of death. The real cause, not natural causes or murder or an accident.

Hoseok was meant to kill this man, that was the only explanation. A true death by reaper.

Crouching next to him, Hoseok watched him carefully for once. He normally didn’t bother with them like this, but he wanted to remember the first human he was taking on his own. Shame flushed him as he realised he felt guilty at the rush of need he’d felt to hurt this man, knowing that it made him like him and he pushed that need away.

Hoseok needed to be clinical and neutral. He wasn’t sure why fate had decreed he was to have a hand in this human’s demise, but he refused to lower himself to this pitiful creatures level. There would be no pleasure in his death, simply a relief that he had done his duty and removed a vile human from the world.

Reaching forward, he let his fingers trace along the human’s cheek. It was rough with scars and bristly dark hair, unappealing to Hoseok and his lips twisted slightly. With time frozen as it was, there was no change in the human’s skin itself from Hoseok’s touch, but had time been normal then the skin beneath his fingertips would freeze and die.

Humans couldn’t stand the touch of a reaper.

The pull was strong now, a deep and alluring thump that ran through Hoseok’s body like a world class orchestra was playing for him. It was too enticing for him to hold back any longer, the pull demanding the reaper do his job and Hoseok found himself pressing his lips in the lightest touch to the back of the human’s hand. 

He always hated how he had to kiss them in some form, hated the intimacy of it when he wasn’t allowed actual intimacy. Long ago, he’d decided to simply brush his lips across an inoffensive limb or something as it often felt like an invasion of not just their privacy but also an invasion of his own. 

But he knew that it was necessary, as much as he disliked it. For his ‘kiss’ severed the connection of the soul to the human body and instead anchored them to Hoseok for a moment. Once he had pulled them out, the connection was then severed and the soul was free to move on. Or not, if they so choose.

Sure enough, the man’s soul leaves his body easily. He hadn’t been expecting death, and so his soul was confused when it stood before him, looking around the forest with a creased brow before focusing on his own body. He was still knelt on the ground, but as soon as Hoseok let time ago then his body would slump to the side, never to rise again.

“What the fuck?” The man shouted, anger etching itself into every crevice of his ragged face and Hoseok got the impression that this was a man who was used to being obeyed. But not now. “Who the fuck are you? What the fuck is going on? Why am I...there?” 

He points to his physical shell, a touch of panic in his eyes as he stares at Hoseok. For a few seconds, Hoseok let’s his panic build before he sighs internally and deigns to do his job properly. 

“My name is Hoseok, I am a reaper. Your reaper. You are no longer alive, you have left your mortal shell. I am here to guide you to move on to the other side.” Every death was different, and every death resulted in Hoseok trying to give the same information in a way that the soul would understand.

Sometimes he was unerringly polite, particularly with elderly humans who had lived a long and fulfilling life. They were often happy to see him, content to move on. With those who had died unfortunately, he was kind and almost comforting, allowing them time to come to terms with their sudden loss. With children...with children he was sweet and soft, spending more time with them than usual to comfort them and assuage their fright. 

It was hard with children, even for Hoseok who had never been a child. He tried his hardest to make it as easy on them as possible, all the while he quietly mourned yet another loss of a life that could have been something wonderful. He wasn’t sure if reapers were meant to mourn, but it felt wrong not to around the young.

And babies...well...he disliked having to deal with babies the most. 

But with cruel people like this man though, Hoseok was brisk and abrupt. He didn’t particularly care if this man was afraid, because all he could think was how many people this man had likely killed before. Hoseok had no doubt that someone who would willingly torture and kill a rare supernatural being probably also killed humans as well.

The world was a better place without this one in it.

“What? How? I was fine, you...you murdere-...wait...a reaper?” Interest flares in his eyes and Hoseok has to severely restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

Swirling his hand, the space next to him shimmers and wavers, the obvious thinning of the barrier between this world and the next evident even in the darkness of the forest. Hoseok points at it in frustration.

“You cannot kill me and profit off my body. You cannot do anything. If you do not pass, then you will stay in this spot for eternity. Your choice.” There’s a brief pause while the man thinks, his brows twitching once more before his lower lip sticks out petulantly.

“But I want to go back to living.” His tone is almost pitiful, whining and Hoseok bares his teeth suddenly. The paling of the man let’s him know that he’s seen the face of death in Hoseok’s own and he’s glad to see that fear. Never had Hoseok been so infuriated with a human before. “Okay...okay.”

People like this human though are cowardly, and when faced with something that will fight back, they often chose the easy way out. And so without a word, he moves to the barrier and goes to enter before stopping. A glance back to his body is all he does before he glares at Hoseok once more and enters. 

There's an odd fading as he moves through, letting Hoseok see through the soul before the barrier is back and everything is back to normal. Which also means he’s let go of the time freeze. Which in turn, means he’s visible to the other two men suddenly.

The dead man’s body slowly slides to the floor, breaking this shock at the sight of a strange man in their midst and their eyes follow his descent down. The silence that lays heavily between them all is not like the silence of before.

Leaves bristle against each other in the high branches while the soft sound of an owl hunting echoes through the night. It’s the sounds of life, even in a forest as quiet and asleep as this one.

No, this silence is shock and confusion which swiftly turns to anger.

Their gazes move back to him, the perfect image of puzzlement before the one standing near the wings steps forward and points at the fallen man. “What is wrong with him? What did you do?”

“Leave.” Is all Hoseok responds with, his tone low and dark. He knows that it sends their senses haywire as he’s purposefully lowered it until it makes all their innate instincts, bred through centuries of care, scream at them to run from him. Danger, they say, death, they warn.

But these humans are not clever. Humans are not clever in general. If anything, Hoseok has found them to be particularly dumb over the years. Oh, they may think themselves a clever species for reaching such a high and lofty position over everything else on the planet but Hoseok knows better.

He’s seen some of the stupid ways they’ve died.

“Who the fuck are you?” The one furthest away shouts, his voice causing a flurry of movement around them as the creatures of the forest run in fear from the loud noise. Hoseok sneers at him, noting the way he lifts his heavy, wooden crossbow and holds it against his chest. 

Before he can even say anything, the string snaps and all Hoseok hears is a soft whistle before a thudding impact causes him to rock slightly. Looking down, he takes in the crossbow bolt in his chest with interest.

Running his fingers along the fletching, he admires the workmanship for a moment before pulling the bolt out. There's a squelching noise as he does so, the flesh tearing and rending around the sharp metal head as it saws at his flesh on the exit but he doesn’t pay attention.

Lifting his hand up, he shows them the bolt in the weak light and let’s them see the way it glistens with his blood. It’s interesting how he has blood, given he is not alive nor dead. His heart beats, but he can stop it if he wishes. And stopping it does not kill him. He knows that he’s an anomaly in the world but he has no explanations for these things.

The bolt had caused only a minor twinge of pain, more discomfort than anything really. He doesn’t feel pain like a human does, because his body has no reason to fear pain. The loss of blood is simply a mild inconvenience; already he knows the wound in his chest has healed.

The corners of Hoseok’s lips turn up slowly in a grim smile, flesh pressed together as his eyes narrow at the men. His index finger is pressed into the wet heat of his blood on the shaft, and he lets them watch as his skin absorbs the warm liquid back into his body slowly until the bolt is dry once more.

He’s tired of these men now.

Baring his teeth at them, he feels the power of death flow through him in a way he doesn’t normally let it. It’s cool, like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer’s day and it bristles in his body with crackling energy.

Their widening eyes of terror let’s him know that they’re seeing him in his death form. A form that sends humans mad with fear. Hoseok has never known why reapers can do this, but he finds it pleasing that he can now.

His skin bleaches of all colour until he’s as pale as bone while his hair darkens ever further from its usual black, if that’s even possible. It flows slightly in the air, the ends visible in his eyesight as if being whipped by an invisible breeze and he can see how they look almost inky and wet in the poor light of the moon. The white of his eyes darken in turn, becoming an eerie black while his pale blue irises glow with such ferocity that he can see them reflected in their own eyes.

All the while, the skin around his eyes changes as a bruised black spreads along them, creeping down in his cheeks as if he had spilled paint onto his face. The air frosts around them all, delicate ice crystals forming on the plant life around him and the ground cracking as it freezes and Hoseok let’s out an angry hiss.

“Leave. And never come back.” He whispers, the sound amplified despite how quietly he says the words but they’re filled with the promise of death. The two men whimper to themselves, the crossbowman relieving himself accidentally in his trousers in terror before they run screaming into the forest. 

Hoseok doesn’t know where they’re going, nor does he care. He knows they won’t come back. No one ever comes ever looking for a reaper. 

Instead, he turns his attention to the figure on the ground, drawing his power back into him until he simply looks human once more. Crouching beside you, he goes to touch your shoulder to see if you are awake before hesitating.

He’s unsure if his touch will hurt you like it does humans, if he will kill your skin in his attempts to help. Hoseok isn’t even sure how to help you, he’s never helped a human that’s still alive before. But then again, you aren’t human.

Any reservations he has though are gone immediately when you writhe in pain, a quiet and strained groan leaving your throat before your head turns towards him. Eyes watery with tears look up at him and he jolts as your hand reaches out and grasps at his own.

He goes to pull away, afraid that he’s hurt you but you don't cry out in pain or jerk away from him. Instead...your touch is warm in his hand. Frowning, he looks down at them in fascination, realising that he’s never had someone alive hold his hand willingly. He’s never even touched anyone alive without it being for the purpose of bringing death to them.

It feels odd, the warmth of your skin delightful beneath his but then his eyes catch on yours again and he sees the pain there. Instantly he frowns, feeling shame at his fascination but you squeezes his hand gently.

“Thank you...for that,” Her words are quiet, rasping and he gets the sense that you had been screaming. A glance at the open wounds on your back make him wince slightly, knowing that you probably went through excruciating agony. “I thought...they were...going...to kill me.”

Hoseok bites his lip, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head slightly. “It was not your time to die. It was his,” He gestures back towards the dead man before pointing at the mound of wings. “Are those...your wings? What are you? I am sorry...do you know somewhere we can go? That I can get you too, a healer perhaps?”

You let out a pained laugh, face screwing up as you try to push yourself up and Hoseok helps your immediately, carefully placing his hands on your arms and making sure you don't strain the wounds too badly. They begin to bleed down your back and he lets out a quiet breath, wondering how he can stop them from bleeding.

The front of your dress is still near enough intact with your collar still wrapped around your neck, the fabric of the back torn apart in their desperation to get to your wings. You staggered slightly, leaning against him and he holds you steady, marvelling at you once more.

“I have a...cabin. It is half...an hour away. North...near the mountainside.” Hoseok nods and frowns, wondering how on earth you're going to last what would have been a half hour walk for a fit and well person. In your condition, it will take much longer.

“I can...I think I can transport us closer...but I cannot take us directly there because I do not know where it is. Do you...need your wings?” He sounded awkward, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to talk to you. Hoseok didn’t even know what you were.

You look over at them with a forlorn look, lips being bitten until he’s sure you’re going to shed blood before sighing and shaking your head. “No...there is...there is no point. I cannot...they are gone now. Forever,” Hoseok isn’t sure what to say to that, unsure how you can console someone losing such an intricate part of themselves. “Can you...do you have a...way to burn them? I do not...want them...found.”

He hears the pain in your voice, but this time it’s not from the physical. It’s from the acknowledgement that instead of taking them with you, a part of you that had probably always been with you, you were going to have to burn them so no malicious humans could try and profit off them. Hoseok felt sad at that, at the loss of something so beautiful but he understands your wants.

“Not now...but if you have something at your cabin then I can come back and take care of them for you.” His words are quiet and gentle, causing you to smile ever so slightly. It’s strained, but Hoseok takes it as a success because it makes some of the agony in your eyes ease a little.

“Okay...okay. Take us...as close. To the base...of Mount Taga, please.” You lean into him heavily suddenly and he gets the impression that you’re losing energy rapidly. He has no doubt that it’s taking a lot of energy and pure willpower to keep yourself on your feet with how much pain you must be in, not to mention how unbalanced you must be after losing something so large.

Instead of saying anything, he simply nods and carefully places his hands on either shoulder. He’s never transported someone before, but he doesn’t see any reason why he can’t. Hoseok knows he can take things with him, he’s tried it before just to see if it was possible. He’s even taken a rabbit with him on occasion, just to experiment.

But this? This was different.

His last thought before he goes is that he’s oddly excited to spend a little more time with you, even though you don’t know each other at all and have met under such horrible circumstances. But he’s never had contact like this before, and he wants to make sure you are safe and well. He feels an obligation to ensure your safety for some reason.

This was most definitely not how he expected his day to go.

-

Despite Hoseok transporting you both close to the base of the mountain, the journey to your cabin still takes an hour with how slowly you walk. He wants to lift you up into his arms and carry you, knowing that he could move much faster on his own. But he’s unwilling to suggest it to you.

Partially because he’s not even sure how one asks a random injured woman if they would like to be carried, partially because he’s not sure he can even hold you without causing you further injury given the placement of your deep wounds and partially because he’s still not quite used to the concept of actually touching someone without causing them great pain.

Although, he supposes, if he did try to carry you then he would probably cause you pain anyway because of the gashes inflicted by humans. He frowns slightly as he thinks about that, but the tug of his arm by your warm hands distracts him and he looks down, concern written on his face as you suddenly lean even further into him, exhaustion slowing your entire body down.

The hour long journey had gone in silence, neither of you willing to talk for some reason. Hoseok just plain wasn’t sure what to talk about, he’d never had to do small talk before, whereas he was sure you were simply focusing hard on not collapsing to the ground. You’d done it twice already and by now, the pace was so slow that Hoseok was sure he was barely moving.

“We are here.” You whisper quietly, your voice cracked and he has the sudden urge to get you some water. But he simply looks around, trying to find wherever this cabin of yours is when you wave a hand in a slow yet complicated gesture. The space in front of him shimmers for a moment, reminding him of the heat of a desert, before the scenery suddenly changes and a wooden cabin stands before him.

It’s not big, but neither is it too small. A dark, wood door stands in the centre while two windows, shuttered for the moment with stars cut into the boards, take place on either side. More windows are dotted around the side of the cabin and the thatched roof leads up to a chimney. It doesn’t look like lived in itself, and he gets the impression it’s very old, but neither does it look abandoned. 

He’s reminded momentarily of Jimin’s home, casually noting how much better this house has been kept in repair before chastising himself for looking down on a mortal who was now deceased.

It wouldn’t be possible to presume this home was abandoned though, given the sturdy fencing that surrounds the whole area with one fence post just a mere metre ahead of him. He’s relieved that you had uncovered the area when you did, otherwise he would have walked into it. Behind the house, he can see a whole range of vegetation that look to be carefully tended to while brown and white chickens cluck loudly as they walk around the enclosure, pecking at the floor and each other in annoyance.

A group of pigs is penned off in one corner while a few cows graze on the sparse land a little further on. He’s thrown for words, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and he looked down at you with a frown, wondering what you were specifically given your ability to manipulate what had to be magic so easily.

You don’t say anything though, instead just moving through the gate as you slowly and painfully made your way to the cabin. The chickens immediately get louder, rushing over to you and you murmur something to them that he can’t hear. As you finally reach the door, a sleek black cat comes running from the forest, meowing loudly and curling around your legs in a desperate bid for attention.

Perhaps you’re a witch? But he’s never come across a witch who actually had any ability, nor did he think they had the same...physical attributes that you did. Though what did he know about witchcraft really?

The door opens with a gentle creak and he follows you inside, looking around the space with raised yet interested brows. It’s a reasonable living space but nothing flashy or big like he has seen with the humans. In fact, it reminds him of the houses that humans used to live in centuries ago. At least, those who were not rich anyway.

A makeshift wash basin and counter sit before one set of windows, shutters opening as he pushes them to let through the gentle light from outside. The clearing your home inhabits means that there’s more sun here than he’s seen in a while, the trees far enough back that he can see the towering mountain range beyond them.

Against the wall next to what he presumes is your kitchen area is a fireplace, a well used pot hanging over the now cold wood and kindling. On the other side of the room is a large double bed, pressed up against the wall. A warm, handmade quilt lies on top of it and Hoseok wonders if perhaps you have made it yourself. It looks of good quality, if a little threadbare from use.

A rug in a similar fashion lays on the floor next to the bed, protecting your feet from the cold winter months no doubt and he idly notes the small touches that make this cabin a home for you. The drying herbs hung on a rack that dangles from the ceiling next to the tiny kitchen, pressed and dried flowers that have been carefully arranged into a frame while an elegant tapestry of a scene he doesn’t understand hangs by your bed.

There are other small oddities dotted around the place that let him know you’ve lived here a while, incricate geodes and crystals placed carefully on shelves or cupboards alongside small pieces of pottery. It only takes a small glance for him to know that everything here is old, and he idly wonders how old you are.

The air is filled with the pleasing scent of fragrant herbs and he inhales deeply, enjoying how nice everything smells when it could quite easily smell stale from age. But then his attention is back onto you and how you limp towards the small table with two aged chairs in the corner.

A stack of well read books is piled atop it alongside parchment, ink and quill. He wonders what you were doing, realising that the books are a mixture of history, medicine and even pure fiction. You don’t seem to notice them though as you practically collapse into the chair, crying out as the movement jarrs your wounds and he winces as fresh blood begins to seep through once more.

“Do you...err...I am afraid I do not know what to do? Tell me...what do I need to help you?” He bends over beside you, concern painted on his face and laced in his voice as his hand hovers nervously on your shoulder. There’s no lie there, his job was to take people’s lives, not save them. So he found himself in the odd situation where he was suddenly trying to do the exact opposite.

“Water...get clean water. Heat it on the fire...to sterilise it. Clean rags...there should be...a pot beneath the counter...black with purple cream. Take it…” He nods immediately, even though you can’t see from where you’ve slumped against the table and goes to begin moving before pausing with wide eyes.

“Where do I get water?” In all the centuries that Hoseok has lived, he has never felt more useless or stupid than he has right now. But he won’t let his insecurity over what he’s doing get in the way; he’s determined to help you. Even if he messes things up.

“Stream...behind.” You don’t say anymore and he simply acknowledges it, taking the initiative to get a move on as you seem to be struggling. Before he goes forth with getting anything that you’d told him though, he transports himself back to your wings as quickly as he can before taking them and disposing of them inside an active volcano that he knows of in Italy.

It might seem a little extreme but he couldn’t think of anywhere else that wouldn’t be obtrusive. Still, he felt sadness as he watched the beautiful black feathers slowly disappear as they burnt, feeling the need to at least watch as part of you died forever.

Transporting back though, he noted your heavy breathing and quickly set about grabbing everything you needed. A fire was set, after a few aborted attempts, before he ran out to the stream behind the cabin that you had told him of, passing by the cows who mooed at him in interest. He ignored them though and followed his ears towards the bubbling water that danced its way through the forest, the vegetation here vibrant and bright from the easy source of hydration.

It takes him ten minutes before he thinks he’s got the water heated right for you, heading back over and placing the bowl on the table next to you. Steam rises from it while a pile of clean, white rags sits next to the bowl from where he’s torn up a dress of yours he’d found and the pot of cream is beside that. He’d feel bad about the dress but he’s pretty sure you’re not bothered about it.

There’s no need for you to tell him what to do at this point thankfully; he might not know a lot but even he can figure out what you need him to do. But it’s a little awkward for him as the blood from your wounds has stained your dress badly, drying into stiffness and there’s even a piece that has dried into the wound itself. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, but I think you need to take your dress off. Do you have something else you could wear? That will leave your back open?” You shake your head, groaning quietly before pointing at the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed.

“There’s some...trousers in there. No shirt...it will be okay.” He swallows at that, eyes widening but realises you probably don’t have anything that would keep the wounds open to prevent them from being irritated. But he gets the aforementioned clothes without complaint for you, a pair of plain brown linen trousers, and helps you out of the dress and into them.

His eyes steadfastly ignore your nakedness, turning his head away as he helps you and he gets the sense that you’re amused at his behaviour. Even he knows not to be rude and look when you’re vulnerable like this!

“Okay...this is probably going to hurt. I am incredibly sorry, I wish I could make it so that it will not.” 

“Just do it. It is okay.” Letting out a deep sigh, he nods and dips a cloth into the water before gently running it along your back. He hates that he has to potentially reopen the wound from where the blood has coagulated but he knows that it’s better than your wounds healing with dirt inside it.

A soft whimper leaves you as the blood starts to flow once more and he quickly wiped it clean, removing the dried blood from your skin as well and trying his best to clean you up. Grimacing slightly from the way your body jerks, he whispers his apologies repeatedly as he works and hopes that he’s doing everything right.

“So...err...what are you? If you do not mind me asking.” Hoseok asks, hoping that the conversation might distract you from the pain he’s unintentionally inflicting on you. Or maybe that’s intentionally. Either way, he wants to find out what you are and if that has the added benefit of distracting you then it will be a bonus for you both.

“Harpy.” The word is gasped out, tinged with pain and he winces in sympathy, squeezing your shoulder gently with his hand in reassurance.

“A harpy? Aren’t those...Greek? I thought they were meant to be...ugly? Half bird or something?” He flushes immediately, going to apologise in case you found what he’d said offensive but a laugh leaves you, the sound surprisingly light and airy and something within him tightens. Frowning, he wonders momentarily what that was before focusing again on what he was doing.

“Greek and Roman, yeah. The mythology...states that we are half human...and half bird. The storm winds incarnate. No one...got us right...really. We look human except...for our wings...and our claws on our hands and feet. People were scared...of us, so they made us terrifying. We are seen as harbingers...of doom or death. Because our mythology...states that we took people...to Tartarus, ow. But we just...have an unlucky nature.” He laughs lightly at that, tongue sticking out as he keeps cleaning.

He doesn’t have many clean rags left, and the water is looking very pink. The plus side to this though, is that your skin is clean once more and the wounds, as terrible as they were, looked a lot cleaner than they had been. Not bad for someone who has no idea what he’s doing.

“Why do you have an unlucky nature? You are not terrifying, nor are you ugly.” There’s no shyness in his voice, nor embarrassment because he simply doesn’t understand that he was giving you a compliment that strangers don’t really give to each other.

“Thank you, but humans are different. And...when a human sees me...bad things tend to happen...to them. Or around them. The reasoning has been lost.” Hoseok hums quietly, placing the final rag down and looking at your back critically. Taking the pot of cream, he begins to ever so carefully dab it into your wound, wincing everytime you did so.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and you give a neutral noise to him.

“What about you?” A pause, as he wonders what you mean at first before he realises and lets out a quiet ‘ah’. 

“Reaper. I am a reaper. I remove souls from their bodies when their thread has been cut and then direct them to the other side if they so wish.” Your head turns suddenly, looking at him with wide eyes and he watches you carefully as you do so, unable to look away.

“A grim reaper? That is why the hunter died so suddenly, right? And your eyes...they’re unnatural. You have...a scary aura. Like death.” Hoseok chuckles at that, giving you a wry smile as he finishes adding cream to the wounds before sitting back in triumph.

“That is because I am death. My touch kills the nerves and cells of a human’s skin while my kiss is death itself. I unnerve them in my own way, because they can sense death is nearby when I am here. Though I only take those who fate directs me to, so have no fear; I shall not hurt you. It is not your time.” He smiles softly, running his hand along the softness of your cheek and wiping away the wet trails of your tears.

You stay silent for a moment before nodding, giving him a tiny smile in response. “Well...thank you…” The question is implicit and he bows his head regally as he gives his name. “Hoseok. Thank you...for saving me. And this...I appreciate it.” 

Looking around the room, he hums once more before helping you get up and move over to the bed. Once you’re lying down, front pressed to the cover and eyes watching him as you make sure to keep your back untouched, he crouches down by your bedside.

“You do not need to thank me. This is all very new and amusing to me. I have never saved someone before,” Pausing, he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you. “I feel the need to continue to assist you. You are evidently not going to be moving around for a while. Is there anything I can do for you around here? To help you?”

There’s a few long minutes of silence as you simply watch him and he feels his cheeks heating for some reason, an odd sensation causing his eyes to glance away from yours. Finally, you cough quietly and nod.

“I would appreciate that. A lot. You do not have to, but it would be a great help to me. The animals...need to be fed. The pigs cleaned. You will need to…” You carry on talking, listing out the chores that he would need to do for you to keep your small homestead going while you were injured.

His eyes widen in response, not expecting you to have this many jobs to do and he was a little embarrassed when he had to keep interrupting, asking you what you meant or how he would do something. He had never cleaned a pig’s sty before, nor had he milked a cow or taken care of a garden. Nor had he cooked, but he’d realised suddenly that he would need to as you were not able.

Yet you had patiently explained everything to him, going through in detail exactly what he needed to do. And so hours later, in the dying light of the sun as he realised a whole day had passed and he was carefully sprinkling seeds for the chicken’s that were flocking around him, he had the odd realisation that he was remarkably okay with doing these mundane chores.

It was all new to him, obviously, but the knowledge that he would go into your small cabin later and likely see the smile of relief on your lips seemed to make everything worth it.

-

For the next two weeks, Hoseok worries. He worries that he is not doing the chores you have assigned him correctly, he worries over the man he killed and whether he did the right thing, he worries over the fact that he does not know how to care for you and most of all, he worries because you were ill. Violently ill, and Hoseok did not know what to do.

Every day, he feeds your animals and takes care of the garden of vegetables and herbs around the back of the small cabin. It doesn’t matter if he’s not sure whether or not he’s doing it right, all he knows is that for two weeks, he doesn’t manage to kill anything else. Which is surprising.

That’s also how he discovers that his touch doesn’t harm animals. The small cat that apparently lived with you had taken a liking to him, constantly walking with him and laying on him when he sat down. Hoseok didn’t need to sleep, but he often let himself doze on the floor by your bed, the cat resting on his chest. It was comfortable and nice.

Learning how to cook for you had been another stress as he’d only ever casually observed it being done over the years. He had never needed to eat; like all his bodily functions, he didn’t need to do them but could actively participate if he wanted. And so he’d quietly visited human steadings, watching as they made delicious smelling meals out of the vegetables he could find in your garden.

It had taken a lot of trial and error, but he was pretty confident that he could at least make a good vegetable stew for you. And you had never complained about it whenever he’d managed to wake you up, encouraging you to sip on the warm broth and chew a few of the vegetables. He’d even taking to eating some himself, delighting in the pleasant flavours that blossomed in his mouth.

Hoseok had no doubt that the food he made wasn’t actually good, but at least it was sustaining you. Giving you energy to sweat out whatever illness was plaguing you. Every hour, your skin would glisten with sweat and the wounds on your back did not look healthy. A week ago, Hoseok had carefully re-opened them and grimaced upon seeing the pus and blood that seeped out, cleaning everything carefully once more.

He had read through one of your books on healing that littered the small table, pulling together a list of plants and flowers that were supposed to have medical properties. Hours had been spent scouring the forest, even travelling to other areas of the world in an effort to find them all before he would brew a warm drink for you.

For a few days, he had been convinced that it wasn’t working until finally...you had stopped sweating and shivering. The wounds on your back had bled clean and he left them to scar up to heal properly, unsure whether he was doing the right thing but confident at least that you had no visible infection.

An infection deeper within you, maybe, but he couldn’t help that. He hadn’t felt the pull that dictated your life thread had been cut, so he presumed that you were going to survive whatever had ailed you for the past fortnight.

Despite the care he was bestowing on you, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he had this deep need to make sure that you were okay, he still fulfilled his duty to the Fates. Hoseok didn’t usually count days like humans did because his duty took him all over the world, but he had begun to measure time staying with you.

It was through this that he’d discovered he had an average of 12 souls to deal with a day. Easily manageable, particularly given that when he transported himself to the soul in need then time would stand still. In reality, no time passed at all from the moment he left till he came back. So you had care constantly in case you woke up suddenly.

Which had you done, in small fits that were usually terror filled and he had the sense that your dreams were not dreams at all. Or at least...not the pleasant kind. Every time you had whimpered and shuddered, eyes squeezing tight, he had shuffled closer to the bed, resting his head on the feather filled mattress and gently running his fingers along your arm in reassurance.

He had watched humans do this before, and it had always seemed to have a comforting response. Plus, the cat liked being stroked like this and so he figured he may as well try with you. And every time, your whimpers would quieten down, expression smoothing out while your breathing became deep and even once more.

It fascinated him how you reacted to his touch like that. For so long, he had gone with his touch being dangerous and painful. But now...now it brought comfort and contentment.

Hoseok has become so involved in the seemingly mundane intricacies of daily life for those who have to rely on things like food and water to live, that he’s too busy out feeding the chickens to see when you finally wake properly inside. The day is pleasant, a serene blue sky painted with a few white puffs of cloud and over the top of the lush green canopy of the forest, he can see the jagged white tipped peaks of the mountain range beyond.

It’s neither warm nor cold, in that perfect temperature zone that humans seemed to like particularly well and Hoseok wonders if he should experiment with his clothing too. The thought leaves his mind quickly as he moves around to the small outhouse behind the cabin. There are two here, one contains a toilet that he has carefully brought you to multiple times a day while the other is a small store room.

Inside is a bag of feed for the chicken. Part of him wonders how on earth you managed to get the food and animals from the humans given their hatred of you and the obviously non-human visage you wear, but he hasn’t been able to ask you obviously. Instead, he simply grabs a handful of the feed, the pellets soft and small in his large hand and heads back out.

Clicking his tongue in a way that he has discovered attracts the small birds attention, he grins as the air is immediately filled with the sound of desperate clucking and the flutter of useless wings as brown and white hens come rushing towards him. Every day, he has gone into their little enclosure and taken the eggs that they have laid.

He’s not even remotely experienced enough yet to make anything including eggs, so he’s just had to leave them in a small basket in the store room. A part of him hopes that they’ll still be okay to do something with when you’re better, but he has no idea what. 

“Calm down ladies, you will all get some,” Hoseok murmurs gently, slowly dropping the feed to the ground and watching carefully to make sure they all get some. “Good, good. Eat up and stay healthy little ones.” 

It felt ridiculous for him to admit that he was growing an attachment to the animals in your small homestead, but he was. He already would lament when he had to leave behind the little black cat, the warm body reassuring in his arms and the gentle purr pleasing. Even the chickens, as loud as they were, had come to be a constant and enjoyed presence.

Smiling at them all as their noises quieten down to their usual mellow clucks, he brushes his hands on his trousers and heads back into the cabin. Almost immediately he jerks in surprise, his body’s response to go into his full reaper mode and he only manages to pull it back at the last second.

“You are awake!” He exclaims, eyes widening before he rushes over to you. A piece of soft white cloth, that he may or may not have liberated from a market stall somewhere in the world, is wrapped around your shoulders to provide you with some modesty while also allowing your wounds to be free from any pressure or touch.

Your lips curve up into a smile, the expression lighting your face up and he watches quietly for a moment, head tilting to the side as your eyes gleam with life. It’s odd to think that he has never actually seen you in good health, but your smile is quick and easy while your limbs move smoothly when he hands you a cup of fresh water that he had retrieved that morning.

“I am, thank you for taking care of me. I do not particularly remember too much but...I do remember you.” Hoseok flushes at that, rubbing the back of his neck in a movement that he has seen many humans do.

“Well...you may not be happy to see what I have done. I...you asked me to do your daily chores and I am afraid that I am not quite acquainted with what to do. On the plus side, your animals are still alive and I have grown quite fond of your cat. Also...I apologise for the food that I have been feeding you. I think the vegetable stew is okay but...I have never eaten before so I am not sure.” Gazing down at the floor with an awkward expression, he misses the way your brows rise as you look him up and down thoughtfully. 

“Can you pass me my boots please?” The question caused him to look up, watching as you point towards where a pair of well worn boots lies by the side of the door. Shaking his head, he wonders why he’d never noticed them before, grabbing them and helping you to put them on.

A gracious smile greets him when he looks back up at you, the sight making his chest feel strange but he simply stands and helps to adjust the wrapped cloth around your body until it looped to cover the right places while leaving your wounds free. Your body is stiff and aching, leaning heavily onto Hoseok as you hold onto his arm while making your way out of the small cabin.

Back out into the quiet day, you shiver ever so slightly and he frowns, wondering if perhaps he should make you go back inside. But taking one glance at you, he realises that would not be the best decision.

Your face is turned up to the sky, eyes closed as a gentle breeze blew the material around your body slowly. It was the first time you had been outside in a fortnight, and he imagined that the cabin would feel very stifling after a while. 

Soft meowing distracted you both, causing him to look down where the little black cat had come bounding over from her position on the fence. Immediately she began to lace her way around your legs, purring and meowing in content as you let out a sweet laugh, bending down and stroking her soft fur despite the wince of pain.

“She is very affectionate.” He muses, watching as the cat soon comes and begins to rub up against his legs. Without even questioning it, he leans down and brings the cat into his arms, her impossibly velvet fur pressing against his face as the cat purrs and rubs against him fiercely. 

“She isn’t normally to strangers. In fact, she’s specifically made to keep people away from here and protect the home.” Hoseok’s brows rise at that, looking from your serious face to the tiny ball of fluff in his arms. 

“This is Freyja. She was gifted to me a long time ago by a witch-goddess to protect me and my home from danger. We were more widely known in that time, and more widely feared as a result. She knew this and wanted to give us a way to live in this world without fear. Freyja is that way. Right now, she is a small and cuddly cat who wants affection, but when she senses danger to myself or my land here then she turns into a ferocious beast.” At that, Hoseok looks down at the cat in his arms with wide eyes, brows creasing.

“That is...unique,” He wasn’t really sure what to say to it. “But...I am death, why does she not deem me a danger? My very existence is a danger for living creatures.”

You point at Freyja then, a sardonic expression as you slowly shuffle over to the enclosure holding your pigs and cows. It had been harder to take care of them as he had zero knowledge of what to do there. He didn’t even want to talk about his experiences in trying to learn how to milk a cow.

“You have not killed my animals, nor are they frightened of you. I believe your scary nature must simply work on humans. After all, you do not take the souls of animals, do you not?” Hoseok hums at that, walking after you and noting the chickens that start clucking excitedly upon the sight of you.

“No, but I do not know if animals have souls.” That gets a tut from you as you lean over the fence, smiling and stroking the neck of a white cow as it chews grass contentedly. 

“Of course they do. I believe all living creatures have souls. Even supernatural ones like you and I.” His blood runs cold at that and immediately all he can think of is how easy it would be to destroy your life by accident. One simply brush of his lips against any part of your body and he would snap the thread of your life and pull your soul from your body.

“I doubt I have one. I do not see any need for a reaper to have a soul. We cannot die and we do not live.” He shrugs as you look at him quizzically, ignoring the nod of satisfaction after you finish checking over your animals before you move slowly over to the garden. Without a word, he follows and enjoys the gentle conversation between you both as you do so.

He has never had a real conversation like this before. A conversation which did not involve a panicked or upset soul that he was trying to guide to the next place. It was...nice. Everything was nice here. The animals, the forest, the weather, the mountains peeking behind the trees...you.

You examine your garden carefully, stiffly getting onto your knees as you look over the dirt that he had painstakingly kept weed free for you before examining the plants themselves. A few got dissatisfied shakes of your head before you pulled them free. One of them was one of those strange, almost circular vegetables that he didn’t understand.

“Ahh, my apologies. I do not really know vegetables besides from the common ones, such as carrots, potatoes and onions. I did not know what to do with...those...or if they could be used in the stew?” A sweet hiccup of laughter leaves you, your teeth sharpening suddenly before blunting again.

“This is a swede, or a rutabaga if you’d prefer. They’re delicious in stews actually. Have you cooked today?” Hoseok shakes his head, apology written on his face but you just smile graciously. “Are there any fresh vegetables in the store?”

“Oh yes, I put some in there yesterday after feeding the animals the waste. I think they will still be fresh? I do not really know.” He helps you to stand when you gesture an arm to him, pulling lightly until you are on your feet once more and wiping at the dirt that stains your trousers.

“Excellent. We shall get some and then head back inside, I feel tired already. I would appreciate you making me some of this famous reaper stew that you mentioned earlier, only this time I shall show you how to add swede. It tastes delicious in a stew, I swear.” The nod he gives goes unnoticed but he follows you anyway, dropping Freyja to the ground once inside the little store room. A glance around from you ends with a satisfied nod and he lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

Grabbing some of the vegetables that you hand him, he follows you back around to the cabin. It’s darker now, with the sky deepening to a navy blue beyond the mountains and a chill bites in the air, your shoulders shuddering where they are exposed.

He expects you to retire back to the bed once back inside, but instead you stand with him at the small counter and show him how to cut the vegetables properly and how to make an actual broth for the food to cook in slowly over the fire. Heat spreads over his cheeks as he realises how wrong he’d been doing things, but his defence firmly remained that he had never had to make food before so why should he know how to?

“Tell me about reapers then. I always thought you were truly myth, just the bogeymen that humans made up to console themselves with the finality of death or something?” The question is casual as you carefully cube a carrot, making the chunks far smaller than he had and he frowns as he watches your skill with the knife.

It seems like you’ve taken over entirely, and after checking over your back once more, he chooses to no longer be a nuisance to you and sit on one of the chairs in the corner, Freyja jumping onto his lap and nibbling on some of the dried meat he’d found in the store room.

“There is not much to tell. We are the ones who remove the soul from the body so that the body no longer lives and the soul has no reason to stay. I answer their questions and encourage them to move on.” A glance back at him shows your wide expression, movements paused and his head tilts in question.

“That is...how do you know who need to die? Do you just randomly choose?” Immediately, Hoseok’s head is shaking in refusal, the very thought offensive to every part of his nature.

“No, never. That is not for me to decide. The Fates decide who’s life thread has come to its end and they sever it at the exact moment that I cause the body to expire. I know who to go to because the Fates...how can I explain this...they send a message to us. It is like...a pulling inside, a tug. I cannot ignore it. I do not need to know where I am going, I simply let the pull take me and I arrive at my destination where the human is.” You hum quietly, an interested look as you stir the stew in the pot and stoke the fire a little more, encouraging the flames to burn brighter.

“Interesting...I know that I am supposedly descended from the Greek pantheon or something, but I did not really believe the Fates to be real. After all...that would mean that the life of loneliness and hatred I’ve lived has all been planned out, right?” Moving slowly, the stiffness evident in your body, you head back to the bed and sit down with a heavy sigh.

Hoseok is suddenly desperate to do something to put a smile back on your face and he quickly blurts out the question before he even realises what he’s doing. Why he’s doing it, he also doesn’t know but he can’t find it in himself to question it either.

“Ermm, well...my muscles feel stiff from not using them. Perhaps...if you would be so kind, you could massage my calves?” You sound shy, embarrassed, and he does not understand why. He has seen plenty of humans be given treatment in the form of massage throughout the centuries, to relieve aching muscles and painful injuries and he is more than willing if it will be of help to you.

“Of course!” He says quickly, placing Freyja onto the table before moving over to the bed. You have to sit straight, unable to let your still healing back touch the covers or mattress but it doesn’t seem to affect you, your legs stretched out.

“I apologise if it is not good...you are the first person I have ever touched without causing them pain.” Your brows rise in muted surprise, watching as his hands slowly began to press and squeeze against the firm muscles of your calf. Strangely, his body seems to know what to do and the soft sigh that leaves you lets him know that he’s doing it well.

“Yes...you did look at me strangely the first time I touched you. Why is that?” 

“Erm...well...my touch causes great pain to humans. It causes the cells and nerves to die wherever I touch, so I do not touch anyone.” The silence that falls is awkward and he’s not sure why, brows creasing together as he tries to figure it out. Over the last two weeks, he’s been surprised to discover that he has experienced a great many unusual feelings that he has never experienced before.

Most of them, he doesn’t have a name for.

Such as the odd warmth in his chest as he watches the way you chew at your lip absentmindedly, uncaring of the way your teeth sharpen momentarily. Or the strange feeling of...almost buzzing in his body at the feel of your skin against his own.

“That sounds...lonely,” Hoseok simply nods, acknowledging the fact without another comment. “Do you not have any family? Other reaper friends perhaps?”

“No. We are solitary, we do not meet up and communicate with each other. Not unless we are at the sight of large scale death, but we are too busy doing our work to communicate. There is nothing for us to talk about really. And I have no family. Reapers simply exist.” A choking noise comes from you and he looks up, noting Freyja has settled herself in your lap while a strange expression takes over your face.

“You have no family? Were you abandoned? Orphaned?” Hoseok frowns in confusion, head tilting once more at the question he doesn’t quite understand. And then he realises you think he must have had a family. Of course, that is how living creatures are born.

“No, I do not have a family because I was not born. I simply...existed? I...came into this world centuries ago as I am now, fully formed and aware. I knew what I was and what I was made to do. I do not believe reapers can be born because I do not believe we can procreate. Admittedly, that is simply because I presume it to be impossible given we cannot touch humans. And also, we exist between life and death. Something that is dead cannot produce life?” That soft peal of laughter leaves you once more, your hands busy stroking at Freyja’s fur.

“Of course the dead can produce life. What do you think nature is? The cycle of life is death, which leads to life. Things die, they decay and new things are born from that.” He looked at you blankly, wondering if you were being pedantic for a reason.

“You know what I meant. Besides, the point is moot. How would a reaper have ever tried?” The conversation dies after that, the air filled instead with the crackling of the fire and the purring of Freyja. Hoseok glanced out of the window, noting the quickly darkening sky outside.

“Do you have a family?” He asks finally, the chill from the air creeping in and he finally gets up to close the shutters. As he does so, he passes the fireplace and pauses to move the kindling, increasing the fire and enjoying the warmth for a moment. It’s odd, to engage in feeling things for once, but he likes it.

“I did. A long time ago. They died unfortunately. Hunters, like what you saw. Harpies are not beloved creatures unfortunately, so I retired in solitude to this cabin and received Freyja as a companion.” Pausing as he locked the final shutter, he stares at the aged wood quietly as he absorbs the sadness in your words.

“I am sorry for your losses. I understand about not being beloved by humans. And about solitude. I did not realise I was lonely until I came across you. I do not know if I would be able to return to such isolation now that I have experienced whatever this is...socialisation?” He wasn’t sure of the word, faltering over it but you give him a tired nod.

“Yes. I know that I do not know you well Hoseok, but I believe that I would like to call you a friend if I may?” Hoseok freezes by the counter, his hand about to pour out a fresh cup of water for you and his head tilts ever so slightly as he considers this unusual development.

Friend. Not a term ever used for him. But he liked it.

Turning back to you, he gave you the biggest smile, bright and happy before handing you the cup and sitting beside you once more. “I would like that very much. Friends.”

The warm feeling in his chest is even stronger now, accompanied by an odd fluttering sensation in his stomach and fizzing in his veins. He isn’t sure what’s happening, but none of it feels threatening so he doesn’t focus on it too hard.

He has no idea that you are experiencing the exact same thing for the strange reaper man in your cabin, whom you barely knew and yet owed more to than anyone else. And yet, he would never ask anything of you. It wouldn’t even enter his mind, for a reaper knows nothing of debts or payback.

Hoseok is here simply because he wants to be, because he wants to care for you and nurse you back to health. Because he enjoys the domesticity of your little cabin and land. Because you make him feel alive for once.

-

Hoseok sat on the chair quietly as you moved around the tiny kitchen of your cabin with a brisk efficiency that he couldn’t help but admire. There was a silence that hung in the air, but it didn’t feel oppressive or awkward. Instead it felt...comfortable. Like you had both been around each other for a long time and felt no need to fill the air with useless words.

He wasn’t sure what to think of it really. It had only been three months since he had found you, since he had taken the life of the scum who had taken your wings from you. And yet, in those three months he felt that you had both become closer than he’d even thought possible for a reaper like him.

Was it okay for a reaper to feel? Not that he knew what he was feeling. All he knew was that his stomach felt tight and his chest breathless when he looked at you on occasion. Like now, with the sunlight streaming through the open window and making you look soft...beautiful.

Frowning slightly, he rubs at his chest without even thinking.

“Are you okay?” The question breaks the silence abruptly, causing his head to jerk up in surprise as his eyes widen. He would’ve thought that after a month of communication with you, he wouldn’t be as surprised or awkward while talking to you. But a month was nothing compared to centuries of loneliness.

“Erm...yes? I mean...yes. I am okay. Are you okay?” His question is stilted and he feels his face flush slightly, an odd sensation still which causes him to let his fingers trace across his rounded cheek slowly. Hoseok had never blushed before he met you, but then he’d never had a reason to. Reapers didn’t have anything to blush about.

You watch quietly, lips pursed with the basket of fresh vegetables you’d collected from the tiny garden sitting in your arms. Everything with you is different though, he reasons to himself internally, because you’re introducing him to a world he’d only ever watched from the outside. 

With you, he almost felt like he belonged in this world.

Your black fingernails sharpen for a moment as you place the basket on the side, sighing deeply as you turn away from him and take out a bunch of carrots. There’s no talking for a few moments as you take a knife from the little block you kept, cutting the orange vegetable into neat pieces that went into the pot that was hanging over the fire. 

The gentle sound of the pieces dropping into the chicken broth you’d started up earlier makes his stomach growl and he looks down in bemusement. These sensations were still so new to him, and yet he didn’t want to let them go. In fact, he wanted to embrace them more.

He’d cavorted with death for so long, for his entire existence. Let him dance with life for once. Especially if it meant dancing with you.

The sudden image of you both dancing crosses his mind in a flash, his hand on the small of your back and your own hand in his other. Moving across the small floor of your cabin elegantly in one of those pretty, swooping dances the humans did in their extravagant clothes.

Hoseok eyes you for a moment, wondering if you know how to dance. He doesn’t, maybe he’s not good at it.

Thick cubes of potato disappear into the pot as well, along with a whole onion and a host of seasoning you’d plucked from your herbs. The lid is placed on top, sealing the ingredients inside the metal and ensuring both the vegetables and meat will cook thoroughly and efficiently. His tongue slides across his lips, mind already racing to imagine a bowl of delicious broth in his hands.

Does all food taste this good? Or is it because you’ve made it for him? Was his cooking as satisfying to you as your cooking is to him? There’s so many questions that he wants to ask, but feels far too shy to consider actually vocalising. 

You clean your hands using a square of cloth and some fresh water, cleaning up the area and placing the vegetable waste into a bucket. It would be used to feed your pigs later on, along with some other feed that you’d got. Hoseok would forever be in fascination with how you’d managed to live so long without the human’s realising what you were, and he wished that he had been able to see you with your wings.

He knew that you would have been astonishing with them, but he was more than content with how you were now.

You brush at the front of your dress while humming gently, the back draped open and revealing the mostly healed wounds on your back. They’re not a pretty sight; the gashes had been too deep for your skin to heal smoothly and so the skin there was thick and rough with scars. The open dress was a remnant of when you would wear your wings openly around your small home, needing the gaps to allow you to spread them.

Now, it simply let you walk around without having anything irritating your wounds as they had healed.

Hoseok wished he could say your humming was soft and melodious, but it wasn’t. You’d told him of the myths about your kind over the past month and one of those was that the sound of your voice was death itself. 

That was obviously false, but no one would ever say that you had a pretty singing voice. Even Hoseok struggled to lie there, but you’d just laughed at him sweetly when he’d tried after you asked him if he liked your singing. You knew that you didn’t have a good voice, but that was apparently merely a trait of a harpy.

Neither did you care. You sang because you enjoyed it, even if you were bad. Hoseok couldn’t find it within himself to think negatively of you when you embraced your solitary life so firmly in a way he’d never been able to.

Moving to the bed next to him, you sit at the edge and reach out to hand that rests carelessly on his thigh. Instinctively he moves his thigh out of the way in a jerky movement, body tensing while his hand clenches.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly before you let out a small sigh, letting your hand rest on your own thigh as you cross your legs. “You are so tense around me.” The words are steady, with no accusation in them and he feels grateful for that.

Swallowing thickly, he looks down at his hands and gives a small shrug. “It is not you. Well...it is you. But not in a negative way. It is just...you know that I’ve spent centuries alone. I have become...conditioned to the knowledge that my touch will cause pain and so I actively have avoided seeking out contact. I am no sadist.”

“I understand that Hoseok, really I do. But...you know that you don’t hurt me? I...would like to touch you. Casually. I want...I want to be able to touch you without you flinching from me. I want you to enjoy being touched.” He scowls slightly, lowering his head and he feels shame as his lip purses out in a petulant pout.

He’d always thought humans that pouted were childish, yet here he was, pouting.

“I do not hate it. I just...I am not used to it. I...I would like for you to touch me as well. I...like your touch, even if I flinch at first. It makes me feel...happy?” His sentence turns into a question but he knows it’s rhetorical because he already knows the answer. Your touch does make him happy, in fact it makes him positively gleeful that you can run your fingers along his skin without crying out in pain.

“Would you...would you let me explore you then? I mean...if you are comfortable with it. And you think you will be okay with it. You can tell me to stop at any time.” You sounds a strange mix of embarrassed and excited, causing Hoseok to cock his head at you. The movement isn’t natural, he can tell by the way you shudder slightly and he resists from apologising.

You have both learnt over the last month that neither of you are human, and he knows that his...habits unsettle you sometimes. But at the same time, he knows that you won’t condemn him for them. If anything, you seem to find some of them almost...cute?

“I...okay.” He doesn’t intend for his voice to sound as soft and almost...shaken, yet it is. Because he’s feeling a lot of emotions that he’s struggling to process right now. Fear, in case he hurts you. Nerves, because he’s never had anyone touch him before except for you. Awe that you want to touch him. But mostly, he feels excitement. Pure excitement at the very thought that you want to spend your touch touching him.

Your face lights up in a brilliant grin though, white teeth sharpening for a moment before they become blunt once more. He finds your little slips into your harpy side sweet, as if you’ve become so distracted that you can’t focus properly.

Hoseok wonders if your teeth would sharpen when you’re being kissed, if the edges would knick at his tongue as he kissed you as deeply as he’d watched humans do over the centuries. It made a strange feeling swell deep in his gut, twisting and odd. It’s foreign, and he doesn’t know enough about the emotions he’s been experiencing to be able to put a name to it.

Instead of thinking about it, he simply ignores it and stands up before moving to sit next to you on the bad cautiously. Neither of you have even done anything and yet his skin feels like the sensation just before a lightning storm, the fine hair on his arms standing on end while his breathing quickens suddenly.

You watch him carefully, lips curving into a gentle smile that is both amused and reassuring before you place a hand on his shoulder. He jumps before relaxing, finding the heat of your palm upon his clothed shoulder astonishing. 

“Lay back on the bed for me please?” Your fingers slowly move down his chest, tracing along the collarbone that you can feel beneath the cotton of his shirt. The black material keeps his chest from your view, yet he suddenly finds that he wants to remove his shirt entirely.

To let you feel him skin to skin, to let him feel you. He wants you to touch him in the way a woman touches a man, but he doesn’t know how to get across that he wants that. Internally sighing, he contends with the fact that he will simply accept what he is given right now.

Which is far more than he’d ever imagined over the years. 

Laying back on the bed like you’d asked, he rests his head on the small pile of soft pillows you favoured and watches you intently. You’re humming to yourself again, the noises quiet and he has to press his lips together to suppress the smile he wants to let out. It doesn’t stop him from admiring how pretty you look in the mid-morning sunlight, so elegant.

He wonders if it’s normal to feel like this, or if he’s simply imprinting on you because you’re the first being he’s been able to touch without hurting. Like a duckling attaching itself to the first thing it sees when born or something. What if he doesn’t actually care for you, but is simply infatuated with the idea of being able to live?

Any further thoughts he has along this line is interrupted by the featherlight touch of your fingertips against wrist. His eyes trail down to follow your movements, taking in the way they ghost across him in a way that has the hairs on his arms standing up beneath you. A small huffed laugh leaves you and he glances up before looking back down.

Your touch is soft and careful, fingers moving along slowly as you let him get used to the very idea of being touched. It’s odd, he thinks to himself carefully, how...nice it is to be touched. Pleasant. 

Your body temperature is perfectly normal for a living being and yet it feels like you’re the temperature of a furnace with the heat your fingers leave behind on his arm. He knows that’s just his mind getting a little ahead of himself, but he finds that he likes it still. That warmth lets him know that you’re very much alive, despite the harbinger of death moniker you wear on your shoulders heavily like an iron cape.

Turning his arm, he lets your fingers dance along the vulnerable skin of his inner wrist. The flesh here is weaker, so easily hurt as he has seen over the years from humans who have injured themselves; whether on purpose or not. And yet, it is also incredibly sensitive due to that weakness.

The sensation that caused his skin to pimple is amplified tenfold and he can’t stop the shudder that ripples through his body. It’s incredibly obvious and he flushes deeply, embarrassed and ashamed to have had such a visceral reaction merely being stroked on the inner arm. 

But you just smile brightly, lips spreading to form a beautiful smile and his heart stutters for a moment as your eyes shine with happiness at his naive reaction. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so stupid. Not if it makes you smile like that.

Your fingers reach the sleeve of his shirt, rolled up to his elbow, and he spots a tiny pout appear. Playing with the edge of the soft material, you look back up at him with a slightly pleading glance.

“Can you...I mean...would you take your shirt off? Please...if you’re comfortable with it.” Hoseok remains in place for a few moments, his body frozen with awkwardness and stiff with uncertainty. He had never undressed around you. In fact, he never had to, because he didn’t wear clothes like you did.

His clothes were an extension of his power, allowing him to wear whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It allowed him to blend in if he ever found himself in a situation where he must be seen, so he could attire himself in the latest fashions without having to actually communicate with a human.

As such, you’d never seen him change because it was a simple thought to give himself night clothes. Which meant he didn’t have to physically remove his clothes now either.

Swallowing, he nods slightly before his black buttoned up shirt vanishes without a sound. Suddenly, your fingers are touching the velvet skin of his inner elbow and he finds himself exposed to the world in a way he had never been. It’s rather astonishing he thinks and he can’t help but look down at his torso in slight amazement.

His actions must be amusing to you as you let out another chirp of laughter, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth as you take him in. Hoseok’s brow creases in confusion while his head tips to the side, asking a question silently.

“You’re looking at yourself like you’ve never seen your chest before.” Teasing, that’s what you’re doing with him. It makes him smile softly in return as he shrugs lightly, cheeks heating once more.

“Well...I have not, really…” He trails off, unsure of how to explain himself. “I do not...change clothes like you do, as you have just seen. Therefore...I have never had need to be...bare.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in his words before they slowly trail along his torso in careful and calculated movements. Raising a brow, you let your hand move onto the toned muscles of his abdomen which twitch in response to your light touch. But there’s nothing sensual in your eyes that he can tell, instead he just sees pure curiosity.

“So...I am the first person to ever see you like this?” You ask, eyes narrowing while one side of your mouth kicks up and he finds his throat tightening as he nods. “That is...interesting Mister Jung.”

As you say his name like that, low and almost purring, you rake your nails along his flesh in a scrape that is light enough not to cause damage yet deep enough to make him shiver violently. A gasp leaves his mouth as his chest heaves suddenly, causing him to look at you with widened eyes as you grin triumphantly.

“Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t even think on the question, doesn’t even let the words fully penetrate his mind before he’s nodding quickly. Because he does, he really does trust you far more than you’ll ever know. Because a part of his mind is telling him that he’s going too deep, too fast and that he’ll get hurt if he doesn’t stop.

But he doesn’t care, he can’t care. Not when he’s getting something he never even realised he’s been craving. Whatever that is, even if he can’t put a name to it now. He wants to be here, with you and continue feeling. And that means that he trusts you, in a way he has never trusted a single person, alive or otherwise, in his long life.

The look of fond relief on your face makes him realise that you’re probably far more touched by his acknowledgement than he could realise. That made him feel good, knowing that you probably weren’t going to abuse that trust. Although he could never say for sure.

He’d spent too long on this planet to fully believe that nothing will ever go wrong, because something always does eventually.

Either way, he doesn’t expect his trust in you to be rewarded with your lips being pressed to the centre of his chest. He’d been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed you moving, hadn’t paid attention to the look of desire in your eyes, nor to the way your hands on his slim waist had squeezed ever so slightly.

But he’s paying attention now. Now that the rose soft petals of your lips ghost along his skin, the sensation so overwhelming and unknown that it feels like his brain is overloading with information while his nerves scream in pure adulation at the sensations you’re providing him. Hoseok had never imagined he would be able to touch someone in his long life.

As such, the very idea of being kissed like this was a concept so foreign that he genuinely had not even imagined it. He had fleeting thoughts of what kissing you might feel like, but he tried to push those away because that would merely lead to heartache.

Hoseok would never know the feeling of your body beneath his lips like you were doing to him, he would never know the taste of your mouth or anything like that because to kiss him was to die. And he would spend the rest of his life fighting death for you if he had to.

But he had never considered the fact that you could do this to him. That you could explore his body as expertly as you were doing now, letting your lips brush over the dips and curves of the muscles that strained beneath your touch. Warm softness against his over sensitized nerves while your hands move along his waist and stomach in an almost mesmerising dance.

He wasn’t sure whether he was coming or going, whether he was alive or dead, whether he was imagining this or not. All he knew was that all he could focus on was the feeling of your lips, so gentle and tender as you made sure to go slow and acclimatise him to the feelings you were overloading his body with. 

The words to thank you wouldn’t form in his throat, not when his fists are gripping the covers of your bed so tightly and his body is so tense. You must take his movements the wrong way as you stop, lifting up to look at him with a frown of concern while one hand rubs at his side comfortingly and he almost whines at the loss of touch.

“Are you okay?” The fact that you were so willing to stop just to check on him makes him feel warm all over and he has to swallow a few times, licking his lips to provide enough moisture for him to talk as he nods.

“Yes. Yes I am...I am okay. I just...this is...I have never...are you okay doing this? You do not have to, not for me. I do not want you to do something you are unsure of.” He means every word he says, and the way your face creases in bemusement tells him that you understand his earnest meaning.

Leaning over him, he swallows even harder at the sudden proximity of your faces while a panic overwhelms him at how close your lips are. “Please do not kiss me.” He blurts out, not even caring that the words come out of nowhere.

You freeze in response, brow creasing and he realises that you’ve forgotten about his warning. Or maybe you simply thought because his touch didn’t hurt you then his kiss wouldn’t either. But he refused to risk that. He couldn’t risk that. His touch was merely pain, his kiss was death.

Without him even realising, his hand rises and gently smoothes away the frown on your brow and he marvels at how soft you feel beneath his own finger tips. Despite his words, you’re still close enough that he can feel the invisible caress of your breath, warm on his cheek and he marvels at how...intimate it feels. 

This is as close as he can get to you without kissing you and causing harm, causing his throat to tighten as he inhales deeply. It’s only then that he looks back into your eyes, taking in the confusion deep inside them as they dart across his face, taking in every tiny movement.

“Why can’t I kiss you?” And then he realises that you have forgotten what he had told you so long ago. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised with this. It’s an unusual fact that he cannot kiss, and he doesn’t hold it against you that you don’t remember his warning. He’s just glad that he remembered.

His hand gently runs along your face, thumb stroking at the impossibly velvet softness of your cheek and staring at it in awe for a moment before his mind catches up and he responds. “I told you a long time ago, when we first met. Or rather, when I was cleaning you so perhaps the trauma means you do not remember. I am reaper. You cannot kiss me as if you did...or if...my lips were to touch anywhere on you...then I would kill you and pull your soul from your body.”

As he says the words, his mind supplies a horrific set of images of him doing just that; him taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to your own. For one brief moment, it’s blissful but then time freezes in its usual way and he’s pulling your soul from your body.

The very thought of it strikes him hard and he feels an agony inside his chest like he’s never experienced. Frowning deeply, he lays on hand over the place where it hurts the most and rubs slightly, puzzlement lacing his every movement and he doesn’t notice the way you watch him with careful eyes that warm pleasingly.

“If I remember correctly, and I may be remembering this wrong of course, but did you not also tell me that you cannot touch humans because your touch brings pain? You do not hurt me.” Fingers that were rough with calluses formed over a long period of time played with his own, but he still thought they were still some of the softest things he’d had ever had the privilege of touching.

He remains silent as you play with his hands, his own far bigger than yours and he rests his palm against your own, spreading both your fingers wide and smiling at the difference in size. You were strong enough to kill a human man, when you were not cornered of course, and yet you felt so small and dainty here like this. 

Wrapping his long fingers around your own, he feels yet another strange pulling in his chest as a swell of...protective feelings blooms deep within. Hoseok has only known you for a month, and most of that time has been spent helping you to heal and keeping watch over you, yet he knows deep down inside that he would protect you from anything.

Not that you would need his protection once you were fully healed. He knew that you would never let yourself be taken unawares from now on, yet the feelings still bubbled within him alongside a righteous fury at those who had hurt you so.

“No...I do not hurt you. But my touch would simply be pain...the death of your nerves around whatever area I touched. It would hurt, but that would be it. My kiss...would be death itself. I can’t...I can’t risk that. What if are you immune? Then you live. But what if you aren’t? I...I cannot be responsible for your…” Hoseok is surprised by how his throat tightens abruptly at the final word, his breath short suddenly while he feels...he doesn’t know what he feels but he does not feel well. 

The very idea of you not existing is a pain he never knew he could feel.

As if you can tell his emotions, even though you have no empathic skills as far as he is aware, you cooed to him in reassuring sounds while your free hand cups his face and strokes in comforting movements that have him breathing a little easier. When his gaze finally refocuses on you, you smile tenderly at him before moving closer until your nose rests against his so lightly that he’s not even sure if he can actually feel it.

This close, he finds himself in silent awe as he takes in how truly beautiful you are. An old scar bisects an eyebrow while another makes its way across your cheek, the skin is not as smooth as everything else and yet he thinks it just makes you look even more handsome. He gets the sudden thought that he could spend hours looking at you and never tire of it.

“It is okay Hoseok. I will not kiss you…” You trail off, your words so incredibly light that it’s a strain even for him to hear them. “But that does not mean I cannot kiss you elsewhere, correct?”

A brow rises at your question and his throat convulses reflexifly. The very thought of feeling your lips on his body again makes him feel like he has lightning in his veins, his senses positively crackling with anticipation and he lets out a puff of air without meaning to, internally wincing due to your close proximity but you don’t say anything about it.

Instead, at his tiny nod, you smile before slowly moving your face along his, nuzzling your nose against his before your lips find their place at his jawline. The sensation is even more overwhelming that before and he struggles to swallow for a moment, his throat feeling tight and yet he would rather kill a thousand humans than ask you to stop what you’re doing right now.

Hoseok has never once indulged in anything in his life. But he wants to indulge in this. He wants to fully commit himself into this influx of feelings that you incite in him until he can’t even think straight anymore. Or maybe just that he can’t even think.

As your mouth slowly trails along his jaw, he lets out a whisper soft whine as you press an open mouthed kiss to the strained flesh of his throat. He had never known that this was such a sensitive area, even though he had seen many human’s pay special attention to this area when they were engaging in their sexual desires.

Now he understood why.

A husky laugh leaves your mouth, vibrating along his skin and he shivers from the sensation, positive that his mind will short out with the sheer awareness he has of his body right now. Hoseok thinks he finally understands why humans seem to seek out the pleasures of the flesh so ardently, why it seems to rule their minds sometimes until it’s all they can think about. 

Because if this is merely what your mouth on his throat feels like...he can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like on other areas of his body. Areas that he knows are far more sensitive to this kind of touching than anywhere else on his body.

He should know, he’s seen enough humans engaging in it for him to have gained a healthy curiosity as to why they were so insistent on this activity. Even when it came with punishment if they had found out.

As you move along his skin, your hands make quick work of stroking along his chest and stomach in long, slow movements that acclimatise him to being touched far quicker than he could’ve possibly imagined. A deep groan falls from his mouth as his eyes close of their own accord when he feels the wet heat of your mouth as your press an open kiss to the vulnerable skin between his neck and collarbone.

It’s a sensation he’d never even thought to imagine and it feels better than he could have ever thought. You hum happily against him, lips curling up of your own accord as his obvious pleasure satisfies you in a way he didn’t understand.

How could you enjoy doing this to him so much when you knew he could not reciprocate? That he would never be able to kiss along your collarbone in the same way you were doing to him, leaving behind a trail of wetness that cooled quickly in the midmorning air.

Oh, how he wished that he could.

It made him feel bizarrely inadequate suddenly and his hands move up to lift your head, admiring the way your pupils seemed to be larger than before and how your lips are slightly more swollen. He ponders momentarily if that is because of what you had been doing, but he doesn’t understand the biology of it all to make a properly educated guess.

“I want to do something for you. Please. I...I feel a little useless here. And...selfish. Because this should not be all about me.” You make a soft noise of repudiation and he shakes his head firmly, letting his thumbs stroke along your cheeks gently and admiring the way you lean into his touch. “Please...show me...how I can do something for you. Please. There must be something.”

There’s a brief hesitation in you as you pause, looking down at him with emotions that he doesn’t understand before you pull your lower lip between white teeth, chewing for a moment before letting it slip back out. He can’t help but watch the motion, surprised by the stirring in his groin.

You shift a little from your position next to him before nodding, eyes lowering in a sudden shy movement that has his heart beating a little faster than normal. Slowly, you shift until you’re kneeling on the bed before you move one leg over his waist. In this position, he’s given a perfect view up your glorious body and his mouth falls open as he gazes upon the sheer beauty he’s being blessed with.

Your dress pools at his waist, the material drawn up to reveal the bare expanse of your thighs and calves. He has the sudden and intense urge to lift that soft material, to allow him to see what lies between your legs and he frowns slightly at that thought. Hoseok knows what will be there, and he’s surprised at how eager his thoughts are given he’s never been bothered about the idea before.

But then again, he’s never had anyone straddling him on a bed like this. 

A surprised noise leaves your mouth as you wriggle once more, eyes widening as they lock onto his while your mouth falls open into a pretty ‘o’. He tilts his head in concern, wondering if perhaps you’re injured or something but instead you just grin at him.

“You seem to be enjoying this more than I anticipated.” You tease him, words filled with an intimate joy. At the way his brow creases, you smirk and move one hand to slide underneath the folds of your dress and he lets out a shocked gasp at the jolt of pleasure that sparks from where your hand presses against the crotch of his trousers.

Grinning, you press your hand harder and he finds himself moving aside your dress to frown down in surprise at his groin. Hoseok knew logically what was happening, he’d been around humans for a long time and there were many men who were proud of what they held between their legs, but he had never experienced it himself before.

Still, he’s not sure whether to be proud of the fact that his penis does in fact work like a human’s, which likely means he could perform during intercourse, or humiliated because you get to witness the first time it ever happened. Or maybe you’re disgusted by the fact he evidently finds you attractive enough to gain an erection.

“I am sorry.” He blurts out, wanting to avoid any offence. There are many women that find it revolting to be the object of a man’s attraction, particularly when it’s so obvious and Hoseok is partially mortified that his first experience with this is being witnessed in such close proximity by you. The very reason for his excitement.

A loud laugh leaves you, your face creasing in amusement as you lean down to press a sweet kiss to his nose that leaves him blushing even deeper. He doesn’t know why you’re laughing and part of him is embarrassed, wondering if you’re laughing at the fact he’s hard for you. But you assuage his fears seconds later.

“Why are you sorry? Because you find me attractive?” You shake your head fondly, letting your fingers run along his chest slowly and tracing shapes he doesn’t understand onto him. “No. Don’t feel ashamed for it. I’m honoured that you think that way, truly.”

Hoseok doesn’t move for a moment, his eyes firmly looking away from your gaze and his cheeks ablaze until you gently tilted his head back to yours. What he sees there is soft amusement and something else, something he doesn’t quite recognise deep in your eyes. Frowning slightly, he reaches up and runs the tips of his fingers along your face slowly, taking in all the ridges and softness that make your beauty. 

“You truly are beautiful.”

Now it’s your turn to duck your head down, shyness written in every inch of that astonishingly arresting face and he can’t help but smile, wondering where your earlier confidence had gone. He knew that you had far more experience in this area, only two weeks ago you had told him of the couplings you’d had with another harpy, a male. 

Apparently he had been a childhood friend, and you had hoped one day that he would be your mate. But as with the rest of your family, he was no longer here. It made something twist inside Hoseok to think that you were all alone, but he was here with you now.

Still, he was slightly bemused to find that he was actually intimidated at the idea of anything sexual with you. Hoseok hadn’t even known his sexual organs even worked until right now and his emotions and feelings were in a multitude of states he couldn’t even begin to work out. The experience you brought would be appreciated because it meant you would be able to help him through everything, but it made him shy at the thought he might do something wrong.

It’s not like he’d made it a habit of the years to spy on the sexual behaviour of humans.

“I think you may be the only person alive who would think that about me.” A scoff leaves his mouth without him even realising and your brow raised slowly, lips quirking slightly and he watched the colour’s change within. Since you had woken, your eyes had no longer been the solid black that they had when he had found you and he wondered how they worked.

“Well...technically I am not alive.” He grinned and you laughed in response, automatically moving down to kiss him before stopping as his hand pressed against your chest. Your face cringe, mouthing out a sorry before you shake your head, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Okay, so you want to do something for me, correct?” Hoseok nodded eagerly, excited to learn and excited to bring you pleasure and happiness.

Chewing your lip slowly, you take his hand and rest it on your breast, the mound soft and supple beneath his fingers underneath your dress. His hand squeezes gently without him even realising and he mutters an apology, but you simply smile and encourage him to explore. It awed him just how...soft you feel. He doesn’t have another word to describe it, but you simply feel soft.

A shiver runs through as his hand moves and he feels the hardening of a small nub under his palm, moving it away just enough to spy your nipple firm against the flowing material of your dress. Absentmindedly, he runs his thumb over it and gets a responding moan fall from your lips, eyes closing and he mentally takes note of that.

“Does this feel good?” He doesn’t realise that he’s vocalised that until you nod and give him an affirmative hand, taking your own hand and guiding him to what you like most. While you do that, your other hand comes to rest on his chest, thumb moving over his own nipple and he jerks slightly in response, eyes widening as he looks down at his chest in amazement.

“It does!” His innocent response has you laughing loudly, letting go of his hand to lean down and press a gentle kiss to his jaw, almost affectionately. 

But then he lets his hands move down your body, running his palms along the curves of your waist and the expanse of your stomach, sliding around and finding the solid roundness of your behind. It all feels so new and interesting to him that he doesn’t even pay attention to your face anymore, instead focusing firmly on what his hands are doing as they take in the exquisite shape of you, committing it to memory.

You let him explore as he pleases, watching him intently and thoroughly enjoying the feel of his touch if your soft sighs and shivers are anything to go by. Hoseok can understand why humans like doing this now, it feels...exhilarating to explore you like this.

“Do you want to go further?” Your voice is deeper than before, filled with a husk that makes his head tilt on the pillow and you smile. It’s only then that he notes your eyes darkening ever so slightly, leading him to wonder if they’re influenced by extreme emotion.

But he can’t stop the way his head nods, a deep and carnal need pushing him to explore your body even more, keep going until there is nothing about you he doesn’t know.

And with that, you gently guide his fingers to the place that had got him so worked up earlier. It has the same effect now, his body tensing slightly while he breathes ever so slightly faster, lungs working harder.

He expects you to simply guide his hand beneath the fabric of the dress, but you surprise him once his hand is centered on your body, grasping the material and carefully pulling it free from your body. Hoseok’s breath leaves him in a single woosh, his body feeling almost fuzzy as his mind tries to take in the image of your naked body before him.

It’s silly really, he shouldn’t be this affected given how he had seen you naked the first day he’d ever met you, and for two weeks you had laid in bed without anything over your torso. Yet, he had been beyond polite with that and had refused to look at you in any way that could be misconstrued, not when you had been so weak and vulnerable.

Now was different, now was you actively wanting him to look at your body while you were awake and healthy. 

Swallowing hard, Hoseok’s hand shake ever so slightly and he looks at them, brow creasing as he wonders why. But if he’d been in awe of your beauty beforehand, then he had no words that could be used to describe you now.

He doesn’t know how long he simply stares at you, greedy eyes taking in every inch of exposed skin, unwilling to leave any part of you left unseen. You seem to tire of it after a few minutes, though he can see from the warm glow of satisfaction in your eyes that you’re pleased at his observations.

Reaching for his hand, you slowly centre it again on your body, pressing his palm to your stomach before moving it down. Velvet skin meets his touch, and he notes that your own nails have grown into their familiar black claws from excitement, leading him to wonder momentarily how you manage to pleasure yourself.

But then that thought vanishes from his mind as he feels the coarse hair that surrounds the area that you obviously want him most. He takes the initiative after that, moving of his own accord as he explores your most private area, fascinated at the way you shiver with delight as his fingertips dance along your inner thighs.

He doesn’t waste much time though, his eyes caught on the slick softness resting firmly in the centre of your thighs. And so he runs a finger along the exposed flesh slowly, watching with fascination as your legs tighten around him and abdomen clenches, a breathy gasp leaving you.

It’s impossibly soft, the flesh giving way to his fingers easily as he rubs a slow circle around the engorged nub, enjoying the way you shiver and shudder in pleasure. But that has nothing on when he slides his fingers further along, slipping between your folds and discovering the slick wetness that awaited him.

For a moment, he was surprised, looking at the sticky residue on his fingers before sliding them back, smearing your own excitement all over your clit. It must be more pleasing for you, as immediately you whimper, hands tightening on your breasts as you squeeze them for more.

“Keep doing that, in circles, a little harder,” He does as you ask, applying a little more pressure and moving as you’d requested. “Yes, that feels good.”

It’s surprising how content he is to simply bring you pleasure, watching in delight as you writhe atop him, your movements enticing and exciting all the more because he has the knowledge that they’re being caused by him. For the first time, his touch is bringing pleasure and not pain.

You’re very vocal for him as well, directing him exactly how to touch you to bring yourself the maximum amount of pleasure and he’s glad for it. He would have no idea what to do properly otherwise, which is why he’s even more pleased when you push at his hand, his fingers sliding along your folds until he reaches the source of your wetness.

Your entrance is beyond slick, thighs shining with your own juices and he stares in fascination for a moment as the tips of his fingers disappear inside you. A soft moan from you tells him that you enjoy that, and he carefully slides one finger as far as he can. The moan this time comes from him, the tightness and sheer warmth of the walls that surround his finger sending an instant fantasy to his head about what this would feel like with his dick inside you instead.

Experimentally, he moves that finger in and out of you slowly, rubbing along the smooth ridges of your walls as he does so before he finds himself sliding a second in, a sudden need to stretch you a little further taking over. 

“Oh gods, Hoseok...keeping doing that. Rub right there.” You pant out, eyes clenched tightly closed as he curves his fingers and rubs along a certain spot. Head tilting, he carries on doing so, speeding up his movements when he notices you seem to like it faster and harder with how your body shudders and the obscene noises leave your mouth quicker.

As he focuses on the pace he manages to keep inside you, awed at how wet you get as he does so with your excitement spreading down his wrist and making him get a little more excited as well, you take the initiative of your own as well to reach between your thighs and stroke at your clit in fast, small circles. 

It’s interesting to note that your claws vanish as you do so, causing his brows to raise slightly but then he lets out a soft whiney gasp as he takes in the ridiculously attractive sight above him. You writhe and wriggle, pressing against the hardness in this trousers that causes him to wince slightly but he can’t deny that it feels good too.

“Keep going Hoseok, keep going.” And he does so, clenching his jaw as the muscles in his bicep strain from the unusual movement but he can’t stop now, there’s no way he wants to stop because all he wants to see what will happen when you reach that edge. The edge he’s heard humans reach, and knows exists, but has never seen it in real life.

Then, with a keening and high pitched cry that soon turns into a deep moan, your body shudders violently. Deep convulsions cause your muscles to tighten, hands clenching tightly while your head falls back onto your shoulders and the tightness of your channel increases until it’s a struggle for Hoseok to continue fingering you, grunting from how you clench around him like a vice.

But he continues on, stroking the twitching muscles and elongating your orgasm until you finally pull your fingertips away from your engorged clit, whimpering and whining as he continues before pushing his arm away too. Looking at it with wide eyes, Hoseok stretches his fingers out and watches in wonderment as your excitement glistens in the light, stringy stickiness looking so enticing that he can’t help but place them into his mouth, tasting you for the first time.

And with that, he lets out a deep groan, his eyes closing tightly at the taste of you. Logically, he knows that your mouth would likely taste nothing like this and yet he has to stifle the desperate urge to find out for himself, instead focusing on the delicious taste on his fingers. 

“You taste phenomenal.” He mutters, fingers already moving to slip between your lips to coat them once more and you laugh tiredly, chest heaving for breath before grabbing his arm before he can.

“Thank you, but let’s not do that. At least, not yet.” Hoseok can’t help but pout then, eyes focused on the wet mess between your thighs as he fights the urge to taste you once more.

“But I cannot taste you any other way.” You chuckled lightly at that, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses to his chest that had his skin feeling like it was on fire. Lips as soft as rose petals drag across his skin as you move down his body, crawling backwards until you’re hovering with your face over his groin.

“I promise, you can taste me plenty. But for now, I would like to reciprocate the pleasure you gave to me.” He frowns, head tilting and you chuckle at the confusion that must be written all over his face. Kissing the band of his trousers, his abdominal muscles jump of their own accord and he suddenly wants you to touch him in a much more intimate way than you ever had.

When he doesn’t give a negative, you tap his thigh and tell him to remove the final clothing, leading to his trousers vanishing just as his shirt had. And he watches in wonder as his cock bobs in the air for a moment, the weight of its thick and hard shaft pulling it down until the bulbous head almost touches his stomach.

A soft laugh causes him to look back at you, the amusement in your tired face causing him to smile in response too. “Your reactions are so sweet. It is like you have never seen your own erection before.”

“I have not. This is the first time I have ever...been erect. I have had no reason to before.” His cheeks flush at the admission before he pokes at the veined shaft, watching the way it sways before he lets out a contemplative noise. “Am I of an adequate size? Would I even fit inside you? Or am I too small?”

Now you laugh loudly, hands resting on his firm thighs as your head tilts forward, forehead almost hitting his cock and he frowns in response. He may not have any experience in this, but he’s very sure that he doesn’t like his penis being laughed at.

But you console him quickly, able to sense the change in his emotions before he’s even worked them out and press a gentle kiss to his chest. “You are perfect. I promise. Do not worry, you will fit. I look forward to the day that we are ready for that.”

“Can that day be today?” He blurts out without thinking, eyes widening as he recognises what he’s just said. It causes you to pause though, brows rising before your eyes flick up to his, watching him carefully.

“I...I was simply going to use my mouth on you. I was not planning to have sex with you, I did not want your first time to be rushed.” It takes Hoseok a moment to understand why that was apparently important and his face changes into comprehension, mouth opening.

“Oh...you do not need to worry about that. I am more than happy to engage in sexual relations with you. Right now. If you want to that is.” Your lip purses out as you sit up, the glistening between your thighs attracting his attention before he can help it and he wonders momentarily when he became so single focused.

Yet you don’t answer him, simply looking at the wall and his eyes flick up to you, wondering what you’re thinking about. And then you crawl up his body slightly, and before he can even say anything further, you grasp him tightly.

He’s about to gasp out at the sensation, the feel of your fingers on him beyond exciting, yet that gasp turns into a strangled moan as you line yourself up and sink down onto him. There is no waiting, no slowness or shyness. Instead you are bold and quick.

Before his mind can even comprehend what has happened, you are seated on him fully, his cock buried deep inside the tight, wet heat between your thighs. If he had thought that his fingers inside you was glorious, then it has nothing compared to the way you feel around him now, his eyes scrunching closed and jaw tightening as his hands grip your hips hard.

“Fuck.” Is all he managed to get out, the word a choked whisper spoken from behind his clenched teeth and you let out a breathless laugh, the movement causing your internal muscles to squeeze him quickly and he whines.

“Oh wow. You feel even better than I imagined. Yes, you are most definitely the right size Hoseok.” The words are like music to his ears and you wiggle your hips in a slow circle, causing his cock to shift inside you and both moaned loudly at the sensation.

It’s almost overwhelming for Hoseok, he almost doesn’t know what to think or how to feel. All he can focus on right then and there, is you wrapped around him so tightly. He takes a moment to send a quick wish that he is not interrupted with a death call right now, because he’s not sure he would have the willpower to leave the delightful depths of you.

You apparently have more mental capacity left than him though as you slowly begin to move on top of him, hips lifting up until he swears he’s going to slip out before sliding back down. It’s almost agonising how pleasurable it feels, his mind so completely overwhelmed by these new and exciting sensations that he doesn’t feel in control of himself or his body.

The fact he can’t see himself either means that he doesn’t notice when his own eyes bleed black to match yours beneath his closed eyelids, a frown lining his brow as unstoppable noises spill from his throat with each glorious glide of you against him. He most definitely understands why humans enjoy this now.

And then you begin to squeeze your muscles rhythmically, tightening and loosening on his cock and a strangled moan leaves him. His hands clasp your hips even harder, a desperation he doesn’t particularly understand but knows he just has to follow taking over his body and before he even realises what he’s doing, he’s thrusting up into you to meet your movements.

“Shit, shit.” He mutters along with a lot of unintelligible noises, gibberish falling from his lips as the pleasure in his body builds and builds, his whole focus entirely on his cock and the fact that he would rather cease existing than follow this feeling over the precipice he feels he’s approaching.

Muscles tightening, he lets out a high pitched whine from his throat, almost breathy and whistling but he doesn’t notice as he bucks up into you, pressing himself firmly inside you as far as he can get while that exquisite tension in his body snaps. Head thrown back, his exhale is a gratified groan as lightning bolts of pleasure zip through his body, his cock twitching inside you as he spills deep into your wet warmth.

The whole time he orgasms, for the first time in his entire existence, you coo softly to him, running your hands along his chest and raking your nails over his skin, sending goosebumps pimpling everywhere. And you continue to ride him, wet heat moving him in and out of you in a constant rhythm that has him sputtering noises, muscles clenching him greedily and adding to the pleasure he’s already experiencing.

And then, it’s all too much for him. His whines are no longer excited and needy, but instead laced with almost pain as the sensations become too strong, too overwhelming for him and he has a deep need to stop it. As much as he adores the tight heat of you, his cock screams out from over sensitivity, wanting the sensations to stop and he doesn’t know what to do, half pushing against you but not wanting to be selfish and deny you.

But again, you read him better than he thought you might and lift your hips off him slowly, letting him slip out of you and fall back onto his stomach with a wet slap. He doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, eyes still closed before he finally takes a deep breath to try and calm himself down.

The first thing he notices is his cock, now slowly shrinking in size once more but he takes in the sight of your excitement coating him in a slick mess. Secondly, he focuses in on between your legs, your clit swollen and wet until his notices the thick, white liquid that slowly begins to drip from your entrance.

He doesn’t understand for a moment before he remembers the times that he’s taken a human’s soul after sex. Those scenes had been given an uninterested glance from him, but he realised what that was leaking from you now.

That was him, his own excitement, his own release that he had ejaculated into you as he orgasmed so wonderfully. The sight of it is strangely arousing, generating some feelings deep within himself that he doesn’t understand but he can’t take his eyes from the sight as you drip onto him.

“You did not orgasm again.” He finally says, voice breathless and concern in his face as he looks up at you. Smiling softly at him, you lean down to press a kiss to his chin before nuzzling your face into his neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your body, uncaring about either of your nakedness and he finds a different kind of pleasure in the moment of intimacy.

“It is fine, I did not want to. I had already had my pleasure, that was about you. Introducing you to sex and the joys of it.” Hoseok doesn’t know what to say for a moment and he gets a bizarre urge to kiss your head, knowing that he can’t yet still wanting to despite himself. So instead he hums, running his fingers along your back until he brushes against your scars.

You shift slightly as he does so, mildly uncomfortable and he quickly moves away. He knows they don’t hurt like they used to, but it must be odd to feel them like that all the same.

“I could pleasure you again? If you would like?” Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh and he gets the sense that you are sleepy, filled with a bone weary tiredness. Strangely, for someone who never used to sleep, he feels the same way, a lethargy that desires for him to drift off.

“Well...thank you. I enjoyed that, far more than I thought I would. It was...everything.” But you don’t respond, and when he shifts his head away to look at your face as best he can, he sees your eyes are closed and breathing evened out, fast asleep.

Smiling to himself, he squeezes you a little tighter before sliding out from your grasp, covering you up with the bed covers and clothing himself in what he had deemed his night clothes. Settling onto the floor in his usual sleeping place, lest he accidentally brushed his lips against you somehow in the night, he grins as he recalls what had just happened.

Strange feelings bubble in his stomach once more and he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to figure them out. It’s hard, trying to work out emotions like this when you had never experienced them before, he thinks to himself. But he knows this one is important because it involves you, and he wants to figure it out.

Glancing up to where your hand rests hanging off the bed, he reaches up and holds it gently, hoping it brings you at least a mere piece of the comfort and happiness it brings him.

-

The next few weeks pass by strangely fast. Hoseok has always had a strange concept of time. As someone who is immortal, created and spending most of his life living outside of the reality of actual life, time is simply something humans measure the day by. To him, it’s insignificant.

Years can pass easily for him without his notice, the slow rise and fall of empires around the work attracting a passing attention for him. But as someone who was not connected to the real world in any tangible way, it also meant that the passing of time so quickly without him realising had left him very unconnected to the world.

He had been merely a passive observer, but for the first time, with you, he was an active participant. And he was horrified at how fast time seemed to go when he was with you. Beforehand, days would slip by and he would merely travel from one place to the other, taking in the beautiful sights and merely contemplating mundane things that would enter his head.

Hoseok would openly admit that his life before you had been bland and dull, unsure what he did with all that time. Now though, he had you to laugh with, to work with, to talk with, to sigh in pleasure with. Despite your initial assumptions the morning after his first sexual encounter with you, Hoseok had not become the equivalent of a teenage boy discovering girl’s for the first time.

In fact, he had remained more focused on you and providing you with all the sexual gratification he could with his hands and more. His own pleasure was merely a secondary byproduct, an excellent side benefit if you will.

As much as he liked the sex with you, he simply enjoyed spending time with you more. It made him feel warm and soft when he was in your presence, hating those moments when he felt the call of death luring him away from you. He fulfilled his duty of course, taking the souls of humans and leading them to the other side, but now he felt a strange sense of connection to some of them.

To the woman who had died in childbirth and had been overwhelmed with grief at never getting to see her child or husband again. To the man who died in war, leaving behind his family. To the child who would never be able to experience all that life could offer.

Hoseok...empathised with them, in a way he never had before. What had once been a cold and empty space inside him now overflowing with warmth and emotion, so many feelings that he experienced in a multitude of ways. Some of them he recognised and could name, others were foreign to him.

Part of him wanted to ask you, to explain what he felt and see if you could shed some light on all these strange new experiences that rolled through his body. But then something deep inside him that he didn’t understand, refused to let him. Something that made him feel slightly ill at the thought of explaining his thoughts and feelings to you.

He listened to that instinct, unsure why but unwilling to do something that his body felt so vehemently against.

But despite all of that, he enjoyed his time with you. You showed him how to garden properly once your back healed up fully, your movements still ever so awkward as you got used to walking and running properly without staggering from the lack of balance you had due to no longer having your wings.

He found pulling out the weeds from the dirt and planting new life rather satisfying and relaxing, losing himself for hours if left to it in the dark soil as he took care of the tiny, fragile plants. You found his newfound love of gardening amusing but had decided to leave it to him, pointing out that you often got dirt stuck far beneath your claws that would grow when your emotions did.

While you liked to garden too, growing vegetables and herbs that helped to sustain you, it gave you too much time to think and he had observed the way your body changed rapidly when you did so. Eyes darkening to black before shifting back to their original colour, black claws growing from your nails into sharp points and white teeth becoming far more lethal before blunting again.

It was fascinating to watch, but he had discovered that it also unnerved you. Without your wings now, you could resemble a human if you were able to control your emotions, and the prospect of potentially being able to trade with the human villages was exciting to you. Particularly when Hoseok had pointed out that he could take you around the world, fill your garden with spices, fruits and vegetables from far off places.

But you were still learning to control them, your emotions more unstable since the attack according to you. It made his heart hurt to know that you were still being affected, but the logical side of him knew that you were likely to suffer unseen side effects for some time. The attack had been brutal, and you had thought you were going to die after all that pain.

You still suffered horrendous nightmares during those dark hours, whimpering softly before thrashing in bed as your wails pitched in noise. It broke his heart to hear, unsure why your pain and fear affected him so badly but desperately wanting to comfort you.

He didn’t touch you though. He had done that once and you had flung out a clawed hand, black talons scraping down his chest in your terror. It had hurt, he’d noticed that everything seemed more intense nowadays instead of how it had been before he had met you, but he hadn’t cared.

Not when you had woken, with tears streaming down your face and fear etched deep into your eyes. It had morphed quickly into horror at the sight of the claw marks on his chest but he would coo to you quietly, reaching out and stroking your cheek in reassuring motions as the wounds on his chest healed rapidly.

He tried to keep you happy though, to make your life as easy as possible and he suspected that you had embraced the task of teaching him properly about the world and how to live with it with open arms. It was something he appreciated and he was quickly growing to enjoy a lot of things he would have never considered before.

You had shown him how to fix one of the fences that had broken recently, working with his hands in a way that was oddly satisfying and he was eager to learn more. But most of all, he had come to treasure the quiet moments of peace and serenity with you.

Like now, for instance. During the time that you had still been bedridden from the wounds on your back, you had spent a lot of time talking to him about a multitude of things. From his own knowledge of reapers and death to the mythology extending harpies to even more mundane things such as how to create clothing and jewellery.

But you’d also talked of how you enjoyed walking the forest trails or hiking up the steep mountain sides, luxuriating in the beauty of nature here. On your more daring days, apparently you had even flown but that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

Still though, Hoseok wanted to bring that sweet smile to your face and bring some peace into the life that he had made hectic by accident. And so he had asked if you would take him along one of your favourite trails, to explore the forest with him and show him why you loved nature so much.

Over his years, he’d seen many astonishing scenes of nature from impossibly large canyons cut into the ground to endless blue ocean and more. He swore that he would show you some of these sights one day, promising that he’d seen things that you couldn’t even imagine but for now...he wanted to explore your home with you.

And so you had pulled on a sturdier pair of boots, casually talking to him about how you made said pair of boots, a dress and a travelling cloak. When the rays of the sun that beamed down from overhead, directly above the clearing your cabin inhabited, he’d been momentarily struck by simply how beautiful you look.

But then you had taken his hand, locking your fingers together, and began walking. For three hours he followed you through the forest, understanding finally why you seemed to enjoy this activity. The gentle sounds of the forest let him know that it was alive, from the rustling of leaves in the wind to the chirping of birds, the call of deer and the chattering of small creatures in the underbrush.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, not until you’d pressed a finger to your own lips before then gesturing out to the forest in general. It was then that he’d focused his senses more intently, determined not to look a fool to you. And it was then that he’d tuned into the sounds and rhythms of life that made up the forest.

Even now, he still looked around in wonder at a new birdsong, eyes eagerly trying to find it to see if you could name it for him. You had an astonishing knowledge of the wildlife and plants of the forest, enough to shame him considering how long he’d existed, but he was pleased that you were so eager to share it with him.

He thought that it might be because you simply hadn’t had anyone to talk to for a long time, but he didn’t mind if that was the reason. It was wonderful to hear the passion and excitement in your voice and he enjoyed learning everything.

A small bird swooped past, its head and wing tips black while the underside was a luscious red and he watched it go before pointing. “That is...a bullfinch...right?” 

The quizzical look on his face is met with a bright smile from you, pleasure at his willingness to learn clearly present as you nod happily. “It is! You remembered.”

Hoseok has to bite his lip to stop his own smile from spreading, bashful as he looked down at the ground to avoid your gaze. The trail here was barely visible, hidden beneath fallen leaves of burnished copper, fiery orange, warm brown and sun-kissed gold but you seemed to know your way instinctively.

“I always remember what you tell me.” He said softly, the words so gentle that he’s positive they disappear on the breeze but you pause in your movements, looking at him with eyes that are slightly wider than normal and an inquisitive hint in them.

“Oh really? What was the first thing I ever said to you?” You query and his brow rises in amusement, the corner of his lips quirked up.

“You said thank you. That was the first thing you ever said to me.” The atmosphere between you both seems to deepen then with something he doesn’t quite understand, a multitude of emotions flickered over your face as thoughts he can’t hear filter through your mind. He wonders what you’re thinking.

Maybe it’s regret, that the first words exchanged between you both had been tinged in such sorrow and pain. But as much as he wishes he could go back in time and save you from being hurt in the first place, he still treasures whatever words you are willing to give him.

“Was it? I do not really remember. It was...a painful time.” You murmur, looking down at where his hand is joined with yours, lips twisting bitterly as memories of the attack obviously plague you. Hoseok feels distress at that, his chest tightening and he scrambles to find a way to distract you instead.

“That is good really, because my first words to you were not as memorable. Best you forget and instead focus on everything I have said to you since.” Swinging your joined hands, he gives you a bright smile in an attempt to cheer you up and it seems to work, your own lips breaking into a begrudging smile of amusement before you step closer to him, the heat of your body warm against him.

“I can accept that. You have said many wonderful things to me since.” 

“Really? I do not think I have said anything that is truly memorable.” He says, uncertainty lacing his voice as he frowns and tries to recall if he said anything that would make you remember it. The way you’re laughing tells him that perhaps he has.

“Oh really? I consider apologising for getting an erection because you found me attractive memorable.” His cheeks flush at that, embarrassment flowing through his body and making him feel far hotter than he should. Thankfully, he’s become a little better at speech in the bedroom.

Not that you really had a bedroom, considering it was a one room cabin but the point stands.

“I would prefer if you would forget that.”

“How about I pretend I forgot it? Because it was cute and I liked it.” The snort he lets out surprises him, causing his eyes to widen and you giggle loudly, the sound so bubbly and sweet that he’s enraptured as he watches you, something deep inside him feeling warm in a very different sort of way.

And he’s so caught up in admiring your happiness that at first, it doesn’t register in his mind what happens next. At least consciously, because his subconscious reacts immediately and he frowns for a moment, the lack of sound in the world startling to him but then he realises.

Recoiling back, he almost trips over his own feet as he looks in horror at your frozen visage, lips still pursed together from where you had just kissed him in your blissful happiness. It was the one thing he had to continuously remind you of over the last few weeks and there had been many close calls, but he’d been too late this time, too slow.

A horrible sound scrapes from his throat as his trembling hands cup your face as he staggers back forward, realisation of what had just happened still trying to slowly filter in his unwilling mind. The gentle light of the evening sun gives you an ethereal look as it dapples you in golden rays that manage to make their way through the thick forest canopy and his heart clenched tightly as he realises that he’s never seen a sight more magnificent in his life.

“No, no. Oh gods no. Please no. Please,” The words scrape from his throat, each word laced tightly with pain and anguish as he finally realises what’s happened and begs whoever may be listening. “Please no, please please please. No, not her. Please not her. Please not her, please don’t take her. Please.”

Tears quickly welled in his eyes before spilling forwards, sliding down his cheeks in a river of pain before falling to the forest floor. As soon as they left him, they pause in midair, waiting for time to resume. A constellation of his anguish that glitters in the light; almost beautiful.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He whispers brokenly, resting his forehead against your own while your noses kiss in a gentle touch. It had been the only way he could kiss you for weeks, to show his deep affection and love for you without hurting you.

So many times he had the chance to tell you that, to tell you how he felt for you and so many times he had held back; for fear you would reject him, for fear he was simply projecting, for fear you would not return his fragile, new feelings.

Hoseok regretted that, he regretted it more than anything and another sob wracked his body as he realised that he would never be able to tell you properly now. He would never get to hold your hand as you walked through the woods together, he would never get to see your shy smile when he complimented you, he would never get to watch another sunset with you.

He would never get to love you again.

Slowly, painfully, he closes his eyes and let’s go of all the fantasies he’d let play out for the last few months. He should have known better. He should have known that this was how it would all end. He was a reaper, he brought death and unhappiness to the world. He broke the hearts of thousands by ending the lives of hundreds.

Someone like him would never be allowed to love openly. He knew that now. 

His tears fall onto your cheeks, freezing and he wipes them away slowly as he sniffs, wiping at his nose as he takes in the sight of you. It reminds him of the first time you’d explored him, when you’d been so close that he could take in every part of you without obstruction. Just like then, it makes his heart swell with happiness before it bursts in pain and despair.

Months, he’d had merely months with you. And yet he knew that he should be grateful that he had been granted even that time. Because you had shown him how to love, how to adore someone so completely and live to see them smile. You had shown him how to live, for the first time in his long existence.

“I love you.” He whispered once more, ignoring the way his eyes burn from the tears before he presses his lips to yours. This is the only kiss with you that he’ll be able to remember properly, the brief touch of your lips to his own that had spurred this was already forgotten from his mind in grief.

But this? This was...he wished that you could enjoy it with him. Your lips were as soft as he had always imagined, velvety like a petal and so warm beneath his own. Even though you would never feel it, even though you would never know the sheer depth of his love, he wanted desperately to imprint the passion you had inspired in him.

Pulling away, he looks down at you through watery eyes and resists the urge to breakdown. There’s time for that later. He has the rest of eternity after all. Now...now he has to do what he was made to do. Now he has to lead you to the other side.

He doesn’t want to do this.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stands back and takes a deep breath, inhaling until his lungs hurt before letting it out slowly. It doesn’t help, but he tells himself that it does. Mind over matter.

And then, he realises something.

He doesn’t feel the pull of death. He feels nothing coming from you. No pull to signal a reaper is needed to sever the life connection between the physical form and the soul. Oh no, he panics, does that mean someone else is supposed to take your soul? Is he not allowed to because of his connection to you? He doesn’t know how this works for someone who is not human.

He can’t let some random reaper he’s never even seen before be the one to escort you. He has to. Hoseok has to at least tell you how he feels, just once, even if it’s only to your soul before you go. 

A whole new pain crushes his chest and a far away part of his brain is surprised with how many tears he has cried for you. Surely he must not have any left at this point? It feels like he has cried the river Acheron all over again.

But no one arrives. No one comes to take your soul, and a whole new panic overtakes him. You are not human, you are a creature of the supernatural. What if you don’t have a soul to remove? What if...what if nothing happens when you die? He’d never considered that. You were the first supernatural he’d ever met.

What if you didn’t have a reaper?

Oh no, no, no. He’s murmuring nonsense to himself, shaking his head wildly while his hands grip his hair in helpless frustration. No, this can’t be. You can’t...you can’t just...die and then...but if you...your soul...you can’t...he doesn’t...it’s too much.

Hoseok sinks to his knees slowly, the dried branches and leaves beneath him cracking under his weight as he lets out an agonised sound before he leans forward, resting his forehead on his arms as a wail of pure torment leaves him. Did he save your life all those months ago to simply just take it now? And so thoroughly that there will never be any evidence of you? That you won’t even be allowed the luxury of going to the other side?

His tears wet his sleeves as he howls in pain and anger. The disgusting excuse of a human who took your wings from you was given the honour of being allowed to move on and yet you get nothing? How was that fair? How was it fair? It wasn’t fair.

You deserved more. You deserved the best. Whatever was on the other side of the veil of life, you deserved to have the best version of it. You were pure and sweet, a kind heart and a gentle nature that loved even someone as unpure as him, someone who dealt in death. And you were going to get none of it.

Pushing up, he screams out his anguish at how unfair it all is, his head falling back onto his shoulders while his throat strains violently from the force. It echoes around the silent forest, a sound that has never existed in time itself and never will. But it’s only a shadow of the agony he feels in his heart.

Falling forwards again, he spends the next few minutes simply sobbing into his arms. Loathing fills him deeply as despair takes over his body, pained whimpers mixing in to create a quiet symphony of sorrow that only he will hear. Him and the Fates, those cruel masters whose whims he had been a puppet of his whole life. And whom had let him taste happiness only to pull it away just as quickly.

The increasing ache in his mind from the strain of holding time still for so long begins to throb uncomfortably. He has never held time as long as this before, never thought to do so and now he knows that he can’t. Even if he wanted to stay like this, where you’re still alive, beautiful and enchanting, he knows that he can’t.

Hoseok has to let you go. 

Slowly, his body tired from the strain of his grief and the drain on his power, he crawls towards you. Slumping against your legs, he presses his face into the soft fabric of your dress, inhaling deeply and taking in your scent, trying his hardest to imprint the smell into his brain as yet another way to remember you.

He loves your smell. It’s warm and earthy, the rich scent of forest pine and the crispness of a fresh morning. The tiniest hint of spice from your garden, all combining together to create an aroma that is uniquely you.

A soft whimper leaves him as he acknowledges that he will never smell it again. His heart aches fiercely at the thought and he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand before he uses his palm to wipe away the wetness on his face. It doesn’t help much as fresh salty tears replace those gone but he tries to ignore that as he takes in a deep breath to steady himself.

Slowly, painfully, he climbs to his feet. Staring out into the endless trees that surround you both, he concentrates on simply breathing, trying to steady himself for what he has to do next. His left eye twitches as the ache slowly begins to morph into pain that causes his brain to feel oddly fuzzy, his vision blurring, and he knows that he has to let go. 

Squaring his shoulders, he turns back to you and takes in your features one last time. Just once more, while you’re still technically alive. His eyes scan every centimetre of you, drowning in you to force his mind to remember and he feels a sudden flush of regret that there is no proof of what you look like. Nothing for him to look at centuries in the future and remember fondly.

It’s too late now though, and he lets out a shaky sigh before nodding. Moving closer, he rests one hand on the small of your back while the other goes around your shoulder. You’re still warm, and it makes his throat tighten but he pushes it away. He doesn’t want you to fall to the ground, you don’t deserve the indignity of that. 

No, he’ll carry you. He’ll carry you to the great oak in the forest that you’d showed him one week, a bright smile on your face as your features had practically lit from within with excitement at showing him your favourite place. It was a small clearing, meadow grass covering the floor while small dots of purples, yellows, reds and more of wildflowers painted a masterpiece. Above everything, a giant, ancient oak tree had stood keeping careful watch over everything below.

It had been huge, the trunk so big that Hoseok had to lean around to see to the other side while its branches had reached out dramatically, flush with green leaves that swayed gently in the summer breeze. That had been a good day, a day when your back didn’t hurt and Hoseok had simply got to revel in his happiness with you.

He wished he could go back then. It would have been the perfect moment to tell you that he loved you, when the air was strong with the scent of fresh flowers and sunlight. He would bury you under that oak, beneath the blankets of pretty flowers and underneath the boughs of the watchful giant. It was a beautiful place to rest forever, and Hoseok wanted the best for you.

You deserve the best, and though it may not be anything extravagant or awe-inspiring like the humans sought to do with their mausoleums and tombs, it was enough for him. And he knew that it would have been enough for you too. He would tend to that clearing and tree for however long he existed in honour of you.

Licking his lips, he lets out his breath slowly and tightens his grip on your body. A shudder runs through his body but he swallows hard, refusing to let himself fall apart once more. Not now. He can do that again later. 

And with the tiniest amount of effort, he lets go of time. It’s always a relief, that small part of him that he can’t even begin to describe relaxing as he lets go of his power. Normally he doesn’t even notice it, but today it’s obvious. The throbbing behind his eyes vanishes and the intense ache in his head soothes away in an instant.

If only it were that easy to heal his broken heart.

Birds chirping and calling to each other fill his ears instantly, the wind blowing through the trees gently and rustling the leaves and foliage all around while the warmth of the sun beats down on him once more. It would be a lovely scene, a nice place to take a break and enjoy nature but he’s not in the mood.

Instead, he just grips you tighter to him, his eyes scrunched closed as he presses you against his body. He’s not ready to let you fall just yet, not yet. One more moment, he can have one more moment with you.

And then…

“Hoseok...are you...you’re hugging me pretty tightly.” The words take a few moments to filter into his mind, his brow creasing in confusion as his brain stutters, unable to comprehend what’s going on. He swears he just heard you talk, but that’s impossible. You kissed him. He’s a reaper, his kiss kills. You’re dead.

Jerking back, he looks down with wide eyes and his heart stops as he looks into your eyes. Your very much alive eyes, that look back at him with puzzlement and a slight amount of bemusement. His hand moves on its own, cupping your cheek and the sheer warmth and life in it causes Hoseok to burst into tears once more.

A strange crying wail leaves his mouth and he doesn’t see the fright in your face as he pulls you closer, hugging you so tightly to his body that he’s probably suffocating you but he can’t care. He doesn’t care. Because you’re not dead.

You’re alive.

He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t even care. Because you are alive. You are breathing and warm and full of emotion and life and he can’t thank the fates enough.

“I th..thought...I...k-k-killed you.” Hoseok manages to get out between broken sobs, pulling back to cup your face while he bends down to look deep into your eyes, making sure once more that you are in fact alive and that he’s not imagining it. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d become delusional and was seeing hallucinations right now, his grief had been that intense.

But your own eyes widen as you realise what you’d done, how his fear of kissing had slipped your mind once more in your innocent effort to show him affection. He knew that you often forgot and had almost kissed him many times; he had forgiven you many times as well. It was an easy thing to forget, that a mere brush of his lips was death.

“Oh my...Hoseok...oh Hoseok, I am so sorry. I forgot, I just...I did not think. I mean...I am so sorry!” You blurt out, words falling over themselves as thick, salty tears continue to fall from his red, swollen eyes and your own fill in response to his heartbreak. “Hoseok, sweetheart, my love, I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you, oh I am so stupid.” 

Immediately he’s shaking his head, wiping away his tears as quickly as he can and sniffling, uncaring how pathetic he sounds. Because he had just walked through a valley of pain and come out the other side to find happiness once more. 

“I thought you d-d-dead,” He moans, voice cracking as yet more tears fall and he’s partially surprised to realise that even his nose is running in his extreme emotions. You wipe away his tears desperately, sniffing and crying quietly yourself as you try to comfort him as best you can. His head falls into your shoulder as you both fall to your knees on the ground, arms constricting each other as he cries brokenly. “I thought you were dead. I thought I k-k-killed you.”

“Shhh, shhh Hoseok. I’m sorry, it is okay, it’s okay. I’m here, I am alive. I am not hurt, you didn’t hurt me.” You run your fingers through his hair repeatedly, the long strands of black hair soft and smelling strongly of Hoseok as you press gentle kisses to his hair and forehead in your attempts to comfort him.

And then your fingers pause in their movements, so warm and alive against his skin that he wants to weep even more at the very knowledge that you are in fact alive. He’s so deep in his emotions, a garbled mix of relief, fear, panic and love, that he doesn’t notice the way your body freezes up.

In fact, he's forced to acknowledge you when your hands gently push at his shoulders, moving him back until you can lift up his face to your own. For a second, you pause in shock at the sight of his face and he wonders if his eyes are as swollen as they feel. Crying was something he hadn’t known he could do either, and he’d discovered he didn’t particularly like it.

“Hoseok...your...your eyes,” There’s confusion, fear and awe in your voice and he stiffens as he catches sight of the glowing reflection in your own. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his eyes have fallen into their reaper state, an eternal blackness with his icy blue irises shining a frightening blue. It’s terrifying to the living, an unnatural sight and he doesn’t want to scare you. “They’re...beautiful. I mean...unnerving but...beautiful.”

Hoseok frowns slightly, looking down at his hands which grip at your dress desperately. No one had ever called him beautiful in his reaper state and he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to you, surely you had to be lying?

The suddenness of your compliment cuts through his whirling mind quite well and he allows himself the time to try and calm himself, breathing slowly and steadily until his tears are quiet once more. You probably hadn’t intended for that to be a potential side effect, but he appreciates it either way. He didn’t like how...out of control he’d felt with his emotions everywhere.

A soft gasp from you causes him to look up with wide eyes, concern and fear that perhaps you were just having a delayed reaction or something. But instead, he’s met with a brilliant smile and pure excitement etched into every line of your face. It makes his heart skip slightly and he’s so surprised by your reaction that his tears even stop.

“Hoseok...I’m okay,” You say once more and he sniffs hard, reaching up to wipe away the wetness at his eyes. He doesn’t understand and he can see the realisation in your own eyes that he doesn’t understand what you’re trying to get out. So instead, you lean closer to him until your noses touch before repeating the words. “I am okay...I kissed you...and I am okay.”

For a few seconds longer, Hoseok simply stares into your eyes with a blank look as he tries to work it all out in his mind. And then suddenly, it all clicks together and he recoils backwards with an astonishingly loud gasp. You had kissed him, a death sentence to anyone. But you were still here. Perfectly fine and alive.

Without even meaning to, his eyes fall down to your lips before he’s looking back into your happy eyes once more. The grin you wear is amused and you visibly vibrate with feeling as you see him work it all out internally.

“You are okay...you are not hurt...oh.” He’s not sure what to do, his hands hovering almost comically as his head tilts to the side. Your smile turns softer, more heartfelt and he almost purrs with soft delight and happiness as you cup his face in your hands, thumbs wiping away the trails of his tears.

“You didn’t hurt me Hoseok. I am here, I am alive,” With that, you lean forward slowly. Hoseok has plenty of time to move away if he wanted, but the deep and pure need that clenches his gut to finally kiss you causes him to stay put. “I love you.”

There’s no chance for him to comprehend what you mutter to him as your lips are soft butterfly wings against his own before you press them to his firmly. This time, he doesn’t panic and freeze time. He’s not even sure he has the capability of that right now, but he pushes any of those thoughts away and simply enjoys it this time. 

Your lips are warm and soft against his own, as gentle as the petals of the flowers you tend to in your garden every morning. The pressure is light, letting him get used to the sensation and he’s overwhelmed by you, every sense fizzing out as his entire body and mind focuses on where you meet.

Humans made kissing look so effortless and natural, as if it was nothing to be bothered about. A quick kiss here and there; shy kisses, sly kisses, wonton kisses, moving kisses, grieving kisses. To someone who’s kiss has only ever meant the destruction of life, the very idea of kissing anyone for pleasure had simply not existed in his mind until you had come into his life.

But he understood now. Just as he understood many of the things that human’s enjoyed and loved. All because of you.

You pull away from him slowly, just far enough that he can feel your warm breath against him and he chases after you without a thought, face creasing in consternation as he seeks out that blessed happiness he’d found in the form of your lips upon his. He never wanted to stop kissing you, ever. 

But you laugh quietly, a hand to his chest causing him to stay in place and he opens his eyes, a pout forming on his lips already. Yet he stills when he takes in the sight of you, practically glowing with pleasure, eyes dancing with a mischievous light while a bright smile paints itself on your face, causing his stomach to flip.

He knows what these feelings are now, the feelings that he’d been so confused over for the last few months. The feelings he hadn’t understood; that had felt so foreign to him and caused him unease with how out of control he felt whenever he looked at you. How butterflies had taken flight in his stomach at your smile, his heart had soared when you laughed, his nerves had tingled at your touch.

It was love. Hoseok didn’t have any experience in it, and perhaps it was a fumbling, almost childish version of love as a result. But it was pure, and honest. 

Born from a place of deep admiration and respect for your courage and perseverance, your kindness and caring nature, your love for a simple life and acceptance of him as a person and not a monster of death. His throat tightens as all of these thoughts rush through his mind, his hands reaching out and cupping your face ever so gently as his eyes dart all over, taking in the sight that has taken his breath away for months now.

No one had ever treated him as something to be befriended, to be talked to, to be pleasured and so much more. With you, he finally felt like he was alive after centuries of merely existing. With you, he felt like he finally had a purpose to be in the real world that extended beyond the job he was created to do.

Hoseok loved you, and he wanted to continue loving you for as long as you would allow him. Wake up next to you in bed, warm and cozy with his arms wrapped around you tightly, cuddling your body to his as you both slowly woke up. Feed the animals in your small enclosure, garden with you and live a simple life when he was not called to his duty.

He wanted to live his life with you.

His eyes watered as he focused back on your own, the gentle crease in your brow showing your confusion at his strange antics and he gives a smile that wobbles ever so slightly.

“I love you.” 

There’s the tiniest pause of hesitation before your eyes widening, smile fighting with the shock as your jaw drops open. A tiny part of him worries suddenly that you’ll reject him, that you only wanted him for his company, both in your bed and in your small cabin.

But then your smile grows even bigger, wider and your arms wrap around his neck tightly, pulling closer before you press your nose to his lightly.

“Really? You love me?”

“Yes, I do. I...I think I have for a while now but I just...did not understand. It takes me a while-”

“To understand what you are feeling. I know, I have learnt that over the last few months. It has been kind of sweet to go through it all with you, being there to witness you understanding yourself. I consider it an honour.” You interrupt and his cheeks flush dark, knowing that you have been there for most of the big realisations of his feelings over the last few months.

And then you gently brush your nose against his, the sensation featherlight and he can’t help but let out a small giggle, surprised at the noise yet unwilling to say anything about it. Not when you’re this close, and he can see every strand of colour that makes up your beautiful eyes.

“Would you like to know a secret Hoseok?” He nods without even realising, the sound of his name falling from your lips like music to ears. Perhaps he’s being stupid for being this happy with you, maybe it will all fall apart. Maybe reapers aren’t meant to love like this, but he doesn’t care right now. Because he has you.

After thinking he’d lost you forever from his life, he has you.

“I love you too.” And with that, you press your lips to his again in a sweet kiss that has his blood singing. It’s quick and fast again, but he doesn’t care this time. Not when he smiles so big after and begins pressing as many kisses to your face as he can as he learns what you feel like beneath his lips, not when he takes your hands and kisses each fingertip in turn, not even when he has you beneath him later in the cabin, exploring the slopes and curves of your body with inquisitive and gentle kisses.

Yes, he thinks to himself that night as he sleeps in your bed with you for the first time, your body tightly wrapped around his as he kisses your hair like he’s always wanted to, no matter what happens...he has you and you have him.

[tsubaki3192]

250+ Followers Celebration! Proposal HCs [Yukimura, Nobunaga, Mitsuhide, Mitsunari]

Requested by: @nad-zeta​

Notes: Hm… I suppose ‘mitsu’ means both Mitsus? xD Okie, I’m doing them both anyway :3

Lmao Halfway through Mitsuhide’s and I’ve completely forgotten that this is supposed to be a PROPOSAL headcannon and not a wedding one oops-

------------------------------

Yukimura:

….. Mah boi Yuki has no idea how to propose to you.

It shocks Shingen, who, by the way, had been expecting it, though perhaps not his vassal asking him for help. Somehow, Sasuke just happens to be there, dropping from the ceiling to contribute.

…. Given Sasuke and Shingen, It’s not surprising when his proposal plan begins to become overwhelmingly similar to that of a wedding… in terms of how much is put into it. 

You’re lucky that he manages to stop his lord’s excessive behaviour, fuelled by Sasuke’s modern ideas.

Honestly, he miraculously manages to slip out of the conversation after it changes in a very… Shingen direction, coming across Kenshin not long after.

The God of War’s a good listener, and since he knows it’s gonna interrupt his war plans, he gives his own suggestion: It’s a rather Kenshin suggestion but, Yuki ponders, violence aside, it’s not a bad suggestion.

….He goes through with Kenshin’s idea.

Yukimura knows how much you adore his pet wolf, Muramasa, and just like how Kenshin said he would use his bunnies, he uses Muramasa in an indirect kind of proposal.

He spends several days and several long, gruelling hours attempting to write a letter to you, like Kenshin suggested. And... gives up, realising the sheets of paper hold nothing more than bullet points of the reasons why he loves you.

So that’s what he goes along with.

He sticks pieces of paper everywhere in the Uesugi castle, remembering all the little spots 

It begins on your pillow one morning, when Yukimura wakes before you do (maybe to shy away or to check if the others are still there). The message simply says “You look so cute when you wake.”

You know it’s Yuki- His handwriting is obvious to you now. You sleepily flush, following the arrow and turning the page around. It says “Now go get changed, dummy.”

You smile through the blush, doing as he tells you to. The next note is pinned to the collar of your haori. You follow through with this, curious at each next note. 

The final one is in an envelope in Muramasa’s jaws, with a final note inside.

It says: “The reason I’m doing this? … Please marry me…”

A flushed Yukimura had been following Muramasa around, finally coming up to you as you give him a hug and whisper “Yes” in his ear.

The boy blushes, grabbing the envelope from your hands and-

Yukimura’s had an engagement ring made for you, encrusted with several small diamonds within the band width, thanks to a suggestion by Sasuke. It’s his way of giving you something even slightly modern.

Your eyes just widen as he smiles, slipping it onto your fourth finger.

“Yuki, it’s supposed to on my left fourth finger, not the right one”

*Cue a blushy mess of a Yukimura*

Nobunaga:

…. Is the type to splurge…. And…. it’s not even the wedding yet… 0.0

To be fair, it takes him not much longer than a quiet night by your side, watching your chest rise and fall beneath the covers for him to make up his mind. 

He’s never felt more at peace with his split-second thought to decision.

It takes only a day morning for his plans to begin: Extravagant kimonos designed and commissioned for a couple in his clan colours: Crimson, black and gold, decorated in greys with his clan symbol. 

Flowers from who knows where in the world are delivered to the castle on the day, and he assigns Masamune on cooking duty- an utter delight, considering he’s the first and only member of the Oda forces who knows of Nobunaga’s plans.

Hideyoshi has no clue what’s going on when there’s suddenly a small-yet-noticeable dent in funds. Mitsuhide on the other hand, has already sussed out the situation, smirking and ignoring Hideyoshi’s pestering.

(Ieyasu couldn’t honestly care less, and Mitsunari wouldn’t even notice until the event....)

He’s confident too and absolutely certain you’d say yes: That’s your whole reason for staying with him anyway. But that doesn’t stop him from going the extra mile just for you. 

He takes the day off (as much as he can xD He’s still a Daimyo after all), taking you to a particular field of flowers your eyes have lingered upon many-a-time he’s headed off to war in that direction. 

He’s not sure if you’ve realised it, but your lips had once spoken quietly, “I’d like to go there one day…”. He knows it’s cheesy, but he’ll pretty much do as you say… with some level of arrogance, of course- It’s Nobunaga, after all xD

He takes you there in the middle of spring, when the flowers are in full bloom- He’s sent a handful of (rather excited) scouts to check.

He takes you out that same day, picking up the wrapped bundle of completed kimonos, handcrafted and specially designed by one of the best seamstresses, and Masamune’s meal in a basket beside him.

And despite the lavash everything he has for you back in the castle when you return, his proposal is simple, genuine and… well, less demanding.

When you arrive at the field, he unravels the bundle of cloth and drapes one over your shoulders as you stare at the flowers in awe. It catches your attention and you run your fingers along the greys and blacks of the fabric, tracing the embroidered sakura on the inside.

“Nobunaga-”, your lips begin, only to be cut off with a gasp: He’s kneeling on the ground in front of you, smiling softly as he takes his hand in yours. 

“Do you remember my first words to you? I asked you to ‘stay by my side’... and the offer still stands. But I would like to add a single word to that. So won’t you forever be by my side?”

Your response is nothing more than a leap into his arms, whispering a quiet “yes!”

Mitsunari:

……

Can I tell you the truth? The thought of marriage has come across in his mind before, but it’s never had the chance to be in a conversation, so he’s left it alone, thinking that you’re fine the way the two of you were.

He’s also anxious, that poor boy, but he brushes it off when you once asked him what’s wrong after he had been staring at the same page in his book for a solid hour.

So……. I headcannon Mitsunari’s the type where you need to propose to him first… Not that I don’t think he can’t, but it’s more so the fact that marriage doesn’t really matter to him.

The proposal’s nothing special- 

It’s a simple morning when you go to wake him up, slipping a small note into that unfinished book he’s reading, several pages ahead of where he’s up to.

It’s something you’ve consulted the other warlords with, each giving their own wild idea for proposals.

You’re not gonna lie though- When you had initially proposed the idea to them, they were shocked until you had told them that it wasn’t unusual for a woman to propose in your time.

Ideas you dismissed immediately were from Masamune and Nobunaga, and Mitsuhide too, when he suggested something completely within his boundary of actions.

Poor HIdeyoshi was so shocked he literally couldn’t say a word…. Any coherent word, anyway.

Only Ieyasu gave you something decent, scoffing down his tea in embarrassment when you smiled and thanked him.

The note slips from the book once he picks it up, and he freezes, dropping the book immediately to search for you.

You’re out in town, Hideyoshi mutters, he, too, faltering when he accidentally sees the note in his hand.

And you are- with some friends you’ve made in town who, admittedly, know exactly who you are. You’ve told them you’ve proposed to Mitsunari, who they also know to be your lover, so they’re not surprised when they spot the silver-haired warlord seeking you, clothing and hair disheveled from his search.

But when he falters at the sight of you smiling brightly with your friends, they grin at you, playfully shoving you in his direction and making a handful of rather… unnecessary excuses.

“Do you really mean it?” It’s something he asks when you finally reach a quieter location. And you just smile at him, nodding your head. 

His only response is to draw you to him, pressing his lips firmly against your own.

Yes.

Mitsuhide:

…. Okay. 

So the thing is, even if you tried to propose to him, he’d out-propose you with something even more amazing… Perfectly incorporating his own ideas with the plans you’ve made.

But the thing is, you don’t mind: You know he’s wanted this since forever. In fact, you’re almost certain all his dreams will come true by simply marrying you.

So instead, you don’t say a word. Instead, you begin your plans with requesting for silky, white fabric, several rolls of blue thread and ribbons of a maya blue and white.

Yes, you’re making your own wedding kimono and for some unfathomable reason, he knows you’re making his too. 

(maybe it’s because you’ve stolen clothes from him for size measurements… But who honestly knows… Maybe Kojuro told him? xD)

Either way, it’s a rather simple occasion. Neither you, nor Mitsuhide, had ever fancied anything extravagant anyway…. Nor do you do it in public either.

But he knows anyway: It happens one random day in his private quarters, as opposed to a celebration in the Azuchi halls. 

Really, it’s nothing special, yet Mitsuhide has somehow snagged the artificial fabric bellflower from his wedding hakama, strutting into his bedroom with it pinned to his usual clothing. A wooden box of a bellflower branch in his hands, this time made of blown European glass. 

You’re just there in his room, reading through a scroll you had created specifically for the occasion. You don’t even realise he’s entered and he creeps behind you, wrapping his arms around you.

You’ve predicted it instead- Turning your head to face him in response, you kiss him against the cheek and hold the scroll out to him.

“You received a letter while you were away…”

He smirks, replying with a “So you took the liberty of opening it?”

A glance at his face and the flower pinned to his clothes, you know he knows your question. And he’s given you your answer already.

Yes.

Nevertheless, he gently takes the scroll from your hands and places the wooden box gently into your own. 

Inside, the blue-white-purple glass flowers sits amongst the soft, fluff-filled silk. Written gently on each flower are the words “Will” “you” “marry” “me?”. 

You both share a grin, pressing a kiss to his lips in mutual agreement.

Tagging: @tsuki-no-usagiii​ @unstoppablelinda​ @zavannahmj​ @nad-zeta​ @thesirenwashere​ @ikemenmitsuhide​ @choi-jiyu​ @nuttytani​ <3

[shoujolover-666]

Twisted Wonderland Meets the Wonderland: Azul Ashengrotto Chapter 1

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011998/chapters/65940889

Ship: Dee/Azul/Dum

Warnings: Minor Character Deaths, Canon Typical Violence, Crossover

Azul was standing between two tall men, both of them wearing black suits and a mischievous smile on their lips. Each of them had an axe in their hands, their beautiful faces stained by blood. Both of them were excited as they started to cling on each of his arms, causing the suit he wore to get sticky because of the still warm life essence.

A look of disgust was on his own face.

The student was used to a bit of violence because of his own pair of twins that were nowhere to be seen, but that did not mean that he enjoyed it in particular.

No, he simply saw it as a tool to get what he wanted.

That was the reason why the excessive amount of bodies was not something he appreciated.

“Haha, that was refreshing, wasn’t it Dee?”

The man whose eyes were as red as the blood on his face grinned at his twin, his hair was slightly messy because of how he fought against the men who tried to ambush them, or to be more specific, him. His short black hair was slightly ruffled.

Those men were enemies of the Hatter family, the family which was renowned for being the strongest mafia family of that crazy world he was now in. He couldn’t help but sigh tiredly. Everyone who said that Floyd and Jade were difficult never got to know the gatekeepers of the Hatter family, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

If he had the chance to go back in time, he would have used it to show his classmates a bit more consideration.

Well, there was no use crying over spilled milk.

“It was~.”

Dee was almost purring as he tried to wipe off the blood with his sleeves, which only caused the blood to smear. His long hair that had been tied before was now loose, falling over his shoulder smoothly. Azul shook his head before he tried to pry their arms off him, just to notice that they were stuck to him like glue.

It seemed as if they did not intend on letting him go anytime soon.

A tiny smile appeared on his lips. If he had to be honest, he didn’t mind being desired like this… quite the opposite. He enjoyed it.

He basked in it.

~ ♠️ ~

Eyes that were full of curiosity were on him as he sat on one end of the table. On the other end sat the leader of that mansion and the inhabitants of that place. His aqua green eyes were closed as he took a sip of his tea, almost as if he were not interested in the stranger who appeared out of nowhere. That man’s name was Blood Dupre. He was a man with black, spiky hair and a tall stature. The white jacket and vest was almost blinding, but what really caught one's attention was the top hat he wore, which was decorated with several roses and cards. Elliot March sat beside him. His attention was occupied by the several carrot dishes that were offered but stayed untouched by the host of the tea party.The brown rabbit ears that peaked out from his long and wavy brown hair twitched. It made him look so different to when the other saw the octopus for the first time, threatening to blow his brain out of his head with a revolver, just because he didn’t know him. Not that he could blame him, for he would probably have reacted in the same way if he were in his place. Even now he was sure that he would do it without blinking if he made even the tiniest suspicious move, despite how it looked as if no attention was paid to him by the other tall man.

They already spent over two hours at the table, talking about their own worlds… at least to an amount that was necessary.

Neither Blood nor Azul went too deep into the details, each of them having their own reason for it. Azul himself didn’t trust any of them but was dependent on their knowledge of the world that was so strange to him.

Blood himself wanted to be entertained. Lately, things had been rather boring to him, for no other mafia family dared to threaten his own one at the moment.

He wanted to see how his reactions to this kind of place would be. After all, the young man reacted very shocked when he killed a subordinate for his lack of manners around his guest.

Something, that a child wouldn’t react too much to when they were from this world.

Death was simply a daily occurence of them, violent actions like these could be found everywhere, no matter where you were.

The leader of the mafia family couldn’t help but smile when he thought about it. Really, what kind of other things would the outsider show him?

Finally, maybe the days of boredom would finally cease, at least for a while.

Elliot March glanced at the man with silvery blue hair once in a while, for he was still suspicious of him. No matter how interested he was in the outsider, he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted too much. He had to make sure that the black haired man stayed safe, even if it meant that he would get punished for whatever inappropriate thing he had to do to make sure that nothing happened to Blood, the man who gave him a new chance to live in freedom.

His eyes wandered to the strange pen the other had tugged in the pocket of his jacket, the gem in it made his instinct shiver slightly.

Outsiders were known to be rather weak, defenseless, but why did he have the feeling that this was not the case for that one in particular? Sure, he himself never met an outsider personally, but so far, there was nothing that proved that those who did not come from their world could handle the things that they saw as normal.

So what made the young man so different?

The brown haired man swallowed the piece of carrot cake he had in his mouth and was about to ask something, but he was silenced by the look that his saviour gave him.

That was enough for him to quickly keep his mouth shut. He knew that kind of look well enough.

‘I want to be surprised, so don’t you dare take this away from me.’

If that was the boss’ wish, he would oblige, for as long as it wasn’t dangerous.

~ ♠️ ~

Time passed, and Azul spent his days on the premises of the Hatter family. He had been given a tour by the twins, who now were both shorter than him and almost looked identical if it weren’t for the different coloured eyes and uniforms, one red and one blue. Each twin held a hand of his, they were excited to finally have the chance to spend some time with the outsider who was infamous in their territory. That also gave them an excuse to skip on their work… which they didn’t need in the first place. Even without the stranger, they would have fooled around whenever they pleased.

The twins showed the man with the light coloured hair each and every room except for one, and that was their own room, because they wanted to show it to him at the very end of their little tour.

Once in a while, they would get distracted because of how they wanted to show him the traps and pits they left all over the place that were deadly for intruders or any poor subordinate who did not get the chance to be notified by others who have witnessed the twins’ little ‘Playtime.’

One of the traps they showed him already caught a little rat, the man's body was pierced by the spikes that they built into the pit.

They heard how Azul gagged slightly, but they simply shrugged. Something like that didn’t faze them in the slightest. Quite the opposite, they were happy that one of their traps was a success. Maybe they could even ask the boss for more money later when they were done with showing him around.

When they showed him each and every room of the gigantic mansion, they finally went over to the room they have been waiting to show him all the time.

Dee and Dum slammed the door open with a ‘Ta-da~’, and identical cheshire grins were on their lips, almost making them look innocent when they were anything but that in fact.

Pure joy was shining in their eyes as they shushed the leader of the Octavinelle dorm into their room.

It was decorated by two golden gargoyle statues, and a lot of different weapons were displayed. There were also things, like the head of a lizard that was covered by a glass bell, but it almost paled in comparison to all the blades and guns.

Right now, he really wished to have his own pair of twins back. Of course they weren’t without flaws, but at least he knew how to handle them.

The people here were too unpredictable.

Mad.

In Night Raven College, he was less tense and cautious because of how he could easily predict the people and how their minds worked. The world and its people here were too different from the ones of his own.

Their common sense, their beliefs and their morals were completely lacking.  

Who knows what would happen if he did not play along to the whims of the residents? When it came to the residents, he was not as worried, for they still cared about their own lives, at least to a certain extent.

No, he was more wary of the boss of this place and the twins. Elliot March was a man who he also was not too wary of, because he seemed to be alright with him as long as he did not plan on doing anything that might hinder Blood Dupre, which he did not.

When the twins finally let go of his arms, he ran his fingers through his hair. Even when all he did was walk, he felt more exhausted than when he was working on the contracts for his fellow students.

Really, he was tempted to use magic to make them fall asleep, but he feared that he would not be fast enough to cast a spell before they reacted simply because he did something suspicious in their eyes.

An almost silent groan escaped his lips as he took a seat on the red couch that was placed in the room in an almost random way. Dee and Dum went over to a different direction, before they returned to him, each with a different weapon in their hand as they started to show off their beloved weapon collection.

Oh Great Seven, hopefully he was going to survive this mad, mad world.

[narniaandplowmen]

The Wild Embraced

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 6773 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

When he arrived back at the foot of the mountain, Geralt most decisively went in the complete opposite direction of Jaskier’s smell. He didn’t hear the animal following him at a safe distance.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t necessarily plan on following Geralt. They just happened to be travelling in the same direction, that was all.

[Read the first chapter here]

CHAPTER 3 - The Wild Embraced

Jaskier was dead. And clearly not through an accident either, if the carefully stowing away of certain possessions was anything to go by, although why some items were thrown in the water was unclear. Not that it mattered, not that any of it mattered. Jaskier was dead, Jaskier was dead and it was his fault. All the stones, the curses, the attacking fans had been right in their judgements. Geralt had killed the bard, even if the weapon wielded hadn’t been a sword, or an arrow, or a carefully placed Sign. Instead, the poison of his words had been the thing that had extinguished one of the only sources of light in the Witcher’s life. And why wouldn’t it, for a man who held words in such high esteem?

Geralt barely felt the pain in his knee as a jagged stone pierced through his skin when he collapsed onto the ground. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

‘I’m sorry,’ Geralt sobbed to the ground, to the slowly rising sun, to nobody in particular and the world around him. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I never should have-’ his voice broke as the wolf jumped down and licked his tears. The creature that had followed him for so many miles, for so many days, through all kinds of weather and was still there, still here. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, I don’t-’ he reached out his hands to push the wolf away, to yell at it, to stop its foolish pursuit, but when his fingers touched the soft fur he instead held on tight, pushing his face into the grey hairs and breathing in the pinewood smell. ‘Why are you following me? I- I’m a monster. I kill everyone close to me. Renfri, Jaskier... You’re not safe here.’

The wolf didn’t free himself from the Witcher’s grip, didn’t bite and wriggle and squirm itself free, didn’t scratch or run or bark or howl. It just rested its head on Geralt’s back as the man sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. ‘I’m sorry Jaskier, I am sorry.’

* * *

Have you ever met somebody and you didn’t quite catch their name, and now you have been friends for the longest time but you still don’t know what they’re called? Or have you ever not been paying attention to a conversation, leaving you at a loss for words when someone asks your opinion about the subject matter? Or have you ever changed into a wolf, followed the embodiment of home around until he thought you were dead, whilst you were very very very much alive? It was exactly like that that Jaskier felt when Geralt’s hand dug into his fur, apologising with a broken voice to what he believed to be a dead friend.

The first time Jaskier had seen Geralt pet a street dog with his strong, callused hands, Jaskier had wanted to turn in that exact moment, wanted the man to thread his fingers through his fur, curl up against him during cold nights, ran with him through the endless wilderness connecting the Continent’s cities and stretching far into the unknown.

When Geralt, later that night, had returned with the head of a rabid werewolf he had been hired to kill, Jaskier took the stage and performed his song, avoiding the curious stare of the innkeeper’s guard-dog Geralt had pet on his way to their room.

The next time he dreamt of fingers threading through his fur, he knew it was a dream that never could come true.

* * *

Jaskier knew he had to free himself, knew that the tight grip he was in now would squish any human, break their bones and their possessions.

It wasn’t till Roach’s loud whinny broke through the Witcher’s silent sobs that Jaskier wriggled himself loose, jumped from rock to rock until he was standing on top of the cave Geralt had exited, and let his bones and skin turn into the familiar shape he had inhibited for twenty long, long years.

* * *

If there is one thing a Witcher knows, it is that nothing lasts forever. No love, no life, no happiness nor even the Path is everlasting. Eventually, every Witcher grows slow and dies. It is the individual’s task to cherish the moments whilst they last and move on when they don’t.

Geralt had never been very good at that last part.

When his tears dried up and the wolf wrestled free, he was tempted to hold on to the beast, force it into his embrace for even a moment longer, but he knew it wouldn’t do. Reluctantly, he saw the animal jump up over rocks and bushes until it was seated out of his reach up high on top of the grave of the person he once refused to call home.

The wolf closed its eyes, tensed its muscles, and changed.

* * *

It was tradition for his kind to live and study amongst the humans once their minds and bodies had grown sharp and strong enough to make the journey to where the people lived. Any Lupinis, for that is what they had called themselves, could then choose where to roam, whether to walk the earth on two or four or either feet. Jaskier was the only one of his litter born a human, so his parents weren’t surprised when their son did not return and reports of his success amongst the bipeds reached their home.

Jaskier had returned once, warming the winter with stories of his adventures travelling through the Continent and spreading his songs. Both his forms had grown strong and fast and wise.

That winter, the Haakland mountains had echoed with song and strums and howls.

* * *

One of the features of his kind was that they never forgot a face. The Haakland caves are covered in mirrors brought back by travelling wolves visiting home. As long as you knew exactly the shape you were in, the clothes you were wearing, the items you carried as you turned, they would still be with you when you changed your fur back to skin, paws back to hands and fangs back to teeth. When Jaskier looked down at the baffled Witcher below him, he knew he looked exactly like he did the last time he had seen his own human form: a satchel on his hip, his lute on his back, and a bright red leather jacket covering his smooth skin.

‘Hello.’

His voice sounded rough, broken, apologetic and ashamed.

* * *

His voice sounded heavenly.

The faint buzz of his medallion, the distant aching in his knee and the biting cold of the breeze on his soaked skin were the only things that proved to Geralt that he was still alive, that he hadn’t drowned in the dark pool below and joined whichever afterlife awaited for those whose journey in the living world had ceased to be.

Either the heavens and hells were different than the priests proclaimed, or he had finally gone completely barking mad.

‘I’m sorry,’ the voice continued. ‘I know I should have left when you told me to,’ the blue-eyed form stated. ‘I know I should have said something earlier,’ the young man’s mouth uttered. ‘But I was- I was afraid. And I swore an oath to keep me secret. Our kind is hard to kill, but it is not impossible. I- If you want me to, I will leave.’

Geralt stood and stared at the figure, his face almost as broken as it had been when his words had cut through his lips straight into the heart of the man who had been his companion, his friend, his home. The man who had cared for him when no one else would, who had laughed at his jokes, understood his grunts, had literally sung his praises as they walked through the wilderness across the known world.

It wasn’t till the vision turned around and started to leave when Geralt found his voice.

* * *

‘Wait.’

Jaskier halted in his steps but did not turn to face the source of the sound.

‘Wait,’ the man behind him repeated. ‘Are you real?’ he continued, after a beat.

‘As real as any of us ever are,’ Jaskier replied, trying to keep his voice steady, trying not to betray the sadness in his throat, the pain in his heart, the dreadful echo in his head reminding him of the finality of this moment, of the end of the future he had never dared to imagine, of the long trip ahead of him to rejoin the family that wasn’t his anymore across the mountains ready to accept him with open arms and melodic howls and endless hunts.

‘Were you the one that followed me?’

‘I am.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Jaskier sighed, turned around and looked down into the yellow, hopeful eyes below. ‘Because you’re my territory. You’re my pack. An Alpha never abandons his pack.’

‘Even after all I did?’

‘Even after all you did.’

* * *

They sat and spoke, that day. Geralt below next to a small fire, Jaskier above basking in the sun.

They spoke of the mountain, of their fears and their worries, their pasts and their present and, as the sun disappeared behind the trees and down where none could follow, whether mortal or monster, they discussed the future. Their future, and all it could bring.

The first thing it brought, was forgiveness.

The second thing a peaceful rest.

In the weeks and months after that, a slowly rebuilt friendship, one based on talks and trust and helpful treatments.

During their first contract, the kikimore stood no chance between the white sharp teeth of a large, grey wolf and the cutting silver wielded by the man in black. A colourful bard and a smiling Witcher came to collect the bounty.

That winter, a fifth wolf stayed in the Witcher’s castle, filling it with song and warmth and freshly-hunted meat.

The next, a village on the foot of the Haakberg mountains sold supplies to a strange, white-haired man with yellow eyes travelling into the wild with a large, grey wolf the people knew was neither wolf nor man, but something in-between.

* * *

Through the years in the Continent, on cold spring and autumn nights, the rabbits and squirrels and deer avoided the strange camp where a fire burned and a Witcher cradled his closest friend, his home, his companion, his everything and more.

Jaskier’s dreams of callused fingers threading through his fur, of careless kisses on his tanned skin, of watching the wild fly past him as Geralt’s legs tried to match his four-legged speed in the endless chase for freedom and happiness and love were dreams no more, but blissful reality.

And, Geralt considered, as he, many years later, watched from the shadows of the inn as his husband performed, although all may not last forever, there was nothing that could stop him from enjoying the memories of happiness, the moments of contentment, the love-filled days and futures full of forgiveness and grace. For even when the fights were rough, the nights were cold and the Path was cruel, they were fought and spent and walked together.

Later, as his fingers traced the soft skin of the man asleep next to him, Geralt realised that not all impermanence led to sorrow.

And if embracing impermanence meant embracing the Wild, this was a damned handsome Wild to embrace.

[pynkhues]

Sorry if this sent twice, tumblr messed up, but I was basically asking if you think the good girls writers are intentionally trying to push boundaries and step into racist territories (they have malicious intent) or do you think it's more down to malicious intent? I'm asking mostly because I love your wording and how you explore things. I know you can't predit what others think but you're a creative and work in creative fields so I thought you might have more of an insight (or just a feeling)

It didn’t send twice, anon, so thank you for re-sending it (and for your kind words!) :-) 

It’s hard for me to comment on what the show does or doesn’t do deliberately because the creative team does so little press, but I wouldn’t say that they do anything deliberately malicious, no, and I don’t think that the fact that the show has fallen into racist traps and tropes has been done intentionally either, rather I think it’s indicative of a thoughtlessness or perhaps general ignorance around these topics in the writers’ room.

This got a little long, so I’m putting it behind a cut to save your timelines!

While I’ve worked as a writer in lots of different capacities, I’ve only been formally in a TV writers’ room for one show, and even in that, I was only a writer attachment (so basically the person who collates script notes and transcribes story discussion and ideas). It was also an extremely different show given it was only a two-episode miniseries, and it was a biographical one based on somebody’s real life. In that though, what I learnt is that writers’ rooms are intense! Everyone’s on really strict creative deadlines with no room to move, so for the couple (or several) months that you’re in (and out of) one, writers are so deeply embedded in the story that they often can’t see the wood for the trees. 

They’re usually not focused on optics, or even tropes or stereotypes (unless there’s a voice in the room who brings it up) - they’re focused intently on character and how to get that character from Point A to Point B. 

The writers’ room that I was in was...strange, haha. There were only two writers, plus the producer, the director and me, and a lot of it was spent trying to understand the actions of this real life person (who was frequently extremely hard to understand), looking through video footage, old interviews, trying to bring him to life in a way that felt authentic. The show was also plagued though with legal issues as the person the show was about was still alive, and across the 10 weeks of the writing (of which there were only four days of formal writers’ rooms), he started by trying to tank the show, and then changed his mind, came on board, but demanded his life essentially be sanitised (i.e. take out all the criminal activity, adultery and anything that implied he was unpatriotic aka the only reasons people would want to watch the show, haha). 

By the end of it, the show was so constrained creatively, that both the writers were very unhappy and the show that came out is, frankly, not very good.

Good Girls obviously doesn’t have a number of those problems, haha, but I do think it’s likely that how they depict race hasn’t been at the forefront of the show’s mind in the writers’ room. This is pure speculation, but I think the one thing they’re thinking of over and over again is Beth, Ruby and Annie, and particularly the themes of female autonomy, and what women are prepared to do for their loved ones, and I think ideas that sound good in the very insular space of the writers’ room sometimes don’t translate when they actually play out.

Beth shooting Rio in 2.13 is a good example of this. 

In the writers’ room, they would likely be fixated on Beth, and that theme, and on paper, y’know, I get it as a creative choice (again, just to clarify, I don’t like it! But I do get it!) In that insular bubble of the writer’s room, I understand the excitement of having Beth realise her power in finally committing the one act she’d been pressured to do all season. And to do it to the person who was both the one pressuring her to do it, and the person who’d empowered her to do it in the first place! What a dark twist on her arc! 

That story then goes to a director who signs up and a team that’s either driven by the same focus and tunnel vision, or just there for a paycheque, which means sometimes it can take an episode being launched out of the safety of the nest for people to realise that it’s wrong. 

Because out of that nest, that 2.13 doesn’t play as a shocking, full circle moment for Beth. Rather, it meets an audience who brings to it different context, knowledge, history, socialisation, and so it plays as what it actually is, which is a white woman shooting a brown man on screen. A brown man who happened to be her ex lover. A brown man who’s suffering the camera lingers on. (It’s further not helped by the bad pacing of the episode, and murky motivations generally, but that’s neither here nor there for this particular point). 

The process of a story finding any audience can be tricky, because for all the wonderful things it can do, it can also expose weaknesses in storytelling, inherent bias in the writing (particularly as it relates to racism and misogyny), writing shortcuts and laziness that perhaps even the writer didn’t realise they were doing as they wrote it. 

Which brings me to the point of the individual writer, which I think is a particularly pertinent one with this show in particular.

The system of writers’ rooms is that everyone’s together, workshopping, talking, sharing, building the story, then episodes get assigned to different writers, and those episodes get taken away and written, and then brought back. In this sense, TV is extremely collaborative, but also typically the buck stops with the individual writer.

I think this has, historically, been a part of Good Girls’ problem too, because ultimately I think that the writers who do think consciously about things like race write it into the show, while the writers who don’t, well, don’t. 

I think there are two examples of this. 

Firstly is Stan and Turner’s conversation about being black men in America in 2.06, which was an episode that was written by Des Moran, a black man, who talked briefly about the significance of getting to write that scene on his Instagram. 

The other example is the Duke University interview with Retta, Jenna Bans and Bill Krebs, where they talked about the fact that one of the writers had experienced herself what Ruby and Stan had about being invisible while shopping, and thus written it into her s3 episode.

In other words, I think the way the show approaches race comes down to the individual writer, which has the effect of being sort of transient and unfortunately not cohesive. It means it can sometimes be harmful and outright racist, and it can sometimes be compelling and thoughtful and nuanced. It depends on the conversations that were had in the writers’ room, and it depends on the person writing the episode.

I will say though that Good Girls does seem to have made a huge push to diversify their writer’s room. They had no episodes at all written by women of colour in s1, whereas half of s3 was written by women of colour. (I actually did a handy breakdown of this here if you’re interested!) They also in s3 hired a black woman, Ester Lou Weithers, as an overall story editor for the season too. Those are both pretty loud actions in terms of creating space for different voices behind the scenes, and I hope it translates more on screen in future! 

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.