#on the one hand nothing can beat last years display for me bc i am an art nouveau bitch through and through

[space-ninja-fashion-show]

I'm in love with the Vibe of the pride displays

[ackerfics]

your eyes still shined, like pretty lights — mikasa ackerman

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (modern au)

— request by anon: ooh how about some childhood best friends to lovers with mikasa? also based from taylor swift’s mary’s song :)

— warnings: none? just too much fluff and a hint of angst :))

— summary: you never knew that being childhood best friends with mikasa would lead to you finding forever within her gray eyes.

— word count: 6.3k words

— author’s notes: i am so happy that this is my first request !! thank you for requesting this and i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i loved writing it. i never knew writing mikasa would evoke feelings i was so familiar with back when there were face to face interactions with people. i will be forever grateful for the request !! you are a gem.

i reposted this bc it seems like this didn’t appear in the tags :(( i hope this works now :”((

> just two kids, you and i

The scent of apple pies drifted across the Ackerman household, ensnaring the girl of black locks and starlit eyes inside her room on the second floor. It wasn’t a regular day in their neighborhood. For starters, there was a moving truck parked at the house beside them, men shouting for the furniture to be lugged inside the walls of the empty home one by one, and the quiet atmosphere was interrupted by what was ensuing in the neighboring house of the Ackerman’s. Mikasa, the only daughter of the household, wanted to satisfy her curiosity, which flared, even more, when her mother baked one of her special apple pies. Throwing away the homework her first-grade teacher gave them, the young girl padded across her room, opened the door with a bang, and ran towards the kitchen in an excited rush.

With wide eyes, she stood on her tiptoes and peered at the edge of the countertop. There was flour everywhere, or was it powdered sugar? Mikasa will never know unless she will have one taste of it. Just a little taste. And so she carefully reached out one arm to swipe the white ingredient off the counter.

“Mika, don’t even think about it.”

Mikasa froze in her tracks, looking up to meet her mother’s eyes. “But I wanted to know if this is powdered sugar.”

The older woman smiled endearingly at her daughter. “You could’ve just asked, you know? Besides, I think these apple pies are much better than the powdered sugar.” She turned to get one of the pies from the oven with her mittens, then facing Mikasa with a proud smile. “So what do you think? Will our new neighbors love it?”

“Everybody loves your pies, Mom.”

A laugh came from the woman’s lips, letting the delicacies cool down before putting them in a box for their neighbors to enjoy. What her daughter said was true. Every time the light of the Ackerman household baked treats for the neighborhood, she would always receive remarks that she needed to open her bakery, saying that every single one of her treats was divine. She wanted to open her bakery, even to the point of helping out one of her nephews who was starting to have a tea shop as a dream. Her daydreams were interrupted when she saw something move in her peripheral vision. Mikasa was once again reaching out to swipe the caramel apple toppings. “Mika, you will have your share later. For now, we’ll have to be patient, okay?”

The little girl pursed her lips in annoyance. She was getting tired of standing on her tiptoes anyway. She had nothing else to do — she ditched her homework, she was told to wait before eating the dessert, and she was bored out of her mind. The silence stretched on for a couple of minutes, all spent by Mikasa thinking hard on what interesting thing she should be focusing her attention on.

“You know, our new neighbors have a little girl your age, why don’t you introduce yourself to her?”

That was the only catalyst for little Mikasa to make her way to her room, getting the toys she wanted to show, as she brightened at the thought of making new friends. In her elementary school, nobody wanted to be friends with her, knowing that she was known for being blunt and introverted. She was trying her hardest but nobody lasted longer than a few months — they always found a new circle of kids to share their stories with and Mikasa will be left alone again. Her older cousin, Levi, always teased her (in the least condescending way possible) that she should get rid of that permanent frown on her face (like he was one to talk). But it was never Mikasa’s fault that their classroom was always stuffy, with the air conditioner not functioning well. Mikasa doesn’t like being cooped up in a room, sweaty because of the humidity. The little girl rather preferred the coolness of the library, which the other kids didn’t like at all. They wanted to have fun and run around the school’s playground the whole hour of their recess and lunch breaks.

So now, it was an understatement that Mikasa was excited. She even brought some of her toys with her to share with her new neighbor. She hoped the girl liked toy soldiers (it was a gift from Levi on her birthday last year).

The little girl her mother was talking about was sitting on the front porch swing bench.

You were smaller than she and Mikasa wondered how you ever sat in the high swing. Your head was hung down and it looked like you were coloring something, with the way your hands gripped the red crayon. The black-haired girl wanted to call out to you but she doesn’t even know your name. Taking a deep breath, the little girl of gray eyes mustered up her courage and tried quelling the pitter-patter of her heart.

Why was it beating so fast?

The moment she stepped on the lawn of the house next door, Mikasa was sure she was seeing the constellations in your eyes when you looked up to meet her expectant stare.

> take me back to the house in the backyard tree

Mikasa was eight when she had this crazy idea inside her head.

In the two years that the two of you were friends, you always talked about a little safe haven tucked from the eyes of the world. A place where the two of you can be yourselves. A place where magic can happen even in the smallest space. Your eyes would light up blindingly when you talked about the things you will put inside your safe space, Mikasa matching your starry eyes with her own, staring at you silently as you poured out your beautiful dreams to her. The last time the two of you had a sleepover, you were chattering about a hidden library that only opens at certain times at night. The next second, you were off narrating how the stars were the most amazing things that gave you comfort on nights where you miss one of your parents because they were working so late. Then, you were relaying the possibilities of having a little art studio where you’re not afraid of drawing one of your prompts.

Mikasa let you ramble with a smile on her face. She was always a listener, afraid that the shine in your eyes would die down when she would interrupt — you just look so beautiful. However, there were times where you asked her things like her hobbies and likes, almost as if you were listing them down in an imaginary notebook in your head, and it will always catch Mikasa off-guard. Stutters accompanied her answers to your questions, not used to being the center of attention when it should be you. You were just too bright and full of sunshine. When Mikasa mentioned this to you, you only grinned, “Then you’ll be my Moon, Mika. I’ll let you glimmer through the night.”

She never slept that night, staring at the moon through her open window while thinking about your words.

Now, her mission led her to her father’s study, face set in adorable determination.

“Mika? What brings you here?” Her father placed his hands on her waist, lifting her until she was situated on his lap. His focus immediately went to his laptop on his desk. Mikasa’s eyes went from her father’s face to the gadget’s screen. She knew her father’s job was something hard and fun at the same time but looking at what was displayed on the screen, she instantly thought that drawing houses was harder than it looks. There were lines that she never knew were supposed to be there, a sprinkling of equations not suited for primary school was scattered around the blueprint, making Mikasa dizzy enough to place a hand on her forehead. “Complicated, isn’t it?” Her dad asked her in amusement. “This is what your Dad does for a living, Mika.”

“You like drawing houses, right?” Mikasa looked up at her father, gray eyes twinkling.

Her father hummed, ruffling her hair before squinting at his laptop. “Yes, I do.”

“We have a big tree in the backyard, right?”

The man furrowed his brows. He looked down at his daughter who was still in a daze in front of his laptop’s screen. “Yeah, it’s pretty hard to miss, you know?”

Gray eyes matched his own as Mikasa lifted her head and squeezed her hands on her lap. “How about building a treehouse in our backyard?”

Her father’s sputter was the only thing she received as a reply but that didn’t stop Mikasa from smiling smugly, your haven becoming possible by the minute.

And nothing can compare to your star-struck face the moment you laid your eyes on your little castle with Mikasa months after it was finished.

The midnight-haired girl swore she once again saw the entire cosmos in your irises, sending her heart in a confusing tangle of beats.

> said you'd beat me up, you were bigger than me (you never did)

Mikasa was eleven when she realized that she will do anything for your happiness.

Friday afternoons were always reserved for your and Mikasa’s many traditions: watch the movies the two of you borrowed from the rental shop downtown, snack on Mikasa’s treats and your mom’s sandwiches, immerse yourselves in video games until dinner was called. It was a celebration for surviving the end of the week — something that kept the two of your going. Your mom never lets you watch television throughout the week, the time was only spent studying and focusing on academics, which must be why you were one of the top students in your primary school. Fridays were your breathers, it reminded you that there was still happiness lingering after a week of pouring everything to not disappoint your parents. And you were happy that you get to spend this with Mikasa of all people.

The movies you two watched were all romantic comedies that your mothers suggested. You were a crying mess while Mikasa only stared at the television with a blank face. She never understood how everything in the movie moved you so much when it was just a pair of people expressing how much they meant to each other. You have that in your life — your parents, your two friends who you recently introduced to her, your dog, and her. Mikasa has always told you how much you meant to her through the littlest of things, the animated little girl when you were kids becoming a soft-spoken pubescent that supported you with little actions. And now, Mikasa didn’t want to see you cry because it didn’t sit right with her. You should be smiling because that’s when you were the most beautiful for her.

“Here, figured the movie would make you cry,” the black-haired girl told you, pushing the box of tissues in your direction.

You sniffed, lips pursed and wobbly. You took out some tissues from the box and proceeded to blow your nose, Mikasa’s hand forming a pattern of soothing circles on your back. “They died together. It was so bittersweet.”

Mikasa thoughtfully stared at your hands that were fiddling with the box of tissues. “At least she remembered him.” She lifted her eyes to meet your teary ones, breath hitching and thoughts forgotten as she blinked at how the lights from the television made your irises have silver flakes on them. Looking away without moving her head, Mikasa cleared her throat. “But they can still do everything as long as they love each other. I guess it’s not a sad ending, it’s not a happy one, either. I think it’s fitting for the two of them.” She carefully reached out a hand and wiped away a stray tear at the corner of your eye, lingering her palm against your cheek. “But if the movie made you cry for varying reasons, it means you understand their feelings, of the characters, I mean. Plus, your tear ducts are still functioning.”

A bubble of giggles came from you. You stared at her with soft eyes that pinched Mikasa’s chest. “What would I do without you, Mika?”

“Probably die in a ditch or something.”

“Hey!” You playfully pushed her side, Mikasa’s slight chuckles tickling your ears. “That’s mean. I never knew our friendship could amount to a thing such as bullying.”

She ruffled your hair with a small smile. “It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon experience.” The black-haired girl then turned around, rummaging for something besides the box of movies you rented for the rest of the day. Two video games were presented in front of you with a faux look of seriousness painting your best friend’s face. “Now, how about we play some games to alleviate the sad atmosphere brought by the movie we just watched?”

“You’re on.”

A few rounds of racing games later and you were becoming agitated. Mikasa always won against you at any type of game you two dedicated your time on. At the moment, you were ranked second, meters away from Mikasa’s selected car model. You were always brushing off your poor gaming and strategic skills, blaming your loss on the equipment you picked, saying that the stats are the absolute worst because Mikasa always took the best-looking car in the choices. All of the cars present in the racing game were all good and it depends on the gamer on how they’ll manage with the listed specs. You maneuvered your red racing car to one of the shortcut routes, your side of the screen displaying a forest terrain that neither of you ever ventured in before. You can see Mikasa glancing at you from the corner of your vision, making you speed up, only for you to be thrown off course by some traps plugged in by the developers. There was a standby screen flashing in front of you, not knowing how Mikasa slowed her car.

When the countdown finished, your car was able to move again and this time, you tried to take it slow since Mikasa might have won the game by now. To your surprise, your name was the one displayed on the screen instead of your best friend. She was awarded third place instead of the second when you could’ve sworn she was just a few meters from the finish line. You looked at her curiously, wondering what happened.

She glanced at you before looking down on her controller thoughtfully. “I guess I messed up, too. I thought there are no traps in front of the finish line but it turns out a bomb was implanted at the side of the track.”

There were no traps in front of the finish line and your giddy smile was picture perfect as you celebrated your first win against Mikasa.

> i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

Mikasa was fourteen when she realized that her heart was beating for you, something that wasn’t appropriate between best friends.

“Okay, for this small party, we’ll be playing Truth or Dare!” Connie exclaimed, the smell of his father’s stash of beer coming out of his mouth.

Your little world with Mikasa extended and created a universe with unlikely people that you never imagined would be your friends.

It all started with Armin and Eren, the two boys who became your friends in primary school. Armin was one of the smartest people in your middle school, already getting a sure spot in your town’s high school, being the candidate for valedictorian. Meanwhile, Eren was one of the members of the school’s soccer team, which in turn brought along his teammates, Reiner and Jean. The latter person in Eren’s little circle in his soccer team claimed that he and his two friends, Sasha and Connie, were a package deal. It was funny because Sasha was befriended by you and Mikasa way before the two of you knew she had some connection with the soccer player. The brown-haired girl was your seatmate in History. When you heard her stomach grumble (the subject was set before lunchtime and everyone was practically hungry after the morning hours), you offered your bar of chocolate to her. There you found your other best friend, her hugs and gushes of ‘I love yous’ made the first interaction unforgettable.

The small party held in Connie’s house was thrown because you were all graduating the following week. The short boy was ecstatic while planning out the mini-event, even threatening to kick out Sasha when she became hungry while preparing the snacks. Since the party was not limited to your friend group, Reiner invited some of his friends — Annie, Bertholdt, and Ymir. Connie was overjoyed that he was finally getting popular, to which Ymir shut down, saying that she needed the booze (she fought with Historia, her on-off girlfriend, leading to their nth break-up).

“Ugh, man,” Eren groaned. “Do you even remember what happened the last time we played Truth or Dare?”

Jean snorted. “Nobody asked you to do the dare, idiot. You could always take the shot.”

“Well, I don’t want to smell like booze when I go home, horse face. Mom’s going to kill me.”

“Who in their right mind would jump into the freezing lake naked then, Eren?”

You chuckled, remembering how Eren talked your ear off when he went home after his retreat with the soccer team. He claimed that his dick was numb to the point that he couldn’t feel anything while jerking off. Mikasa had to cover your ears while he went to that part and Armin was begging for the brown-haired boy to stop tainting his mind.

“Okay, can you guys stop arguing for just one minute?” Sasha pleaded through a mouthful of hash browns. “I’ll start spinning the bottle now!”

The game started quite well. Armin had to perform a dance number in front of all of you because Sasha wanted to let everyone know how awesome Armin was at dancing. Jean chose truth and was asked who he found hot among the girls his year. (Nobody missed his subtle glance at Mikasa, who was focused on the drink in her glass.) Reiner was asked who he last hooked up with and surprisingly, he downed a shot instead of answering. When Sasha chose dare, Reiner thought it was a good idea to witness the girl put as many marshmallows in her mouth without stopping. (Sasha managed to empty the bag.) Annie was dared to text her crush and the next second, Armin’s phone dinged with an incoming message. You and Sasha cooed at the blonde boy’s burning face. Mikasa also chose truth and drank her shot when she was asked by Annie about the person she likes. (Jean perked at this but quickly deflated when the black-haired girl held no hesitation in drinking the shot.)

Then, the bottle landed on you.

Your eyes met with Mikasa, knowing that she will be the one asking the infamous question of ‘truth or dare?’

“Dare.”

Sasha and Connie ooh’d at the background.

“I dare you to kiss the person you’re thinking about a lot.”

It was a masked question. Mikasa wanted to ask you about your recent crush but she had to be conspicuous about it. Of course, she noticed how you and Eren became close these days. Always sitting with each other during lunch and how the green-eyed boy always offered his jacket whenever you felt cold. She had to confirm it. She didn’t want Armin to pick up on her nerves every time she witnessed how Eren looked at you like you placed the stars in the sky. She was only worried for you since Eren had the most experience when it comes to dating among the four of you, having only dated one person the whole duration of middle school.

However, Mikasa didn’t expect you to place a hand on her cheek, your face inches from hers.

The entire circle became silent, jaws dropped at the scene unfolding in front of their eyes. Mikasa didn’t pay them any attention. Her eyes were wide while yours were hesitantly trained on her lips. She didn’t register that you whispered along the lines of only kissing her cheek. Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest. Her face was burning with a beautiful shade of rouge. Her mind was muddled, panicking that you were so close to her. Mikasa remembered the times you left her breathless. They were unexpected moments that only occurred in a mundane situation but it was you. You were different from the people in Connie’s house right now. You were a force to be reckoned with, always interrupting Mikasa’s focus during class because you were there in her thoughts. You were a sight to behold, having a fair share of admirers, one of them being Mikasa, to which she was never aware until now. You were everything held tightly in a small body that fit exactly against Mikasa's when the two of you hug after a bad day.

You were so beautiful.

But Mikasa couldn’t handle the continuous pounding of her heart.

She turned around and immediately darted to the bathroom, leaving you frozen along with your gawking friends.

Oh, how Mikasa regretted running away the moment the door was flat on her back.

> take me back to the time we had our very first fight

Mikasa was eighteen when she heard the words she dreamed of coming from your lips.

“Why don’t you go back to Eren?” Mikasa grumbled, her eyes glaring at the road in front of her, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. “Why would you even go home with me? He was offering to drive you back and you’re here sitting in my car.”

There was no reason why she was being angry right now. The past years in high school were pure torture for Mikasa and the soccer game that happened hours prior was the cherry on top of the sundae. When their school’s soccer team won at the final game of the seniors, she had to watch Eren pick you up, laughing while twirling you around. Everybody knew how much Eren liked you since he wasn’t afraid of expressing his feelings to a crowd of people. However, even with Eren’s efforts of wooing you, you always brushed it off, saying that he is still one of your best friends. There was no denying that Eren was courting you with the whole school as the witness. It was like a love story waiting to hit its climax — two childhood friends intertwining their fates together until they found forever with each other.

Mikasa had to suppress a groan at the thought. Maybe she watched too many romance movies to think straight at the moment. She honked the horn too loudly, making you flinch in the passenger seat. Her gray eyes were a raging storm and even the biker at the side of the street wasn’t safe as she turned her head to the window, shouting, “Hey, there’s a bike lane for a reason!”

“Mika, calm down,” you pleaded.

She scoffed in disbelief, remaining silent even though you were expecting to hear her answer.

“Why are you so angry right now? I don’t know how to fix this if you’re going to be so quiet over it.”

The car stopped in front of your house and you didn’t even notice how Mikasa practically broke the speed limit. It was a good thing there weren’t any cops doing their patrols on your side of town. Now that there was finally time for you to ask her questions, you turned to face her. You pursed your lips at the sight of her stony visage, face still so beautiful that it made your sketches of her look like nothing.

Mikasa has been ignoring you the past few weeks. You noticed that it was only when Eren was around. You looked away at the thought, heart-pounding that maybe Mikasa finally realized her feelings for the green-eyed boy. You never fail to notice how she was constantly hovering around the boy, reminding him of the schoolwork he was missing or his forgotten lunch. It always squeezed your chest too hard.

You tried reaching for her hand, only to be swatted away. “Mika,” you whispered brokenly.

“Do you like Eren?”

Oh, so that was it.

You schooled your expression in a blank one, licking your lips in nervousness. She wanted to make sure there was nothing between you and Eren so that she can finally tell him her feelings. “Why are you asking that?”

“Stop answering my questions with another question.”

You had enough of this. “Then what do you want me to say?”

Mikasa threw her hands up in the air, shrugging her shoulders in disbelief. “I don’t know! Your honest answer, I guess. It seems to me like you do like him. With you, all cuddled up with that long-haired idiot every single day. Is it the long hair? Do you like people with long hair? If that’s the case, I’ll grow my hair! Just give me a few years at most.”

You looked at her in confusion and frustration. “What are you talking about, Mikasa?”

She flinched. You never called her by her full first name. It was always Mika for you. She was always Mika for you. You were the only one allowed to call her that aside from her parents. Mikasa turned abruptly, taking you by surprise as she placed both of her hands on your arms, firmly grasping them to make you meet her desperate eyes. “I’m just making sure that you don’t like him because...” She faltered, not knowing what to say next. Is she even confessing to you right now? Years of pent-up feelings beginning to rise and overflow because of the stars gradually appearing in your eyes. Her mouth was running on its own and she was beginning to feel the shame bubbling in her stomach.

“Because … Eren is not the only one who looks at you like you placed the stars in the sky. He’s not the only one wanting to keep you warm on a cold day. He’s not the only one experiencing euphoria whenever you’re around.” She blinked away the tears building in her eyes.

“He’s not the only one in love with you.”

“You are so dense, you know?”

“What?”

Mikasa reeled back but your hands finding their way on top of hers stopped her from backing away any further. Now, you were the one looking at her like she created the entire universe in front of your eyes. You were looking at her like she’s the first snowflake making its way on top of your nose. You were looking at her like those times you were inside your treehouse, under the fairy lights hung on the walls. You were looking at her as if she was euphoria personified. Because she is. Mikasa is so breathtakingly ethereal, your surroundings becoming more transparent by the minute as you focused on her. Gently transferring your hands on her cheeks, you pulled you close until both of your foreheads were tenderly pressed against one another.

“It’s you.”

Her breathing hitched.

“It has always been you, Mikasa Ackerman. Since that day you rejected my kiss when we were fourteen.”

Tears became more prominent in both of your eyes.

“Not Eren or anybody who was rumored to be going out with me.”

She closed her eyes tightly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Mikasa opened her eyes, revealing the entire cosmos you adored.

“I love you and only you.”

It’s not a dream, the two of you sharing your first kiss that was more than what the movies described.

> they never believed we'd really fall in love

Mikasa was twenty when she had the courage of telling the entire world you’re the love of her life.

“Oh, my God, I knew it!” Sasha screeched inside the café you and Mikasa chose to have your group study session. Most eyes inside the café turned to your table since Sasha planted her hands on your table with enough force to attract attention. You laughed nervously and apologized to some of the people inside the café but the brown-haired girl still showed no signs of sitting down. You can see Mikasa placing a hand on her forehead, sighing at the third member of your trio. Sasha, however, was experiencing the milestone of a lifetime. She flickered her gaze between you and your girlfriend, eyes sparkling in obvious excitement and adoration. “And thank God you two finally got together! I had to endure Mikasa moping around during high school.”

“We are dating for two years now,” Mikasa dryly stated. “We didn’t get together recently.”

You placed a gentle hand on hers, smiling at the black-haired girl before turning to Sasha. “We tried keeping our relationship a secret for two years but judging from your first statement, it seems like we couldn’t conceal it that well.”

Sasha finally sat down, picking up her fork with some unattended carbonara on her plate. “I had a hunch. Well, not only me, Connie and I. Ever since I got to know you, [Name], I always admired your friendship with our Mikasa here.” She pointed her fork at you and Mikasa. “Yes, Mikasa treated all her friends in some special way. For me, she tells me not to eat too much.” Mikasa eyed Sasha’s plates of lunch. “For Armin, she tends to be gentler, I mean, you know Armin, softest boy on the planet. For Eren, she’s like his mother.”

“Somebody has to do it.” Mikasa rolled her eyes, making you laugh. “He never listens to Carla any more.”

“But for you, missy,” the brown-haired girl leaned forward with a teasing smirk, “Mikasa becomes all of these. Who would’ve ever thought that that childhood friend story circulating between you and Eren became you and Mikasa instead?” She leaned back and shrugged. “I never liked Eren for you anyways.”

“Same,” the black-haired girl simply stated, taking a bite of her pizza before offering you some. “I heard you wanted this café’s pizza.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a bite of the pizza Mikasa was holding in front of you. “Annie’s right, the pizza in this restaurant tastes amazing.” You felt your girlfriend’s thumb brushing at the corner of your lips, wiping the pizza sauce smeared there.

The brown-haired girl sitting in front of you two squealed with hands covering her mouth. “You two are so cute together!” Yours and Mikasa’s face flushed, making Sasha gush again. The gray-eyed girl sighed deeply, placing her head on your shoulder to cover her red face, making you laugh at how adorable your partner is. “Wait, have you talked about this to your parents?”

You and Mikasa looked at each other, that Thanksgiving dinner flashing through your minds at the moment.

You were supposed to be enjoying the scrumptious feast your and Mikasa’s mothers prepared but you and your girlfriend were too stiff to participate in the casual talk flittering the table. The previous night, Mikasa opened the idea of telling your parents that you were dating each other. At first, you disagreed because you have seen how this would affect Mikasa. There was a time where some old woman looked at you two while you were on a date, yelling that you two should break up and find some man instead of finding comfort with the same sex. The black-haired girl nearly broke down when you arrived at your shared apartment and you reassured her that their opinions shouldn’t matter as long as you have each other. But now, these are your parents, of course, their perception of your relationship will always matter. Those worries soon vanished when your fathers rejoiced, the negative thoughts replaced with tears of relief rolling down on your and Mikasa’s cheeks.

“It’s about time, you know,” your dad smiled.

“We were supposed to place a bet but we were scolded,” Mikasa’s father sheepishly admitted.

“You shouldn’t bet on the girls’ relationship!” Mikasa’s mother replied, her playful expression turned soft when she turned to you two. “Don’t ever think we would go against this. We have been watching you two grow up and we always knew that there was a possibility that you’ll come into terms with your feelings for one another.”

Your mom perked up with glee visible on her face. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You shared a laugh with the love of your life. “They’re planning a wedding as we speak.”

“Make me one of your bridesmaids please!”

“I think you’re suited to be [Name]’s maid of honor instead.”

“Hell yeah!”

> we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

Mikasa was twenty-three when she knew you are the constant in her life.

Graduation was only a few months ago and you have never felt so happy in your life. Gone were the days slumped in front of your laptop way past midnight trying to perfect your thesis papers. Gone was the day where caffeine was the only thing keeping you going during exams. Gone were the days you had laboratory periods that span the whole half of the day. All the stress was piling up on your shoulders the past four years, molding themselves in a huge ball that made you think you carried the entire world as Atlas did. Now you got your degree and you were ready to settle with the person driving the car with ease along the road leading to your neighborhood. As you stared at her side profile, you smiled, knowing that she has been in every part of your life, in your downtimes and zeniths brought by your achievements. You vaguely remembered how the car stopped in front of Mikasa’s house, the two of you immediately making your way towards their backyard.

Years of care were seen in her mother’s flower and vegetable garden but the only thing that took your breath away was the treehouse she surprised you with when you were both eleven. You blinked at the pristine condition of the small castle in the canopy of green, your smile pulling on the corners of your lips. “I can’t believe it’s still here.” A hand made its way on the small of your back, its warmth seeping through your French chiffon floral dress. You looked up at Mikasa, her casual ensemble of her gray suit and white shirt sending your heart in a frenzy. You pulled on her collar, your lips meeting hers in a slow dance, her hand on your back transferring around your waist.

When you pulled away, Mikasa placed her forehead against yours, her breath tickling your face. “Let’s visit our castle, shall we?”

The inside of the treehouse was still the same as ever. Aside from the thick layer of dust covering every surface of the small abode, it still gave the same feeling when you first laid your eyes on it. The knick-knacks you and Mikasa placed were still in the same position as you left them. The star projector you brought when you were thirteen was placed in the middle of the treehouse. You made your way to it and a sea of stars filled the crevices of the treehouse after gently turning it on. A myriad of purples and blues painted themselves on the ceiling, swirls of galaxies accompanied the constellation map you knew by heart when you were a kid. You faced Mikasa, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of her kneeling on one knee on the dusty floor. The first thought coming to your mind was how the dust would cling to her gray slacks. But that quickly erased itself when Mikasa tenderly presented a small velvet box.

“You made me believe in love, magic, myself, and the universe,” Mikasa whispered things meant for your ears only. “The way you love me and the way I look at you makes life worth living. Every single minute I’ve spent with you, I wanted to stop time to preserve it in my memory. I wanted to swim in your divine because I swear, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I promise to give you everything to make you the happiest woman in the world. I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine no matter how many years go by. You deserve the very best, someone who will back you up without limits, let you grow without borders, and love you without end. So, [Name],” she opened the small box, revealing the most beautiful piece of jewelry — a golden band with a sparkling diamond at the center of smaller gems shaped like stars, at the sides of the huge gem were crescent moons, “will you let me be the one?”

You were crying now, you never thought that this would happen.

The woman of your dreams was kneeling in front of you and there was only one answer that will seal your fate with hers.

“Yes, Mikasa, always and forever.”

> we'll rock our babies on that very front porch

Mikasa was twenty-five when she wanted a small family with you.

“How about using Eren?”

“Mika, why would you suggest that!”

“I mean, he has the hots for you.”

“I can’t believe you’re selling me to one of our friends.”

“Don’t leave my side. Here’s a kiss as an apology.”

“You’re lucky I love you, Mika.”

“And I love you, too.” Mikasa paused, turning the laptop to you as she opened the tab for one website she found. “How about adopting a toddler?”

You looked at a website displaying one of the orphanages in the city, chest filled with butterflies at the next step in your life with Mikasa.

“I think that’s a perfect idea, Mika.”

“I think so, too, Mrs. Ackerman.”

[staycult]

highschool!jisung as your boyfriend

pairing — gender neutral reader x jisung

genre — fluff / bullet scenario / friends to lovers

word count — 1.6k

enjoy!

so

u and jisung had been friends for quite some time now

ever since highschool started probably

u guys were in the same friend group

you were always with him during lunch

and u guys go home together bcs ure practically neighbors

“[y/n]! smile!” he said as he pulled out his favored polaroid camera

as you were about to turn your head around you heard a loud click, coming from the camera

a flash of light blinded your eyes

so you tried to cover it

“hey! i wasnt ready!” you pouted, giving jisung a light slap in the arm

he stuck his tongue out to mock your reaction and pulled out the film from his camera

“you look ugly” jisung snorted, fanning the film

“shut up and start moving!” you rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand to make him walk faster

bcs guys were about to go home

“do you want to stop by at the park first?” jisung offered

ofc u cant resist him

his presence always make u feel at ease

“buy me ice cream then let’s go” you bargained, earning an eye roll from him

“Two ice cream cones please!” you requested, giving the money to the cashier. you tapped your finger on the cold surface while your other armed propped your chin. jisung on the other hand was shuffling through his notebook filled with polaroid pictures that he took with your friends.

“stop staring at my pictures, ji” you laughed while grabbing your cone from the man in front of you and giving the other cone to jisung. “keep staring and you’ll fall for me” you added as you licked your ice cream. he clicked his teeth, “ew, you wish”

both you and jisung walked around the park, still in your school uniforms. the park is the place where you and your friends hang around when you guys have time. the slide and the swing are your most favorite part.

you sat down in the swing and tapped the other seat to motion jisung to sit down as well. “look, the sun is setting!” you pointed as you finished your cone. you looked over to jisung who was his camera pointed at you for the nth time. but this time, you managed to strike a pose in front of his polaroid camera. his cheeks can be seen from behind, obviously smiling at the sight.

days went by

you and jisung had been hanging out in the park swing almost every day

just the both of you

watching the sunsets and taking pictures

you noticed that he only takes random pictures of you but when youre with friends, they need to ask first before jisung would take a picture

he claims that your face is funnier with stolen shots

ofc u believed him

he is your best friend after all

the school year is about to end

and your music and arts teacher is talking about your final project

which was to write a song or poem, draw a portrait or make a poster

with a special meaning behind it

you almost ripped your hair out of frustration when you tried to compose a song or draw

so u went for a simple poster

you and your friends were comparing your final outputs in the cafeteria

“come on, show us yours!” your friends encouraged you

“ahh, it’s really ugly im not even good at these kinds of shit!” you cursed, showing it to them anyway

“seriously? it’s good! youre like jisung. god, both of you say you did bad but it’s not!” you friend said while eyeing your poster

“really? jisung i want to see yours!” you said while grabbing some of your friend’s food

“no” he said, sticking a tongue out to mock you

“why not?” you replied while pouting

both of you bickered for atleast 3 minutes

saying lots of ‘no’s’ and ‘why not’s’

he had enough of your shit

and pulled you out of the cafeteria

holding his notebook, backpack and a ukelele

jisung was grabbing you by your wrist until you arrived at the school’s rooftop. you didn't have the time to respond at his sudden action.

“ouch! what was that about?” you said once he lets go of your wrist. “you want me to show you my output right? well here it is. listen.”

you were taken aback by his words, did he really get annoyed by your previous bickering? and why are we on a roof top anyway????

jisung grabbed his ukelele and opened his notebook, which was filled with polaroid pictures of you that was taken over the school year and years before that.

“it’s called hello stranger,” he spoke and started strumming on his ukelele

“The moment I felt like our eyes met

my body moved all on its own

Movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’, movin’

The closer we get the more I think

about what it is I’m feeling

My mind is filled with question marks

I can’t see anyone

around us anymore, you’re just growing more clear

Everything on this road

is blurred and faded out except for you

I’m filled with nothing but curiosity about who you may be

It’s like I’m approaching you drawn by something I can’t even know

I won’t beat around the bush, my subconscious is pushing straight forward

having me walk as it pleases without a single thought

Ah, a new wind is blowing

Where could it have come from?

It’s strange, but it’s not cold

Before I know it my feet are moving, following the wind

I take my hands out of my pockets

Hello Stranger, I keep being drawn to you

Growing closer

to you without a single thought

I’m curious, more and more and more as time passes,

why am I like this? Who are you to do this to me?

Stranger

Nana nanana nana

Nana nanana nana

Closer

Hello Stranger, who are you to do this to me?

I can see in you the things that I myself am lacking

I try yelling out to you the things I had just yelled into empty space

The things I didn’t have, that I was missing before I met you,

all of these feelings, every moment

my mind is filled with exclamation points

I can’t see anyone

around us anymore, you’re just growing more clear

Everything on this road

is blurred and faded out except for you

Something’s different about you, but I’m not sure what

I think the light approaching me now must be you

Even if I look away I can still see your afterimage,

you never leave my sight, who are you to do this to me?

Ah, my feet are moving, following this new wind

I take my hands out of my pockets

Hello Stranger, I keep being drawn to you

Growing closer

to you without a single thought

I’m curious, more and more and more as time passes,

why am I like this? Who are you to do this to me?

i love you”

it’s been weeks since you and jisung last spoke and since his sudden confession

you were about to tell him how you felt, too

how he makes you happy these past few days

to the point where you were falling for him too

but he ignored you

was it because he felt awkward?

or scared?

confusion was taking over you

and you know damn well youre gonna have to take measures into your own hands

so you came up with a plan to atleast get him to talk to you

“come on! just say i wont be there” you begged your friend. “fine. so roof top it is?” you squealed and gave your friend a hug. plan was to make your friends invite jisung at the same place he confessed on only to see youre the only one there

you grabbed your backpack since you had a vacant class and went to the rooftop to prepare. you knew jisung had a vacant class too, so you were hopeful he’s going to drop by.

“hi, i like you too” you practiced “no, too awkward” you ran your hands through your hair in frustration. “hey jisung! will you vincent van gogh out with me?” you repeated with hand motions this time. “god no” you mentally slapped yourself because of the cringe

“jisung, i like yo-” you repeated. you felt someone hug you from behind, “you do?” his husky voice sent shivers down to your spine as he hugged you even tighter.

“i-i do” you admitted, removing his arms so you can face him properly. “i really really do, i cant stand you not talking to me.” you burried your head to the crook of his neck.

“im sorry, baby. i didnt know how to handle rejection yet” he let out a low laugh, earning a laugh from you too. he snaked his arms around you and swayed you back and forth. humming the tune of the song he composed.

“youre mine now, are you?” he spoke, kissing your forehead as you gave him a nod.

bf jisung would mean

A VERY PLAYFUL RELATIONSHIP

SERIOUSLY

the confession may be soft and cuddly

but after like 2 days

yall are like best friends again

but with a mixture of sweetness

things never really changed

but you were still glad

love letters and songs !!!!!

lots and lots of kisses

cheek, forehead, chin, shoulder kisses

you name it

he would gently cup your face while doing so

he likes teasing you

but u tease him back

ends up with him being all pouty

will help u out with homework

ice cream and park swing dates

would literally take polaroid pictures of both of you

the ones he took before yall got together is displayed in his room

on the back of his phone

and the rest, he keeps it in his notebook

which was filled with songs about you

will sing you to sleep

will hold your hand literally every where

“baby, im the luckiest to have you”

author's note —

just imagine it's the slow version of hello stranger ok ALSO i want jisung to be my bf like ??

[yoondoze]

make a wish | jjk - 2

jeongguk didn’t know it, but his wish came true. as the best things in life do, it comes back around.

alternatively: a compilation of scenes in the after of “make a wish” and how they pile up and weigh you down until it’s too much to handle.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 6.4k

genre: angst, fluff, romance, best friend!au, mutual pining... shh

warnings: language. besides that, this is pretty tame! only slightly edited bc its 2 in the morning and i just want to get this up lol

a/n: didn’t mean for this to be so long but i got a little carried away. this wraps up make a wish, so i hope you guys like it! also, feedback is always appreciated in any way shape or form <3 muah!

It’s just as you’re leaving when Jeongguk’s phone rings. His eyes widen in disquiet as he stares at the number displayed at the top of his phone. In preparation, he shakes out his limbs dramatically and takes a deep, exaggerated breath. Considering it’s for your entertainment, you roll your eyes and wave him on.

He picks up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is muffled as you try your best to listen in. Your heart pounds in anticipation, gripping onto the straps of your purse with white knuckles.

“Yeah. Okay. Okay, great.”

He paces around the room aimlessly. His fingers fiddle with a loose thread on his sweatpants as he listens closely. You’re sure he’s already sweating, more nervous than you could imagine despite the playful act he put on before answering.

“Yeah. That’s fine! Okay, thank you so much. Alright, bye.”

He’s facing away from you as he clicks the end call button. Just as you’re about to ask, he spins on his heel, lips pursed as he holds back a grin.

“Guess who got the job?”

A toothy grin spreads across his face as he singsongs. Jeongguk’s expression of pure excitement is a privilege to see. It’s impossible to deny how it lights up your own.

“Oh my god, you got the job?”

“I got the job!”

His bangs bounce as he jumps with both fists raised in glory. You squeal, going in for a tight hug and swaying back and forth as you congratulate him.

“I’m proud of you, Gguk,” you say into his shoulder. “Really, I am.”

And when you say it, you mean it. After so many months of struggling at his old company, he took the leap and applied for a position at a more well-known film studio. The late night introduction practices with you, which included him reciting prepared resume-esque lines and weeks of tiring interviews had paid off like you knew he deserved it to.

“Okay. I should get home,” you try, voice strained as his arms crush your diaphragm like walls in a deadly escape room. Upon hearing your winded sentence, he loosens his grip.

You don’t even think about what it might mean before you place a departing kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek, fueled by the elation running through you at the upward turn of events. It’s an accident, it just happens naturally as if it was something you’ve done a thousand times. It only hits you that you shouldn’t have after it’s already done.

Sure, you make out and kiss all the time, but the difference is that’s only when you’re taking advantage of the benefits you worked out. That kissing is all attraction, nothing chaste or romantic like this. So when you pull away from the hug, you expect to see his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and giving you a look of disgust.  

“Uh-” you sputter, ever a wordsmith, trying to think of some rational explanation to excuse why you might have kissed him like that. The previous bouts of joy sparking in your heart fly out the window.

However, his eyes only show a mild, innocent surprise. At his silence, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to address it, and you assume he’ll assume it was just congratulatory. You can work with that.

“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home,” you blurt as untroubled as it can come, spinning on your heel and hurrying out the door. After closing it behind you, you slump back against it for a breath.

God, what were you thinking? Were you fucking stupid? Your fingers find your forehead finds as you try to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad. You’re prone to over analyzing, anyway. Jeongguk’s too occupied to think about it like that. He just got his new job, he has a thousand new things to worry about. He won’t read into it. If he does, he’ll think of it as a heat of the moment sort of thing.

Right?

Inside, Jeongguk pauses, staring at where you were standing just a second ago and scratches the back of his neck. The corners of his mouth turn up slowly. 

He finds himself checking his phone every five minutes for a text from you, which never comes.

☆☆☆

At the end of the day, it was your fault. 

It was your thoughtless action that made Jeongguk think that incorporating romantic gestures like that into your relationship could still be platonic. You rocked the boat with that one, but it wasn’t enough to completely capsize your vessel, and for that you were grateful. 

Still, your heart now tore itself into smaller and smaller pieces every time he kissed you goodbye or grabbed your hand to swing it back and forth or wrapped his arm around you after cleaning up. 

“By the way,” he says, tossing you one of his shirts from his place in front of his dresser. He pulls on a clean pair of boxers as you cover up. “There’s this work dinner I have to go to next week for networking and stuff, and it’s a buffet-type thing so they charge you for a spot. But, I found out that there is a couple’s discount and was wondering if maybe… you’d want to come with me?”

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes is one you just can’t ignore. Doing so would feel like a one-way ticket to hell, the only valid consequence for such a rotten crime.

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile at your compliance takes away all the apprehension you might have had, at least for a second. He wears it like a medal.

“Okay, good. I have to talk to a lot of people so I’d just feel better if you were there.”

Your brows draw together as you watch him get dressed. “But Gguk, you’re good at talking to people,” you say, going as far as to admit teasingly, “You’re fairly charming.”

He laughs, hopping into his slacks. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t freak out inside. It’s scary!” The dark brown mop of hair atop his head jostles into his eyes as he adds, “There’s gonna be a lot of well-known people there so it’s my chance to make some connections.”

Despite that, you’re sure he’ll be just fine. By nature, Jeongguk is inviting and easy to talk to. That is one of the reasons why you became such fast friends, and probably why you lasted so long. Along with his agreeable presence, his captivating looks probably wouldn’t hurt in striking up a deal either, though you’d never say that to his face.

“What’s the dress code?”

“Semi-formal I think?” He says, looking out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what that constitutes in terms of dresses but…”

A certain memory tugs at the back of his head. He considers just leaving it there, maybe slightly sentimental for his usual image, but what’s the harm in bringing it up?

“Do you remember the dress you wore for my brother’s graduation dinner? The blue one?”

You, on the other hand, are just surprised he remembers something like that. It must have been years ago by now. Still, it’s a good memory. It was a breezy evening by the shore to celebrate his brother’s graduation from college. The dinner was nice, but the best part was when you and Jeongguk ended up sneaking off to go sit on the beach later on in the night.  

Jeongguk is intertwined into nearly every lasting memory you make. It’s hard to imagine a world where he isn’t a part of each story you retell or each thought that crosses your mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s probably buried in my closet somewhere.” 

He’s relieved you don’t question him.

You might have to do some digging when you get home to find it, but you definitely still have it. It’s not like you have the money to be purchasing new semi-formal dresses for every occasion.

“That would be good. Or something like it, I don’t know.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt and tugs on the cuffs to straighten them out. His reflection in the mirror sends you a beaming smile, at this point accepting how his heart rate seems to spike every time he sees you in one of his shirts nowadays. He’s gotten very good at lending them to you casually.

He continues after a glance at the clock tells him he’s been letting his time with you slip on for more time than he can afford even though he wishes he could stay. “Anyway, I have to get going so make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.” And then he’s padding out the door, car keys jingling in his hand as he picks them up from the dish on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He pokes his head around the hallway entrance to see you. “There’s coffee out here for you when you want it.”

He dashes off before you have the chance to react or even say thank you, a sheepish grin tugging at his features as he walks to his car. When you go out to see, it’s already made with cream and sugar, just the way you like.

☆☆☆

“You look really pretty tonight, Y/N,” Jeongguk says, voice soft as ever, eyeing your dress as you step out of the car. “Seriously, I mean it.” The heels you wear click evenly like a metronome’s beat on the pavement as you walk around to join him at his side.

You ignore the heat in your cheeks, rather offering an endearing grin as you grip the clutch in your hand. “You too, Gguk. You’ll do great tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made everyone here fall for you while you’re at it.”

His initial thought is to ask if that includes you, but his better judgment tells him it’s too bold. Instead, he just laughs and hands his car keys to the valet.

The dinner is a week later at a stunning three-floor, dimly lit fine dining restaurant decorated with dark hardwood and intricate chandeliers that make the soreness in your neck seem worth it while observing them.

Jeongguk cleans up nice, and even though you’ve already known this for a long time, you consider it a treat since this attire rarely, if ever, sees the light of day. 

He props out his elbow and nudges for you to take it, which you so graciously do. Together you walk to the glass doors, through which you can see the party has just started. You can already hear the muffled music and chatter in the background.

“By the way,” he says, leaning down to your ear, like what he’s about to tell you is no big deal. “I… might have told my coworkers that we’re engaged-”

“Engaged!?” you whisper, eyes wide and staring at him incredulously. 

So maybe he should have told you earlier. In his defense, he needed the extra time to produce an irrefutable excuse. In the end, it was only sort of reasonable, but he was hoping you would just roll with it. Isn’t that what the two of you always did?

“I know, I know! But listen. It just makes more sense in terms of you being my plus one and it also makes me seem like I have my shit together. And it’s always good for me to seem like I have my shit together, right?”

You sigh, narrowing your line of sight at him. “Okay. What do I do if someone asks why I’m not wearing my ring then?”

He mutters, “Oh, yeah.” Then he’s fishing through his side pocket and out comes a shiny silver ring with a small diamond placed into the center, held so flippant between his fingertips. “It’s my grandma’s. Borrowed it from home for this weekend.”

His heart pounds. Was that smooth enough? He has a lot of talents, but he isn’t sure if this was one of them just yet. Jeongguk tenses as he waits for your reaction. Best case scenario, his carefree attitude about it will rub off onto you.

“I figured it’d fit you,” he adds.

When it slides on perfectly, you know there’s no going back. Yet somehow, it is completely in character of him. You should have expected something like this because Jeongguk always has and always will be a man of spontaneity.

You’ll have to ask him how he knows your ring size sometime.

Inside, he introduces you to his coworkers. There are too many to remember but you catch a few here and there that you recall him talking about before, like Namjoon, the diligent Production Assistant and Taehyung, another member of the crew who he often eats lunch with. It’s an initial blur of faces and few-worded exchanges before you can take a breather off to the side.

“Not bad?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way it makes your heart flutter is addictive. He has you in his palm and he doesn’t even know it. Unfortunately, you don’t know if it’s something you can give up yet, not without it being messy.

There’s a short line behind a board that displays the seating arrangement, and though it’s moving quickly, it allows you a moment of space from the other guests.

A tired smile pulls at your lips. “Not bad.” You squeeze his hand in yours.

The people in front of you move from the board into the dining hall so both of you can inch up. Jeongguk’s eyes trace the small handwriting, eventually spotting the two of you in the far corner of the room.

Dinner goes well, and Jeongguk does the most of the talking. It’s nice to see him so bright as he laughs with his coworkers. It’s that part of him that he’s had since he was a kid, the part that made him fit in so naturally and charm every person around him. Seeing it out in the open and no longer repressed from emotional baggage is heartwarming. Compared to a few months ago, you might not recognize him at all.

After a while, Jeongguk wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his chair out from the table. “Alright, I’m gonna head to the bar lounge for a little while and see who I can talk to. Are you gonna be fine on your own?”

He’s nervous, you can tell. By the way his eyes dart around the room, the way he’s biting the inside of his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” you nod, taking a sip of water. “I’ll just stick around here.”

He gives himself a once over and wipes his palms on his slacks.

You tap his shoulder, bringing him down so you can whisper to him a small, “You’ll do great.”

He pulls back with a shy, one-sided smile. “Thank you. I hope so. Text me if you need anything.” Effortlessly, he plants a chaste kiss to your cheekbone that has your face ablaze and excuses himself from the table. The feeling of his lips on your skin sticks well after he’s gone.

Ryujin, the script supervisor, puts down her drink with a roll of her eyes. “Finally, all the boys are gone. I’ve been trying to talk to you the entire time but he’s always butting in!”

It pulls a laugh from you. “No, no, he’s just trying to help,” you explain, “I’m new to everyone here so he just doesn’t want me to feel awkward.”

“Yada yada,” says a bubbly Chaeryoung, a PA, waving it off with her hand. “I expected him to be protective with how much he talks about you, but wow. It’s cute though. Sometimes I wish I had someone like that.”

“Yeah, I’m really lucky,” you nod, reminded that you’re just pretending. You’re lucky, but not that lucky. “But… wait, what kind of stuff does he say about me?”

Ryujin chortles at your worry. “Oh, only good things. Just stuff you do together, jokes, those kinds of things. You’re involved in a lot of stories in some way or another.”

“Like, “This one time in high school, Y/N and I got in a fight...” or “Last week, we went to this new brunch spot and Y/N got this sandwich…’” Chaeryoung clarifies, but it only makes you want to pry further.

As she says it, both of the memories come floating back clear as day. You can’t remember what exactly you argued over, but it had been when you were paired as partners in a history class. The sandwich, you recall, was heaven on earth. The images are picture-perfect despite how they’d been buried.

The fact that Chaeryoung remembered things you didn’t is mildly startling, but you’re more surprised that Jeongguk shared so much. Not that it’s an issue, you just didn’t think you’d find yourself being perceived by so many people you had no prior knowledge of. The idea of him spilling your high school gossip fits like a puzzle to his persona, but the thought never occurred to you that he might think about you when you’re not there.

But you won’t let yourself become too optimistic.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I think it’s different since we grew up together as family friends. He’s in a lot of my stories, too.”

“Ugh, that’s cute,” Ryujin sighs. If only. “So when did you start liking each other? Or start dating?”

You take a deep breath as if you’re looking back on the day when in reality you’re just trying to come up with the most believable love story you can manage. It’s also your most ideal. Maybe if your current situation went the way you wanted.

“I think we liked each other at different times over the years. Y’know, I liked him when we were kids, he liked me when we were teenagers, kind of on and off like that. But sometime after college, I think the cycle lined up once and for all and…“

Do you think you could manifest it by speaking it into existence?

“...here we are.”

That thought was stupid. You make yourself forget about it. Stop with the hope, remember?

When you finish your spiel, you think you’ve finally made it in the clear. Until another question comes.

“So what was your first date like? Was it weird?”

You know they’re just trying to make conversation, but god, you’re not ready for this. You’re preoccupied with other problems. If only they knew how your brain was short-circuiting in an effort to think up an explanation that will make you sound versed and most importantly, convincing. You go with what you wish had happened. 

“Um, a little bit, but since we had been close friends for such a long time, I think we had that mutual understanding of how things were so we could laugh about it. We just…” you say, shaking your head along, lips pursing as your train of thought rolls through the detailed daydream you know so well. “...went out to dinner one night... and it was sort of a process to transition to something more romantic, I guess, but it just kind of happened.”

But it feels nice to be Jeongguk’s girl. Even if you’re just playing a part. If you sink yourself into the atmosphere, tune into the clinking of the glasses, and the relaxing jazz in the background, you can pretend you’re really engaged and sharing your love story to whoever will listen.

Would it hurt too much to hold out on it one day become reality?

“I’m always so happy when the company hosts these events,” Chaeryoung comments, leaning back in her chair to take in the room. “It’s the only time I can come to a place like this since you know I can’t afford it with my own money.” A small talk sort of laugh bubbles up from her as she says it. There is an inkling of confusion that strikes you at her words, but you think you’ll just brush it off for the sake of being casual.

Ryujin looks to you as she adds, “And they even let you bring a plus one for free! You know, I was thinking of bringing my boyfriend, but I just felt like it might have been too soon…”

Your brows furrow as you recall the conversation with Jeongguk. Didn’t he say that it was a pay per guest scenario?

“So the company pays for these dinners?” you ask out of pure curiosity and with no hint of suspicion weaved in your tone.

“Yeah!” says Chaeryoung. “It’s all from the company’s budget since this is technically a networking event. Usually, people swap ideas or come up with deals that turn into projects a couple of weeks down the line.”

You nod along as she explains eagerly, but all you can hear is that there never was a price to pay to begin with, and more importantly meaning that there never was a discount. Not one that Jeongguk needed you around for. 

But why would he lie? 

Maybe Jeongguk was embarrassed asking for your company or didn’t want his ego bruised by telling you it was free and he wouldn’t have to pay for you. It’s the benefit of the doubt for your best friend (and love of your life, but that’s a separate issue) that makes it your first thought. In reality, thinking about the boy you know, it doesn’t make sense. At this point, he shouldn’t have to feel like that when it comes to you. 

Whatever the case may be, you hope that he knows he’d never need an excuse to invite you somewhere. It’s not like you’d ever refuse. You’d never refuse him, not in any life.

☆☆☆

It’s the middle of the night when another bad dream jolts you awake with a pounding heartbeat. Your eyes flutter open, brimmed with tears, to reveal that the moon is still high in the sky above the towering buildings, and a shift to the side facing the nightstand lets you know you have another three hours before you have to start your day and leave Jeongguk’s apartment.

The last few weeks, the dreams have been growing more and more common. Not enough for you to dread going to sleep just yet, but definitely something you’re quickly getting sick of. At this point, you’re tired of going to sleep just to wake up freaked out in a cold sweat. You chalk it up to the stress piling on you, not only that of regular adult life but that of your messy relationship with your best friend.

How ironic that must be, considering the whole reason it started was to relieve stress when now it’s your main source.

You empty your lungs with a shaky sigh and slide to the edge of the bed, intending to fetch a glass of water to calm yourself down. Before you can reach your feet, Jeongguk’s arm catches you at your waist, and then you’re being reeled back under the covers.

“Easy,” he mumbles, his voice grainy and low from sleep, “You’re fine. Talk to me.”

You swallow thickly, the scenes from your subconscious flashing back to you. “Um, that’s alright. Not a big deal.”

You wish he’ll just leave it at that and fall back asleep like he usually does. When his breathing steadies, you think you’re in the clear, but you are horribly mistaken when he yawns and adds, “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently.”

Is it another prompt for you to talk? You’re not sure what to say. 

In fact, you’re never sure what to say anymore. Never sure what’s too much, what’s too little, what the difference is between what you say and what you mean. The line blurred months ago and now you’re wandering blind.

You’d enjoy moments like this if it wasn’t for the stark fact that the person you’re with doesn’t love you like you love him. 

 “Yeah…” you agree. Right now, your chest is heavy and not strong enough to support a conversation. You hope that he’s not too drowsy to take the hint.

A small sound from him makes it seem like another sleepy sentence is in the works, but fortunately, the tension in your chest begins to fade when nothing comes out. His hair shuffles against the pillow and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of your neck, lips lingering there for a second too long before he sinks back into his position.

When you’re sure he’s slipped under the veil of slumber again, you carefully slide out of his grasp and squeeze into your own space at the edge of the bed. You don’t know how much longer you can last like this.

☆☆☆

“She texted me.”

The sentence makes you stop chewing. Your movements stop aside from an absent blinking, gears spinning overtime to process it.

“She uh, she wants to meet up,” he tacks on. “I think I should go.”

“Why would you do that?”

Jeongguk slowly twists the pasta around his fork, taking a blatant newfound interest in his dinner. He takes a deep breath, but when he opens his mouth, the words catch in his throat.

“I don’t know. I think we need to talk about what happened.”

You scoff, and he takes an immediate offense to it. His eyebrows knit together as a wounded expression takes form on his features.

“What happened? Gguk, she dumped you because you were going through a hard time and she didn’t want to ‘deal’ with it.”

It’s not just you playing the protective best friend role and trying to talk sense into him. It’s not jealousy, either. And sure, maybe you never liked her to begin with, but for good reason. She ended up doing exactly what you thought she would - shattering his heart into a million pieces and leaving it for someone else to pick up the pieces. And considering that’s been you on a multitude of occasions, you think your point of view is valid.

“Listen, I don’t blame her… That can be really hard on someone.”

“So it’s okay for them to just pop in out of the blue, say they can’t handle your emotional issues and bounce? Someone who they claimed to love for over a year and a half? Someone who they were thinking about marrying?”

Jeongguk purses his lips as you speak, a hefty exhale coming through his nose in frustration.

“I just miss her sometimes!”

And you really wish Jeongguk would love you back, but we can’t all get our way, can we?

Not to throw yourself a pity party, though. It’s not like he owes you anything for what you do because you brought it on yourself. He doesn’t control your feelings, even when you want to blame the nerve he has for smiling because it makes you get all jittery. 

“She doesn’t even give a shit about me anymore! She’s out with other guys, doing all this shit, posting it everywhere. I… I loved her so bad and she acts like she has no clue.”

You give him pep talks when he’s about to go out with someone else. You comfort him when he’s distraught over someone else. You love him when he loves someone else. 

And then-

“You don’t know what that’s like.”

You freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat, closing the gate on your lungs until you forcibly open them again as subtle as possible. A stinging feeling you know all too well burns in your eyes as you try to hold back. Jeongguk doesn’t notice in the slightest as his gaze is still fixated on his food.

Your initial reaction is anger. All you want to do is yell, tell him wrong, tell him that you know it all too well because you love him and he’s pathetically oblivious whether by his nature or by choice. Everything you want to say, shouts and confessions, float across your mind and bounce around the walls as each one brings you further to opening your mouth and letting them spill. Then you just want to cry.

But you won’t do any of that. Your situation won’t allow it, not if you want to risk losing him. It’s not a risk you’re willing to take, even if it means suffering in it by yourself and letting the irony of his words go unrealized.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, the fork gripped by your white knuckles tapping mindlessly against the side of the bowl as you swallow the feeling back down. Your hand comes up to scratch at the corner of your eye, wiping away the wetness beginning to pool composedly so he won’t notice.

“I don’t.”

☆☆☆

It’s on a Tuesday evening a couple of weeks in the future when you next see him. 

Maybe more than a couple. Maybe a few. Maybe too many. Just enough for his tone to turn to something more confrontational than just casual when he sends you a text saying that he wants to see you again. Particularly when he specified that no, he needed to see you again.

He suggests the park by the river. You’ve been there a few times with him for lunches and to hang out, but the energy is different this time around. Both of you know why you’re here, even though you never thought you’d have to be. 

For a while, you didn’t want to make things weird, so you’d come over when he’d ask and leave as soon as you could in an attempt to curb the damage on your heart. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that you actively started flaking on him. You’d let his calls ring until he hung up or left a message and say you were busy when there was absolutely nothing going on. 

He stopped by your apartment at one point, too. You were freaking out after he texted you he’d be visiting, pacing around and wondering what to do, what to respond, if to respond at all. The knock at your door came sooner than you expected. Before you were about to pull it open and face what you’d been so casual about denying for so long, it occurred to you: You could simply not open the door.

So you waited. He knocked a few more times, sighing so loud you could hear through the door. He called out your name softly, as if he knew you were right on the other side. He stayed for a few more minutes. Then came the sound of his footsteps padding away. You were safe for another day, but the awful feeling stuck in your chest for days.

It stuck in his, too. He knew he should have never gone that far, never said anything that night, but he also wondered if he could have done it any other way. Standing at your door and having to face the fact that you were undeniably steering clear of him, because of him, was a nightmare. It was stupid of him, but you’d see past it - wouldn’t you?

And now you’re seeing him live and in person for the first time in god knows how long. It’s a foreign feeling you’ve never felt with Jeongguk before, and you hate it. It’s been long enough for the sense of familiarity to fade, or at least be buried by time. 

Is this how a comet feels when it passes earth again after so many years apart? Does it feel new every time seeing how things have changed, or are they old friends who pick up where they left off?

“ So… what’s been going on with you?” Jeongguk asks nonchalantly, leaning back on his elbows and shaking the hair out of his eyes. “It’s been a while.”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” you shrug, vision focused on the calm waters in front of you. You tug at the grass under your fingertips, loosely hugging your knees to your chest as you sit beside him. “Not much I guess. Just work as usual, you know.”

“Yeah, but how are you?” he presses, trying to find your eyes as you avoid his.

He knew something was wrong from the evident distance and your attitude, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad. He didn’t think he’d fucked up this bad.

Your laugh is awkward and forced. “I’ve been fine. Been good.”

Thinking about the past few weeks, it’s not hard to remember but incredibly hard to grasp. It’s the same moments over and over, sourced from a lonely routine. Day by day spending time with yourself, missing Jeongguk, thinking about texting him but never doing it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

His face turns from you and you miss it the second you can’t see it. The feeling is off and both of you know it. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it as he thinks of what to say. If the wrong thing comes out, he’s worried he’ll chase you even further away. It took so much to even get you here.

“Listen, can I be honest with you?” he says.

Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? He’s tired of beating around the bush. The two of you know so much more than bland small talk.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath. “I always thought that nothing could ever be uncomfortable with you and me. Like we could be straightforward and blunt without it being weird. But things right now are really weird and I don’t know what happened. You’re avoiding me and you don’t want to see me. It’s not like it used to be.”

Your nails scrape beneath each other, entangled in your lap. Clearly things aren’t the same, but you don’t have the energy to be snarky. There are so many things to address and you’re ignorant on where to start.

“I know there wasn’t a discount for the work dinner.”

He nods, looking out over the river. “Yeah, figured.”

“So why’d you lie?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I just wanted you there and I didn’t know how to ask you. I… was starting to feel the shift and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Saying that just gave me an excuse to take any of the weight off.”

He adds quietly, “Your turn.”

“Gguk,” you start, shaking your head as you try to find the right words. You think of the kiss, the dinner, the ring, the argument.

“We act like a couple. We do things couples do. We pretend we’re a couple. But... we aren’t a couple.”

He’s silent. He knows where you’re going. He knew it before you even got here because if you didn’t bring it up first, he would have.

“I think you already know what’s going on, but if you need it spelled out for you, I kinda caught feelings for you. And then you give me your grandmother’s wedding ring and tell me you love me and it hurts so fucking bad because I know you don’t mean it like that. Not the way I wish you did.”

The words dissipate into the fresh evening air, soon filled by delicate chirps and birdsongs. Distant laughter floats around the park, with muffled ferry horns layered behind it all.

“How do you know?”

Your hand pauses, chlorophyll green blades pulled taut between your fingers. No fucking way.

“What?”

He scratches the back of his neck before locking his eyes with yours. “How do you know... that I don’t mean it like that?”

He’s not playing with you, is he? No, he wouldn’t. You respond slightly confused, hesitant to lean into his words just yet.

“Are you saying that you do?”

He laughs and it makes your chest feel like it might burst open. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been saying it. I mean, I thought I was being obvious.”

You suppress the excitement bubbling in your stomach for a second longer to throw him a questionable expression with an extended palm for emphasis. “You told me you wanted to go see your ex-girlfriend and were talking about how you loved her.”

He exhales through his teeth as he squints at you. “Yeah, that went a little far...”

“Only a little?”

“I’m apologizing, so let me, please?” He says, eyes wide with a small smile tweaking up at his lips. “It was stupid. I wanted to see what you would say or if you would get jealous. ‘Cause I thought you might have felt the same and at the time that was the only thing I could think of doing.”

Your expression falls.

“Wait, so did you actually meet up with her?”

“No, no!” He exclaims, rushing to refute such a bizarre idea. “Yes, she texted me, but I said no. Everything you said was right, so… it wasn’t worth it.”

He thinks he’s done, until he sees your stare still lingering on him. What’d he miss? He flops over on his stomach, elbows in the grass as his chin rests on his palms to look at you.

“You also said I didn’t know what it was like to love someone who didn’t love me back.”

A cheeky grin grows on him. “Okay... but technically you don’t because I loved you back the whole time.” One of his arms lowers to the ground, his fingers finding your own. He weaves them together with an affectionate squeeze. “You just didn’t know.”

The way your heart flutters is different this time. Gone are the tiring nerves and teary eyes and the weight of stress on your shoulders. It’s a comfortable sort of excitement, one that you’re in love with almost as much as you are with the boy himself.

“Since when?” you ask shyly, feeling the tingle in your cheeks. 

It’s a relief to have Jeongguk back. A life without him wouldn’t be one you could ever get used to. 

He was there at the start, he’s here now, and he will be here for as long as he possibly can. When it comes to you, there’s no doubt. He’s yours every time.      

His deep brown eyes sparkle under the setting sun, golden and glowing, as he makes a point to find your own. Tone dulcet and tender, he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Since always.”

[hesther-mcg]

blue dragons, part one + chapter eight

➥ pairing: eventual asami x oc 

➥ summary: the one where azula trains ursa, and gets the shock of a lifetime; or the one where a picky spirit makes himself known for the first time in ages  

➥ rating: angst i suppose

➥ warnings: mentions of past abuse 

➥ a/n: mnmxcnvxn this took forever to get out bc life is cray cray, haha srry folks but here we are!! this is quite an interesting chapter in my opinion, i really love the dynamic between ursa and azula and giving azula this opportunity means a lot. also this is an introduction to a certain blue serpentine spirit OoOoOoOoOo

also for clarification purposes, when ursa’s eyes glow, it looks like the avatar state but blue ya know

p1, chap seven  p1, chap eight  p1, chap nine  blue dragons m. list

Frustration itched at every nerve in Ursa’s body, and she let out a huff. She swiped at her bangs that fell in her face as she paced back to the bench on the far side of the training yard. Her glass of watermelon juice was almost empty, and an added weight fell on her already sagging shoulders. She downed the rest of it and returned it to its spot, perhaps a little harshly, and shook her head. 

A growl escaped her mouth and she screamed as she shot a large stream of fire at nothing in particular. Unbeknownst to her, Azula lurked in the shadows behind her. She had watched the Crown Princess -only thirteen years of age- train for a short while, her determination admirable and patience thinning. The older woman could see the mistakes that were made, minor in severity and easy to fix with a little guidance. 

It had taken a long while for her to acknowledge the likeness between her and her young niece; she hadn’t wanted to and had adamantly denied it. But one day things just clicked, and she realized that Ursa looking like her, and thinking like her, and being as powerful as her wasn’t as bad as she thought. 

Because her father was long gone.  

What had happened to Zuko would never, in a million years, happen again, and what had happened to Azula surely wouldn’t either. Her older brother had proved himself to be an amazing father, and Izumi never once lived a day thinking she hadn’t made him proud. He never spoke down to her for being a girl, he never got angry because she couldn’t make up for it with bending, and he never used her for his own personal gain. 

All of which were things Azula had been subjected to in her childhood, and had ultimately feared her niece would be as well, but was relieved to see otherwise. Their father, and his legacy, was long gone; and only when she accepted that fact could she truly accept her own growth and healing. And only when she accepted those could she accept that Ursa had all of her best qualities, and some of her not so best qualities, and if they were nurtured and guided correctly she could be like no one else. 

“My, my, Princess; have you been out here all day?” Azula inquired as she emerged from the shadows and took slow steps to the aforementioned Princess, hands clasped behind her back and head held high just like always. 

“Hey, Auntie Zula,” Ursa sighed as she bowed before rising again. “Almost; I’m going over some of the advanced moves I learned, and I’ve almost mastered them all but I can’t seem to get this last one.” She shook her head. “I’m doing exactly what my Master did, and it’s still not right. I know I’m better than this.” 

“You are,” the older woman responded without missing a beat. She paced in front of her young niece. “You are better than this, this is but a mere moment in your path to mastering the element. You’re incredibly skilled, Ursa, never forget that. Before too much longer you’ll surpass your Master and they will no longer be able to do you any good. I was going to step in after that, but I can see that now is as good a time as ever.” 

“Really?” One would have to be deaf to miss the eagerness laced in her question. 

“Of course,” Azula turned sharply in place. “I know exactly what mistakes you’re making; though, it’s not your fault. I hate to tell you this, Princess, but your Master is a doofus.” The younger girl giggled from behind her hand. “Are you a dragon?” 

The question caught Ursa off guard. “Huh?” 

“Are you a dragon?” She repeated slowly. The look in her eyes was familiar, she had seen it in her father’s, grandmother’s, and great grandfather’s eyes many times before. She’d seen it in the mirror only once or twice; it was a look of true seriousness, one you could only get when, you might not know what you’re doing, but, you know that whatever it is you can do it. She tried her best to mimic it in her own matching eyes. 

“Yes. I am a dragon.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Azula stated smugly. “Only dragons can teach dragons, Ursa, and since The Great Dragon of the West is no longer with us, I only see it fitting that I take over as your Master. After all,” she raised one hand in front of her, and blue fire floated in her palm. “We do have twin flames.”  

The pair shared a smile before Azula extinguished the flame and returned her hand to its rightful place, clasped in the other behind her back. Ursa placed one hand, fingers straight and palm pointed to the side, above the other, which was closed in a fist. She bowed deeply, “thank you for teaching me, Sifu Azula.” She rose back up and turned away from her Master. She faced straight ahead, ready for anything. “What should I do first?” 

Lady Azula smiled to herself. “Your punches and kicks were good, but everything has room for improvement. You’re not putting enough power into your jump, and then not putting enough power in the flames. Let’s break it down. Take your stance.” 

Ursa positioned herself in the stance she normally chose. Her grandfather had shown it to her, and she figured out that it was the one that worked easiest with her dynamic. Her left foot forward, right foot behind her. Knees slightly bent. Arms out before her, elbows slightly bent as well. Palms open, fingers relaxed. Ready to strike. 

“Remember, firebending comes from the breath. Focus on the fire inside of you, and breathe in deeply; allow the air to reach the flames. Let your chi flow freely, the reason our fire burns blue is because it is pure. Your river is unblocked, your chi’s are synced and your power flows through you. Pure, clean, untethered fire. You have the power, be the thing that controls it.” 

Deep breaths. Unlocked chi’s. Flowing river. The Princesses eyes had long since closed, and she envisioned all the things her aunt spoke about. 

“Reposition,” Azula coaxed quieter, seeing the concentration on Ursa’s face. 

The girl’s hands formed fists, clenched tightly, and her left arm straightened itself out. Her right fist drew back and rested right beside her eyes. 

“Now, punch.” 

It was like time moved in slow motion Her eyes snapped open before narrowing into a squint. Her brows drew together and her face scrunched up. She lunged her right fist forward, stepping into the punch with her right foot; bringing as much power as she could for the opening attack. Her fists lit ablaze, encircled with blue, and she punched a rather large fireball straight ahead. Her grunts were barely audible over the loud swoosh of the flames. 

Ursa dealt one strike after the other, slowly making her way forward, sometimes ducking to avoid a blow from an imaginary opponent. “Kick,” Azula commanded loudly. 

One last punch before she kicked her right leg in a half circle, flames following closely.  They lingered in the air and Ursa spun around and shielded herself from view with more blue fire. “Now jump!” 

A moment passed, a moment where the older woman’s breath caught in her lungs. Then, before any particular emotion could truly settle in her bones, Ursa leapt out from the wall of blue flames, a look of ferocity painting her features. She landed on her feet and sprung forward not a moment later; she took one step, two steps, three...

And on her final step she jumped high in the air, and Azula’s voice cut through the noise, “Roar!” 

Flames from her feet propelled her upwards, a gust of blue, and the same shot out of her hands. Her face scrunched up as her cry echoed around the training yard, a stream of fire shooting out of her open mouth. Everything was blue, all Azula could see was blue. And all she could feel was heat. 

But what really shocked her, what really made her brows scrunch together and her jaw drop, was the Princesses eyes, once a piercing golden brown, were now completely blue. The fire around her swirled and moved until it started to take form. The form of a dragon.

Of course. Of course. It made sense, everything about her fit the role. 

“The Spirit of the Dragon…” She whispered in awe. It was a phenomenon that she never thought she would be alive to witness, and she would never tell a soul about the tears that filled her eyes as she watched her great niece display her sheer power. 

When the roar died down, and Ursa’s flames shrunk, and she dropped to the ground, her eyes fell shut and her knees gave out. She caught herself with her hands and shook her head. With a couple groans, and a few deep breaths she was back on her feet. 

“Holy shit.” A voice broke the silence. Azula turned around only to see her older brother; Zuko’s mouth hung open and his arms were limp at his side. 

“That-” the Princess cut herself off to catch her breath. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she chuckled lowly. Her eyes flickered from her great aunt and great grandfather. She didn’t know how to feel about what had just occurred. On one hand, she knew that her family would never think any different of her for anything, they had always told her that nothing could ever make them not love her; but on the other, insecurity and fear seemed like the obvious answer. 

What if they thought she was too powerful? What if they feared she would be the demise of the Fire Nation? She didn’t even know what took over her, what if it was something evil? What if, what if, what if- 

“Ursa,” Azula broke her train of thought. She snapped back to reality, heart in her stomach, and looked at the older woman. “Do you know what just happened?” Dread pricked at every nerve in her body and she shook her head. Her fingers began to tremble and she clenched her hands into fists to hide it. 

“That was the Spirit of the Dragon, my dear. A powerful spirit of the very first dragon; it has possessed only few people throughout history, not nearly as much as the Avatar, but hasn’t made itself known in centuries. My, Ursa,” Zuko marveled. “It chose you, how incredible.” 

“I’m not-I’m not in trouble?” She stuttered. 

“Of course not,” Azula shook her head and made her way to the girl, hands reaching out. They rested on her shoulders and she leaned down so their eyes met. “I know what you’re thinking, and you don’t have to worry. What happened to me will never happen to you, I promise you that. Do you know what the Spirit of the Dragon means exactly?” The girl shook her head before her aunt continued. 

“The Spirit of the Dragon, like Zuzu explained before, is a very powerful spirit. It has joined with numerous people over the course of time, merging with them and bestowing knowledge and strength upon them like no other. It can’t just be anybody, however,” she paused and looked over at the bench. She motioned to it with her hand and the three of them traveled to it together, and they made sure that Ursa sat in between them. “The kind of people that the Dragon Spirit chooses are powerful, people who are destined to do great things in this world. The power to stand up to people, for people, and with people is incredible. It might sound simple, but most people can’t say they passed the test. You did.” 

“We’ve known since the day you were born that you held incredible powers and an even more important destiny,” the older man took over. “But we never could have imagined this for you.” He chuckled lightly and shook his head. 

Azula took that as her cue to continue. “But we’ve never, ever, feared that you would do something wrong, or that you would be too powerful for your own good. And no matter what happens, to you or to us, and no matter what you have to go through, we’ll always be with you.” 

Ursa nodded her head and wiped her cheeks of any tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her hands no longer trembled and her shoulders only slightly shook as she calmed down. 

“Now,” Lady Azula stated, her tone back to the normal smooth and sharp drawl. “Are you a dragon?” 

“Yes.” Ursa looked at her and tried with everything she had to convey just how much she meant it. 

“Who are you?” The question cut through the air sharply, and a moment later the younger girl's eyes changed colors again, both glowing a bright blue. 

“I am Crown Princess Ursa of the Fire Nation, Heir to the Throne; I am the Dragon Princess and I have the power of the first dragon’s spirit!” 

➥ tag list: @talas-starlight  @ewanssdjarins  @appa-gaangnam-style  @strawberisapphic  @avatarsnips​  @graciefullygracie​

[berrykook]

bloom (demon!y!hs) (nsfw)

do not read if you are not into yandere fic! hs is a demon jackass pls save urself!

in which hoseok finds you in his garden and his love begins to bloom

contents: demon!yandere!hoseok, kidnapping, manipulation, oral (f receiving), sex!!! i gotta spoil it they fuck! and hoseok kinda says some...sub stuff idk :/

word count: 5.2k

a/n: thanks for the requests ! <3 i got off track from building this universe and i ended up sorta negating the law that demons and angels can’t interact buttttttt reader still kinda has a moral dilemma ? >.<

IMPORTANT before they start fuckin, reader has a moment of confusion and suspects that hoseok has intentionally magically warped her mind into consenting but that’s not the case reader is just dumb! thank u also i don’t know much about flowers or hell so i’m sorry if any info is incorrect :( lmk and i will fix immediately (and let’s pretend hoseok’s dog is a girl bc i didn’t know that until googling it for this fic)

and mb that this is coming a month after i said it would :( school is beating my ass hard anyways pls enjoy

*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ

Hoseok once had a mother a mere three-thousand or so years ago and she named him well. His name fell off her tongue in a major key and rang across acres and through caverns. She never failed to say his name in gargantuan font to be heard across nations; the syllables “Ho-seok” had chimed through shadowy deserts of Hell, Heaven, and Earth for as long as he lived. Hoseok was always big and known - a beacon of diabolic energy; it was his birthright.

His mother was long gone, but remained in a photograph which he always kept on his person (demon?). It was supposed that even immortals had to walk forward into new lives after some time. His father had been around for around one hundred years after, and his sister had moved on when he was barely a thousand. The only companion of Hoseok’s, the only one left, was a shih tzu who followed him even when he treated her with indifference. Hoseok had great power and an abundance of Earth men who sold him their souls, but the loneliness which plagued him was indescribable.

“News for you, my Lord. Taehyung has declared he is but one sure meeting from stealing the Park soul for work to complete in the Circle of Fraud. He has said to be back in less than a fortnight.”

The assistant, doe-eyed and snake-tongued, stared at the wall behind Hoseok as he recited the news from one of hell’s most talented demons, who was currently on a sabbatical to inspect the soul of an Earth man with an itch to be with a woman he saw on the train a year prior. Taehyung had come bustling into Hoseok’s quarters one day, spewing gibberish about the perfect human to become his next target. Hoseok’s chest twinged a bit when Taehyung explained that this Park Jimin schmoe had been stalking this woman for months and was willing to practically sell his soul to be with her (enter Taehyung). “How wonderful,” he said wistfully, yearning for a perfect confidante like this Jimin character had found. At Hoseok’s glassy expression, Taehyung had to withhold a shiver.

Hoseok took a long moment to respond. He stared at his assistant, wondering if he, too, yearned for such a dream, or if perhaps he had even already found his match made in hell. The assistant’s nose twitched like a rabbit.

“Thank you, Jungkook. You may go,” Hoseok said apathetically. He robotically spun on his heels and exited Hoseok’s office with heavy footsteps. Hoseok stretched in his chair, debating if he should charm the assistant’s feet to grow dead and swollen and moldy to teach him not to walk so damn loud all the time.

The shih tzu yapped happily around Hoseok’s feet as he slowly rose from his desk to stare out the window to his left, which displayed miles and miles of lush greenery and delicate flowers of all colors. He conjured the garden around when his sister passed on. She, too, had an infatuation for infatuation and longed for a faraway place to water a romance. Once, they peeked into their father’s seeing portal as children and stumbled upon two lovers in a field of flowers.

(Hoseok did not possess his own soul, but if he did, it would be prickly and tar-like and scary. He was on the cusp of royalty in the underworld. He was evil.)

Still, Hoseok clutched the memory of those lovers in the flowers with tight fists. How magnificent it was to just be in the shadows of lovers. Oh, how the feeling crawled over him like a crowd of tarantulas. He was evil, and was sure he would never experience such a joy. At least he had his garden.

Hoseok felt your presence before his foot even touched the grass that day. He froze in the doorway for a moment, closing his eyes to sense where the intruder was. Within seconds, he discovered your exact location within the field that went on forever. He let out a breath as his feet hit the ground, now teleported a thousand miles from his home. He opened his eyes and choked for a second. His senses were going haywire - the grass was a million shades greener and the flowers seemed to bloom bigger before him. It was beautiful.

As soon as you became completely engulfed in the sickly red hot aura, you went ramrod straight and dropped the bundle of flowers in your hands. It filled every one of your pores and poured down your intestines like lava. You did not even get the chance to gasp - after the instant it came, it burned too much to inhale or exhale. You stared forward straight into the field, wondering how this spirit did not wilt all of the garden. You didn’t dare look in the direction it was coming from.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok spoke finally after a long moment of thick silence. The typical malice in his tone had completely vanished. He was sure now - he loved you. “Angel...are you lost?” He thought about kneeling to get on your level, but hesitated, awkward in his actions. What was he supposed to do with his hands?

Slowly, you trailed your eyes over to where those awful vibrations were originating from. Your stomach twisted when you saw him simply standing five meters away. You became filled with an indescribable dread. A demon, horns and all, staring at you and speaking with tenderness. You began to blubber immediately.

“I’m so, so sorry, I-I was just looking for a f-f-flower I heard you had, oh, dear God, I’m so sorry!” You were inconsolable, dropping your head towards your knees in surrender. Just feeling him that great distance away put you in shambles. You were young and naïve, but you knew what happened to Heaven’s Souls that were caught sneaking in the Circles. Your cries only worsened when his aura became stronger and more painful with every footstep. You suddenly felt an overwhelming warmth on your back and your cries immediately halted like magic.

“Don’t cry anymore.” His voice seemed to boom even when he was trying his hardest to keep it soft. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Speak freely...tell me how you arrived here.” His hand trailed up your back to rest on your neck. He wanted nothing more than for you to relax against him.

“I-I was...searching for a flower. I had heard about a secret garden in the Fraudulent Circle...one with every flower to have existed. I-I’m so sorry. Please, have mercy!” You began sobbing again into your hands, holding them close to your face when you felt his gentle touch around your wrists. “I only died just last year…I don’t want to vanish, please!”

Your wails struck a tune in Hoseok’s ribcage like a kalimba. He grabbed your fearful face in his hands and wiped your tears with his thumb. You held your breath in shock at how gentle he was.

“Not a single soul has trespassed my garden and escaped vanishing.” Your bottom lip wobbled at that, and he ran a thumb along it to still it. “But you...sweet angel...I couldn’t dare do that to you.”

Your mind raced, knowing how clever demons could be and especially such a powerful one like him. He was devastatingly handsome - if you were still on Earth, you would have melted right into his hands.

His smile is twisted. “Lover...do you know who I am?” He stared down at you in admiration, rising a bit on his knees to hover over your face.

Slowly and fearfully, you shook your head. He pressed a ghost of a kiss on your lips as he turned to your ear and whispered softly, “Ho-seok.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood straighter and your whole body erupted with goosebumps. You stared at him with wide eyes.

Hoseok. A name you knew of well, even when you were human. Hearing him whisper that name into your ear like that made your knees shake a second more rapidly. It felt as though the blue skies above had darkened into a hellish black hole. He chuckled at your terrified expression, smoothing your hair back with a burly hand.

“Are you scared?” He couldn’t help himself from asking. Your glassy eyes made him both sad and also weak-kneed. He decided in that moment that he especially loved to tease you.

You nodded again and Hoseok cooed, playfully squishing your cheeks a bit.

“You’re such a young one, aren’t you? Just a baby,” he mumbled, running his hands along your cheekbones, through your hair, across your forehead. Chills continuously crawled up your spine as he fawned over you like some sort of doll. You understood where you were going before you began your trip, but you truly felt it now - this was Hell.

“There is no reason to fear me. I couldn’t hold any malice toward a soul so beautiful...even better that you are an angel. I can easily arrange a place for you in my fortress if you so please.” Something in his tone warned you that it didn’t matter what you pleased. You gave a small nod, letting him take your hand in his. He held it to his face, inhaling deeply and pressing wet kisses along your forearm. “Really? You don’t mind sharing a space with a big, bad demon like me?” He chuckled darkly against your palm and you bit your lip nervously.

“No,” you murmured quietly. He was tricking you. You could feel it in your bones.

He smiled widely, also seeing completely through you. He knew then that he would need to put in some work to turn you over. He placed a hand on your back once more and leaned to bring his forehead to yours, and in less than a second, you had found yourself teleported to a cozy study with velvet carpets. Your stomach turned with anxiety at the thought of your friends and family not knowing where you had disappeared off to - you weren’t even sure if you were still in a Circle of Hell or some other evil place. Hoseok stood up slowly and brought you by the hand to behind his desk, perching you on his lap. 

“Tell me, angel, where are you from?” He conjured a brush out of thin air and ran it through your hair like he would a doll. You clenched your fists in an attempt to get your voice under control.

“I was told that I was the last of my family to die. They’re all up in Heaven, waiting for me.” Hoseok began to brush your hair slower. “B-But, it’s...fine, I guess,” you added quickly. The last thing you wanted was for Hoseok to grow suspicious of you. “I just...wanted to find a type of camellia. I love flowers,” you whispered. The feeling of his breath on your neck made you embarrassed. He laughed.

“Camellia? You should have just said so,” he beamed. Suddenly, his arm wrapped around your front to reveal the red blossom you had pain-stakingly sifted through the fields for. A soft gasp escaped you as Hoseok placed the flower in your hands, then wrapping his hands around your wrists. He seemed to like having that hold on you.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! It’s just how I pictured it,” you whispered in awe. You turned in his lap to face him, doing your best to ham up the performance to give yourself the best chance of survival. “Thank you, Hoseok.” You hoped that his doe-eyed expression so close to your face would not make your own expression drain of color.

“You’re welcome, darling...I can call you that, can’t I?” He leaned in closer to your face and you squeezed the stem in your hand to force yourself not to move back.

“O-oh...I suppose so, sure…” you said coyly. Hoseok’s smile grew wider and he slowly leaned in more, further and further, until his lips were pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your hope for escaping was decreasing exponentially as he continued to fawn over you and kiss your face. 

“Darling, tell me more,” he mumbled against you. “Talk to me about this afterlife in Heaven of yours. I want to know everything.”

You were sure that he was able to find out anything he wanted with just a lick of his magic, but you indulged him anyway. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s heaven, isn’t it? It’s...wonderful, actually. I missed my family for so long on Earth that it’s an indescribable feeling of being reunited once again.”

You did not lie - Hoseok would likely pick up on that before you could even pull the words from your throat, so you did your best to make your reality sound like something you held onto dearly. In truth, it was Heaven - nothing more, nothing less. Your entire family, along with every Godly person you had ever known was there to keep you company as you filled your days with...whatever it was you wanted to do. Heaven held your wildest dreams. 

Going spelunking to the Eighth Circle of Hell was the most interesting thing you had done since you died, but you knew that staying was out of the question, right? 

The needle of your moral compass twitched slightly.

“I...I miss them,” you mumbled sadly, playing with your fingers like a child. Hoseok remained silent and your heart picked up a beat as you couldn’t yet tell if he was seeing through you. He turned his head away from you, biting his lip.

“I see, angel...you would like to go home, wouldn’t you?” He looked to you again, reaching to cradle your face. You felt a profound force pulling you to lean in closer. Something about him felt right, and you were beginning to feel disgusted with yourself for it. His thumbs stroked underneath your eyes as he looked at you sadly. Your heart stirred unwillingly.

“I suppose I should...shouldn’t I?” You had to refrain from smacking yourself as the words tumbled out of your mouth like an avalanche. Ever since you were a young human girl, you had been warned of a demon named Hoseok and his tricks. You slept with a night-light for several years from the gruesome stories of him that lingered around your shoulders for long nights. You feared him, but a prickling feeling in your sternum somehow drew you closer. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Sweet angels like you belong in Heaven. You have your afterlife and I have mine,” he sighed wistfully. You leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. 

There was no explanation for this unsolicited adoration blossoming in your chest. You were never one to fall in love easily, but it felt like the walls were going to close in on you if you didn’t give in. Yes, you were fully suspicious now that Hoseok had done something to your mind to make it melt in such a way, but it felt so good that you didn’t attempt to fight it. Hoseok grinned widely, itching to use his magic but ultimately restraining himself.

You were correct from that first moment he appeared behind you - you were completely and utterly hopeless.

“Besides, who would want to stay with such an ugly, evil demon like Hoseok?” He scoffed, looking away from you pitifully. You gasped and dropped the flower so you could tenderly hold his face in your hands.

“Don’t say that!” He grinned sheepishly under your gaze. “I just...I was just saying...um,” you stumbled over your words, trying to remember why exactly you had to leave him here. Your family was waiting for you in Heaven, but they suddenly seemed so miniscule compared to Hoseok. You were torn between completely rejecting him and his demonic nature, and attempting to understand that nature and understand the soul he is. His aura had changed totally since you first felt it - you now could only feel the love he had for you. It was absurd.

“You don’t remember, baby?” Hoseok laughs and your blush deepens. “I thought you were so eager to get back home...can’t you make up your mind?” Hoseok continued to tease you, which made you feel as if you were up in flames. Your mind raced, unsure of what was happening. Hoseok was now kissing the pads of your fingers. He moved so slowly, but you felt as if time was advancing more quickly by the minute.

“My head is...foggy. I don’t know what I want,” you mumbled, grabbing his hand to place on the back of your neck. He smiles widely.

“I think you know exactly what you want.” Hoseok took one of your hands to place on his chest. You immediately started rubbing it, up and down in slow strokes. “Such a good little angel...you always have been, haven’t you? Married a good man, lived honestly as a florist...you’ve been so good…” Hoseok held your face by your chin and slipped a thumb into your mouth to run along your lower set of teeth. “Why don’t you let yourself run free for a night? Be a little bad?”

He slipped his thumb further into your mouth and you leaned forward so it would reach toward the back of your throat. Hoseok moaned at the feeling, smirking evilly. “Darling...don’t you want this?”

You closed your eyes and hollowed your cheeks, letting the pad of your tongue be pet by his thumb. He released it from your mouth with a wet pop.

The burning in your sternum spread like wildfire through you, and you knew then that you had to let yourself smolder. You had already thrown caution to the wind when you decided going to a flower field in Hell was more fun than being around the people you had already spent a mortal eternity with. Something about his aura had your head reeling and your core dripping.

Fuck it. You were already caught in Hell.

“Yes, Hoseok. I want this.”

Hoseok leaned in to place a tender kiss under your jawline and when you opened your eyes, you found yourself teleported into a King-sized bed with a thick red velvet comforter. Hoseok hovered over you, still suckling on your neck. Like a virgin, you fiddled with your hands for a moment before hesitantly placing them on his shoulders.

Hoseok chuckled lowly, pulling away to look at you and push your hair behind your ears. “You’re nervous. Don’t worry,” he murmured. He placed a kiss below your right ear and sent a quaking shiver through your spine. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Hoseok grabbed both of your hands by the wrist and held them slightly above your head against the fluffed pillows. Whatever sex dungeon he had teleported you to was perfect - the cool feeling of the velvet against your skin and the aroma of Hoseok’s devilish aura made your knees shake. Hoseok noticed this and ran his hands up and down your thighs slowly, lovingly. “You’re shivering,” he laughed. You turned your flushed face away from him. He continued to laugh at you softly before turning your face back towards him with his pointer finger. “I already told you once. If you wish to leave after this, I’ll send you back to your place in Heaven without hesitation...there’s no reason to be scared because I will do anything you ask.” He kisses you deeply on the lips. “That is how I feel for you, just after this short time together.”

His attention on you felt thick like molasses. He made you feel as though you were the center of the universe. This was wrong, and you felt it deep within you. Knowing this, you reached up to capture his lips once again and palm his cock through the dark silk of his pants.

Hoseok moaned happily and continued to kiss you again and again for what felt like forever. His tongue lapped over every crevice of your mouth at a painful pace before finally moving his hand to slowly thumb your clit. His movements were agonizingly slow - you assumed he wanted to preserve this moment before he sent you on your way home.

You let out a deep sigh into his mouth as he slowly, but harshly, stroked your clit and fingered the opening of your pussy and just a touch from your ass. He smiled over you as he watched and took in every facial expression and inhaled each breath of yours.

“Does it feel good? Please, please, tell me,” he moaned. You stared up at him in disbelief - he seemed on the edge of orgasming just from seeing you in pleasure. You had barely done anything but stroke his cock through his pants. “I need to hear you tell me it’s good.”

You smiled smally, reaching up to grab at his chin. “Yes, yes. You’re doing so good, Hoseok.” You fought back a giggle as he practically rolled his eyes back into his head at your minimal praise.

“Angel...please, let me eat you out...I promise I’ll do good, please just give me the chance…” He began rutting his hips against one of your thighs and you laughed out loud. At the sound of your laughter, he whined pitifully. 

“Are you sure you’re from Hell?” You laughed as he buried his face into your stomach, embarrassed. “Just get started so you can fuck me already.”

Things quickly took a turn for the stranger as Hoseok buried his face into your pussy and made completely lewd sounds of pleasure from this. He seemed to be enjoying this more than you and it made you feel both embarrassed and hot. The feeling of control made your lips tilt up in a sick smile as his grip on your thighs tightened with each moment.

“Y-You’re doing so well,” you mumbled after several minutes of Hoseok eating you out while trying not to cum in his pants. “S-so, fuck, good.” It was an odd game that Hoseok was playing, but you followed along gleefully. At your praise, he moaned loudly into your pussy and sent a shiver of pleasure up your spine. “C-come here,” you instructed, reaching to pull his head up towards yours. He let out a pant as he dragged himself up towards you, knuckles holding himself on the bed shakily. “Will you fuck me?”

Hoseok bowed his head to place a kiss on your sternum. “Anything for you,” he whispered, almost hissing like a snake. He guided your hand to stroke his cock for a bit, all while he loudly expressed and moaned for you. Heat continued to rise in your cheeks - Hoseok was scandalous.

“S-sweetheart, fuck, we have to start before I come all over your thighs.” You both laughed and he gripped your neck possessively, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

The pressure of just the first stroke had you rolling your head against the satin pillows. Hoseok seemed to be handling it in a worse way, as it looked as though he could already be finished in just a quick moment. You gripped his neck and pulled him closer before whispering to him, “How do I make you feel?”

Hoseok growled for a moment, before whimpering and burying his face into your neck. “Y-you’re a princess...fuck, fuck, I fucking can’t...a queen,” he moaned.

You threw your head back again as he picked up the speed of a jackhammer. He dove into you so deeply with such vigor and passion that you had no doubts he wasn’t mortal. Nobody but him could drill into you like this.

Hoseok reached down to get a grip on one of your thighs to perch on his shoulder. You moaned unashamedly and it made his pace jolt for a moment.

He continued fucking you relentlessly, occassionally turning his head to nip at your thigh. You turned your head to bring your gaze to the mirror in the corner of the room, proudly displaying Hoseok’s muscled back and his cock slipping in and out of you. You let out a breathy laugh and Hoseok began fucking you with everything in him.

“You like seeing yourself getting fucked? You look radiant,” he growled, pounding into you so hard you were bumped by the headboard. At a loss for words, you nodded, once again reaching up to hold his neck tenderly. He smirked down at you. “Ready?”

You let out another laugh, nodding eagerly. He smiled softly, too softly for a demon, and placed on hand on your pussy and one on your breast, all while keeping his inhuman pace fucking you. Just the touch of his hand on your clit had you in tears, but his skill in rubbing it tenderly had you screaming out. At the first sight of your tears, Hoseok came inside you almost immediately. The sounds filling the room were lewd, and the feeling of his cum filling your pussy and getting all over your thighs and ass held the same sentiment. Ever so slowly, he stopped pumping and delicately brought your leg to rest on the stained velvet. He kissed your lips slowly and lovingly for several minutes before wrapping you in his arms and just holding you close.

“You are perfect,” he spoke softly after the long silence. You drowsily looked up at him for a second before looking away shyly. “Tell me what makes you happy, and I will give it to you.” Another slow kiss to your lips. “Anything you’d like.”

You kissed back with hesitance, now eager to make your way back home after being held and kissed by him for nearly an hour of cuddling.

“I’m happy with the camellia.” You smiled and pressed a kiss to his jawline before rising slowly, looking around the room for a door.

Hoseok chuckled darkly, rising as well and holding your waist to bring you onto his lap. You protested, flushing deeply when he still planted your bare pussy onto his legs and let his remaining cum from inside you flow out back onto him.

“That’s not what I meant, darling.” He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear and admired you closely. You looked away, twiddling your thumbs. “What is it that you would like in our living quarters? Would you like the flower shop from your mortal life, or perhaps the home you raised your children in? I could conjure another garden at the drop of a hat, sweetheart...anything you would like.”

His stare on you intensified as he spoke. Your heart rate picked up once he said “living quarters,” and you begged it to slow so he wouldn’t notice.

“O-oh,” you stuttered after a long moment. He kept running his fingers through your hair and it sent chills down your naked spine. “I’ve got everything I need at home...don’t you think it’s time I get going?”

You looked at him coyly, hoping he would keep his promise of sending you home afterwards. He laughed breathily and kept a large hand cradling the back of your head.

“You didn’t think I would actually let you go, baby?” Hoseok laughed out loud, throwing his head back. He pressed an urgent kiss to your lips. You did not return it. “You’re mine, even if you didn’t have my cum dripping down your legs. You were mine the second you set foot in my garden.”

You looked to him carefully and let out a nervous chuckle. The temperature in the room began to rise, though you stayed still on his lap. Hoseok’s smile deepened.

“I have to go home,” you whispered after another long silence. At this point, you were dripping sweat while Hoseok remained unbothered. “You said you would take me home.”

Somewhere inside of you had clearly known all along that making a deal with Hoseok had no way of ending well. You knew he would torture you and eat your heart for breakfast because Hoseok was a demon and that’s what demons did, and especially ones of his calibre - yet, you stayed. You knew he would end you, and you stayed.

“Darling...you’re so sweet.” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, “and stupid.”

In the blink of an eye, Hoseok had transported you to the desk chair in his office. He had dressed himself in a fine suit and yourself in a ruffled dress so white it hurt your eyes. You noticed now that his office was also decorated in that heavy red velvet. It made your stomach churn.

“If you really would like to go home, the door to my garden is here. I told you already.” He rested his hand on the doorknob and looked to you with heavy eyes. “I love you.”

You held back a scoff, knowing that he wasn’t asking, but demanding you to go past the door. For some reason, his last confession of love was more bone-chilling than the others. He opened the door for you and towered over you as you cautiously took the first step onto the soft bed of grass below.

A feeling not unlike what you felt when you first encountered Hoseok’s aura ran up your leg and struck your entire body. Immediately, you rebounded back into Hoseok’s office and dropped to your knees as the burning made you feel as though your flesh was dripping off the bone. You cried out as you repeatedly ran your hands up and down your arms and legs, reassuring yourself that they were still there. Hoseok let out a booming laugh.

He bent to sit cross-legged on the floor with you.

“It’s not real, baby. You’re just imagining it. See?” Hoseok grabbed your wrists gently and placed your hands on his face. “Look at me. You’re safe,” he chuckled. You still had to take a moment to catch your breath.

“I have to go home,” you sighed, exasperated. Hoseok smiled again, grabbing hold of your wrist again to caress it tenderly.

“Listen carefully, darling.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forearm. “I don’t want to have to say this again. You’re mine. I own you.” He intertwined your fingers. “I could rip your heart out in a second. I could feed you to my dog. Feed you to the assistant.” He ran a hand through your hair and lovingly held your trembling chin. 

“I could make you vanish with the snap of my fingers...now, or later if you want to act up.” You looked down in shame and he immediately grabbed your face again to bring it to his. “Take one step outside that door and I’ll have you up in flames. I could have your head on a fucking stick, baby.” Suddenly, he cooed, wiping a tear from your eye. “You are home. You were meant to get caught in my field. I was meant to meet you, and love you. I love you. Sweetheart?”

His hand that was holding yours suddenly contracted, squeezing your bones with a sick snap and pop. Through your cries, you sobbed out, “I love you too.”

He smiled sickeningly, planting another kiss on your forehead. “Remind me your favorite flowers. We can keep them in the bedroom.”

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

You matter to me (Empress!Rey x Reader)

Request: Can you do a Empress!Rey x reader? It starts off as the reader being Rey’s prisoner and later on, Rey starts having feelings towards her and later on, grants the reader a small amount of freedom. She begins falling for Rey, too. Neither of them share their feelings until one day, something happened that put her in a bad mood and she lashes out at the reader when she was trying to ask her what happened, wanting to help her feel better. After lashing out, it brought back the reader’s fear of her and she started to keep her distance from Rey. Rey doesn’t take notice of this at first until when she needed something from the reader a couple days later. She had her back towards Rey and flinched when Rey put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. When she took a step back from Rey in fear, it made her feel bad and she apologizes for it and in the end, she felt she needed to be more protective of the reader. By anon

Words: 2,315

A/N: ngl this took me forever, I literally wrote like five different drafts for this, bc the request was awesome and I just couldn't find a way to make it justice. So here it is.

They had captured you.

This was bad, very bad. Even worse than the wounds in your body but they didn’t matter, dead would be better than being held in this immense dark palace. You had heard what she did to the rebels she captured and it was worse than dead.

The stormtroopers dragged you to her place, but didn’t feel the real terror until you saw her sitting impsing in her throne, the Empress herself a few feets away from you. Her bare presence made you shivered as an urged to scream built in the back of your throat. She seemed so dangerous.

And when she spoke damn, you were terrified.

“I’m keeping this one” she said “take her to the infirmary and then bring her to a cell.” she order to the troopers who followed as soon as she went silent.

You passed a time in a very small cell with nothing except a small and hard bed, looking at the four walls until she visited you. The first time you were beyond afraid unsure of her intentions, but she spoke in a surprisingly calm and kind way.

“How’s the wound?” she asked looking at your bandaged leg.

“B-better?” you mumbled nervous. A reassuring smile formed in her lips as rose her voice again.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you.” she said “I need your help. You have a name?"

"Y/N" you told her.

"Well, Y/N, I need you to tell me everything you know about the the Resistance, can you do that?" Gulping hard you thought for a moment, you weren't going to betray your friends, not put them in danger. But there was no much useful information so you slowly nodded.

"Excellent" she said smiling.

She kept coming every day, ask you the same questions about where was the Resistance, how many were there and how to defeat them. And you kept your word, you told her everything you knew and it was not a lie when you told her you had absolutely no idea where they were.

But that didn't stop her from visiting you every day making sure your leg was fine. The questions became deeper, she started to ask more about you than about the Resistance and allowed you to ask her things.

Rey, her name was Rey. You found out one day and immediately like it, it was a soft name, a gentle and sweet one that matched her features, so you started to call her that, not Empress anymore.

With the time she moved you from the cell to your own personal room, she said it was a reward for your cooperation though the way she looked at you made you think it was because she was falling for you and the idea curved your lips into a bright smile.

You started falling for her too, for the way she sat imposing on her throne, for the confident way she talked, for the smile she gave you every time her gaze crossed yours. You started to get closer, more than you probably should considering she was the enemy. Wherever she went you followed, at first as a command but you enjoyed being with her.

And then one day she opened up with you sitting in a balcony looking at the way the stars painted the night sky. She told you about her past, her life in the desert planet. A single tear rolled down her cheek with the memories.

You looked at her long and detailed, but all you saw was a girl broken by years of tragedy and pain. By seas of tears, false hopes and broken promises, forced to do terrible things to find peace only finding more pain and a void inside her. Not the monster everyone said she was.

Maybe that was the moment you truly fell for her, seeing her so vulnerable, so afraid. You wanted to comfort her, hold her in your arms and assure her she was more than that, to find a way to bring back that confident smile to her lips you loved. You carefully took her hand in yours, a simple yet very intimate gesture that made her smile just enough to melt your heart once again.

****

Loud screams rumbled down the hall as you walked closer to the room they came from, the voice made stronger with every new step you took. Rey’s angry voice traveled to your ears and made a shiver run down your spine and almost freeze as you finally stood in the doorframe.

There she was standing next to the holographic table that displayed a blue recording of a battlefield, she looked so upset murmuring things nonstop as she walked from side to side in the small room, her voice cracking let you know she would break down in the matter of a second so you got closer to her talking softly.

“Hey, you okay?” you said and she looked at you.

“Rebels again” she told you “They keep getting in my way and then disappearing again.” you nodded and she turned her back to you, she knew how much you worried for your friends in the Resistance. “No matter how hard I try to find them they just keep moving, and some planets are starting to stand against me, they don’t respect me. I am the Empress, they should fear even think about doing something like that without consequences..”

“It’s going to be fine” you told her placing your hand on her shoulders trying your best to comfort her.

“No it’s not, Y/N!” she yelled before she abruptly turned around making you flinch a bit apart as she continued, you looked now right into her eyes filled with all kind of negative emotions “Nothing is fine, nothing is great and surely nothing is gonna get better!”

“You can make this better, just calm down, please.” you begged her “We can solve this, it’s gonna be fine, I’ve seen you do it before. I know you will find a solution” you told her hoping to cheer her up a bit.

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N!” she exploded in anger “Nothing is gonna be fine until I destroy the Resistance! Not until I make sure every single one of them is gone!”

“Rey…” you murmured.

“Save it, Y/N. You there’s nothing you can do for me, I don’t even know why do I keep you around when you’re one of them! After all this time, all the things I’ve done for you, you still hoping they will win someday ” she hissed leaning closer to your face, the words leaving her mouth in a rush, desperate to be heard.

Rey stared at you furiously and you felt your heart racing as fast as a ship flying through lightspeed, beating fastly against your chest, with every new word a intense pain grew in your heart.

“I saved you, I healed you when you were left behind to die! They abandoned you, Y/N! They didn’t even looked back, your precious Resistance let you hurt in the ground like garbage so they could escape!” she stormed and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“I was willing to die for them.” you murmured.

“See? You keep defending them. Tell me what have they done for you?” she stay silenced for a moment waiting for your answer “Tell me!!” she screamed sending a shiver down your spine as you closed your eyes in terror.

“What? Are you going to cry now?” she asked serious and you did your best to contain the tears pooling in your eyes. “I should have kill you when I found out you were useless, you have no information for me, I have a whole lot of engineers who could do your work with ease, you have no purpose here.” she added placing on of her hands around your neck digging her black nails in the side of it. A rush of panic invaded your body bringing back memories from the day you met this woman and thought that was the last day of your life. You gulped thickly before you rose your voice.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” you said as firm as your weak voice allowed you. The Empress just glanced at you for a few seconds that felt like an eternity for you. Then she slowly let go of your neck.

“Get out of my sight.” she whispered in a dangerous and threaten tone that you obeyed immediately.

Once you were in the hall you allowed the tears to fall down your face as your heart ached, after all this time you forgot how dangerous the Empress was, how imposing and deadly she really was, maybe she was a bit different in the inside, she was soft and you had witnessed she had a good heart, but at the same time she would always be the evil ruler that sat imposing in her throne with a burning desire to conquer the whole galaxy. She could kill you if she wanted to, she would do it without blinking and you knew it. The thought invaded your head as you kept walking, filling your body with terror.

As the days went by you tried to keep your distance from the woman in dark long dress that ruled over the palace, it was a survival instinct maybe, to hide from that we know can kill us, from what we fear and you were once again terribly afraid of what she could do to you.

Staying as much time as you could in the room she had gave you, wasting your time in insignificant motor designs, fixing broken things, anything you could to be far from her. But there were times you were obligated to be around her, in meetings to discuss improvements in ships, weapons, whatever. She was there, you kept your eyes away from her, answer her questions as fast as you could but not in a warm way as before. Rey didn’t seem to notice your cold words nor the distance you built between you, she was too busy destroying cities and searching for the Resistance and it relieved you a bit but also hurt you knowing she didn’t care about you.

“Y/N?” you hear her voice as she stepped into your room, you thanked you had your back turned to the door otherwise she would had seen your face tensing as the fear slowly spread through your body. “There you are” you heard her said in a calm way, even a bit of happiness lying in her voice. “I’ve been searching for you, I thought you were somewhere else. I need your help, I don’t know this system and I don’t trust those commanders. I need to find a new base, maybe a prettier one and well, you know every planet so I want you to tell me which one’s better” she said. You kept your glance in the tiny metal item on your desk.

“Are you even listening me?” she said a bit less enthusiastic “Y/N” she repeated as you felt her warm hand on your shoulder, feeling her touch elicited goosebumps all over your skin and by a reflex you moved away from her as you stood up from the chair you were sitting finally meeting her concerned gaze.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” she asked worried taking a step closer unconsciously you took a step back.

“Please, don’t.” you shivered as she tried to take another step towards you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she said truly concerned about the fear in your eyes. She examined your features, your tensed body the she seemed to figure out the cause of your fear, her. Her mind went back to that day she screamed at you, she regretted the way she treated you, she knew she had fucked up but didn't think how much she had until then and damn it hurted her to see you this afraid of her.

"This is for the other day, isn't it?" She sighed as her gaze went to the ground searching for a way to start. "I was in a very bad mood, things went out of my control" she explained softy and calm. "And you were only trying to cheer me up, I didn't see it. I shouldn't have say all that, l just… shouldn't. I let my anger blind me and I hurt you, Y/N, the very last person I want to get hurt." She said sincerely gazing at you in her last words. You wanted to trust her again but her words kept echoing in the back of your head. You felt the need to get the feelings stuck in your chest out of you.

"You threatened to kill me" you protested remembering her nails digging in your skin.

"We both know I wouldn't" she said "I can't and I regret that day, all I said and did, I didn't mean it… I'm sorry" she stopped for a moment and took a new insecure step towards you that you didn't stop. She glimpsed at you. "You matter to me, Y/N"

You glanced at her as your heart raced softly with her words.

"You matter to me a whole lot. I'm sorry I was such an idiot back there. Please, Y/N, forgive me." she said and went quiet waiting for an answer.

Doubting for a second you stepped closer to her and placed her arms around her bringing her into a warm hug. A forgiveness hug.

"I'm sorry." She repeated as her voice cracked a little.

"We're going to be fine, Rey." you murmured caressing her back. "Just please don't try to kill me again" you chuckled trying to erase the tension in the room. And it actually worked as you heard Rey's soft giggles.

"Won't happen again, promise."

[peachyteabuck]

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

[saint-patrice]

“Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD” 

here are some more of my favourite marchy pics, complete with my bizarre personal commentary, for anon! the 34 bergy pics can be found here also!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m up for taking people’s requests if there’s a particular player they’d like to see! inbox is always open (and anon is on) so just drop me your request and i’ll get working on it :)

okay so this is some absolutely premium cute marchy!! the smile that manages to be completely self-confident yet in no way cocky? the polite little wave as he surveys his audience who, if i recall correctly, were booing him heavily?? oh i do love you mr rat. marchy is fantastic and i have so much respect for the way he deals with his reputation across the league and the excessive amount of shit he gets.he knows what people think of him yet doesn’t seem to let it get to him. i have so much love for him.

KATRINA IS LEGENDARY. before moving on to the part of the image that gave me whiplash when i first saw it, we’re back to talking about brad’s smile. i think i said it in my last post but he really is one of those people who smiles with their whole face - even if you just saw his eyes in this photo you can immediately tell that he’s got that little grin on his face and that’s adorable tbh. now onto the d*lf mug (censored bc i fear the dodgy underground porn blogs these days)… i don’t even know where to start. i feel like he very proudly bought it for himself. and it’s like the only mug he ever wants to drink out of. just my take. i also think the longer hair really suits marchy ngl

ahhh the boys and their dirtbag christmas suits 💛 highlights of this image are the suit jacket that is definitely just one size too small for this absolute man rocket, and the pants with “FRAGILE” plastered all over them - very relatable if not at all festive.

gay rights are stored in the rat!!! i’m glad marchy has been pretty open about his support of LGBT stuff, particularly within hockey. also i feel like some of the stuff he’s said in interviews or social media (esp re: lickgate) manages, even if not intentionally, to be quite diminutive towards implicit homophobia or ‘toxic masculinity’ within hockey. okay maybe that that was poorly expressed but basically he just doesn’t give a shit and appears very open and accepting and i think that’s super nice. this picture also makes for a good reaction image when someone says something dumb

short kings love.jpeg !! a wonderful example of the love that brad shows his teammates on a regular basis, despite his constant chirping. i have no real opinions on torey krug (no h8, i just don’t think i’ve seen that much of him off ice so idk) but him and marchy are quite the duo tbh, i live for their back and forths on twitter - more on that later - and they seem to love each other an awful lot, it’s v cute :^)

that’s my pest™. honestly i think lickgate is one of the best scandals in recent hockey history. when looking for a good image of this is saw an article where some dipshit reporter was outraged about it and was like “how would you feel if someone just came up and liked you?” i mean what if someone just came up and started punching you or hip-checked you into the wall????? hockey is a nasty game a lot of the time, and instead of giving people concussions or broken bones (not that he hasn’t in the past ik…) marchy managed to make opposing teams just as angry, if not moreso, just by licking players. i think it’s fucking hilarious. and most of them took it well in hindsight anyway - i think it was komarov who said he kinda liked it lmaoooooo. peak bradley kevin antics if you  ask me

every pic from the china trip has such a special place in my heart. this is just an all-round adorable photo and brad is looking gorgeous in the sunlight and his backwards cap

brad waving the towel in surrender is just about the funniest thing i’ve ever seen someone do in the penalty box… i can’t believe they gave him a 10 minute misconduct for it, something i think they’d wouldn’t have done if it had have been someone else. at least someone in this league has a goddamn sense of humour. the penalty minutes stat in the corner just makes this even better

brad, once again, showing us how we should deal with people talking shit about us - just get on board with it. i love how much he’s just embraced his massive nose and his height and his general reputation. idk if it’s really deliberate but i think it’s such a good message to send, and it makes for some pretty funny stuff too.

brad single-handedly keeps nhl refs in a job. in my bruins drinking game™ you have to take a shot every time the ref has to physically restrain marchy (2 if it’s because he was going to get revenge or fend for bergy) and you could get fucked off that alone during some games. it was nice to see him not actually get suspended this year, but i will always love that he’s such a physical player and quite the pest on the ice :))

me: *slaps helmet of brad marchand* this bad boy can fit so much personality.

really though, can you believe he’s managed to squeeze more charisma into only 5 feet and 9 inches than 85% of the league combined… very cute picture, and always lovely to see him by bergy’s side on the ice where he belongs

oh my goddddddd how fucking cute is this though!!!! the hat! the dad energy those jeans and the boots give off!!! his face!! his little daughter!!!!! i can’t take it, my heart is going to burst.

(gif via @kureally) this is also just so cute, i need a minute. brad has some very powerful eyebrows and this gif displays them wonderfully. this section of behind the b was also pretty sweet all round, and i agree with pasta that the hair is looking pretty first class

(gif via @murlin09) i am not like into marchy (no tea no shade if u are though), but this gif… whew. i’ll let you come to your own conclusions on this one, gang

i was not lying when i said more on the brad-torey social media antics earlier. there are some truly iconic chirps (the zamboni one is lethal), but this self-roast just kills me every time. i never once thought i’d read a tweet from the official brad marchand twitter account that opened with “hey shorty” but here we are. “my nose wouldn’t fit” i astral projected the first time i read that. and if you’re wondering what torey said to prompt this, it was simply “hey marchy”. it doesn’t take much for brad to light on you, huh? we better watch our backs

definitely a favourite marcheron pic right here - the pucks and paddles (i still think that’s a questionable name but maybe that’s a me issue) content is always top notch. if you can find the video, it’s even better, but this picture captures the general energy of the video perfectly. the only thing missing is that brad’s feet aren’t actually on the floor because the height difference is so pronounced that bergy has to lift him. beautiful

return of the cute brad smile!! a cute yet mischievous little grin, i can only assume he’s restraining himself from laughing at m*tthews fivehead (although who is he to talk with that schnozz. at least he rocks it tbf 👃🏻). not sure blue is really his colour but he’s going for it anyway. that’s my all star!

it’s been days since this photo first surfaced and i haven’t stopped palpitating. the cutest photo ever, they all look so happy and i love that!!! also how are their wives so beautiful….!? oh my every pixel of this image is just stunning

i know i included this in my last bergy list but if they can name new york twice i think i can put this on 2 lists, because lord knows it’s even more iconic. i feel like this is a good metaphor for brad marchand: getting up to no good, although still relatively harmless, all the while supported by the considerably more sensible, yet still entertaining, patrice bergeron. additionally, another excellent display of the oft-overlooked fact that this man is built like a motherfucking tank. holy shit

i wish i could see these boys in suits without my brain immediately trying to think of some sort of au. anyway, i really like this look on brad (unpopular opinion - i love his loud checkered suits as a concept but i don’t think they look good). although he has dark hair, strong eyebrows, and dark facial hai, the all black actually looks really good on him. coffee in hand really adding to the look too - well done, brad “fashionista” marchand.

ahhhhh i love nothing more than family man marchy 💛 his daughter is adorable - those tiny jerseys kill me - and i love that his son is wearing the all-star jersey omg how cute (he is definitely going to end up taller than brad lmao)

sometimes i forget that brad is short and then i see photos like this (brandon is 6′5 for reference)…amazing. i relate to the lady on the left on a spiritual level. brad’s face is a mood and a half. his feet are half a foot of the ice at least. i adore this photo.

(gif via @brandoncarlo) absolutely one of my fav things about watching bruins games is how brad and patrice will always find each other during a celly - nothing beats the 100 hug. this is also just a very satisfying skating gif that i love.

last but very very very far from least is this. there is literally no need for me to make any comment on this so i’m just going to leave it and go. bradley kevin marchand you are iconic and ily

ayyy this was super fun to do, thank you for requesting it anon, i hope you like!! again, i’m absolutely up for taking requests for more of these lists so hmu if you have ideas :) 

[thecloserkin]

book review: Mira Grant, Deadline (2011)

Genre: Sci-Fi

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: Yes

Bottom line: how is it possible that the book where one half of OTP is dead is shippier than the first one where they’re both alive

Book 2 of the Newsflash trilogy picks up with our boy Shaun, who’s turned desk jockey since he lost George, riding to the rescue of some buddies beset by a zombie swarm. Everyone makes it out alive and Shaun tries to play it like it’s no biggie but the truth is,

I’ve lost one of the integral traits of a good Irwin: I’m not having fun. When I wind up in the field, it’s a chore to be survived, not an adventure to be relished. Without that little spark of gosh-golly-wow to drive me on, I’m essentially a dead person walking … George is the one who stopped breathing, but I’m the one who gave up on living.

Without George he has nothing to live for and so he’s sensibly withdrawn from fieldwork. The one thing that keeps him going is George’s voice in his head, chiding him for (among other things) picking up a coffee instead of a can of Coke. He’s started drinking Coke to appease her. He says it himself: “I am a haunted house pretending to be a man.” As for whether she’s real or just a figment of his imagination, this is Shaun’s take:

Screw sane. I don’t want anything that makes her stop talking to me.

Buckle up for an angst rollercoaster, kids:

One apartment for me and George, who didn’t take up any physical space but was so much a part of every room that sometimes I could fool myself into thinking she had just stepped out for some fresh air.

Several people have said it doesn’t really feel like anybody lives there, and what they don’t seem to understand is I like it that way. As long as I’m not really living there, I never have to think about the fact that I’m living there alone.

Outwardly he’s functional i guess but this is not the behavior of a person who has Moved On.

Sometimes I think this series is a how-to manual for small business owners masquerading as science fiction. For Shaun and George, the work used to be everything. Now George is gone Shaun is in the unenviable position of having to make all the tough calls, and second-guessing every last one because maybe George would have done it better. Oy vey. Offhand he informs us that their parents are also suing Shaun for ownership of her intellectual property. I always knew they were vultures but seriously???

So Shaun’s raison d’être right now is to bring down the person or people who murdered George. Obviously this does not mean the ones who pulled the trigger, it means the ones who gave the order & plotted to remove her. In the process of doing this he uncovers an even bigger conspiracy—although maybe it’s merely the same conspiracy from Book 1, only expanded in scope. I’m not sure. What I’m mainly interested in is how bad absolutely clueless Shaun is at signaling or perceiving romantic interest. Like, there’s a co-worker/employee of his, and they’re thrown together rather a lot, and she’s clearly crushing on him hard only Shaun’s too dense to see it. After the whole affair ends disastrously (he sleeps with the poor girl then calls her by George’s name) he ruminates:

”Why would I know what the signs were? I never had to read them before.”

It’s obvious why Shaun, a not-unattractive grown ass man whose other social skills appear to fall well within the range of “normal,” has such atrophied skills when it comes to this one thing. He’s never had to use them. Here’s Maggie the relationship guru:

”Have you ever had a girlfriend?” “Not as such, no.” ”Have you ever been in love?” There’s never been a good answer to that question. I didn’t even try. I just shrugged.

I can’t find the tweet anymore but Seanan Maguire has confirmed that Shaun and George first got together the night after junior prom—they went with other people as a sort of experiment. (@JKRowling see, this is the sort of authorial headcanon that the fans actually clamor for.) The two of them just skipped right over the tentative fumbling awkward initial stages of dating, of getting to know each other, because they already know each other inside out. Shaun says:

Sometimes I’m even arrogant enough to think the Rising happened so we could be together.

Colloquially we use the term two people “being together” to mean they enter into an exclusive romantic relationship. But it’s intentionally ambiguous here whether he means that, or just the two of them finding each other, because what would have been the chances of their being raised together absent a global catastrophe like a zombie apocalypse. Shaun finds it impossible to separate the romantic aspect of their relationship from the familial bond, and that’s why I love incest thanks for coming to my ted talk. Oh, here’s Mahir the relationship guru:

”I mean, I didn’t know…” “What, that I loved your sister? Of course you didn’t, just like you had no idea Rebecca fancied you. You never had to go searching like the rest of us.”

Can I just say, on an unrelated note, I feel SO BAD for Mahir’s wife who’s not even a proper character? She doesn't get any screentime. But this is a small business how-to manual, remember, and the way Shaun is always ringing Mahir at 2 in the morning and Mahir feels obligated to pick up because it’s his boss? Mahir’s wife is a saint, canonize her immediately. Back to my earlier point about how Shaun has less experience with flirting/dating than your average fourteen-year-old:

This sort of thing was easier to handle when George was around. She was always the one who noticed when girls started crushing on me, and she made them go away. One way or another. I’ve never tried to deal with this sort of situation on my own before.

What’s fascinating is that it’s not just romantic entanglements that he’s at a loss to deal with:

I’d never driven any real distance with a passenger—not unless you counted George, who didn’t actually change the way the bike was balanced, or make it necessary for me to compensate for additional weight.

WHEN GEORGE RODE PILLION ON HIS MOTORCYCLE IT DIDN’T EVEN THROW OFF HIS BALANCE!!! He’s not used to having to think about compensating for a passenger’s weight bc with George everything came naturally!!! If this isn’t a metaphor for their entire relationship idk what the hell it is.

She didn’t like touching people, so I touched them for her. She didn’t like emotional displays, so I took up the slack.

She was the yin to his yang, they were a team etc etc. Here is how Shaun reacts when the book’s antagonist gives his Evil Villain Spiel:

”I never gave you much credit for brains, Shaun—that was your sister’s department, God rest her soul, and if she made any errors in judgment, it was in trusting you to watch her back—but I still thought you were smarter than this.” “You take that back,” I whispered.

Shaun couldn’t care less that this fool gives him zero credit in the brains department, but let him impugn George’s judgment even slightly and our boy is ready to throw hands. We stan.

These are my two favorite passages from the book:

George and I shared a lot of rooms exactly like this one, one of us dozing while the other kept working, the staccato click of keys providing the white noise that meant it was safe to sleep.

It’s a work partnership! It’s a sibling bond! It’s a romantic pairing! It’s us-against-the-world, it’s everything! Also this:

George and I used to have shower races. Who could get in and clean and out again in the shortest amount of time. All the guys we went to school with insisted that their girlfriends and sisters took forever in the bathroom, but George always beat me … once a month or so, she’d take over the bathroom for an afternoon to dye her hair back to its original color, which inevitably resulted in her shouting for me to come in and help her dye her roots. The sink on our old bathroom was stained a permanent brown by the time we were sixteen, and we ruined so many towels.

Lol the implied contrast between “other guys who complained about their gfs/sisters” and Shaun who’s been President of the Georgia Mason Fan Club for over two decades.

ANYWAY the twist at the end of this novel is that George is alive. She’s being held at some scary, sterile government facility, and it’s clear from a minor early plot point involving clones that this isn’t George, it’s got to be a George-clone. Because George 1.0 died in Shaun’s arms. But George 2.0 has got all George’s memories so we’re going to go ahead and treat her just like George, which sets us up nicely for alternating Shaun-and-George POVs when we return for the final installment of the “Newsflesh” trilogy.

[moeruhoshi]

Concubine Au bc I’m feelin the sauce

“Kyoka,” Natsu called for his attendant as he stretched out of bed, his last piece of entertainment left lifeless under the sheets, blood dripping from the source on her neck he had his fill from. She sauntered into othe room moments later as he relied himself for a shower, gesturing the demo ness to do away with his last toy. She smiled sickly, eager to give the parts to lady for the strange girl to do whatever she wanted with.

“Jakal and Seilah have collected some more humans for you to choose from, I’m sure you’ll find some more enjoyment, Master E.N.D.” He waved a hand as he entered his bathroom, washing himself of the thick smell, tears and fluids along with sweat mixing on his chest and thighs. Humans never did last long when he toyed with them, it was more of a mundane excuse to ignore his work rather than an enjoyable moment, though he liked to get off on their screams. Either they lived long enough to keep him satisfied for a month or two, or if they bored him he would help himself to their blood and put them to rest. Not like they had a home to go back to after Jakal took the lives he wanted for himself. And Seilah had more than enough fun turning the humans from villages they pillaged into her puppets; to service herself or quickly have them do away with one another.

King of Demons, Entherious Natsu Dragneel. He rarely did anything other than make appearances to his people, goof off with others he knew in their realm, or fed from the humans his circle of allies had collected for him. Not as though they trusted one another, the hierarchy kept demons like Tempester or Jakal from acting out of line, not in a million years could either take the king in his full form. Tried, they may have before ending up back in Lamy’s test tubes for reincarnation.

He dried himself with his flames, dressing in loose clothing that he much preffered to his royal attire. Servants bowed as he made his way down the hall, Kyoka waiting by the stairs to take him to their dungeons, women shackled to the walls and whimpering for help they knew would never come. There was a larger room at the end of the cells on display, his chair a level above the ground as he observed upon those they dragged in for him to choose from.

“Pitiful,” They all looked, tired of the constant cries and shaking puppies having been his entertainment for who knew how long. He waved them away and requested more, each line duller than the last. He rested his chin on his fist, the demons nervous as he seemed to be getting angrier, readying themselves in case their king were to blow up. “Have you no one of interest? I’m tried of you bringing women to me simply for their looks.”

“One, Master, but we didn’t think you would care so much for her attitude,” He glared at Seilah as she spoke, ushering in for her to summon whoever they were keeping hidden.

“Let me go! You’re lucky I can’t kick you, or else you’d be done for!” The girl hissed from the other side of the door, men dragging her by chains connected to shackles around her wrists and ankles. She spat at Jakal as he grabbed her by the chin, the demon grunting and tossing her to the floor below their king.

“She deserves a good beating,” His pointed ears flinched as his master snapped, halting him from attacking her with a raised fist.

“Leave me with her,” His eyes interested and focused on her glare, excited to see a girl ready to challenge such a fierce demon.

“Where did they collect you from? You don’t look like the others who have passed through here before,” He hummed, delighted as she turned her nose up at his question, refusing to answer the demon.

“I like you, you know. You’re very beautiful,” He grinned as she flushed, squirming as she tried to bring her weighted arms forward to hide herself.

“I am much more than my beauty,” She grumbled, sealing her lips again as he stood from the obsidian throne.

“Oh, you are? I’d love to know more, you look as though you’ve experienced battle before. A mage?” He hopped down to circle her, noticing the binding provided by her chains that distilled the flow of magic from escaping its core. “Your power?”

“Celestial Spirits,” She answered, eyes cast down as he held he caressed a lock of her hair, soft.

“My men must have stolen your keys,” His eyes lit up as her desperate ones met his, hand traveling against the curve of her body. She was full and thick, throat rumbling with a satisfied growl as he peered at her plentiful body, mouth watering at the idea of her wrapped around him. “I know how precious they must be, you’d like them returned to you, no? Though I’m afraid you won’t be able to summon them either way. Can’t have you escaping, now can I?”

“You’d...give them back?” He nodded at her breathless words, her mind reeling a mile a minute as she refused to meet his gaze again, flushed as his hand continued to roam over her. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” He chuckled brightly. “There isn’t one necessarily but I hope you know that you are to stay by my side from now on. You’re much more interesting than anyone I’ve had yet to meet.”

“My friends won’t stop trying to find me, I hope you know. They’ll look for me till the day they die, even if it is by your hands. They will come for me,” She grit, chest swelling with excitement, he liked a challenge.

“I look forward to our time together until that day,” With a snap of her fingers, her chains disappeared and were replaced with a thick band around her neck, the choker a more simple version keeping her from being able to use her magic. She held her arms around her chest, white dress in tatters and about to fall from her shoulders much to Natsu’s pleasure. This one... he would take time stripping back her layers to be able to fill her mind with only the thought of him. This one, he wanted to conquer. He led her out of the doors they came through, Lucy grimacing at the sight of so many chained to walls, begging for mercy, clawing for her help, her stomach turning with disgust. They were quick to leave, Natsu impressed by the agony on her face, eager to make her twist and write in a similar manner. Kyoka was waiting for him per her usual actions, eyeing Lucy as he offered her to the demoness.

“Have her cleaned and brought to my room,” He instructed, turning down the hall and away without a worry about the girl. “Return her without a scratch, and give her back her keys. I’m sure she misses them.”

Natsu grinned as he continued on to find Mard Geer, relaying the message to keep the floor containing his chambers clear for the next couple of weeks to give he and his new toy privacy as he broke her in to their new lifestyle.

He waited patiently as he heard her feet padding through the hallway an hour later, a random servant showing her the way and leading her through his bedroom door. She flinched as the doors closed behind them, her keys clenched tightly in her fist.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t have me paraded around your castle while I wear this,” She lamented, gesturing to the thin, red, babydoll nightgown Kyoka had dressed her in.

“Forgive them for their lack of prudeness. Demons aren’t that shy when it comes to skin,” He said as he stood from his armchair beside the fire, taking her hand in his and gracing it with a soft kiss. “But I was right, you are very beautiful.”

“W-What do you intend to do with me?” Her brave exterior crumbled slightly as he massaged her hips, drawing her closer into his hold as they stood in front of the closed door.

“Tonight? Nothing much, since you’re a virgin.” She blushed at his knowledge, tapping his nose to indicate the aroma she gave him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable before our first time either,”

“And you expect me to just give myself away?” He smirked at her sharp tongue, he liked how feisty she was.

“Yes, my lady. You’ll beg for me in due time,” Her blush would never get old, it was very befitting.

“Lucy, address me properly if you’re going to keep me as a pet.” She huffed, following as he led her through the curtains past the main foyer and to his bed, allowing her to sit before his standing image.

“You’re much more than a pet, Lucy.” He pouted and took a seat beside her, the blonde fidgeting as she set her keys on his side table drawer. “Don’t hesitate to act as though this is your home. My demons won’t as much as look at you if that’s what you want.”

“You’re very strange for a man only after my body,” She huffed, crossing her arms. “What kindness befitting of a princess when I am your slave.”

“You intrigue me,” He hummed honestly, twrirling a stand of hair in between his fingers, taking in the delightful aroma of her fresh scent. “Please call yourself my princess if you wish. I intend to treat you well, believe me when I say this.”

“Foolish it would be to trust a man who had you kidnapped for his own desires. I refuse to give in to your games.” Her voice quieted as he stripped of his billowy shirt, avoiding the sight of his bare chest, not as though it was her first time seeing one, but the setting was too intimate for her comfort.

“Call me Natsu.” She tightened her lips as he pulled her into his lap, tilting her chin upwards to keep eye contact. “Your moans, I’m sure, would make it sound wonderful.”

“I could kick you like this, I hope you know.” Her foot twitched in anticipation but failed to comply with her brain, her confidence dropping without the aid of her magic.

“A kiss is all I ask for, you have such adorable lips.” Her heart stuttered at his clearly dramatic words, Lucy knowing his only intention was to get her to trust him with these overly sweet sayings but she was smarter than to fall for it. Her hand balanced herself by pressing a hand to his chest, nervously pulling back as he began to chuckle.

“Touch me if you are curious, I want to do the same.” She blanched at his honesty, the demon king still waiting for her to lean in and give him what he wanted. She turned away again, refusing to let herself be had so easily, thoughts moving away from him and to her dear friends back at home, willing to stick through this torture in hopes of finding them again one day.

“I would never give in so easily,” She mumbled out, holding in a whimper as his nose pressed against the crook of her neck, Natsu delighting himself with the concentrated scent of her blood. He splayed his tongue against her skin, moaning at the sweet flavor, feeling his boner thicken, already excited to have more than he promised her. But she would take time to win over, he had every intention of keeping her alive and well until he could fit himself so perfectly into her mind that she could not live without him.

“Your body is bad at hiding how you feel,” He chuckled at her subconscious movements against him, her back arching and chest flush against his own as he continued to tease her. “A kiss and we can go to bed for the night.”

She squeaked as he flipped them over, Lucy pressed firmly against the mattress as he loomed over her.

“A kiss, princess.”

[musingmycelium]

otp theme songs

tagged by @lyrium-lovesong thank you! <3

okay, i, went overboard bc i’m baby and avoiding my homework sooo everyone’s under a cut to save space on dashes <3 and links in the place of audio since i guess that’s only a mobile thing???? 

ellanis tabris/zevran arainai - work song: hozier

Boys workin' on empty

Is that the kind'a way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

My baby never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the lowland plot I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

obviously not the whole song but.... hhhh! these are the lyrics that Really Sell this as their song. both of them, when they meet, are ‘workin’ on empty’. ellanis has been dealing with years of depression and apathy, zevran is actively suicidal, and both of them are running out of options. And neither of them are looking to fall in love. yet, they do. and it's in little things, it's in short words, it’s in sweet rememberings, it's in the tiny fractions of hearts beginning to beat in sync. by the time they realize it they’re both in too deep. and maker, the lines in the last stanza hit me so hard for their end of the blight relationship. 

they’re just. finally able to start moving on. forgiving and growing. 

noure surana/anders - i love you: woodkid

Where the light shivers offshore

Through the tides of oceans

We are shining in the rising sun

As we are floating in the blue

I am softly watching you

Oh boy your eyes betray what burns inside you

Whatever I feel for you

You only seem to care about you

Is there any chance you could see me too?

'Cause I love you

Is there anything I could do

Just to get some attention from you?

In the waves I've lost every trace of you

Where are you?

After all I drifted ashore

Through the streams of oceans

Whispers wasted in the sand

As we were dancing in the blue

I was synchronized with you

But now the sound of love is out of tune

now, to be honest, this song feels like its from anders perspective more-so than noure’s. but! it does encapsulate both of their feelings rather well, especially post-blight when they’re separated until they find each other again in kirkwall. the melancholic tone and the slight wistfulness and the deep underlying hunger speaks volumes to me for them. 

idrilla lavellan/solas - if i say: mumford and sons

I came here without a choice

I'm sorry I could never thank you

For saving me more trouble

I didn't want any trouble

If you were given one more chance

Would you bring me back to life?

Bring me back into the light

Into the light

And let it shine on, let it shine on us

And if I say I love you, well, then I love you (x2)

The innocence in your face bled out without a trace

You've won without an enemy, you're ill without a remedy

As night bleeds into night, and I know I came off better than you

It doesn't mean that I feel better (x2)

And let it shine on, let it shine on us

And if I say I love you, well, then I love you (x4)

Are they cleaner than mine?

Show me your face

Did you cross the line?

Show me your eyes

They any drier than mine?

Your soul survives

But peace, you'll never find

do i even need to explain this one kljkljlkjljlkjklj its honestly a perfect solavellan song in general tbh so this might be a tad bit of a cop out but honestly! its so good! and damn if it doesn’t encapsulate their end game relationship perfectly. idrilla is not the type to give up -not on anything and especially not on others, or herself. so her relationship with solas has disappeared to a single red thread but she’s going to follow and tug on that thread until either there isn’t anything left to chase or she finds what’s at the end. 

da’ean lavellan/dorian pavus/the iron bull - you’ve got the love: florence + the machine

Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air

I know I can count on you

Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care"

But you've got the love I need

To see me through

Sometimes it seems the going is just too rough

And things go wrong no matter what I do

Now and then it seems that life is just too much

But you've got the love I need

To see me through

When food is gone you are my daily meal, oh

When friends are gone I know my savior's love is real

Your love is real'Cause you got the love

You got the love

now these nerds, continue to kill me. out of all of my ocs da’ean is probably The Shyest [if not The he’s up in the top three for sure] and his perception of romance is heavily colored [like idrilla’s is] by his parent’s beautiful, happy, super caring relationship. but the conclave pretty drastically shook up his entire world, so meeting bull and dorian was definitely not something he expected. let alone falling in love with them. their relationship is a bit rocky at first, or well its ‘hidden’ not because da’ean is ashamed [dorian’s hangups aside -those get worked out with some long conversations and working up with small displays of public affection[ but because he’s a deeply private person. but he relies on them after awhile because they’re the ones who keep him a Person instead of herald or inquisitor.

ANYWAYS I’M FEELIN SOFT IN THIS CHILI’S TONIGHT SOOOO

i’ll tag @meribotti @fen-harel @raymurata @madamsnark @goblin-deity and @dalish-ish <3 no obligations of course! <3

[voxvulgi]

the rules: answer the questions given to you, write 11 questions of your own and tag 11 people.

under the cut for length

tagged by: @growinguphartless

1) How fast can you run a mile? I can’t :D 2) What was the last song you sang? I know I was singing something under my breath this afternoon but I don’t remember what it was. 3) Water, toothpaste, brush OR Toothpaste, water, brush? Toothpaste, water, brush. 4) Sushi? Favorite dish? Sushi is great. If you mean my favourite kind of sushi, then I have no idea. If you mean my favourite dish of all time, probably basic takeout Chinese ngl. 5) Weirdest fact? Dolphins kill babies to mate with the mother when they’re horny. (AKA dolphins are actually evil) 6) What do you know a lot about that’s a little weird? That’s the thing: I don’t know a lot about anything. Except maybe you could say I know a little more than the average person about schizophrenia thanks to Jacqueline? 7) Ever kept up with the Kardashians? No. 8) Earliest memory? I have no idea which one happened first, but one of my earliest memories is that one time we were in Egypt and my parents went into a store while I was still looking at the display outside, and some random guy comes up and says nothing to me but extends his hand. Now, my 4(?)-year-old self thought he knew I was a tourist (bc of course he’s psychic) and wanted to shake my hand. But I was too busy checking the display and decided to shake his hand when I was done. Then, my mom calls me and I go inside without doing so. And that, my dudes, is the story of how I didn’t get kidnapped. 9) Guilty Pleasure SONG? Shake It Off by Taylor Swift 10) Item of clothing you NEVER wear? LONG SKIRTS. 11) Favorite musical? I don’t have one.

tagged by: @cupido-periculosa

1) Describe another muse or OC that you have and aren’t playing right now! I guess you can call my son Ivan an OC. He’s one of those bitter characters, a little on the dark side. His loyalty levels are higher than Hailey on faerie drugs, but those are reserved for only two people, one of which is no longer in his life. Otherwise, he is not trusting and will form a bond with another person with difficulty. Something happened to him when he was 16 that set his cynicism in stone; he was betrayed by the people he was putting himself on the line to protect. So from now on, he’ll only work hard to ensure the safety and wellbeing of one person only. In case anything happens to this person, his next motivation would be revenge. 2) Sci-fi, romance, action, horror, or genre-of-your-choice movies, and why? Don’t judge me, but probably dramas/thrillers. I like to watch them on my solo movie nights with an extremely unhealthy snacks, but they’re not always good and I usually just watch them when I’m familiar with an actor or two. 3) What’s a book (or any piece of media) that really struck you and made you reconsider something about yourself, your life, or your opinions? I haven’t really acted on what it taught me yet, but Love Letters To The Dead by Ava Dellaira really stuck with me. I always give myself shit for things not playing out exactly how they’re supposed to, and this book just screamed at me really loudly that there is no such thing as “supposed to.” It’s also a good reminder that even the brightest heroes burn out sometimes. 4) All passions and interests start somewhere. When did you start writing and what made you want to start? I started writing when I was an 11-year-old living in her daydreams and realised I could use my imagination to actually write a story and maybe make a very cool job out of it. 5) What’s the ideal life for you? Again, don’t laugh!! But It’s quite honestly a cliche life in a small apartment in a city where rain is frequent. I’m writing for a living and going to conferences about something I care about (mental!!! illness!!!!) and have enough money to give my mom all the nice things she deserves. I’ve met all my favourite tumblr buddies and can afford to see them when I’m near their town for work purposes. I’m married to someone who reminds me why I ever had a poetry phase and I have a cat. And maybe actually go to the gym. 6) What show/book/movie do you look at and immediately get hit by a wave of nostalgia? Playhouse Disney stuff!! Little Einsteins, Rollie Pollie Ollie, and this Arabic cartoon channel called Spacetoon where I used to watch Teen Titans and Justice League. 7) What inspired your current muse(s)? (multis pick one, or your main one, if you don’t want to go down the entire list) Supernatural. I mean, obviously, Hailey was a Supernatural OC until like two weeks ago. I was really invested in the show when I made her, and when I am invested, I usually imagine what it would have been like if I inserted a character into this show. Like, what if there was a badass hunter called X who appeared in episode Y, OR WHAT IF THE WINCHESTERS HAD A SISTER. I was really interested in Adam, but we know nearly nothing about him to begin with, and he died even before he was introduced, and I would rather never eat rice again than RP a canon character, so *shrug emoji* 8) Very unoriginal but whose writing style do you really admire? @aworldfullofmuses and @the-storm-within-me I have one word for the likes of you: HOW???? 9) Ideal way to spend your birthday? Have cake with my classmates and go out to dinner with the fam sounds great, but one time, my mom bought me a cake and made an academic cap out of cardboard (I was almost done with high school) with candles on it and got me lenses as a present!! And as cheesy as this sounds, nothing I could do for my birthday (not even a trip to Disneyland, you hear??) would beat something small my mom got out of her way to make for me. 10) What’s a plot you’ve always wanted to do with your muse(s)? Anything with a Sam or Dean tbh, but I guess *shrug emoji* 11) What’s a casual interest of yours that when it comes up, you still like it and are passionate about it, but don’t devote a lot of energy to? ?????coffee?? idk Cip, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of person. (which is to say, nothing at all, ever, i am not a human being)

my questions:

1) What’s your favourite trip you’ve been on? 2) Who’s your favourite superhero? 3) What did you want to become when you were 10? 4) Who’s the first muse you’ve RPed on Tumblr? 5) Recommend a book, movie, or video game. 6) How many siblings do you have? 7) If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? 8) If your muse(s) could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? 9) If your muse(s) were given the chance to punch you, would they? 10) You start getting paranoid when your phone battery reaches __%. 11) Finally, any life advice for my fetus self?

tagging: @elysiahellfire @ribbedxgloves @survivics @endlessdrifter @aworldfullofmuses @the-storm-within-me @scarredhistory @ericbrandonrp @warrioroflondonbelow @qoldhearted @notaseamonster

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Resource Management, pt27

Word Count: 2507 Tags: @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @samaxraph99 @anotherotter  @outside-the-government @kingarthurscat @coyote-in-space @originalpottervengerlock @dolamrothianlady @curiositywillbethedeathofme @superheroesofbothuniverses @mtriestowrite @wanderingkat77

Author’s note: WELCOME TO CANADA!!

“Barbie Broughton? Are you fucking kidding me? Barbie? Really?” I looked at the ID. My face, and the horrible name. Colonel Rhodes had made me a captain though. That wasn’t too bad.

“It was the best I could do on short notice, Annie,” Tony rolled his eyes.

“You named me Barbie, Tony! I hope no one pulls me over,” I muttered. Colonel Rhodes leaned against the counter, watching me serve dinner.

“You’ll have to use it to check into hotels, sign credit card slips. Decide now how you want to be addressed.” He stole a wing from the plate.

“Ugh. I suppose Barbara will have to do,” I sighed.

“Think of this as an adventure, Annie.” Tony traded me a fresh beer for his dinner plate. We settled in for dinner. I steered the conversation away from everything wrong in the world, and instead we talked about the sights I was bound to be able to see on my drive. Despite having grown up in Canada, I’d never strayed too far from home before leaving to work for SHIELD. I was looking forward to seeing so much of country.

Pepper arrived and joined us for dinner. She had left a huge pile of shopping bags in the hallways. I soon learned everything there was intended for me. It was too much, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted my cover so thorough and complete that I wasn’t to touch my own things until I was settled in at Tony’s cabin. She went through each bag with me carefully. The woman had impeccable taste. She’d even bought me a Lulu Lemon sweatshirt, saying she saw a lot more of it when she was in Canada than she did elsewhere. I’d never been able to justify the extravagance of Lulu Lemon before, and pulled the sweatshirt on right away. I tucked the rest of the new clothes into the new bags she had purchased for me, and zipped them closed. Tony met me in the hallway and held out a messenger bag.

“What’s this?”

“You need to leave your laptop behind. This is a new one. I’ve left some notes and directions on it. For checking in with me, and the like. No porn, Annie. Here is your new shiny credit card. There’s $500 in cash in the front pocket of the bag. Have you got a gun?” He held out the credit card. I slipped it into the wallet that Pepper had bought me. Again, the woman had impeccable taste.

“I’m going to Canada, Tony, there’s laws about hand guns,” I argued.

“You need a gun. Don’t tell me you don’t have one.” His tone was sharp.

“Alright, yes. My super gave me his service revolver.” I dug into the shoulder bag and pulled it out.

“Ammo?” He asked. I dug out the two boxes of bullets that Bob had handed me. Tony opened them up to check and started laughing. He shook one of the boxes and a roll of bills slid out. It had to be at least a thousand dollars.

“Oh my god!” I gasped, “That man deserves to be sainted. He couldn’t afford to give me that! Tony, you have to make sure he gets it back.”

“Of course.” He nodded and put aside the one box. “You’re going to need extra ammo. I’ll get someone to meet us at the airport with it.”

“I suppose I need to get comfortable with this, don’t I?” I swallowed back my nerves.

“Time is wasting, Annie. Let’s get going.” He gestured toward the elevator and followed me down the hall, dragging my suitcase behind him.

When I was a kid, my dad had always called Toronto ‘The Big Smoke’. I don’t know where it came from, and I knew about 4 other cities that also boasted the nickname, but whenever anyone said it, I always thought of Toronto. My mum had always called it Hogtown, and I grew up calling it T.O., which, when I googled it as an adult, I learned was a generational thing. Any way you looked at it, Toronto was a big, sprawling metropolitan mess. It was bigger than Vancouver, not as pretty, but definitely more famous. From my view, out the wing window of the Stark Industries jet, it looked like another big city to get lost in. I hoped for a GPS in whatever vehicle Pepper had arranged for me.

“Okay, Annie, it’s showtime. Let’s get the suit on.” Tony gestured to the back of the cabin. I followed him to the open space before the galley. He put down what looked like a red and gold suitcase and tapped it with his toe. I assumed that I should starfish, and I was glad I did. The suit snapped onto me, battering me in the process. It was not built for a woman, let alone a woman with my bust. My chest felt tight, and I immediately had issues breathing.

“Tony, I don’t know if this is going to work. I can hardly breathe. It’s crushing my boobs,” I was a little breathless. He bit back a smirk and tapped at the tablet he was holding. The suit loosened just enough that I didn’t feel like I might collapse from lack of oxygen.

“Let me know where else is bothering you. Still sore from your roll down the freeway?” He watched the suit clicking into place with a critical eye, looking down every few seconds to tap something into the tablet. It always resulted in immediate relief from something pinching me.

“Am I still going to look like Iron Man in this? Because if you keep letting out seams to accommodate my lady parts, I’m going to look like Iron Vixen,” I commented when the chestplate loosened again. Pepper snorted into the back of her hand. Tony pursed his lips and squinted.

“If you jet off as quick as you can, no one will really notice.”

“This assumes I can figure out how to make your damn suit work,” I laughed.

“I’ve got J.A.R.V.I.S. set to autopilot you. You just need to put your hands at your sides, and everything will go to plan. There’s coordinates set for the Stark Industries plant, which is where we will meet you,” he explained.

“And you think the Stark Industries plant is safe?” I asked. I was worried it would be being watched.

“It’s a calculated risk, Annie. We have to hope we’re not being watched,” Pepper offered. The helmet and mask snapped onto my head and I had a moment of panic and claustrophobia before the heads-up display flashed on, and J.A.R.V.I.S. started talking to me. I saw Tony and Pepper sit back down for the landing, and tried to brace myself, thinking I might topple over. But the suit was pretty awesome and the pilot was exceptionally smooth. When the plane taxied to a stop, Pepper signaled to me to follow her to the door. When the door opened, she nodded and J.A.R.V.I.S. took over, flying me out of the airport’s airspace at a low altitude that wouldn’t interfere with the planes. J.A.R.V.I.S. informed me that the pilot had received clearance for us to fly away. The sensation of flying in the Iron Man suit was not what I was expecting at all. I think we all have that dream about the air rushing through your hair, and lightness and freedom. I felt like I was in a steel prison. The only way I knew I was moving was by watching the world pass by below me. It was surreal.

Tony had bought me a Jeep Cherokee. Correction. Tony had bought Barbie Broughton a Jeep Cherokee. Thankfully, it wasn’t a brand new one. It was stocked with a bunch of camping gear, and was in exactly the right condition for a road trip: just a little beat up on the exterior, but tuned impeccably in the engine.

“Annie, promise me you won’t take any stupid risks. I have enough to worry about with him,” Pepper placed a hand on my arm. “And think about dyeing your hair tonight. Just to be safe.”

“Cross my heart, Pepper. Thank you so much,” I threw my arms around her impulsively. She took a short step back before returning the hug. Tony put his arms around both of us and squeezed his way in between us somehow.

“Can you blame me for wanting to be the meat in the sandwich?” He asked when we pushed him away. I shook my head, and pulled him close.

“I can’t even put into words, Tony. I never thought in a million years you would be this good, decent and kind. Thank you so much.”

“Stop, I’ll cry,” he teased. “The GPS in the Jeep will get you where you are going. J.A.R.V.I.S. is linked to it and to your laptop. You have your own encrypted hotspot for internet. Don’t pick up hitchhikers, and don’t linger too long anywhere. You’re on leave after a tour in Iraq, so you aren’t going to waste time getting to your family’s cabin in BC to get away from the world. And Pepper’s right. Think about hair colour. I’m fond of red myself.”

“I got it, Dad.” I winked at Pepper. Tony put the keys in my hand and gave me one last look before sighing and turning back to the building. I climbed into the Jeep, plugged in the iPod he’d handed me with the keys and turned the engine over. AC/DC came blasting through the speakers and I smiled. It was going to be a long drive, but I was finally on my way.

Northern Ontario was the longest, dullest, most horrible stretch of road I’d ever had the bad luck of driving. There was nothing to see, except trees as far as the eye could see. I might have enjoyed it more, but I was trying to cover as much ground as I could before I stopped. In a perfect world, where I wasn’t worried about HYDRA and Garrett, I would have stopped at Sault Ste Marie, but it was just too close to the border. I wound up stopping in Sudbury for some supplies early in the drive, but then I drove until I couldn’t focus on the road anymore, and wound up in a tiny town called Marathon. I found a hotel and crashed for the night. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. In the morning, after checking in my email with Tony and sending him a photo of the giant nickel in Sudbury, I walked over to the hair salon.

“Good morning!” There was a single woman in the shop. She was probably in her late twenties, and she had a welcoming smile. It was reassuring. “What can I help you with?”

“If you have an appointment available, I’m looking for a new look,” I started.

“I can fit you in right now. What are you thinking?”

“I’d like to try a different colour, go shorter.” I took a deep breath. I was pretty attached to my two-inches-past-regulation hair.

“Bad break up?” She asked, giving me a sympathetic look.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, honey, let’s start by washing that man out of your hair,” she pointed at the sink. I followed her over and let her go to work. I was worried that the only hair salon in a town of 3000 people on the Canadian Shield was a tragedy waiting to happen. She cut my hair shorter than I would have liked, but in the end, once I washed all the product out of it, I thought I would be quite happy with the cut. It would still go into a ponytail, and she’d given me flowy layers around my face that softened my cheekbones and jaw. I’d suggested a chestnut brown, and despite my best effort to stick to my guns, she eventually convinced me that going brunette would be too stark against my pale skin. I wound up a strawberry blonde that was eerily reminiscent of Pepper’s hair colour. I wasn’t going to tell Tony.

“I love it,” I admitted with complete honesty.

“A little less Barbie now, wouldn’t you say? You must get that all the time,” the hairdresser laughed.

“I do,” I admitted with a sigh, “maybe I should have gone red a long time ago.”

“Well, you’re red now, and no one is going to call you Barbie for a good long time.” I left a sizeable tip and found the coffee shop before hitting the road again.

It took me two days to drive out of Ontario. I stopped in Kenora overnight, and sent Tony a picture of the giant fish that was the highlight of Kenora’s roadside. I was completely astonished to blow through all of Manitoba the next day, landing for the night in Saskatchewan. It was so incredibly flat, I was reasonably sure I could already see the Rockies. I couldn’t, of course, but I felt like I could. The Timbits in Saskatchewan were significantly better than the ones I’d had in New York, and I felt like I wanted to tell someone, but I stopped myself from sharing with the old guys sitting beside me at the Tim Horton’s in Yorkton. They didn’t look like HYDRA, they looked like old dude farmers, but I didn’t want to risk it.

I sent a quick email to Tony updating him of my location, and let him know I expected to be on the road for another two days at least. If I were lucky, it would only be two more days. I’d had too many close calls to want to stop for longer than a quick stop for a toilet and cup of coffee. It was killing me to stay more than a few hours a night at a hotel, and I found that I was napping in rest stops quite a bit to compensate for my habit of leaving as the sun rose. It would be good to get to my destination. Double-checking the map was a double-edged sword. Tony’s cabin, which I was sure was not so much a cabin as a palace in the woods run on an ARC reactor, was less than two hours from my mother’s house. From my childhood home. In my hometown. That I had to drive through to get to his cabin.

I hadn’t been home in ten years, but my hometown wasn’t a vast sprawling city like Toronto or Vancouver. It was a small city that prided itself on small city culture. If I ran into one person who recognized me, the whole cloak and dagger routine would be blown, and HYDRA would know exactly where I was. With my current luck, there were probably already HYDRA thugs in town waiting for me.

[pamphletstoinspire]

God and Mammon: The 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time

As Jesus continues his “death march” to Jerusalem in Luke’s Gospel (Luke 9–19), he challenges us this Sunday to choose, in a clear and conscious way, our goal in life: God or money. The First Reading reminds us that wealth was a seductive trap for the people of God throughout salvation history.

1. The First Reading is Amos 8:4-7:

Hear this, you who trample upon the needy and destroy the poor of the land! “When will the new moon be over,” you ask, “that we may sell our grain, and the sabbath, that we may display the wheat? We will diminish the ephah, add to the shekel, and fix our scales for cheating! We will buy the lowly for silver, and the poor for a pair of sandals; even the refuse of the wheat we will sell!” The LORD has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Never will I forget a thing they have done!

Amos is often thought to be the earliest of all the literary (writing) prophets, since his relatively short ministry probably fell in the decade 770-760 BC. Amos 1:1 dates his prophecy to “two years before the earthquake” during the reigns of Uzziah of Judah and Jeroboam II of Israel, an event that archeologists now estimate at c. 760 BC, ±25 yrs. This would probably place his ministry just prior to Hosea’s longer career (c. 750-725BC).

Amos, like Hosea, prophesied to northern Israel; but unlike Hosea, Amos was not a northerner himself. He was a Judean from Tekoa, a village to the south of Jerusalem, an agricultural worker who raised sheep and tended an orchard of sycamore-figs (Amos 7:14). He was called by God to preach judgment to northern Israel at a time when that nation was wealthy, arrogant, and oppressive to their southern neighbors. Amos clearly distances himself from the professional prophets who learned prophesying from their fathers and practiced it as a kind of family trade (see Amos 7:12-14). He was not motivated by a desire to earn a living, but was impelled by a genuine commission from God (7:15).

This Sunday’s First Reading is a portion of the fourth of a series of five visions (7:1–9:8) of divine judgment that constitute the last major section of the book. After an oracle of judgment against Amaziah the unrighteous priest (7:16-17), Amos sees a “basket of summer fruit (Heb. qāyîtz),” which indicates that the “end (Heb. qētz) has come for my people Israel” (8:1-3). Wailing, mourning, death, and a famine of God’s word will come on Israel, because of the abuse of the poor (8:4-7) and worship of false gods (8:13-14).

A striking feature of this First Reading is the way these ancient Israelite merchants regard religion as an impediment to profit. “When will the Sabbath be over, that we may display our wheat?” The Sabbath, which God gave to man as a beautiful day of rest, to be enjoyed with family, friends, and God Himself, is now seen as a burden and restraint to the pursuit of profit.

As Catholics we often forget that observance of the Sabbath (in the New Covenant, shifted to the first day of the week, the Lord’s Day) is still part of the Ten Commandments and obligatory for Christians. Although many of us live in nominally “Christian” cultures, respect for the Lord’s Day has been all but lost, and instead commerce and retail proceed on the Lord’s day of rest and worship as on every other day. Folks head from Mass to the grocery store, not thinking that this practice supports retailers being open on Sunday, therefore requiring their minimum-wage employees (the poor) to be there and labor on what should be a day of rest and worship for all. The consequences for Christian culture are tragic, because there remains, then, no one day of rest when persons have the freedom to worship and spend time in quiet with God and family together. As a Church, we cannot restore a Christian culture without re-establishing a respect — at least among Christians! — for the rest that is appropriate to the Lord’s Day.

Amos is best remembered in the Jewish and Christian tradition as a preacher of justice who was unafraid to publically rebuke the wealthy elite of his day, whose hypocritical and syncretistic religious practices did nothing to alleviate the guilt of their social and economic abuse of the poor. Amos composed his prophesies in simple yet vivid poetry, as in this much-quoted oracle:

“I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and cereal offerings, I will not accept them, and the peace offerings of your fatted beasts I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream!

Even today Amos’ words remind Christian believers that external observance of the Church’s rituals does not excuse or justify lifestyles of self-indulgence and indifference to the poor and needy.

2. Our Second Reading is 1 Timothy 2:1-8:

Beloved: First of all, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and for all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity. This is good and pleasing to God our savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth. For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as ransom for all. This was the testimony at the proper time. For this I was appointed preacher and apostle — I am speaking the truth, I am not lying — teacher of the Gentiles in faith and truth. It is my wish, then, that in every place the men should pray, lifting up holy hands, without anger or argument.

The Second Reading at this time of year is working its way through the personal letters of St. Paul. This passage from St. Paul’s first letter to Timothy stresses the need of the Christian community to pray together, especially for government officials. Good government is necessary that we may lead a “quiet and tranquil life in all devotion,” which pleases God who “desires all to be saved.” Why is good government and tranquil life connected with “all being saved?” Because political stability enables the Church to go about her evangelizing mission unmolested.

Pope Francis had some direct words about this passage of St. Paul:

“None of us can say, ‘I have nothing to do with this, they govern. . . .’ No, no, I am responsible for their governance, and I have to do the best so that they govern well, and I have to do my best by participating in politics according to my ability. Politics, according to the Social Doctrine of the Church, is one of the highest forms of charity, because it serves the common good. I cannot wash my hands, eh? We all have to give something!”

There is a tendency, the Pope observed, to only speak ill of leaders, and to mutter about “things that don’t go well.” “You listen to the television and they’re beating [them] up, beating [them] up; you read the papers and their beating [them] up. . . .” He continued, “Yes, maybe the leader is a sinner, as David was, but I have to work with my opinions, with my words, even with my corrections” because we all have to participate for the common good. It is not true that Catholics should not meddle in politics:

“‘A good Catholic doesn’t meddle in politics.’ That’s not true. That is not a good path. A good Catholic meddles in politics, offering the best of himself, so that those who govern can govern. But what is the best that we can offer to those who govern? Prayer! That’s what Paul says: “Pray for all people, and for the king and for all in authority.” “But Father, that person is wicked, he should go to hell. . . .” Pray for him, pray for her, that they can govern well, that they can love their people, that they can serve their people, that they can be humble.” A Christian who does not pray for those who govern is not a good Christian! “But Father, how will I pray for that person, a person who has problems. . . .” “Pray that that person might convert!”

(From Vatican Radio: bit.ly/1gnJgYK)

3. The Gospel is Luke 16:1-13:

Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said ‘What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.’ The steward said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me?

I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.’ He called in his master’s debtors one by one.

To the first he said ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He replied, ‘One hundred measures of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write one for fifty.’

Then to another the steward said, ‘And you, how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘One hundred kors of wheat.’ The steward said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note; write one for eighty.’

And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.

The role of steward in a large household was one of great responsibility, but also wealth and prestige. It went to the master’s most trusted male slave. As a result, enterprising young freemen in the Roman empire sometimes sold themselves as slaves to wealthy men in order to become stewards of their households.

Since the stewardship was an administrative position in which one lived in physical comfort, the steward realizes he is in great trouble when the master wishes to fire him. He’s not suited to any other way of making a living, and as a slave he has no estate of his own. He’s been use to socializing with his master’s peers, although he is not truly their social or legal equals.

So he pulls of a kind of “white collar crime.” Calling in his master’s debtors, he has them manipulate their receipts to “erase” a significant portion of their debt. Then they will be in this steward’s debt after he is fired, and “owe him one.”

Eventually, when the master found out what the steward had done, he “commended” him. This probably means, he acknowledged (grudgingly) how cunning his former employer had been.

“For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.

Non-religious people frequently have more “street smarts” in manipulating others than those who practice a faith. That’s why its best for Christians to stay out of the “rat race” rather than try to compete in it.

I tell you, make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.

This is perhaps the key teaching of this entire Reading. The world encourages an attitude in which we use people to gain things. Jesus reverses this: use things to gain people. If spending money and giving goods can open others to friendship with the Church and ultimately Christ Himself, then spend the money, give the goods.

Pagan religion in the ancient world tended to be a semi-magical way to manipulate the spiritual realm (the realm of the “gods”) in order to gain material wealth.

Christianity is precisely the reverse of this. It is a religion in which we sacrifice material in order to gain spiritual wealth.

That is one reason why the “health and wealth Gospel” is such a perversion. Periodically one can here a radio or TV evangelist preaching Christ as a means to the “good life” — this is a return to paganism, a subordination of the spiritual to the material. It does not lead to true conversion, because as long as Jesus is a means to an end — and not the end itself — one is not yet a Christian.

The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones.

If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth 
who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to another, who will give you what is yours?

“Small matters” are often not small at all, because their consequences can be huge. This was illustrated some years ago when the $136 million-dollar Mars Climate Orbiter was lost on its maiden voyage due to malfunction. The problem? The contractor Lockheed Martin and constructed the device using English measurements, whereas the purchaser NASA conducted their operations only in metric.

Small issues — an inch vs. a centimeter—can have enormous material consequences and also spiritual ones. St. Josemaría Escrivà used to say he could tell the state of a man’s soul by looking at his desk or inspecting his closet. The interior of a man is reflected in his smallest actions.

Jesus teaches us here that material wealth — which in the eternal perspective is a matter of very little consequence at all — serves for us as a “testing ground.” Our faithful administration of material goods — which would include generosity toward the poor—wins favor with God and gains spiritual blessing, and to the contrary, self-indulgent use of material goods damages spiritual progress. No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon.”

The Christian who approaches discipleship with Christ while still trying to attain “the American dream” or the “good life” is dooming himself to frustration. If wealth, pleasure, or power in this life is what you are after, you truly have the wrong religion! It is truly pathetic, for example, for the Christian who devotes himself to mission work in his youth to become embittered or disgruntled in mid-life when he or she realizes they do not have the material wealth or creature comforts of their peers who went straight into business out of high school or college. Frustration results when the Christian loses focus on Christ and begins to pine for certain pleasures or pursuits that seem out of reach or incompatible with his life’s vocation. The only answer for this kind of frustration is re-conversion: to call to mind whom we are serving and why, and recommit to his service.

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: James Hoskins / World of Forms

April - August 2011

Art: Jean Fouquet / The Taking of Jerusalem by Ptolemy Soter / ca. 320 BC

Note: I’ve had the pleasure of being interviewed by James Hoskins several times over the years, as being a live-in designer for his Kansas City band Elevator Division back in our basement dwelling days. These nuggets in particular are fairly significant in my initial retirement / death of DJG Design and transition into personal art. The following is a two part interview for a blog feature. The first part is via email Q&A, the second morphed out of a discussion over coffee a few months removed.

PART I:

1) What do you feel are the biggest challenges to working a "day job" while being an artist? What are the benefits? Has maintaining a day job affected your art in any way, positive or negative? If so, how?

Anyone who has something cooking at home base is applicable to the challenges of a day job (I'm certain the interviewer can attest to this). And I think it's easy for one to think he or she has something special waiting on them while in the monotonous thick of the daily grind. But, you have to keep a level head. I believe in a healthy balance of being a human first and an artist second. If right, you can mix the two. Sort of a "Have Brain, Will Travel" mindset. Anything and everything is good meat and day job placement should be no stranger. I am always a working artist, yet I don't wish for myself to be the work of art nor play God with it. 

As an artist in an office or cleaning an office (the two climates I've been kicking at the past decade), I try to intake what I can, smell what roses I can find and bring back home to the table inspiring meat. Of course, as a janitor, I was literally bringing things home! (Probably not so much fun for roommates or wife, me thinks.) Anyway, my nature has always managed to maintain employment or casual servant/observant at places where I'm still able to keep locked inside, somewhat. I've just never had any means to climb another man's ladder. Rather, I show up, stay on the ground and help out the best I can while still tinkering within. I believe every man is wired a certain way. I'm a starving artist in the sense that I am always hungry to create and nothing can stop me, not even a day job.

Of course, owning up to a day job doesn't come without trials. As I grow older the major seemingly stackable factors are time and energy. A year, even five years, is sucked away so fast now and I can no longer do the all night artistic marathons like I could at 22. But, at a younger age I was also dealing with design deadlines for clients. Something that isn't a factor now that I've gone the route of solo artist. I'm still making as much stuff, just on my own time 'n' dime and staying smart with getting to bed early/getting up early. Still, there is never enough hours in a day or life span to amount for what I'd like to leave behind in this life. I guess I am content but there can always be more content! 2) Why the change from graphic design to visual artist? What led to the change? What is your new vision/direction? Lack of time and energy, the want to develop and explore elsewhere, loss and change of who I once was to who I am now, poor business skills, the soul sucking of self-promotion and marketeering, the changing of the design guard, technology takeover, everybody being a designer now, personal betterment, a shift in heart/gut...many factors stack up to my decision. I explain further in a letter to the public on my web site. It was a grueling three year process and those close to my calls can now nod collectively. Though, as the human I am, I'm no stranger to inner struggle and I'm a pretty emotional being. I guess that's why my voice is what it is in speaking through art? I realize now that all the inner back 'n' forth from 2007-2010 was the result of something dying within. And when I kind of came-to around the first of February 2011, I found an immense feeling of freedom. I guess compared to most in my position as a graphic artisan for hire, I displayed an unlimited amount of freedom in the last decade. Just something inside me was shifting and I had to listen and let it take shape or be consumed completely. It's hard to explain and most people are either genuinely supportive or sorta saddened and confused by it. I'm feeling good about it and really it's not that drastic of a deal this side of the decision. Also, my stuff will still be seen on a few things here and there for others if it feels fit and my voice is right. Everything I've ever done has been leading to this. I'm excited. I'm still making art. I always will and always expect there to be many a shift in me. Ultimately, my goal is to make art full-time and I'd like to eventually have an agent or someone to help me in the areas I lack so I can better focus on what I should be doing. But, for now, my goal is to not think and just make. From day one I've never set restrictions on how I make art. I do have certain ideas I've been kicking around for a long while. My back burner has become a bonfire the past 8 to 10 years! We'll see though, as it's a process that can't just be point-click-ship and I don't really like to leak out too much beforehand. I'm currently piling things up and plan not to reveal much for a while. It's nice to just sit and play mother hen. Though, I can say I'm working on exhibitions, books and online printing/purchase shops with the work that I've produced up to my artistic shift. Just chipping away at the boulder, mostly. What I don't want to be is the guy who lives in the future on past merits. I'm proud of what I've accomplished, but there is a lot of gas left in my tank and I'm looking forward to a hopefully long and fruitful life in and outside of the arts. It's nice to take a breather though and sorta have a time out. It allows a man to slow down, see and appreciate what he's already got and the foundation to the black and white up ahead. 3) What advice would you give to other artists? It could be practical, artistic, or spiritual. This is your chance to wax eloquent. I believe in just following your heart and gut. And if you have to work a day job, do it, and don't stop creating. Turn frustrations into fruit. So many people give up or are all blow and no go. Even if time/energy/life doesn't budge, do what you can and when you can. Document everything and leave your dots down here. Find the tap and drink from that. There is a vast, unlimited reservoir there for the taking. There are so many things going on and on top of each other right next to you. Be true. The best and most pure art is of the moment and can't be repeated. Crawl back into why you began creating in the first place. Listen to yourself or your elf...or that thing ticking and walki-talking above you. Ear wax eloquence. Amen. 4) If there's anything I didn't ask that you really want to say, say it! If you're happy and you know it clap your hams.

-djg

PART II:

0​1) "One's passion can become a monster sometimes."

No matter what you're doing, there are certain limits. There is a monster in all of us and we feed it in different ways. A practical discipline and taming comes into place. There is one monster in particular people are especially over-feeding, the online world. Kids of the future will never have their umbilical cord cut. We're all becoming our own iCons of self-promotion and iBrand building. I'm guilty to a degree (I have tons of stuff online and am slowwwly thinning things up a bit) and there have been times where I've tried to take a step back. It's hard. One big thing that has helped has been making art and nesting up on it and not immediately putting it online for those few that care. It's become the norm to constantly be beating brows but I'm less and less impressed with where we're headed and I tend to butt heads with it. I have to take it in small doses as an overload of focus on "me" takes away from the purity and intent of creating art and community. I guess it depends on the individual, and again, the balance. Some people are good at it, but I wasn't wired for it. I have noticed myself doing better with it since retiring my DJG DESIGN name and approaching things differently. I love sharing my art as much as the next guy, but sometimes the artist can become the work of art as opposed to the bigger thing they're channeling. That's a dangerous beast I'd like to avoid. ​0​2) "I never want to be someone who milks the same cow. Because I'm changing every day, and it would be untrue to myself for my art to stay the same and not reflect that change." Though I try not to set rules, there's probably an umbrella of look and feel to the way I'm creating. But, I've never been concerned with that as what shakes and bakes the viewer, or me. Ultimately, it's up to them if they're up for opening up to it. If not, no big deal as we can't all see the same way. We all see through different shades and with our own set of wiring. As humans we should be evolving yet never enveloping and I find that whatever mood or feeling I'm in per given day, that's what is fueling my creativity and how I make. It's all part of the process. Even still, I wouldn't feel right doing the same thing artistically every single day and/or finding the spaghetti that "sticks" and always waking up and doing that. That's what day jobs are for, I guess?! I tend to find it odd when artists have detailed artist statements already mapping out what they do, what they intend to do and what it all means. Some are cool and all but there are many days out of the week where I'm not impressed by them. Boxing in a corner can pigeon hole or suck fun and discovery out of art for me. That's just never been on my personal radar or to-do list.

​0​3) "With technology, anyone can be a designer. That leaves me without a place. I wanna make art with my hands."

I'm not against others exercising their creative chops and I'm not against advancement in the art of computer graphics. There's a place for it and I use a computer as a tool when need-be. But, there are times where technology (and just because it's there, accessible and convenient) takes over causing other areas to be void. It can put an artificial filter on things. It can also cause everyone to undermine and undervalue art per our era of instant commentary. Everyone is a professional commentator and judge. There also seems to be founder's rights flung across quickly in a world where everything has been done under the sun/son. I want an experience that lends time to chew on before sending it out to the world and I don't want one in which it's critiqued, commentated upon and microscoped within the first 5 seconds and then moved on and buried like the road out west. But, that's just the way of the beast that many people find is best these days. We can't just accept that "E.T." came to Earth like Elliot did and form a special bond and find love in that, in him, we have to roll in and put him under with our holy thunder. We're reducing everything down to a science and I dont think everything needs to be put under, tagged and bagged. You can scratch 'n' sniff everything down (but I would love to see true scratch 'n' sniff technology on something like an iPad!). But, why not just make things because you feel something hit you a certain way or came down on you and out and leave it at that. I appreciate an exploration and searching with childlike eyes and pouring out what needs to be said within while transmitting something much bigger. And sometimes I can tap into that with digitally slick oil spills. However, when approached like a business man because he's got a machine to desktop decorate, it typically has the greater ability to lose something, at least to me. I guess I've never had a business man's mind? But, there are always two sides and there are some who are great at business and art with heart. "Have heart, will translate and travel", isn't working as much as it once was. I guess the happy medium I'd like to see more of is still in the shop. There are some out there finding it and that's great. And I don't think I'm too far off with all of this falling somewhere in the, "What if God instantly installed within us a machine-like activation button to love and instantly know a tangible Him and make the purest of choices in His name and all that." I'm no scholar, artistically or Biblically, but that's some meat I tend to chew on a great deal. We're swiftly headed towards an age of the union of man and machine and that scares me. Interesting though as it brings to mind the fascinating dichotomy of a movie/character like WALL-E, a man-made machine who also has a heart. I found myself in WALL-E and his little world as it reminded me of my own...until the humans came along plugged into their machines. Personally, I don't think they should have gotten Earth back. But, I guess this is a morale tale to maybe trigger something within us? Or, maybe they're showing us that we can smash our cake to the ground and still eat it too. I believe in forgiveness, rehabilitation, a second chance and all that...but I've my own ending in mind for that one. I'll just make my own director's cut. ​0​4) "I like to notice squirrels and butterflies - these little worlds that are buried beneath all our junk. That's a theme in my art - the human element buried in 'junk' - found objects that others have thrown away." It amazes me what we pass by every second, even in our own homes. There is so much to our daily landscapes, inside and out. There is so much buried on top of each other and many different worlds interacting and conversating. I feed off much of this junk (natural and man-made) and try to tap into it as much as I can on my journeys or while in the act of making art. I don't really consider myself a political or "message" artist by putting the amount of found objects and trash into my work like I do to prove a point. I just see the potential or beauty in something and run with it. Naturally, I miss being a janitor because I got paid to rummage physically and mentally. Our things are our souvenirs. The documentary "Wasteland" fits in well with all this...art/trash/life/love/God. I grew up in rural Missouri. Animals were at my feet. Living in a big American city, it's nice to get this when I can and mostly with squirrels playing, butterflies flapping and the occasional praying mantis buzzing by or quietly creeping. Walking to work is a big plus for bookending my day job life stuck inside artificial air. I'm thankful for the shelter, but I just can't help but think it wasn't meant to be this way. But, we should also smell the roses when and where we can. About a year ago something in me said to take a different pathway home from my day job for the first time in over 5 years. Because of this I happened upon a tiny, sightless baby squirrel on the sidewalk on one of the hottest days of summer. He must have fallen from the tree nearby but I couldn't see a nest or any other squirrel activity. He was scared to death. So was I. I was conflicted though on what to do in the whole nature vs. nurture category. But, I couldn't let him suffer or become food for another animal or even stepped on or ran over by a human. It was quite the emotional experience (for both the squirrel and me) but I brought the little guy home and my wife took him to an animal rehabilitation center the next morning. I still wonder a great deal about that squirrel. A few months ago I was walking to work and apologized to a tiny bunny in a tiny patch of yard because we had built all this concrete and junk in his way. I told him to be careful. The next day around the same spot I saw a smashed bunny in the road. It was sad. Were we in his way or was he in ours? ​0​5) "With the squirrels, are we in their way, or are they in our way? The same with the Internet, is it in our way or are we in its way?" I love watching squirrels and other critters. Especially in the city. It's a treat. Though, I can't help but look at both perspectives of it. While driving long distances my wife and I love to play "Hawk Spot", the art of spotting hawks on the side of highways. It's interesting to see them stoically surveying what we've built. There are so many just sitting there, watching us driving to destinations. We should probably take a good look at the information highway the same.

0​6) "I'm not anti-technology, but I've never been completely comfortable with it. I just need to put some of myself into my art." I'm a fan of hands-on media. Just the other day I was watching an '80s horror movie and loved the tangible effects created. "Woah, Freddy just totally crawled out of that dude's body!" Today, more than likely, these would be computer generated. It's not that I don't find an esteemed art or appreciation in computer imagery. I think there definitely is when it's done well. But, it's becoming so easy now to do it that after a while it starts to dumb and numb everything down. I prefer something I can tell a human made it. I'm both excited and a bit bothered that another "Jurassic Park" movie is in works. And my only bother is the possible loss of the late Stan Winston's wonderful ideas with the dinosaur puppetry. In design school (Missouri State University) I was placed on a computer and I just couldn't get passed the screen barrier. I struggled so much that I considered changing emphasis, perhaps even a retreat from the arts altogether (which, I had no clue what would be). I stuck with it and eventually had to rediscover myself and my love of creating in the first place. I had to crawl back inward, get my hands dirty and only see and utilize the computer as a tool. It helped too that my instructors all came from Eastern European/Russian backgrounds and with a great push for art/design history. All of this inspired and influenced my work as well. I began seeing and tasting differently. I found my former self again, the boy who just enjoyed making art and fused with a whole new sense of discovery. I was hungry. I still am! However, I didn't feel comfortable with consuming a life in an actual design company as another person behind a computer shuffling images around like a desktop decorator. They're not all bad guys, just not for me. I would come back from visiting design firms with a complete sense of failure and disgust. It just wasn't for me and I had to listen to that. I wanted to make my art and my way and without anyone owning me. I wanted to lock myself in a room, pour myself into the work and pour the work out...make art and share with people in a different way. I've always looked at design as an artist first. I've never really considered myself a designer. And of late I've morphed and felt more comfortable with just going the way of the visual artist. But, I don't really care for the classification of "artist" either. I just do as I do. My recent morph has confused a lot of people but I don't see much of a change. I will still do design if it's a good fit for both my voice and a client's. I just need to be a healthy human first. ​0​7) "Our collections help us see our own timeline of growth and development. We don't have that with the Internet. Everything is electronic-instant-throw away. Everything's a la carte. Maybe that's good for the environment, but it's bad in another way." I can see positive aspects in technology with the hunting and gathering of culture. Blogs and online areas of round-up are like lockers of curing meats. But, I'm so thankful to grow up when I did as kids growing up right now don't know a life without the internet or instant gratification or instant audiences. I'm also thankful to grow up where I did in rural Missouri, yet still have have access to finding pop culture and not to mention parents who allowed me to do so. In the end, it's not the culture/media/things that get man across his or her desired county line, but there is something special about them. There is no denying the things we love help define us. I just never want that to be why and who and what I'm living for. But, when there are unlimited resources at man's side all the time, they start to become the controller. Something to chew on... My parents have many Amish families/communities living around them now. Apparently, they use more technology than my dad does. I'm slowly warming up to the idea of music floating in space, the mp3. Though, I still don't find a connection to it like I do with something in my hand, with art accompanying...the total package and the intent of the artists who made it. There is something special about that. I like that there is more access to music that I may not have heard otherwise, but after a while it becomes too much of a good thing. I listen to something and then forget about it because I've got so much to eat. "I haven't quite absorbed that one yet." is a great line from the movie "High Fidelity." I've a big appetite for consuming culture, but I still find myself not spending enough time with things like I used to because there is so much and/or I know it will always be there so it's easy to put it off and just keep eating because I can. Also, I'm getting older and there is more in a day now than there once was, yet the days are so much shorter. I love and appreciate how a band like Radiohead can all of a sudden come from behind their computer curtains to drop a new album digitally the day after they reveal they've even got a new one to drop. But, it actually stresses me out and knocks some of the fun out of it for me. There was something special about saving up money, cutting a college class, driving to the record store salivating after months of wait and cryptic campaigns, making my purchase, sitting in my car, cracking the seal, looking, listening, smelling, smiling, going home with it, making popcorn, getting under the covers, hitting PLAY...making something special of it. And then seeing your own timeline on that album years later and seeing the ebb and flow of the musical landscape in your head, in the air. The complete package. I have fond memories of many albums (and movies). I still try to get the hard copies from certain bands (Radiohead definitely), but there is something missing...maybe that's a theme they're embracing and experimenting with all-around in their music and marketing too? Also, the idea of the album is being pushed and pulled these days. I think there will always be a place for the complete package, regardless, but I'm still iffy about where things are headed. And I'm not even going to get into the loss of the video store generation, something that has a deep grain in my formative years and still helps fuel my art today. I realize that every generation changes or breaks the mold and what we have serving the majority now will be obsolete very soon. But, I just personally prefer a want to be in an impressionable age of real user activity, not an impressionistic one. In the end all of this stuff means nothing in comparison to people starving to death from actual food (not cultural food). I've too much to be thankful for. ​0​8) Difference b/w being force fed music and art and being hungry and finding "food." I slipped into the poster business at a unique time right before social media boomed. The passing of information via poster or tangible object isn't completely dead, but it is out in the cheap seats as people receive and share information online and/or have it force fed to them instead of satisfying a hunger in what I find to be a more meaningful way. Almost like an angelic stumble. It is fascinating the number of people you can reach and share with a single item of imagery and information online. I get that. Still, too much of a good thing isn't a good thing. It's overload in a new way to where so much of it is just filler. But, I can flip the coin and see there is so much filler in the window or bulletin board of a coffee shop. But, I love it when something substantial can smack a person out of the flesh of day to day overload and touch them in a certain way that becomes more personal. This creates a more special kind of world wide web to me. I guess it's like when a bunch of seeds are cast into the wind and only a small percentage of those "take" and sprout future seeds. I just find the experience of a poster or piece of art in person to be more genuine. I used to come away from places like Urban Outfitters so frustrated for pop culture and discovery. There's been a nostalgic branding of what is deemed cool and hip. I've come to accept it. I just don't get it and maybe I do when for convenience's sake. Maybe I'm just mellowing out more the older I get with these filters of cool. It's just not worth it in my typically short-changed day to be so concerned with it anymore or even trying. I'd just rather blow holes in my own jeans because I wore them out. Satisfaction guaranteed! ​0​9) "I can't get attached to music as much when it's floating in space. I like having it in my hand." I like going to a museum to see art, not downloading a PDF of it." I'm slowwwly warming up to the idea of the mp3 or movies on demand. I appreciate it but still find it odd and at times very fleeting. It's easier to forget about something when it's downloaded out of thin air and stored in a data bank and there any time you want it like a self-serve drive-thru. I finally got home internet and instant Netflix this year. Really cool and all, but I find that I still don't get too jazzed by it as it is always there waiting. I can see circumstances where vehicle video monitors would come in handy. Though, more and more I see parents switch them on for short distances. We're numbing ourselves straight out the chute. After attending a live musical production recently the parking lot was suddenly illuminated even more by screens on the backs of seats. Are we that bored? Just the other day I saw a truck drive by with a whole batch of little dogs stretching necks to look out. It was quite something and touched me more than most humans do. We don't seem to appreciate the air we breathe or recognize a blue sky unless it's in a Pixar cartoon on the back of the seat in front of us. 10) Almost born at home b/c of a blizzard. Mom had to be transported by a tractor through snow drifts. Hometown: Chillicothe/Wheeling, MO/Farm. Why am I here? What's my purpose? These are questions I've always asked myself. 1979, my birth year, seems like an old world compared to now. I guess a far removal from any day and age has such a haze. Same applies to the melting of a big blizzard. But, as far as I can tell, we're all the same coming in as we are going out. As in, we all get the bite in the same. I'm fascinated by coming into the world. Actually, it perplexes me more than the being here and going out. Maybe because it's a memory that can't be weighed? Why me and why that time and place? Yeah, you can boil it down to a mom and a dad, but there is something more to it. Something kinda freaky-beautiful-mystery. It all adds up to who and what I am now and I still can't make much sense. I'm nobody special, but I was made and I made it and I'm making things to counter react. That's saying something. We've all got something to say. I don't know. Most people seem to go without bothering about this stuff. They just put on their boots and start marking or mucking up their timeline. Not a bad way to go about it, I guess. But, I've always carried this stuff. I guess it lends to why I do as I do and the next guy does as he does? I was in line at Target and the cashier was well "with child" as her stomach hung over the counter and the scanner area. Pregnant women are intimidating, but this was also fascinating. All I could think about was the little thing inside hearing a part-time to full-time parade of "beeps" and "blips" and odd mumblings about prices and products. What a weird thing before you have to come out of the comfort. 11) "Art is my way to communicate what's going on inside.... I don't know if I really believe in cliches, cause their all true. It's like guilty pleasures." For a long time I've felt something inside of me and around me that I've needed to say and I say that with my art. And if it doesn't make much sense to the viewer, then no big deal. If it sounds cliche to the viewer, then good for them. I wasn't blessed with a vocal personality on the outside. I've always adapted more with the back row corner crowd. I don't know, art is my outlet for sharing. It's weird though as I've had social phobia since I was first put around other humans yet spend so much time alone making art that it causes me to have more social problems. But, the art actually helps me. It's a weird world I live in. Eventually, I'd love to do art for a living, but in the end it will never be about that. I will be making art no matter what until my number is up. I don't believe in the term "guilty pleasure" unless it's really affecting your life and others in the process like an addiction to drugs or other activity. If you like the new Katy Perry single because it's catchy pop then so what? Why feel guilty about that? It baffles me that we have to put up precursors of cool to protect and project our cultural DNA. I think there is truth in cliches and at some turn they can become classic. I guess my main beef is when people go for cheap shots, lowest common punches or don't push themselves or their own voice intertwined. But, then again it just depends. I still giggle like a schoolboy when people get punched where it counts in movies. 12) "I'm a believer in God, and I have faith through Him. If anyone is creating, they've gotta believe there's something bigger than all this, whether they believe it's God or not. I've always liked the idea of finding God through childlike eyes, and that I can tap into that through art and discovery." My favorite and most purest of makers are folk artists. There comes a truth in that with the connection to something bigger in their work. They have something to say, are typically prolific and hardworking, art oozes from them. I see a very special kind of balance within to Him. One that is seen worked out through images and the act of creation to help further an understanding and taming. They have to create and say what needs to be said. I'm no folk artist, nor anywhere near, but I find a kinship with these kinds of creators. The way a child creates, looks at the world and plays is vital resource material as well. And not just for an artist, but for everyday living/profession. We should all be more like children. I can't connect with much of the adult world. Even as a child it didn't make sense to me. I was so freaked out about dating and marriage in the first grade. It's sad to me when we get caught up in games that push purity away. I'm no purist or saint. I think we're all tainted at birth. We come out of the cannon and are instantly thrown into the thicket. But, art and looking at things with a spiritual lens just helps me reconnect and see Him a bit clearer. I can't not see Him. Anybody channeling something within to make something on the outside is tapping into something big. There's a reservoir out there that all of our individual reservoirs are connected with. It is there. I'd be another wreck on the highway if it wasn't for my belief in all of this. 13) "I grew up in a very white bread church with no instruments. A lot of artists chuck their childhood or religion to the curb. I'd rather tap into it. You learn a lot of important life-things in your early years." I won't go too far into this, but it's weird when we set man-made restrictions upon the simplest and purest of things like worship. I've never understood that. God can be found in everything and the world isn't painted black and white. Again, this is like putting a microscope to it and staking a one way flag. Stuff like this causes many a more colorful outlook to run. I've never understood how people can just stop being childlike or creative just like those that decide to bury their past. It's kinda like knocking the foundation out of a building. I wouldn't do as I do without those early years. But, I can admire those who can re-invent themselves with what they've built. I love playing Legos. I just find it sad when we chuck things to the curb. But, I can also see why as life and other lives can be pretty darn hard on some folks. 14) "I love the idea of a timeline through my art - to see how I was developing and growing." It's important to have a human identity, to say something of value in art and that goes with anything we're pursuing and leaving behind. And it's neat to see this physically in something like a body of work with art. I look at stuff from years ago, heck, even last week, and think, "Wow, what inspired me to do that? Something was thumping in me and had to come out like that!" I also love how each thing leads up to the next, like marks on a height chart or a traveled map. Everything in life got me to the end of this interview... -djg