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daegudrama · 6 months

Text

Title: Route 613

Pairing: Reader/Namjoon, Reader/Yoongi, Reader/Vmin

Summary: Reader wants to be the very best Pokémon trainer there ever was. Her first stop in that journey is Paldea University home to a myriad of higher education. Still working to get over her ex boyfriend, Yoongi, reader forms new connections while making a few questionable decisions along the way. Each battle bringing her closer to the glory she's always dreamed of. Will she succeed in becoming champion or will outside forces stop her from achieving her goal?

Word Count: 11.3K

Disclaimer: Real life ages mean nothing in this fic. Refer here for ages and my shitty graphics

cross posted to ao3 here

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Chapter 3

You knock on Yunjin’s door while Hiyyih holds the spoils of your snack run. Almost as soon as you pull your hand away, the door opens revealing Chaewon and Yunjin wearing matching silk pajamas. It makes you wish you had a matching set instead of the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants combo you’ve put on.

“Welcome!! Everyone else is already here. Come in!” Chaewon says stepping out of your way so you can enter.

Yunjin has plush cushions scattered across her floor around a coffee table. There is a dark sofa behind the coffee table that no one is using, opting for the cozy looking nest of pillows on the floor instead. As she said the boys are already here looking comfy in loose shirts and sweatpants except Namjoon who is wearing a brown hoodie with his sweatpants. Each of them has a drink in their hand and the coffee table is covered in a spread of snacks. The cushion to the right of Namjoon is empty so you take a seat. Yoongi is on the other side of the table with Jimin on his right side and the hosts on his left. Taehyung is seated between Namjoon and Jimin, already snacking on some chips.

Yunjin turns on a movie and you crack open one of the drinks you picked up before you went back to your dorm to wash up. It’s a movie you’ve seen a few times before so you spend more time watching the reactions of the people around you then actually watching the movie. Everyone seems to be enjoying it, sipping their drinks and reaching for snacks occasionally. When the credits roll Jimin suggests a game of never have I ever.

“Why do you always suggest this game?” Taehyung asks, squeezing Jimin’s bicep with his long fingers. “You always end up drinking more than anyone else.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Jimin asks, tilting his chin down as his face spreads into a cheeky smile.

“I’ll start!” Yunjin says looking around the room like it might give her an idea. She giggles before she speaks again. “Never have I ever had a boyfriend.”

Hiyyih, Namjoon, and Jimin take a drink with you. Your eyes fall to Jimin after you swallow. More new information about Jimin. This doesn’t really surprise you Jimin hasn’t used pronouns often when talking about his various conquests.

Without discussion you move to the next question. For several rounds the questions stay tame, leading the majority of you to drink nearly every time, until Namjoon says, “Never have I ever kissed someone in this room.”

Everyone except for Hiyyih and Namjoon takes a drink. It’s obvious by the shock on his face he was only expecting Chaewon and Yunjin to drink. What you are shocked by is Taehyung and Jimin giggling as all eyes fall on them. You simply need to hear this story.

“What, don't you kiss your homies?” Taehyung asks with a look of pure seriousness crossing his drunk face.

Jimin pulls Taehyung closer by the back of the neck and kisses him like it’s something he does every day. Their lips move together with needy passion stirring something deep in your stomach. Jimin is about to crawl in Taehyung’s lap when Yoongi whines and grabs a fist full of Jimin’s shirt pulling him backwards.

“Show some restraint. This doesn’t need to turn into an orgy.”

That is not an image you want in your mind. Even if it was just the guys it’s not an idea you should entertain. It’s been far too long since you’ve been fucked though and images of Yoongi’s hands on your body spring up without warning. You take a long pull of your drink thinking maybe it will wash away the thought.

“Never have I ever sent a nude.” Taehyung moves the game along without anyone stopping to interrogate you about kissing Yoongi.

Namjoon and Hiyyih are the lone two who don’t drink once again. Once again your mind is flooded with images your sober brain would certainly not be haunting you with. In particular one stands out. The ass picture Yoongi once sent you with the same framing as the one you sent him. Maybe he was teasing you but the picture was so hot you didn’t respond for several minutes. You wonder if Yoongi’s mind is also flooded with images of your naked body.

Hiyyih, swaying in her intoxicated state, pipes up next with something you don’t expect. There is a sly smile on her face like she knows she’s going to get all of you easily.

“I’m a virgin. Drink whores.”

The room fills with laughter as everyone except Hiyyih finishes their drinks. Whether or not she is a virgin wasn’t a question that had come up in your many conversations thus far. This new information doesn’t make you feel a particular way. Everyone moves at their own pace and she’s had hawk eyes on her ever since her brother became champion. This leads into sharing the story of the first time each of you had sex. Most of their stories are quite similar. Bringing someone over when their parents were away. Most of their first times were not what they thought it would be at all.

“I had been dating my first boyfriend for a few months when we decided we wanted to try to have sex. We didn’t really know what we were doing as two virgins. Honestly it wasn’t ever really great with him.” Namjoon says, circling one finger around the rim of his drink. “My most recent ex taught me basically everything I know.”

Two boyfriends. The inappropriate part of your brain wonders if he’s ever been with a woman, but that is definitely not something you should ask. Not now or not ever. That is information he needs to volunteer to you. Just looking at his handsome face is enough.

“Y/N, what about you?” Chaewon asks, leaning into her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Who took your virginity?”

Hiyyih’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Yoongi. You haven't explicitly told her but it’s an easy connection to make. When you look towards Yoongi he has a stupid smirk on his face like he thinks that still means anything. You make eye contact tilting your head to the side in question.

“I did.” Yoongi says before you can speak up. “We were each other’s firsts.”

Eventually, you are sure they’ll ask why the two of you broke up, but today is not that day. There is only a moment of brief shock before Taehyung launches into the story of how he lost his virginity in a flower field. Which in his words is not as romantic and scenic as you would think. Apparently a pokemon snuck up on him and the girl and they had to run while desperately trying to put their clothes on.

Yoongi shifts to put a pillow in his lap and you can only imagine what thoughts are running through his mind. Your first time together isn’t a story worth telling either but things got so much better. Has Yoongi been alone this whole time too? Is he also thinking about the leg shaking orgasms?

Namjoon’s arm brushes yours and you wonder when he got so close to you. You are acutely aware of how close he is as the conversation morphs away from your sex lives back to the people you met tonight. Namjoon and Jimin take the lead in this conversation gushing about the amazing scientists they met. After being around people of that caliber for so much of your life it doesn’t really phase you anymore. You can understand their excitement though. It’s like if you were to meet the elite four.

In your drunken state you suggest watching Rugrats in Paris and Chaewon all but jumps at the chance to watch the beloved childhood movie. Yunjin turns off the lights so the room is only lit by the brightness of the TV screen. You pop a chip into your mouth chewing as the open credits begin.

Jimin and Taehyung are snuggled together and you wonder how they keep their relationship so seemingly casual when they act how they do.

Namjoon shifts into a more comfortable position bringing him even closer to you. His heart pounds as his thick thigh is pressed against yours feeling the heat radiating off of your body. Namjoon hesitantly moves to rest his large hand on your knee. Is this okay, he wonders. He throws a few side glances your way that you catch with your peripheral vision. Subtly is not in his favor right now, but he doesn’t really care. Your pajama pants are so soft and instead of tensing under his touch you find yourself relaxing. Namjoon takes that as a good sign.

Both you and Namjoon pretend to pay attention to the movie playing out on the screen but your minds are overloaded with feelings. Most of which could, in your cause, be associated with the fact that no one has touched you in seven months.

You lean against his arm playing into whatever he’s trying to do for the moment. Namjoon holds in a gasp, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. Your ex is in the room after all and Namjoon isn’t exactly sure why you and Yoongi broke up. It’s obvious that you aren’t completely comfortable around your ex and Namjoon is happy to be a distraction from that. Nothing you have said makes him think you want to be in a relationship with Yoongi again. It does seem like you are still working on getting over your ex, though.

You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you and this prompts you to stick your tongue out at him. Namjoon thinks about backing off when he sees this playful behavior, but the alcohol clouding his judgment wins and he stays put.

Yoongi’s gummy smile which you haven’t seen in months appears and you can hear him chuckling. Your heart aches and you reach for the cup of soju you poured not too long ago that is resting on the table before sinking deeper into Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon is sure he made the right decision by not pulling away.

You share the drink with Namjoon passing the plastic cup back and forth. It’s so casual like you’ve been friends for ages. There’s comfort in having someone next to you. Namjoon is such a gentle person you trust he wouldn’t have bad intentions. Namjoon feels Yoongi’s eyes watching them but ignores it. He is focused on you. What really matters.

Half way through the film you feel the man next to you shift until his breath is tickling your neck. Namjoon is starting to feel sleepy but he wants to spend more time with you.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” His low voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod your head in response and Namjoon gets up only wobbling for a second before offering you his hand. You take his warm hand and pull yourself off the floor trying not to think of all the things your horny brain might like him to do with those hands. Namjoon releases your hand and the two of you walk towards the door. Neither of you turn to see the reactions of your friends but you are sure there are more than a few raised eyebrows. Namjoon knows Jimin is going to have a plethora of questions in the morning.

“We’re going for a walk.” You call over your shoulder, not paying attention to the looks being thrown at you, shoving your feet into your shoes.

Namjoon leads the way, pushing his arms into his jacket as you step into the cool night air. He looks so peaceful staring up at the stars as you walk away from the dorms. He releases a Bellsprout letting the pokemon walk in front of you. His pokemon has an aura of love surrounding it that you can feel even from yards away.

“This is Bangwool. I caught her a few days before I left Kanto. She warmed up to me really quickly.”

He wears the same kind of smile you do when you watch your pokemon. Pride and overwhelming love. Watching other people love their pokemon on the same level as you fills you with joy. Though the two of you raise these companions for different reasons you both only want the best for them.

You ask him questions about his pokemon rubbing your arms against the cold air. How you didn’t think to put on a jacket is beyond you. Even the alcohol can only keep you so warm. He is leading you towards the field where the stargazing event happened. He looks over at you, studying the way you are shivering for a moment before hastily removing his jacket.

“No, it’s okay, I'm fine.” You say as he tries to press the jacket into your arms.

“Y/N, come on.” He says softly before pulling you to a stop.

His fingers gently hold your wrist and your heart reacts wildly. There isn’t much space between you and Namjoon when he reaches behind you, settling his jacket on your shoulders. It’s like he’s trying to drive you insane. Namjoon is testing the limits a bit. He could have let you put it on yourself, but where is the fun in that?

He is looking down at you with a soft smile. It’s been a long time since he felt the joy of having a crush. A simple joy he’s deprived himself of. He pinches your cheek, a short chuckle sounding from his mouth, before backing away continuing his walk. You stand frozen processing what just happened.

It takes a moment for your shorter legs to catch up with his longer ones. His jacket has a light floral scent that is far more noticeable once you push your arms through the sleeves. The oversized fabric is cozy like a hug. Namjoon picks Bangwool up off the ground carrying her until you reach the field.

Sitting on the grass you let Spark out and he plays with Bangwool. Namjoon stands in front of you for a moment seemingly contemplating something before he joins you on the ground. What you don’t expect is his head falling on your lap. A true smile that shows off his deep dimples takes over his face. Tonight Namjoon decides he deserves happiness.

“Hi, there.” You breath out head spinning and you truly wonder if maybe your drunk brain is imagining this happening.

“Is this okay?” He doesn’t make any effort to move as he waits for your answer.

He doesn’t fully relax until you nod. Perhaps if you were even a little more sober you would say no, but this is harmless. It’s a good distraction from all the Yoongi related questions plaguing your brain. He starts talking about water pokemon, specifically the ones you can find in Cabo Poco, and you animatedly tell him about the things you’ve seen.

“When I was 12 there was a Gastrodon on the beach that was so wounded they couldn’t move. It's rare to see the blue and green variant in that area and they are tricky to treat. After my father helped nurse them back to health, they stole our sandwiches and went back into the ocean.”

As you speak you watch your pokemon running together across the field. Your fingers absentmindedly card through Namjoon’s soft hair. His chest flutters but he remains calm on the outside.

The world around you feels calm and you don’t worry about what could happen tomorrow. All that matters is right here and right now.

“Isn’t it funny that you grew to love fire types when you lived so close to the ocean?”

“My mom loves fire types so I’ve always found them interesting.” You say looking down at the perfect slope of his nose and curve of his lips. “I want to have a diverse team that can help me overcome any challenge that is thrown my way.”

“You’ve already gotten a good team started.” He murmurs, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of the sky. He turns the camera towards you and snaps a photo. A captured memory of a wonderful moment.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

The morning brings a brain splitting headache and several worried text messages. Assessing the damage you are happy to find yourself alone in bed fully clothed. You let your friends know you are in fact alive before taking a shower. Your memory gets kind of hazy after sitting in the field with Namjoon, but it seems like you made it home without making any questionable decisions. Only time will tell, you suppose.

Showering does wonders to make you feel better, or well enough to do some homework. It’s noon by the time you venture out of your room needing more than the snacks you have in your room to sustain you.

“Y/N!” Jimin calls to you as you are walking in the courtyard.

You stop looking toward him as he walks your way. He’s wearing an oversized purple hoodie with jeans and somehow he makes it look like he should be on a runway.

“Hi, do you want to grab lunch? I’m starving.”

He nods letting you lead the way towards the dining hall. “You know it’s Halloween next week and we haven’t made any plans.”

“Do you know any parties we could hit up?” You ask already knowing he must have a plan or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

“There’s an upperclassman who throws a warehouse party every year. Last year it was the party to be at and he told me to bring all my friends this year.” He says this so matter of factly you wonder if there is really a choice here. Not that you want to say no. It’s not like anyone else has invited you. “It’ll be fun I promise.”

“Okay,” He grabs your arm in excitement as you continue speaking, “but I don’t have a costume.”

“Good thing Mesagoza has everything we could ever need.” When you look at him skeptically he continues. “During October Bagin’s gets transformed into a costume shop.”

After eating a quick lunch you head over to Bagin’s to look for a costume having not even an inkling about what you want to be. This weekend you want to let loose and stop your perpetual worrying. You’ve never worn a sexy costume for Halloween before and what a better time than now to break that tradition.

Racks and racks of costumes are neatly lined up where expensive backpacks usually reside. Nothing is catching your eye as you look through the costumes. Jimin keeps offering ideas that are not quite what you are looking for.

“What about this?” He asks, holding up a blue cheerleader costume with a minuscule shirt and skirt.

“Maybe,” you say, walking towards him until you are within arms length, “you should wear it.”

“You think I won’t?” He challenges and you tap his nose with your index finger before finally finding something that looks promising.

A witch costume. Not very creative but the cut of it catches your eye. If you are going to a party you would rather not wear something over the top that could get ruined. Though, you’ve never been to this kind of party you can imagine the vibes. Something that’s cute but not restricting is probably the best bet. Jimin gives an approving look when you show him what you’ve found.

Jimin is still clutching the cheerleader costume when you check out. Will that skirt even cover his ass? Is he really willing to go this far? Shouldn’t he have had a costume ready? He buys the costume after you pay for yours and holds the door for you on the way out.

“Where’d you go with Joon last night?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.

“We just went to the field and let our pokemon play.”

It looks like he wants to ask more, but there is truly nothing else to tell him. Nothing special, just a walk for some fresh air. Namjoon is his friend, why wouldn’t he ask him? Or is he being nosey wanting to know what you think? Are you thinking too heavily about this?

“I had to stop Yoongi from following you.” Jimin says softly, taking a seat on a bench between two tall buildings. You sit beside him digesting what he’s just said. “He was worried about you.”

“That’s not his place anymore.” A swell of frustration fills your chest. “It’s his own fault we broke up. Where does he get off—”

You let out a defeated groan. This is something you are going to be dealing with for much longer than you want to. In an ideal world you wouldn’t be dealing with this at all, but unfortunately that is not your reality. Yoongi is here and his life is still intertwined with yours far too tightly.

“What happened between you two? If you’re comfortable telling me.”

It takes a moment for you to decide to be vulnerable. If they have the same information as you do about what happened they’ll be able to help you. So, you tell him the same thing you told Hiyyih. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder rubbing small circles.

“Now we can’t really escape each other and that would be fine if he would just tell me. His mom just left me with more questions. I feel like I’m going insane.”

“For Halloween let's forget all about him.” Jimin says pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “Let’s just enjoy the party. We can make new memories.”

There’s a warmness in your heart knowing Jimin wants to help you however he can. For so long you didn’t have many friends. Experiencing new things is the best way to distract your mind until Yoongi no longer affects you like this. You are looking forward to Halloween and the chaos that will ensue.

For a while you sit on the bench with Jimin talking about what last year's party was like. It morphs into talking about the parties he wants you to come to. Apparently, there is one going on somewhere almost every Friday. You aren’t sure if you’ll like that kind of vibe. Small parties with your friends have always been more your taste.

“Are you sure you won’t abandon me for a hookup?” You ask as the two of you walk outside the gates of Mesagoza strolling through the grass.

“I think you’re more interesting than any hookup I could find.” He says casually not looking you in the eyes.

“Even more interesting than Taehyung?” You question jokingly.

What you’re more interested in is if he will imply that he has in fact hooked up with Taehyung.

“I know him too well already.” Now he looks at you before continuing. “There’s still a lot to learn about you.”

You are about to answer when your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s a text from Chaewon reminding you of the study date you agreed to earlier in the week. Spending time with Jimin makes you lose track of what time it is.

“I have to go study with Chaewon. I totally forgot until she just messaged me.” You type out a message to Chaewon telling her you’ll be over soon. “I’ll see you later!”

He says bye as you rush off not wanting to make her wait any longer than she already has. You need this study session if you’re going to keep up with Hiyyih. Even if she’s your best friend here you won’t let that stand in the way of challenging the elite four this spring.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

The whole week you focus on classes barely hanging out with your friends aside from meals and your planned study sessions with them. If you want a truly stress free night all your homework needs to be taken care of. It doesn’t help that it feels like you have to work twice as hard as your peers for the same results. But the hours you are putting in every evening battling trainers off campus is paying off. Your team is growing stronger and listening better with each new challenge.

“Y/N…” Hiyyih whines from the other side of the table settled in the back corner of the library. The light shining through the window warms you. “We have next week's reading done. Can we please go get crepes before we meet up with the girls to get ready?”

“Battle me first.” You quip knowing she’s going to turn you down.

“We are not battling right now.” She rolls her eyes while she puts away her notebooks.

“You’re going to have to battle me eventually.” You say also putting your things away because crepes sound good right now.

“Do you know if Namjoon is coming tonight?” She asks instead, completely avoiding talking about battling you.

“He’s going to a party in town.” You say letting go of her not wanting to battle you for the moment. It’s not like you’ll be able to change her mind today. “He invited us, but I already told Jimin I’d go to the warehouse party.”

Ever since you told her about Namjoon resting his head in your lap she’s been mentioning him more. Hiyyih has been trying to convince you it means something all week whenever you’d let her get a non school related word in. But his coat is still hanging off the back of your couch. For some reason you haven’t yet returned it. He never said anything about your walk, and that’s how you want to keep it. This week he was around less, but we are all getting busy. Putting meaning where there doesn’t need to be meaning will only hurt you. So you are choosing not to think about it.

“Let’s see how the night goes and maybe we can head over there if things get boring.” Hiyyih replies, her shirt lifting up to show a bit of her stomach as she stretches.

“Okay.” You zip your things into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. “But text the group chat and ask what they want. Jimin will be pissed if we get crepes without him.”

“Already on it.” She says following you out of the library as she taps away on her phone screen. “Speaking of Jimin, do you know what he’s going as? He refuses to tell me.”

This makes you wonder if he had a plan before the two of you went shopping together. Jimin seems like someone who would want to do a matching costume with his friend. Did he not plan something with Taehyung? Imagining him in that cheerleading outfit is not where you should be.

“It’ll be better if you see it in person.” You say with a smirk.

“Not you too!” She whines again, pouting her lips.

Your phone buzzes alerting you that someone in the group chat has responded.

Hiyyih orders for the group, after side eyeing you for calling the group idiots, making sure to get an extra because this is one of her favorite places. You watch the employee make the crepes right in front of you and thank them before you pay. This is your Halloween treat to them. Carrying all of the boxes isn’t easy but somehow you make it to Yunjin’s dorm with all the crepes intact.

“Hi!!” Chaewon says jumping up to help you lay out the boxes. “Oh, you even had them write out names on them. That’s so smart.”

As promised, Jimin and Taehyung are lounging on Yunjin’s couch waiting for their crepes. No one is in costume yet. In fact everyone looks quite cozy waiting for their sugary treat. Jimin seems almost feral as he grabs his crepe off the coffee table and starts cutting it up with the plastic fork he found inside the box.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Jimin says, making a kissy face that Taehyung quickly copies.

“You’re the best.” Taehyung affirms biting into his own crepe getting whip cream on his lips.

The way he licks it off his lips stirs something inside of you that you don’t want to think about. Let’s save those thoughts for when you are a lot more drunk and a lot more alone. The sweet taste of chocolate strawberry sweeps the thoughts of his tongue to the back of your brain.

“I ordered pizza.” Yunjin informs the room pointing her thumbs at herself. “No alcohol poisoning for these idiots tonight, just good vibes.”

“Thank you, Yunjin.” You say making half a heart with your hand that she completes.

“What were you guys doing all day?” Chaewon asks between bites.

“Y/N all but locked me in the library until we got through next week's homework.”

The eyes of your friends turn to you in question. You are sure in their mind homework is the last thing to be thinking about with a massive Halloween party just hours away. Not be that annoying person but your parents always taught you to work twice as hard as you play. Letting your hard work take a back seat for a party is simply not an option.

“Why do you make it sound like a hostage situation?” You roll your eyes at her dramatics knowing if she really wanted to leave she would’ve.

“I’ve studied with you,” Chaewon remarks, not looking up from where she’s staring at her crepe. She is staring at the food with a look of admiration. “I think you picked up study habits from your parents. Not bad but very intense sometimes.”

“Hiyyih won’t you be more relaxed tonight knowing there’s no homework to worry about?”

She contemplates your words for half a second before responding. It’s probably good you have friends that want you to have fun. It would be easy to force yourself to spend every waking moment training because you genuinely love doing it.

“As soon as I get a drink in me I’m sure I wouldn’t have thought about it.” She takes a bite of her treat, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “I wouldn’t be thinking about it now even if it wasn’t done.”

Light conversation fills the room while crepes are devoured. Taehyung is talking about how he is valuing comfort over a good costume this year. He shows us pictures of last year when he and Jimin dressed in vintage dresses with curly wigs and you wonder where they got the idea for that.

By the time the pizza arrives Yunjin deems it late enough to start pregaming. She pours a round of shots with a cute smile. As she holds up the shot glass she records a video. Each of your friends copies the movement lifting their shot glass in the air.

“To friends and lovers fuck the others.” Yunjin calls clinking her shot glass against the hoard of them in the middle.

She taps her glass on the edge of the table before pouring it down her throat like it’s nothing. You follow suit but reach for juice in front of you to chase away the burn in your throat. Jimin takes a seat next to you on the couch reaching for a slice of pizza. Chaewon has taken the duty of mixing drinks and Taehyung is turning on a speaker.

“How many people do you think you’ll kiss tonight?” You ask nudging his side with your elbow.

“Do you want to be the first?” He leans close to your ear before he speaks. His warm breath washes over your ear pulling heat to your cheeks. He pulls away to speak loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Probably no more than last year.”

“So two?” Taehyung asks from his position on the floor in front of the couch. He puckers his lips up in jest. “I’ll be on that list if you want.”

Oh, so they aren’t only like that when they are drunk? You have so many questions you can’t respectfully ask for the answers to. No one in the room reacts as if this is abnormal. You guess for these two this is normal. Harmless flirting that sometimes leads to them making out and who knows what else.

The pizza sweeps the thought to the back of your mind this time. Chaewon brings a pitcher full of something she mixed together and you put full faith in her ability to make it taste good. The music is setting a good mood and when you finish eating you already want to dance. You refrain, watching the way Jimin ties Yunjin’s hair bow into Taehyung’s dark locks. Tae takes out his phone and snaps a selfie. He tilts his head side to side and pretends to flip hair over his shoulder. He’s really feeling himself and it sends the room into a fit of giggles. The time spent pregaming is peaceful and it wastes away the time until it’s acceptable to show up to the party.

“We will not be crossdressing this year.” Taehyung says confidently fiddling with the bow in his hair then backtracks when both you and Jimin give him a questioning look. “Well I won’t be at least.”

“Tae and I are going to get dressed.” Jimin says pulling his friend off the floor. He downs the rest of the drink in his cup before speaking again. “Let’s meet up at the party in like an hour.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hiyyih mumbles, scrolling on her phone with one hand and sipping out of a cup with her other.

The boys leave and you look over Hiyyih’s shoulder to see her looking at her brother’s instagram. He and four of his friends have dressed up as power rangers. She scrolls through the photos and you see his friends are the members of the elite four.

“The elite four?” You question despite knowing the answer. You’ve watched every video of them battling that’s available online at least once. “They are close with your brother?”

“Oh yeah, they are Kai’s b—” she cuts herself off hesitating, eyes widening like she almost said something she shouldn’t. You are about to tell her to forget it when she says, “really good friends. They are a lot closer than what they show in public.”

“You’re going to look way cooler than them, Hiyyih.” Chaewon says from across the coffee table where she has pulled out face paint for her costume.

“Soobin insisted they buy custom costumes. How nerdy can you get?” Hiyyih laughs into her drink before taking a sip and putting it down. She looks towards you. “Anyways, let's go get our costumes then we can get ready together.”

You nod, turning to the other girls to tell them you’ll be back in a minute. It's going to take them a lot longer for them to get ready anyways. When you step into the hall, noise surrounds you. Many students have propped their doors open and are walking in between rooms with cups of mystery liquid in their hands. Everyone is pregaming for whatever party they are headed to soon.

In Hiyyih’s room she collects the many pieces of her cowgirl Barbie costume. She decided to go for the nearly fully pink option despite her recent style change. You haven’t seen the costume on her yet but you know that it’s going to look perfect.

Hiyyih follows you into your room to retrieve your costume and makeup. When you see Namjoon’s jacket still sitting in your room you make a decision.

“I’m going to return this to Namjoon.” You say scooping the jacket up. “Message me if you leave.”

“Okay, Y/N. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Hiyyih!” You scold throwing a balled up shirt at her as she makes her way to the door.

Once Hiyyih is out of your room you quickly put on your costume. It takes you a little while to fix your hair and makeup, but soon you are leaving your building with Namjoon’s jacket in hand. Though you’ve never been to Namjoon’s dorm you do know which one is his. The Indigo building is just as lively as the Violet building if not a little more loud.

Just as you are about to knock, the door opens revealing Namjoon. He is dressed as a boxer with a hooded robe and shorts. His chest is bare and there are gloves hanging off his neck. Heat flushes your cheeks as if you just got caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Namjoon is so much more muscular than you ever imagined. His pecs are huge and his abs are well defined in a way that makes it hard for you to tear your eyes away.

“Oh, hi.” He says, running a hand through his hair. Namjoon’s eyes travel up and down your body appreciating your choice. He wants to tell you how stunning you look, but decides on something softer. “I like your costume. It looks really good on you.”

In his other hand he is holding the same basket you gave him cookies in. Instead of cookies it's now filled with Halloween themed treats. A pastry with the Cafe Huening logo on it stands out to you among the rest of the orange and black.

“Thank you.” You say holding out his jacket. “I just came to give this back to you. I’ve been forgetting all week.”

“I forgot about it too.” Namjoon says, taking the jacket from your hand. He wonders if it will smell like you now. “I was actually about to go to your dorm.”

You tilt your head to the side in confusion. Why would he be going to your dorm? He knows everyone was at Yunjin’s dorm from the group message.

“Why? Aren’t you meeting up with your friends in town soon?”

“Well you mentioned you wanted Srircha to try this pastry from Cafe Huening last week so I just gathered some treats to go with it for Halloween.” He has a shy smile on his face as he holds out the basket to you.

“You’re so sweet. Thank you.” You say and the alcohol flowing through your veins makes you want to do other things. Things you’ve only done with one other person. Instead you take the basket from him with a genuine smile gracing your face. “Come have a drink with us before you head out!”

“Just let me put my jacket away then I’ll join you.”

You wait outside his dorm as he quickly puts his jacket away. His dimples are showing as he walks alongside you back to Yunjin’s dorm. Seeing you makes his night better. He wasn’t sure he’d see you today. You recap what you’ve been doing for the last few hours and he laughs.

“Oh, so you’re already a little tipsy?” He asks when you are standing right outside Yunjin’s dorm.

Standing directly in front of him with little room between the two of you he cups your cheek with one of his hands. Perhaps Namjoon has lost his rational thoughts. He wants to kiss you so badly but he won’t. Not like this. Internally you are screaming, because why is he doing this? What does this mean? Your hazy mind can’t string together a reason.

“Me too.” His breath fans over your face and you can smell the alcohol.

He giggles before pulling away and knocking on the door. You stand paralyzed by shock. Because what the fuck was that? Before you are able to form a coherent thought Hiyyih opens the door and Namjoon moves inside. Your best friend gives you a questioning look but you bat her away. The other two girls hardly notice your entrance until Hiyyih says something about Namjoon’s costume.

Half of Chaewon’s face is painted white. Yunjin is holding a brush using precise careful strokes to cover her girlfriend's face. They decided to dress as the Joker and Harley Quinn despite Jimin suggesting Chaewon could be Poison Ivy instead. Either way you are sure they are going to look so cool. The two of them spent far more time thinking about their costumes than you did.

“Wow, Namjoon you look…”

She can’t even finish her sentence and it sends the rest of the room into a fit of giggles. Namjoon is standing tall and confident in his costume choice. This is the reaction he wanted after all. He doesn’t work this hard on his body for nothing.

All three girls eye the basket Namjoon gave you when you set it down on the coffee table. Hiyyih picks out pastry from her sister’s shop.

“Barbie really suits you, Hiyyih.” Namjoon replies, and takes a seat on the couch while you find another cup to pour Chaewon’s delicious mixed drink into.

“Thank you! Did you buy Y/N these?” She asks, looking over the packaging she helped her sister design. Hiyyih is a woman of many talents and her siblings value her opinion.

“She said she wanted Sriracha to try them and I was already getting some for Drago.” He shrugs watching as you pour a drink for him then hand him the cup.

Drago is Namjoon’s Dragonite who you have yet to see in person. You are very excited for the day you will get to meet them. It really touches your heart that he was thinking about your pokemon as well while shopping for his own. Getting sidetracked and not seeking out the more speciality treats is something you do too often.

“Pearl loves those!” Chaewon says looking at the food Hiyyih has placed back in the basket.

“Your pokemon have good taste.” Hiyyih replies before snapping a picture. “Lea will be happy to know people over here are buying her goods.”

Namjoon takes a sip of his drink and a pleased expression blooms across his face. You take a seat beside him and adjust your dress when it gets pulled down a little. He listens to the rest of you chatter without much participation. He’s happy to passively learn more about you.

Chaewon is worrying about how hard it’s going to be to get her facepaint off. Yunjin assures her that even if they are both shitfaced at the end of the night she will help her remove it.

“Ahh, true love.” Namjoon remarks downing the rest of his drink before setting the cup on the table.

“Damn right.” Yunjin replies looking over her shoulder. She has clipped blue and pink extensions onto either side of her head feeding into her pigtails. The blue and pink makeup is smeared just right and you wonder how she perfected the look so quickly.

Namjoon’s phone chirps with a notification and he pulls it out. His eyes scan the screen for a moment before he looks up.

“My friends are wondering where I am. If the warehouse gets boring, come find me.”

He shoots you a gentle smile before standing up. His thighs are massive and so impressive. Namjoon snags the last piece of pizza off the table as he walks towards the door. For a few moments there is silence which is quickly shattered.

“He definitely likes you.” Hiyyih says, looking to the other girls for confirmation.

Chaewon nods her head but Yunjin looks wary. Entertaining the idea of Namjoon liking you is not something you want to deal with right now. He could just end up being a distraction from the other feelings you are working through. He doesn’t deserve that mess.

“No. This is not the time for that.” You reply looking in the mirror to fix your hair.

“Fun, no thoughts.” Yunjin says adjusting her tiny shorts. “Are you ready? Let’s go!”

After a few more minutes of making sure you have everything you need, the girls file out the door together. You stop off at your dorm to put the basket from Namjoon inside, then you are on your way to the warehouse. Off to your first real party of the year.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

A sea of people in an array of costumes greets you when you step inside the warehouse. In one corner you see an intense beer pong match and in another you spot a makeshift bar. There are a few different doors on the sides of the room. Decorative cobwebs, spiders, and bats line the walls and hang from the ceiling. There is a fog machine giving the room a slight hazy feel.

“Y/N!!” Taehyung calls, turning your attention to where he’s standing in an Eevee onesie. “You have to try this pinap cocktail Jungkook made.”

He hands you a cup and you take a drink. While drinking your eyes fall to Jimin and you choke. Taehyung takes the cup from you and Yunjin pats your back as you cough it out. You quickly shut your jaw wishing you didn’t just embarrass yourself.

“Do I look that good?” Jimin asks, putting his hands on his hips and turning to the side so you can see his ass.

Jimin’s abs and arms are exposed showing the work he’s put in. As you expected the skirt barely covers his ass and you see no boxers or safety shorts. He chose a pair of white sneakers so his strong legs are nearly on full display for everyone to see.

“9 out of 10.” You muse eyes looking up and down his frame.

He scoffs like there is no way someone could possibly rate him below a 10. Your feet guide you away from him to the bar. Jungkook, dressed as Jack Skellington is making drinks with a skeleton as his copilot. He compliments your costume as he hands you a cocktail. Before you can say another word to him you are whisked away by Taehyung.

He pulls you to the middle of the floor where people are dancing to the loud music. Chaewon, Yunjin and Hiyyih are nearby dancing in a little circle. Taehyung and Jimin are on either side of you showing off their moves. You push closer to the girls dodging Taehyung’s hand and take a sip of your drink.

For quite some time you enjoy the company of your friends dancing, laughing and drinking together. The girls break away eventually to mingle with other people and you stay behind with Jimin and Taehyung. Who are suspiciously close to you.

“I think I deserve a 10 out of 10.” Jimin says in your ear, pulling your back against his front.

Taehyung fills the space in front of you, settling his hands just below where Jimin’s are on your waist. You look up at Taehyung with a pounding heart. He brushes one hand across your cheek keeping the other one firmly gripping your hip.

“Maybe you can earn 10 out of 10, Jimin.” Taehyung says just loud enough for you to hear.

Dancing in beat with the rhythm you grind your ass against Jimin’s crotch. You tilt your head up and pull Taehyung by the back of his neck into a kiss. If this becomes a problem that's something future you can deal with. Present you needs a fun distraction and these too are oh so willing.

Taehyung’s lips are soft like silk and taste like the drinks he’s been consuming all night. Jimin presses his lips against your shoulder rocking his hips against your ass in time with the song. The boys are thrilled to have the girl they’ve been thinking about for weeks between them. After several minutes of sensual dancing Jimin suggests you move to somewhere more quiet. You make your way through the crowd with little difficulty.

With Jimin and Taehyung following closely behind you, enter one of the side rooms of the warehouse that Jimin pointed out to you. Surprisingly, there is no one else in the sparsely decorated room. There is one couch and a table that is littered with beer cans and plastic cups. There is one fake skeleton and two colorful pumpkins on different sides of the room. Taehyung closes the door behind you muffling the loud trap beats filling the main area. Your heart races, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You are really about to do this.

The dingy couch you sit on has surely seen things you don’t want to imagine. Jimin sits on your right and Taehyung sits on the left. Each man has a hand resting on one of your bare thighs. Jimin’s teeth sink into his plush lip as his fingers squeeze your soft skin. Taehyung leans closer to you lips brushing your ear.

“Should I move my hand?” His low voice sends a flutter from your chest to your stomach.

Instead of answering him you grip his hand placing it on your breast. This sexy witch costume provides a nice view of your chest which you have noticed many people looking at all night. Taehyung swipes your hair away from your neck and lightly kisses the skin. Your skin tingles with excitement after not being touched like this for seven months. Jimin’s hand is creeping further and further up your leg teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You draw in a sharp breath when Jimin finally reaches the edge of your skirt and slips his hand under. He wastes no time dragging his finger against your clothed cunt. With his other hand Jimin is palming himself over his short skirt. Taehyung traps your jaw in his long fingers and turns your attention towards him. His fingers are lightly kneading your breast while he leans in for a kiss, one that quickly turns messy in your drunken state.

Taehyung’s mouth moves against yours with equal vigor as you begin desperately grinding against Jimin’s hand. You pull away from Taehyung using his shoulder to steady yourself while moving into a kneeling position. The zipper of his Eevee onesie is pulled down as you eye the outline of his cock. You can’t say you’ve spent much time thinking about what this would be like.

Jimin pushes your panties to the side, collecting your lust on his finger before spreading it through your folds. Taehyung assists in your goal pulling his large cock out of his boxers. You look over your shoulder to see Jimin’s eyes trained on Taehyung, not on what he’s doing. The younger man strokes his cock while he waits for you to make the next move. There’s something incredibly hot about watching his long fingers run up and down his length.

Your name followed by a curse leaves Taehyung’s lips as yours make contact with his waiting cock. It's only a few seconds that you suckle his cock before you let your tongue kitten lick his fat head. You wrap your hand around his cock applying the slightest pressure to draw a throaty groan from his sweet lips. Taking more of him in your mouth and caving your cheeks in has Taehyung arching off the couch.

Taehyung’s long cock hits the back of your throat at the same moment Jimin pushes a finger inside of you. The moan Jimin earns from you vibrates around Taehyung’s cock heighting his sensation of pleasure. The younger man lies a hand on the back of your neck encouraging you to deep throat his cock. You happily oblige by pushing the tip of his thick cock into your throat before sliding your lips back up the length. Taehyung makes an approving sound as your lips form a tight ring around the head of his cock.

Jimin slowly pushes his two middle fingers in and out of your wet pussy. Your mouth pops off of Taehyung when the older one's fingers hit deep inside of you. A loud whine filling the air before you go back to sucking Taehyung’s cock. Jimin shifts behind you onto his knees and he uses his unoccupied hand to clutch your ass, digging his fingers into the squishy flesh.

Experiencing this with someone who isn’t Yoongi for the first time is thrilling. You of a few months ago would not believe what you are doing right now with these men you’ve barely known for two months. These men who you have no romantic feelings for.

Taehyung pulls your mouth away from him cock looking over your shoulder at Jimin before he stands. He settles behind the arm of the couch. If you weren’t so drunk you might find it comical that he’s standing there with his onesie still on with his dick and balls resting above the zipper. Jimin guides your hips to flip you on your back then quickly stands to adjust his skirt. As he scrunches up the fabric you see that he is wearing a lacy white thong. A warm flurry of pleasure runs through your stomach at the sight of Jimin wearing those pretty panties. Taehyung pulls a condom from god knows where and hands it to the older man.

“Are you ready, YN?” Jimin purrs, pulling his cock out before sliding the condom onto his length.

“Please.” You beg watching as he wastes no time sliding his cock into your cunt.

Your head lulls backwards in pleasure giving Taehyung the perfect opportunity to fuck into your throat. You take his cock back into your mouth with ease trying to manage the intense pleasure this situation is bringing you. Jimin’s hands grip your hips showing you the perfect rhythm. He pulls you closer until his thighs are under yours giving him a delicious angle to hear your whiny moans.

Above you Taehyung leans over to kiss Jimin. Of all the things that are happening these two kissing each other is not surprising. You can hear rather than see what is going on as you continue to deep throat Taehyung with your head hanging off the arm of the couch. His hips are slowly grinding into your mouth as he focuses on kissing Jimin’s plump lips. One of Jimin’s hands reaches between your legs and he uses his finger to circle your clit while he rolls his hips into you. Jimin breaks away from the kiss first pulling the top of your dress down to fully expose your breasts.

Taehyung steps away stroking his cock as he watches Jimin fuck you. The older of the two men leans in to kiss you, tasting his friend on your lips. Taehyung takes a seat behind Jimin lightly slapping his ass. Jimin looks into your eyes for a moment after breaking the kiss, seemingly debating something.

“Both of you get on your knees on the floor.” Jimin demands straightening up.

Taehyung and you follow his instructions. While kneeling on the dirty floor of the warehouse Jimin steps between the two of you. Taehyung has Jimin’s plump ass in his face and you have his pretty pink cock waiting to be taken into your mouth. You open your mouth letting your tongue fall out. You pull the condom off his length tossing it across the room without care. Jimin slaps his cock across your tongue as Taehyung spreads Jimin’s cheeks licking a bold strip. The older man gasps, balancing himself on your shoulders. You lick from his pink tip to the smooth skin of his balls before sliding your mouth onto his hot cock.

The younger man is enthusiastically eating Jimin’s ass like he’s been waiting all year to do it. For all you know maybe he has been. You and Taehyung watch Jimin fall further apart with every passing second at the will of your mouths. When one of Taehyung’s long fingers enters Jimin hole the man moans in a way that lets you know he’s been holding back his pretty sounds. You suck lightly letting Taehyung take most of the effort.

After several minutes you kneel on the couch leaning over the back to give them a good view of your soaking pussy. Taehyung takes the lead this time maneuvering Jimin behind you. This time you see him pull two condoms from the pocket of his onesie. You watch as they put the condoms on each other and share a kiss before turning back to you.

Jimin pushes inside of you easily and Taehyung gently slides his thick cock into Jimin earning a breathy moan. The younger man pushes further inside Jimin making him thrust into you. The back of this dirty couch, that smells like stale beer, is the only thing keeping you grounded. There is a moment of awkward fumbling while they find the right flow. Jimin grabs your hips, rocking his cock inside you deeper than before. Your drunken pleasure is growing and spreading through you. The crazy reality of this situation surely won’t hit you until the morning. For now you give your fullest focus to making yourself feel good.

You reach behind you to grab Jimin’s hand and guide it to your needy clit. He does what you want resting his forehead against your shoulder. He can’t suppress the whines Taehyung is pulling out of him. You look over your shoulder briefly and see a smirk on the younger man’s face. He’s very pleased with the reaction his friend is having.

The sound of skin slapping together gets louder as the three of you near your highs. Just as your orgasm is starting to wash over you in waves the door opens. Your head turns to see Yunjin as a scream leaves her mouth.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” She covers her eyes and slams the door.

Taehyung slips out of Jimin bending over as he laughs. Jimin pulls out too and walks towards the other man pulling the condom off his own dick then his friends. He then pulls him into a kiss while he takes both of their cocks into his hand. When Taehyung realizes Jimin’s hands are a little too small he helps. Jimin and Taehyung make out in front of you while they jerk themselves off to completion. Once they are finished they each lie their head on the other’s shoulder and you almost feel like you are intruding.

Jimin adjusts his thong and Taehyung zips himself back up before they pull you off the couch. Together they fix your dress making you presentable enough to leave the room. Each of them holds out a hand for you to take. You accept and let them lead you out of the room back to where the main party is happening. Jimin leads you to the drink table where you drop Taehyung’s hand to get one last drink.

“Let’s go back to my dorm.” Jimin says, shoving a bottle of liquor that Jungkook just handed him, under his arm before guiding you through the crowd again.

When you look over your shoulder to make sure you haven’t lost Taehyung you make eye contact with Yunjin. Your face flames as she gives you a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. You take a gulp of the drink in your hand knowing she is going to ask you all the questions tomorrow.

You wrap your arm around Taehyung’s waist when you make it outside. The cool air feels nice on your skin after the vigorous activities you just did. You drain your cup almost choking on the liquid when Jimin cheekily squeezes your ass. Somehow you manage to swallow as you giggle.

You try to slap Jimin’s ass but he runs off too quickly for your drunken limbs to follow without tragedy. The walk back fills your head of what could happen when you return to the dorm.

The Indigo building is quieter than earlier. Most of the students have opted for off campus parties to celebrate Halloween. Jimin unlocks the door and holds it open for you and Taehyung.

As soon as Jimin locks the door behind him, Taehyung unzips his onesie. He pulls the soft fabric off his shoulders and hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers to shimmy out of his low effort costume. Now completely naked he sits on Jimin’s neatly made bed. You follow suit, removing your dress just leaving you in just your soaked panties.

“Ready for round two?” Taehyung asks cock already half hard as he folds his hands behind his head.

You straddle Taehyung’s lap giggling as you pull him in for a heated kiss. He nibbles your bottom lip sucking it into his mouth before he buries his face in your collarbone. As your ass grinds against his growing cock he sucks a mark into your collarbone.

“Starting without me in my own room?” Jimin asks, walking to the foot of his bed with two shot glasses in his hands.

You pull away from Taehyung’s tempting lips to reach for the shot glass. Jimin lets you take the shot glasses and removes his cheerleader costume. He looks so soft and elegant lying in just a white lacy thong on his bed. You hand one shot to Taehyung before turning to pour the other into the waiting concave of Jimin’s stomach.

“Is this what you wanted Jimin?” You ask ducking your head to lap up the stolen liquor from his toned stomach. “You want our tongues all over you?”

Jimin whines while Taehyung gets off the bed and rounds to the other side and joins in the slurping. Your tongues meet messily in the middle pushing into each other's mouths for only a moment. Your lips kiss up Jimin’s ribs until you meet his dark nipple stiff with anticipation. Without a further thought your lips latch around it, swirling your tongue. Jimin gasps, grabbing the back of your hair. He strokes the back of your head encouraging you to keep going.

For a moment you pull away seeing Taehyung teasing the skin around Jimin’s cock. The younger man is licking and kissing Jimin’s strong thighs while using one hand to lightly rub the older man’s balls through the fabric of the thong. He quickly gets tired of that then removes Jimin’s panties flinging them over his shoulder.

You give attention to Jimin's other nipple pressing your breasts against his side. Jimin slides a hand down your figure to spank your ass. A yelp escapes your lips but it’s silenced when Jimin tilts your head towards his face. His soft lips connect with yours sending a tingle up your spine. He quickly pushes his tongue inside your mouth tasting the liquor you just licked off his body.

“Taehyung, please suck my cock.” Jimin whines against your lips.

You look over to Taehyung and watch as he carefully sucks Jimin into his mouth, earning a loud desperate moan from the other man. Jimin pulls you further up the bed until your breasts are at his eye level. He takes one of your hard nipples into his mouth earning a whimper. You run your fingers through his dark hair wanting more of him.

One of Jimin’s hands ventures to the waistband of your panties pushing them down. You help him remove them and throw the fabric to the floor. Jimin quickly brushes his thumb over your clit while collecting more of your essence on his other fingers.

A choked moan leaves your lips as one of his fingers pushes inside your asshole. Jimin’s name passes your lips as you cling to his shoulder. He catches your lips trying to distract you from the slight discomfort.

You take a deep breath listening to the sound of Taehyung sloppily sucking Jimin’s cock. It takes a moment but you adjust and the older man adds another finger slowly scissoring his fingers until a steady stream of moans is filling the air.

“More!” You beg while you look into Jimin’s lustful eyes. “Please fuck me.”

“Okay, Y/N.” Taehyung says from between Jimin’s legs.

Jimin sits up slightly reaching for yet another set condom from his top drawer before lying down. You help Jimin roll his on while Taehyung does it himself. You settle yourself on Jimin’s lap facing Taehyung but leaning against Jimin’s chest. Jimin pushes his cock into your ass slowly letting you get used to the feeling. It stings but you take a deep breath pushing through the discomfort.

Taehyung leans forward and licks your pussy with his wet tongue. He sucks your clit into his mouth effectively distracting you. He zigzags his tongue through your folds collecting your sweet release on his tongue. The feeling of the euphoric stroke of his tongue helps you adjust to Jimin’s cock. Taehyung grips your thighs continuing to lick and suck your cunt until he can see you clenching around the air just begging to be filled.

The younger man makes eye contact with Jimin before settling himself in the best position to reach your cunt with his thick cock. He slaps his dick across your pussy and grinds against your wetness. Taehyung groans loving the feeling of your essence coating him. He slips inside you with a sigh.

You are so filled to the brim with cock, all you can do is gasp for air. Taehyung moves first, dragging his cock in and out so slowly you whine. Jimin lifts his hips below you, wrapping his arms around your middle to keep you balanced. You let the two men take over knowing it’s unlikely you’ll be helpful.

They find a steady rhythm that draws purely erotic sounds from your mouth. Your head falls back as your eyes close letting yourself feel this pleasure to its greatest capacity. Electricity flows from your head to the very tips of your toes. You’ve never felt this way before.

Jimin slides his hands up your waist until he is cupping one of your breasts in each of his hands. His finger traces your areola every so lightly in great contrast to how they are fucking themselves into you. Taehyung presses the pad of his thumb against your clit rubbing in a circular motion. You take your lip between your teeth, almost not able to bear the sensations.

Taehyung bows his head, eyebrows drawn together in concentration obviously approaching his high too. Vaguely, you wonder if they are always this loud in bed or if they are just exceedingly comfortable because of the amount of alcohol they consumed. You love when a man is vocal. It adds to the feeling.

Warmth is rushing throughout your body. One flick of Taehyung’s thumb perfectly timed with the thrust of the men’s hips sends you over the edge screaming obscenities.

Jimin’s hand covers your mouth as they accelerate the snap of their hips. You don’t push his hand away liking the way the subtle oxygen deprivation heightens the orgasm you are riding out. Taehyung gets sloppy first, nearly slipping out in his haste to push deeper inside of you.

Taehyung’s name falls from Jimin’s lips as he spills into the condom inside of you. If you weren’t intoxicated you are sure you would think about that for more than a second. Your hand finds Taehyung’s nipple rolling it between your fingers as you coax him cum. He pulls out removing the condom quickly before stroking himself swiftly. Hot ribbons of cum paint your chest and Taehyung looks down proudly.

Only for a second before he’s helping you off of Jimin. You close your eyes lying back on the bed exhausted. For a moment you think you could peacefully drift off to sleep, until a tongue drags across your breasts. You open your eyes to see Jimin lapping at the cum on your chest.

Taehyung stands at the end of the bed with paper towels watching curiously. He snaps out of his trance and slaps Jimin’s ass effectively shooing him away so you can clean yourself. When you settle back onto the bed Jimin covers you with a blanket and the two men snuggle in beside you.

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #vmin smut #Kim namjoon #min yoongi #min yoongi smut #Kim namjoon smut #pokemon au #pokemon crossover #Bangtan #route 613 #route 613 chapter 3 #halloween chapter #jimin is a cheerleader hehe #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #raes fics

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firewalkzwit · 9 months

Text

runt // jonathan crane x reader. (4)

Chapter 4

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist

Fear is a tool. A great (if not total) degree of the balance in society is fear; fear of loss, death, humiliation. Whatever it is one fears, keeps individuals in check, and in that Scarecrow and Batman alike found a point in common, and a great source to create their image. Batman relied more on the fear of his presence than on his brawn. Scarecrow had none of the latter to use, but his mind was a powerful one, even in his modesty, and he had mastered the use of terror to create an effect likewise to that of Batman, only so artificially induced, as he had no particular traits to intimidate the average person organically. Dr. Crane greatly admired Batman, shame they had their fair share of discrepancies in the moral field, but most of it had to do with their very different upbringing and the toll that took on what they felt and feared.

What did Y/N fear? Dr. Crane always preferred to analyze people on what they chose to avoid, rather than what they actively chased. He believed this shaped a person further, as then again, fear is what maintains us doing most of what we do, fear of death in particular. Nothing is more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose, and although Crane had spent the last fair portion of his life trying to reach such a state, he was slowly embracing that there was no such thing as a man with nothing to lose. Some failed to assess that, but that didn't mean that they genuinely had nothing ahead of them or around them. It was, however, his deepest fantasy. There was nothing he longed for more than the blissful state of nothingness to embark on the search for everything.

As he walked out of the Iceberg Lounge, Y/N's sheepish body covered by a chunky fur coat leaned against the cold iron of the warehouse that hosted the club, waiting for him. She had never wanted herself to become a VIP escort for Penguin's men, which was only as degrading as it gets, although she'd be lying if she said she wasn't expecting for the moment to eventually come. Oz was not even her employer, he was just another one of Falcone's men, even though powerful. She was now the sexual subordinate of a subordinate of a subordinate. How humiliated she felt when Dr. Crane's eyes nailed on her, his pupils slightly trembling before looking away. He had an intense, yet shy look, emotionally shallow and difficult to read. As they walked to his car she wished that whatever the Doctor wanted with her was short and easy, like a simple blowjob where he tugged her hair without even looking at her, or to be fucked doggy as her face burried in a filthy motel pillow to hide how much she'd want the Earth to swallow her.

He wasn't physically intimidating, at least. He didn't look like the type to want to hit her while he fucked her, delighted in the humiliating position he liked to think she willingly put herself on. But then again Y/N thought it was only naive to jump to conclusions on one's sexual deviations (or any deviations at that) based on physicality. Dr. Crane was short and thin, with soft features on his face and nerdy glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. But then again, so was Dahmer, and he cannibalized a couple dozen people in his life. Crane walked close by her, but layed not a single finger on her. As he opened the car's door for her, she began to dwell with unease on the lengths she was going through to come close to the Batman. She was about to yield on her deepest intimacy for this, and she promised herself that when she had to do it, she'd remind herself what it was all for through it.

"What did you think of my paper?" He finally cut the tense silence sharply with a cold question, Y/N assumed he was engaging in standard small talk.

"Oh, I liked it, it was good."

"But did you understand it?" It was this particular question that striked in Y/N the need to look at him, despite refusing to look into his eyes since they had walked out of the club.

"I'd... like to believe I did, yes."

"I'm only trying to know why you'd read it, that is if you did. Take no offense for this but your type is not exactly the one to read a complex psychology thesis." Y/N began to pick up on his implications, her heart beginning to beat fast as her hand slid to grab onto the side of the seat, holding onto the closest thing to the soil her body could find. Crane picked up on this, her body's search for security in an unsafe enclosure, and as if his senses could perceive the beating of her heart, his veins pumped the rush of dopamine it produced in him to see wrinkles of a frightened grimace form in her face.

"I did read it. I never went to college because I couldn't afford to, but I wanted to study anthropology. Your work on fear helped me apply it to my personal study on the way societies behave in response to certain mass events, it's just a passion project." Crane's frown softened only so slightly, and his head tilted once again, parting his lips as his tongue tipped the back of his teeth, processing her answer as he continued to analyze her body language. The stiffness of her posture and anxiously inquiring stare begged for an answer which he sadistically prolonged the wait for.

Y/N was hardly in control, her nails unconsciously digging into the leather beneath the seat, her knees tightly pressed together and her canines pinching on the inside of her lips. Just like he wanted, fear was consuming her, and his interrogative posture masked how delighted he was at the sight of herself yielding slowly to her most primal state. She on the other hand, was so fixated on her prayers of making it out of that car alive that she had no room in her mind to evaluate whether Dr. Crane was suspecting of her true intentions, and considering her a threat to his business, a business she couldn't care less about, but was in the way of her greater purpose.

"You're passionate about anthropology? Interesting." He finally replied, after taking his fair share of time. "How did you implement my paper to your research?" He enjoyed looking down at how submitted she was to him when she feared.

"Well... I analyzed fear as a tool of control and how civilization relies on fear to establish societies." It was so ironic, Crane couldn't help but let out a slight laugh. What she studied on masses was perfectly applicable to her individual situation right in that car, how he was using her own fear to force her to surrender control. He finally stopped teasing her and relaxed his body, resting his back on the car's window and his head against the headrest, a slight smirk she struggled to read forming on his lips.

"I don't think you're spying on me." This caught Y/N completely off guard, how had he picked up on that?

"I didn't say you did." She retorted as fast as she could, trying to come off as non-chalant.

"I know, but you're scared. Do you think I think you know something you shouldn't?"

"I don't know, but I don't."

"If you do, it's really not my problem. Whatever you know that you shouldn't is trouble for Oz to deal with." He finally turned his head away from her and ignited the car's engine. Y/N restored her posture, grabbing onto the seat belt softly unsure of whether to fasten it or not.

"What are we going to do?" She finally mustered the courage to ask, figuring the question couldn't put her more in danger than she already was. His relaxation was eerie, and his eyes certainly didn't help his serial killer look either.

"I'm going to show you something I think you'll like." Whatever it was he wanted with her, it was at that point that Y/N figured out that having sex with Dr. Crane that night was far from being the worst card in the deck.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #batman #the batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #nolanverse batman

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critter-genfic-events · 10 months

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Critter Genfic Bingo!

Critter Gen Week starts in one week! From August 17 - 23rd, we’ll be hosting a week of art, meta, and gen fic for critical role.

But what if you just found out about Critter Gen Week, or life happened and you didn’t get as far as you’d hoped?

Well, we’re having Critter Genfic Bingo!

The dragon is by Icongeek26, the D20 is by Michelle Lukezic, both from The Noun Project.

How this works: Starting on August 24th, there will be a form you can fill out with a couple of questions. Once you fill it out, we’ll send you your own customized bingo card. Then, write a gen fic to fill in a prompt square, and try to get bingo! Any fic that is a prompt fill can be added to a collection, and if you get bingo, you’ll get a nifty image as a reward.

Have more questions? Then -

What kind of questions are you asking me? We’ll need a way to contact you for your bingo card. But mostly, it’ll be on what mix of prompts you want:

General Prompts - Everybody gets these

Critter Gen Week Prompts - If you already participated in gen week, you might not want these, but if you missed out, here you go!

Whump Prompts - The hurt/comfort stuff. Or hurt, no comfort.

Typically Romantic Prompts - Do you want to subvert some romantic tropes? Write a coffeeshop AU focusing on running a coffee shop? Have people share a bed platonically? Go for it.

The last question is to see if you have any suggestions for prompts that we haven’t covered yet. It might or might not show up on your card!

I’d like to see a prompt list. Sure thing, here you go: Genfic Bingo. Remember, you don’t have to fill out every single prompt on your card to get bingo, so don’t worry too much about the things you don’t want to do.

When is this due? There is no due date - This is a rolling event - meaning it doesn’t have a start or stop. You can request a bingo card at any time, and you can turn in your bingo card whenever.

What do you mean ‘get bingo’? For the purposes of this event, bingo includes any horizontal, vertical or diagonal line with prompts filled. We’re also counting it as bingo if you fill all four corners. The middle space is a ‘free space’ and you automatically get it. You do not have to fill all 24 prompts to win!

I know you just said that I don’t have to fill all 24 prompts to win, but I took that as a challenge. If you do a full blackout with 24 prompts filled, you’ll get a special image for being an overachiever and my respect.

Do I have to do a separate fic for each prompt? nope!

Okay, I wrote my fic. What now? If it’s on tumblr, tag it critter genfic bingo and we’ll reblog it. If it’s on AO3, we’ll add it to a collection.

I got bingo! How do I get my sweet sweet badge of honor? You’ll fill out a form! I’m going to be asking you for a) the contact name and b) which tropes you used, and link to the fics

By gen, do you mean general audience? Nope. There is no requirement for this to be child friendly. Put your blorbos in the blender as much as you choose.

What counts as gen fic? We’re defining gen fic as fanfic that does not have romantic or sexual relationships as the main focus of the work. If any romantic or sexual relationships could be removed from the story and the story would have the same general amount of emotional and logical coherency, or the relationship all happens off screen, it’s probably gen.

Genre definitions are always a little slippery, and we’re not cops. We’re trusting the participants to be acting in good faith. If you think it’s predominantly gen, then it counts.

I’m more of an artist. Can I participate? So this event was thought of as more of a way to bring visibility to gen fic, but if you want a prompt list anyway, you can still ask for the bingo card.

I want to talk to other critter fic writers or have a place to brainstorm some of my ideas: Check out the writer’s corner! It's got space for prompts, sprints, and other writers willing to be soundboards! If you’re interested, message @professor-rye

I have questions you didn't answer! We also have an askbox!

#Critter Genfic Bingo #Critical Role #CR fanfic #Fanfic Challenge #FAQ posts

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loccorocco · 2 years

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out of curiosity, why do you put your comics up on AO3 of all places? it's not really where comics are usually hosted. not complaining, i have no trouble actually reading the comics, im just wondering

hello yes I feel strongly about this. I love AO3 a lot

1. Uploading is easy. I upload somewhere, get the image links, put it on my shitty html template. I can also write any description/title/note on the spot instead of having to reupload images. Also I like having more screen space and control of the css. Not a fan of Tapas because of dimension restrictions and file size limits. For every work on Tapas, I need to make a header and a cover lol

2. AO3 layout is simple. It’s a library, not a shopping mall. No ads, no promotions, no fancy animation. Just post what you want and look for what you want.

3. I can post whatever I want on AO3. Long comics, drabbles, concepts, etc. No expectation of consistency like other comic sites

4. I like the audience. I don't know how to explain this but it's fun to interact with people that regularly read and write stories. AO3 allows anonymous comments so more readers can comment hahaha

Other things I like about AO3

* THE SEARCH SYSTEM. AO3's search is so straightforward. Here's a search, a sort, a filter. Find what you want in their database. No algorithm bullshit tossing up results. If it's easy to find other works, it's easy to find and browse my work. Even years after, I still get comments on my older works.

* Tagging system. The tags are auto-suggested so they're actually consistent and good for finding works. Searching by tags usually sucks on socmed sites. Personal preference: AO3 > Tumblr > all else

#I have been working as a stupid little webdev for over a year now #I fucking HATE the modern web #Full of fucking trackers and ads and algo and everything's crammed #I WANT A LIBRARY NOT A SHOPPING MALL #old man yells at cloud

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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the--descension · 4 years

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i would die for a "how to use html and css to format ao3" lesson from you 👀 no pressure but i'm genuinely in awe :)

Hello! So sorry it’s taken me ages to get to this.

It's no pressure at all! I have tried to cover the basics of HTML/CSS on AO3 here, and instead of writing very extensively about the syntax which is very Google-able, I have tried to include little tips and tricks that have come in handy for me.

This, by no means, is a complete guide but I hope it can get you started with HTML and CSS on AO3!

It got pretty long, so the answer’s below the cut.

Okay, so let’s start at the very beginning, shall we?

What is HTML and CSS?

Well, HTML is Hyper Text Markup Language and CSS is Cascading Style Sheets.

But that is something that probably doesn’t help a lot, so to put it very simply, HTML provides the structure of a webpage while CSS does the styling, that is, fixing how and where the elements should exist, how to shape them, how to space them, all so that the webpage looks great.

Something to keep in mind is that all web pages can run only on HTML but the end result is not going to be something that’s nice to look at. In fact, without CSS, the page might not even make a lot of sense. Here, take a look at Tumblr itself with all CSS disabled (there’s a very useful extension called Web Developer that allows you to do this):

Not very nice to look at, but all the elements of the page are here only with the help of HTML.

And look, this is what the above section looks like with CSS enabled:

This was just a brief visual walkthrough to show what HTML and CSS really do, but let’s move on to HTML and CSS in the world of AO3.

Where does the HTML and CSS go on AO3?

The HTML part of the code is put into the text box when you post a new story/new chapter. You must have noticed the two options — Rich Text and HTML — and it’s important to have HTML selected for AO3 to identify the HTML tags that you’ll be using.

All your content goes into this textbox. Whatever text you may be writing, whatever images you may be hosting, whatever links you might want to add— everything goes here.

Now, for styling all the content that you’ve put into the textbox, you need CSS, and that happens through work skins. It’s super simple, and all you have to do is go to Skins on your AO3 panel and then to My Work Skins, and then create a new work skin where you can dump all of your CSS code.

Okay, so onward we go.

How to HTML and CSS?

I’m no expert in web design and my knowledge mostly comes from Coursera, one summer internship, one class in college, and extensive online searching. And, I’ll tell you this, the most I have learnt is from extensive online searching.

Because at the very heart of it, web design is not so much about understanding and applying concepts (as with other coding languages) but more about visualizing elements and testing them out. I must add that this is completely my opinion as a person who rather enjoys data structures and algorithms as compared to web dev, and I’m certain that seasoned web developers will disagree with my views here.

Right, so the online searching. The best in the business when it comes to explaining HTML/CSS is www.w3schools.com. They have sample code, short and sweet explanations, and an online IDE to test your code. Really, it’s a win-win situation.

Alrighty, so now you know where to look for your HTML tags and CSS properties but how do you figure out which ones to use?

HTML Tags

I’ll talk about the HTML that’s required for coding on AO3 exclusively.

But before that— every HTML document has two main parts: the <head> and the <body>. But here on AO3, we only code the <body> which, as its name suggests, holds the content that’s going to appear on the browser. The <head> part is not required for AO3 work skins at all.

Okay, so how to code HTML on AO3? Well, your best friends are going to be the container tags such as <div> and <span>, and the paragraph tag <p>. What these tags do is they create areas on your browser — you can imagine them as small rectangles and squares — where you can put in your content via HTML, and then later style using CSS.

See this? The entire shaded area belongs to a <div> which is styled by a CSS class called “tumblr” (to keep things simple, we’ll only focus on CSS classes, and not id’s. It won’t really hamper developing a workskin in any way.)

This above belongs to a <p> that is styled by a CSS class “tumblrbody”. And, this <p> exists within the <div> mentioned above.

Here’s a <span> styled using the CSS class “tumblrtags”, which comes within the <div> and <p> we just discussed.

Basically, the idea is that the entire page will have to be divided into all these subsections, nested within each other if required, so that they can then be styled using CSS.

Other HTML tags that come in handy are the <a> and <img> tags.

The <a> or anchor tag is used to embed links. Want your reader to be led to a separate page while they’re reading your story? This is it. (This one’s quite common, and authors use them quite frequently in their notes to link to their Twitter/Tumblr etc.)

The <img> tag is used to embed images as the name suggests.

See how the picture is within an <img> tag styled by a CSS class “tumblrimg”?

Again, I’m not talking about the syntax of these tags or how they have to be written because that’s something which can very easily be found on w3schools or any other web dev tutorial website.

So, that’s pretty much about HTML. Now, CSS.

CSS Properties

So, when I talk about how most of my web dev happens through thorough internet searching, I’m mostly talking about CSS. Because HTML tags aren’t difficult to remember, they stay in memory when you keep designing web pages, but CSS properties... ugh.

But before we begin, a short note on CSS classes. To simplify matters you can look at them as labels given to your HTML container tags (<div> for example). Once you assign the label to your HTML element, you can then style that label in your CSS, and introduce properties to it which you want to see in your HTML. It basically forms the link between your HTML and CSS.

Say, I have a <div> that I want to style, then I’ll give it a label like this: <div class=”mongoosesurprise”>Your code</div>. The class name is mongoosesurprise, and when I have to style that particular <div>, I’ll have CSS code that looks like this:

Now, about CSS properties.

You see all the words in white followed by a colon? max-width? border? background-image? That’s it— CSS properties. I can never remember if it is maxwidth or max-width, whether it’s margin-right or right-margin, whether it’s padding-right or right-padding, and that’s where the Googling comes in.

Again, like with HTML, I’ll only talk about CSS on AO3. Unlike regular CSS, CSS here always has to start with #workskin. And then, #workskin can be followed by our class name. (The class name must be preceded by a fullstop though, like in the picture above.)

My CSS design procedure is all over the place. I entirely work on the basis of trial and error. I keep adjusting properties like max-width and padding and margin to see how the elements fit best. (It doesn’t take me as long as it did four-five years ago to estimate these values and I’d attribute that to practice and inspecting a lot of web pages. On a related note, it’s great to learn web design by inspecting other pages.)

I realize this isn’t great advice but like I said, it’s always been about trial and error when it comes to CSS. What I can say conclusively is that with properties width, height, display, position, padding, and margin most of your HTML tags will be placed properly. But when it comes to styling, the list is really quite endless. From a number of font-related properties to border, there’s a lot— and, thus, Google.

And, finally, what you must know for HTML/CSS on AO3 is how to host images.

Hosting Images

If you want your work to contain images, it’s best to host them somewhere online. Imgur is a great option; it’s free and really simple to use. Once the image is uploaded, you can get the share links and put it in your HTML <img> tag (under the src attribute— again, very syntactical so I’m not getting into that), or if you want you can put it in your CSS as an attribute for the property “background-image” (like in the code above).

You’ll have to make minor changes to the share link though, that is, add the image extension (.png or .jpg) to the end of the link. Also, sometimes the image doesn’t render if there’s no ‘i’ preceding ‘imgur.com’. Here’s a sample link that works perfectly: http://i.imgur.com/aSMSztl.png.

And, I think that’s pretty much it.

This covers the absolute basics of how to code HTML/CSS on AO3. But I’d like to repeat that by no means is this everything. If there’s a particular area you’d want me to explain, please feel to drop in an ask!

Happy coding!

#antarcticasx #html/css #ao3 #workskins #i'll tag this as #zutara #in case anyone else reading 'it would have been you' wants to know

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sunflowers-and-mooncakes · 3 years

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To Dream of a Bird

Part 1 of Dreams of Birds and Angels a series of two one shots written for @pawsitivelymiraculous for the Maribat Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange hosted by @eat0crow!

Ao3

Part 2 can be found here

***

For as long as she could remember, Marinette had been utterly giddy at the prospect of getting to see her soulmate in her dreams that night. As the youngest in her class, she had heard all of the others talk excitedly about the memories from their soulmates they would experience since they turned 8. When her best friend Nino would come over for lunch at the bakery, he would tell her excitedly about the girl with caramel skin and glasses whose face he could never quite remember.

Her parents would also talk often of soulmates. As they tucked her in at night, they would tell her about how they had gained the twin marks they always displayed on their left arms when they first met. Her Papa would tell her about the pretty girl with blue-black hair who moved from across the world, and her Maman would regale tales of the brown-haired boy who worked in a bakery.

On the day of her 8th birthday, Marinette practically rushed her guests out of the apartment as the sun set below the horizon. She leapt into bed as she yelled to her parents that she was 8 now, and she had to see her soulmate right away. Her parents chuckled to each other as they kissed her forehead and turned out the lights.

As she awoke the next morning, the Eurasian girl ruminated about what she had seen. The boy in her dreams had beautiful black hair and tan skin. He had appeared no older than her, yet he wore a serious look and held something like a sword at his side. It was odd, how he behaved nothing like the kids in her class, and yet, something told her he was kinder than he seemed.

She stared out her window as she daydreamed about what he was like. Suddenly, a bird flew by.

Oiseau, she thought, that’s what I’ll call you.

Each night, the Eurasian girl would look on as Oiseau had his katana (as she came to learn it was called) practically glued to his side. He was always either fighting someone much older than him in the same dark garb he had always worn, and later in a bright suit where he battled under the cover of the dark.

At some point, her dreams of him had shifted. He was surrounded by new bodies who seemed much less hostile, yet the black-haired boy seemed lost, and so very alone. Sometimes, she would wake up from her visions and weep for her soulmate, who despite his clear shortcomings was just doing what he could to make those around him proud.

As her visions of him changed, so did her own life. She began to take the designs she drew on paper and turn them into real clothes. She made new friends and began to stand up for herself and others. Most importantly, Marinette became the heroine Ladybug. Though unconfident at first, she eventually came into her own. Being Ladybug taught her that there are many reasons people fight; not all are malicious. Many a time she wondered if her soulmate was like her, fighting in a war they had never wanted to be a part of, but had to for the betterment of those around them.

At the age of 18, she, Chat Noir, along with the help of Queen Bee, Rena Rouge, Carapace, Viperion, and Ryuko ended Hawkmoth’s reign of terror once and for all.

When the villain was revealed as Gabriel Agreste, the whole team was shocked, though none more than Chat Noir. When the older man explained was after the miraculous, Ladybug chose to heal the ailing Mrs. Agreste. After careful consideration, the team agreed to absolve Gabriel of his crimes so long as he put his efforts into charitable works for the community.

Throughout the years, Marinette watched as her friends met their soulmates and received their marks. Many of her classmates had ended up with each other. Juleka and Rose who met when they were 9, and Kim and Max who met when they were 10. At 13, she watched as Nino found his soulmate in Alya on the first day of school. It was amazing watching the two begin to glow as the beautiful portrait of a fox wrapped around a turtle appeared on their right forearms.

Later down the line, Adrien found his soulmate in Juleka’s brother Luka, and even Chloe, who had been nicer in recent years, met her soulmate, who turned out to be the renowned fencer Tsurugi Kagami.

The blue-eyed girl was deeply saddened by not having yet her soulmate. Even when Tikki reassured her that they would meet, she couldn’t help but feel left out as all her friends and teammates found their other half.

That was when the girl decided it was time for a change of scenery. She couldn’t spend all her life waiting around for a soulmate who may never get to meet. Thus, Marinette packed her bags and the Miracle Box to head somewhere she could make herself useful. After careful research and planning, Marinette and the kwami decided on the place that could use a little balancing.

After a day of settling into the Gotham hotel, the Parisian native was feeling insanely restless. The kwami had been right when they said this city needed help. She could feel the destruction pressing down on her since she got off the plane. Being stuck inside the hotel room as she planned her next course of action was becoming suffocating.

Just when Marinette felt ready to scream, Tikki suggested she go for a walk in the nearby park to be around a bit more creation energy. The young designer jumped at the chance to get outside and threw on a baby pink sundress and her purse with Tikki tucked safely inside, before practically racing out the door.

The park by the hotel seemed more full of life than anywhere else in Gotham. The sign posted at the entrance made mention that the area was cared for by Poison Ivy herself. Marinette supposed it made sense that the woman’s domain would have lots of plant life.

Suddenly, a dog’s bark snapped the ladybug heroine out of her thoughts. She whipped her head around to see a Great Dane bounding towards her. She bent down as he sniffed her legs and began petting his head softly. “Titus!” she heard someone call. She looked up to see a man jogging towards her and the dog.

“Titus, huh,” she smiled to herself as she glanced back at the dog.

“I apologize, miss,” he said, lowering himself to be at her and Titus’ level. He placed his hand on the dog’s head, bumping her own slightly. “He usually doesn’t go running off towards strangers…” Marinette could feel his gaze on her as he trailed off. She turned her head towards him. Blue met green, and almost instantly her eyes widened. She knew that face. It was the face of her oiseau. The one she had been seeing since she was 8 years old. It was like the fog had been lifted in her mind, and the faceless boy who once filled her dreams was now able to be remembered in striking detail.

Taking a moment to center herself, the Eurasian girl took note of the man in front of her. He was quite handsome. She had always thought his looks charming (from what she was able to recall anyway), but now, really seeing him for the first time, was a completely different experience. His black hair was swept back as it always had been, and his skin was the same tan shade. Now, however, she could see the sharpness of his nose, the slight dimple next to his mouth, and his deep green eyes that seemed to hold more secrets than even she, who had seen part of his memories, may ever know.

“Miss?” the boy called, pulling her from her thoughts once again.

“Yes?”

He gestured down at the backs of their hands as they rested on the dog. There sat matching images of a robin flying after a ladybug.

She from the marks to him in shock. “It would appear that we are soulmates,” he said plainly as he stood back up from the ground.

Marinette stood as well and tried to gather herself. “It appears so,” she responded with a nervous smile.

“I’m Marinette,” she held her hand out for him to shake it.

After a moment’s hesitation, he took it. “My name is Damian.”

“Well, Damian,” she smiled brightly at him. “would you like to go on a walk and get to know each other?”

He gave her a soft look back. “I certainly would.”

#Maribat #soulmarks #soulmate dreams #soulmate marks #soulmate au #daminette #maridami #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #background relationships #Valentine's Day fic exchange

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acnelli · 3 years

Text

The Beholder

This is one of my entries for the @romioneficfest 2021. Please check out all of the submitted stories; you can find them HERE.

A huge shout-out to @divagonzo for hosting this fest again. Just like last year it provided me with so many lovely ficlets to read, written by talented and creative authors.

Thank you, @curlyy-hair-dont-care, for beta-reading this story! <3

Rating: T

Warnings: implied sexual content, body image

Prompt: Ron catches Hermione in a moment of self-doubt

Summary: Hermione is not happy with the way she looks in her new lingerie.

You can also read this story on AO3 and FFN.

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

Hermione stood in front of the large mirror in their bedroom, a prominent frown on her face. She let her hands glide over the black lace of the undergarments she bought today. It was a spontaneous decision, one she already regretted as the flimsy material showed in painful obviousness how her body had changed over the last couple of years.

She never had been a person who spent much time caring for her appearance. Her mother had not used make-up and Hermione figured this was the reason she never picked up an interest in using it every day, save for some special occasions where she put on some mascara and lipstick.

And the battle with her bushy hair had been given up a long time ago. Something Ron was vocally happy about since he kept on insisting he preferred her hair in its wild, curly state.

It was their wedding anniversary today, meaning they would go out for some fancy dinner. A real treat when parenting two kids, who were six- and four years old. The little dragons were at Ginny and Harry's tonight and Hermione wanted to make the most out of having the house all to themselves. And what better way to spice up their much-needed alone time with some sexy, rather uncomfortable lingerie?

Again, she examined her thighs showing above the stockings, her hands brushing over her hips and down to her bum, gripping the cheeks. Her once petite body wasn't petite anymore. Instead of the small, round arse she used to show off in tight jeans or a nice pencil skirt, there were wide hips and stretch marks. Where there had been a flat belly, her tummy now hid some of the knicker's waistband at the front.

Why she chose today to acknowledge this was beyond her, but Hermione shook her head and decided to put on a lace nightgown instead later, hoping her mood would brighten again by the time Ron would come home from work.

Sighing in defeat she gave her reflection one last sad look before quickly reaching for the bra clasp, determined to get out of the flimsy underwear to dress for their night out.

"Not so fast."

Hermione stopped in her tracks and whipped around towards the bedroom door where Ron was leaning against the door frame.

"Ron! I did not hear you coming home." Hermione stammered, her eyes wide and her hands trying to find a position that would provide the most cover to her half naked body.

She could already feel the heat of the oncoming blush flushing her cheeks as Ron smirked at her, still standing at the door with his arms crossed in front of him.

"I'd rather you leave this task to me," Ron said, pointing at Hermione's black lace bra.

"I just-," Hermione's voice faltered a bit and she took a second to clear her throat, trying to appear slightly more dignified than she felt, "This doesn't fit."

"It seems to fit rather fine," Ron objected as he slowly walked towards her, "These are new, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded and turned back to the mirror as Ron walked up behind her. Watching the reflection of her husband and herself she couldn't help but complain about the unfairness. "How can you eat more than everyone else, but still be so skinny? I just have to look at a piece of chocolate nowadays and it immediately adds to my midriff."

Automatically, her arms slung around said body section but Ron caught her wrists, uncovering her waist and belly again. He stepped even closer until he stood flush against Hermione's back and wrapped her into his arms from behind. A soft moan escaped her lips at the feeling of Ron's hard body pressed up against her.

She usually loved the sight of his pale, freckled skin standing out starkly against her bronze complexion and usually, she would take her time admiring them for a minute. The only thing she could focus on today though was the way her body hid Ron's mid-section, so much slimmer than hers.

Still, she closed her eyes as Ron's hands started to glide down her sides and rested on her thighs, stroking the skin right above the lace of her stockings. His big hands always felt so good.

"So, you'll ditch me should I get fat?"

Her eyes snapped open and found Ron's blue ones looking back at her, a mischievous glint in them. "Of course, not!" She rolled her eyes at him.

"Because," Ron placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, "You apparently think a little body fat makes one less attractive. And since I don't plan to reduce my sugar intake, it's not entirely impossible that you'll have to deal with a bigger version of me someday."

"Like that will ever happen," Hermione raised an eyebrow at him but couldn't suppress a smirk, "Your arse will be skinny and tiny forever. A bean pole for eternity. Plus, I didn't marry you for your stellar body."

Ron barked out a laugh but a second later he continued roaming his hands all over Hermione's body. His touch made her tingle all over and combined with his intense gaze meeting her in the mirror, she almost forgot about her imperfect body parts.

"Hermione," Ron said with a hint of demand lacing his voice, making sure Hermione was looking him into his eyes, "you know I think you're fucking gorgeous, right?" He gave her tummy a light squeeze.

"As my husband, you have to say that." Hermione put her own hands over Ron's.

"As your husband, it's my duty to tell you when you're being mental," he told her, sweeping Hermione's curls to one side and started to kiss the now exposed side of her neck, "And if you think my mouth didn't go completely dry the second I saw you in these," He traced one of her bra straps to emphasize his words, "I sure as hell need to remind you how beautiful you are."

"I'm having a hard time finding myself beautiful nowadays," Hermione admitted as she lowered her head to the side to give Ron easier access for his kisses and nibbles on her soft skin.

"Well, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Ron said and when he squeezed her breasts through the bra, Hermione couldn't help but be happy about one positive side effect of gaining weight; her boobs filled out more and especially wrapped in black lace, they looked mouth-watering, even to herself.

"So, let this beholder show you exactly how damn sexy he thinks you are," Ron whispered as he let one of her bra straps glide down over her shoulder and captured her lips in a deep kiss.

Unsurprisingly, they missed their anniversary dinner, as Ron took his time, showing in great detail how much he loved every inch of Hermione Granger-Weasley.

#romione ficfest 2021 #romione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hermione granger #ron weasley #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter #hermione x ron #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #hermione and ron #ronmione #mine #my fanfic #my stories

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fountainpenguin · 3 years

Text

It’s an Update

Hello, Riddle here! I know I’ve been pretty quiet on Tumblr lately. Here’s an update on my situation:

I will definitely post more fanfic updates soon. I’ve picked at drafts, but haven’t posted anything lately. Here are the reasons why:

I got a new IRL job. It’s a good fit for me, but I have less free time than I used to, of course. It’s a job that involves writing lots of articles on a variety of topics, and I enjoy how every day is a little different

Most of my free time for the last year has gone towards my mod work at the Creature-Crossing ARPG, and to my personal CC writing. I’ve been working on new activities over there (my recent favorite being our seasonal familiar shows... I won first place in the summer show!) and I have a lot of plot plans that are coming together now. If you ever want to see my original characters and read my CC writing, you can find my character directory HERE and my Table of Contents HERE.

Once November 1st hits, I won’t be preparing for the release of any more CC activities or events. All future activity or event releases will be overseen by the other mods, and I’ll simply be someone they can ask for extra help if needed. This is a big change for a mod who spent the last 12 months working on new releases, and will give me back some of the free time my IRL job will eat

The Creature-Crossing admin (my boss) greenlit my request to bring an assistant on the mod team who will specifically help me with a lot of my behind-the-scenes work, such as data entry and organization. I’ve never had another mod who specifically helps me with the back end duties before, so that will be awesome. I will need to spend some time training them, but once they are official, that will take some of my workload off and allow me more free time for this blog and personal writing time.

===

Fanfic updates you can expect to see soon:

- Reedfilter Rules

- Frayed Knots

- Origin of the Pixies

- Debut of Factor It In, my Kid Math-centric “WordGirl” fanfic (Subtitled “Tales of a third-grade superhero in training”)... Yes I am still in love with this idiot boy, expect lots of doodle pages soon

- The 130 Prompts project is on a slow-burn writing schedule... I’ll write for it when I want to, but I mostly want to focus on Origin and Knots this year.

Further info below the cut. There is more info about non-Fairly OddParents ‘fics in here too (under “non-FOP fanfics”), so if you’re looking forward to Mario World or “WordGirl” ‘fics from me, give this a click so you know what’s coming!

So, what does this update mean for your fanfics?

They’ll be active again soon! I’ve been picking at them behind the scenes, trying to build up a buffer. In an ideal world, I would love to release a new chapter for SOMETHING every Friday. I doubt this will be possible, but it’s something I would love to work towards in the future. Realistically, you can probably expect some kind of fanfic update once every two Fridays (two updates per month).

There might be some Fridays where posting an update is not possible. Instead, I’ll make a post about what progress I made instead. In the past, I often overworked myself to get a chapter out in time for my old deadline. I will not be doing that anymore, but will instead hold myself to a goal of “Make progress on something every week.”

In the best ideal world, I would love to post one FOP fanfic update per week and one non-FOP fanfic update per week. This is not likely to happen for a long, long time, but that would be the dream.

Here are the things I most likely worked on if there is no fanfic update:

- A fanfic chapter draft that needs more time

- A sideblog profile

- A Toyhouse profile for personal characters

- IRL work or mod work may have kept me busy this week

- Creature-Crossing writing... I will try to prioritize my fanfics more, but my CC writing is still important to me and I will be working on it in a lot of my free time too. At the moment, I have a hard deadline of December 14th that I need to meet if I want to release huge plot drama on the day that it happens in canon. I’ve been building up to this for a long time, so I’m really excited about that.

I currently have summer or autumn 2022 planned as the “finale” for the majority of my plot to explode. I will be hosting a member-run event in Creature-Crossing that will last for two months, so a lot of my time from January until the event’s release will be spent doing event prep. Once the event ends, my story content will mostly be a “return to slice of life.” Stories will be more casual one-offs as characters grow, live their lives, and start their own families. Hitting seasonal deadlines for plot will no longer be so important. I’ll be giving Creature-Crossing work less attention after that, and much more attention to my fanfics.

- I may not have a fanfic chapter out each week, but I WILL post a note every Friday to let you know what I have been doing with my time. You’ll see me around. Feel free to send Asks and talk!

===

What non-FOP fanfics would you like to work on?

For literal years, I’ve been claiming I want to post Mario World fanfics. This is still something I want to do. I tag Mario World posts as “mushrooms and more.” I’ve already done a lot of worldbuilding, I have thousands of words of content written for this fandom... I just haven’t posted any of it. I hope to do this soon.

- “WordGirl” fanfics are prioritized over Mario World fanfics. After I finish my first “WordGirl” multi-chapter, I will probably be ready to post my Mario World ‘fics. I may possibly post some Mario World one-shots in between other fanfic updates. Might take another year or more before I touch Mario stuff unless there’s high interest in seeing it sooner?

I also really want to write some WordGirl ‘fics and get more involved with the fandom community. I’ve been building headcanons and lore for this show ever since I was a kid, and I have multiple ‘fics for this fandom that I want to write.

- “AlgoRhythm” is a ‘fic I have already posted on FFN and AO3, about WordGirl introducing Kid Math to the villains in town

- 28 Cities is a ‘fic I started about Rhyme and Reason before they arrived in Fair City. I put it on hiatus since it didn’t seem like anyone was interested, but I’m willing to post more for it if there is interest in it now that years have passed and I’ve gotten more followers who like WordGirl. I have a lot of worldbuilding and plot I never shared for it

- Factor It In is a ‘fic I’ve been working for a while that parallels the official show from the moment Kid Math arrives in town. It focuses on Rex’s struggle to adjust to this world as a child coming into his superpowers for the first time (Y’know, the whole “superheroes don’t have powers when they’re on their home planets” thing), his struggle to adapt to the social world of a non-logical planet, and Becky’s struggle to help him become accustomed to Earth and learn to share it with her as well. If the episode “Kid Math” was a full-length novel about Rex’s arrival and character development, that’s what this story is. This is the highest priority of all my non-FOP ‘fics... I’ve had a cover image made for 6 months and even though I tried setting it aside, I’ve always been super inspired to write for it. If I felt like it would be a good idea to commit to weekly updates alongside my FOP updates, I would, haha.

- I have two one-shot WIPs called “Squishy Feelings” and “A Little Ambiguity”, one of them focusing on Becky and Rex talking about the events of “Rhyme and Reason” and what it means for Rex’s secret identity, and the latter being a future ‘fic showing WordGirl and Kid Math dealing with life 10 to 15 years down the road. I’ll probably post the latter, not sure yet on the former.

- If desired, I may make a WordGirl specific sideblog where I post lore, answer Asks, post character profiles [smaller than my FOP sideblog ones], and mention fanfic updates. If you would be interested in this, feel free to send me an Ask requesting I do this. If there’s not interest, I’ll just keep my WordGirl stuff on the main blog.

- I’d like to get more involved in the WordGirl community, so I’ll probably post more content and reblog more art and headcanons

I also have a handful of miscellaneous ideas I might follow through with. I’d like to write at least one “TUFF Puppy” fanfic so I can say I did. In a perfect world I would like to finish the two “Danny Phantom” and “Bunsen Is a Beast” fanfics I started because... I just kind of want to dip my toe in each of the Hartman shows once since I already went through all the effort of worldbuilding for them to make them canon in a single Hartman show universe. “ChalkZone” is another show I adore and might touch someday (You may recall I have a full outline planned for an FOP/ChalkZone crossover ‘fic called “Dust to Dust”).

Will I write all of these things? Maybe not. I have no idea if I want to spend the next 10+ years writing fanfics, or if I’ll simply be done with all misc. fanfics immediately once I decide to be done with my main ‘fics. I definitely intend to write for a few more years and finish my main ‘fics, but I might not go through with some less popular side ‘fics if life is getting busy for me.

===

What is the posting schedule for FOP ‘fics?

Reedfilter Rules, Frayed Knots, Origin of the Pixies, the 130 Prompts project, and “Come What May” are all high priority FOP writings. I will swap between them depending on my mood that week.

Here are some other ‘fics I want to work on.

- If you like, you can send me Asks requesting I work on a specific story above the rest. I will try to prioritize whichever stories interest you guys most.

Snips and Snails is a ‘fic I started and posted the first chapter for years ago. I’m not sure when I will get back to it, as I ran into some writer’s block. It’s still on tentative hiatus for now..... Possibly forever, though I hope it isn’t forever since it’s only supposed to be, like, five more chapters.

Pink and Gray is on official hiatus. I actually have a lot written for it, but I know it’s a little weird to put so much time and energy into Gary and Betty content when... well, let’s be honest: they’re my niche favorites and most of you probably don’t care. So, I am lifting my usual “no spoilers” policy from my Ask Box. If you would like to ask about my Gary and Betty backstory headcanons, feel free. I will tag my replies as “ridwriting spoilers” for anyone who wants to blacklist the tag, and spoilers will be hidden under a Read More line.

I’d like to return to this story someday because there are tons of things I like about it (ranging from Betty’s secret tattoos to Gary’s plot drama with his mom to the background drama between Talon and Anti-Cosmo, but I always feel immense pressure to make it extra cool to make up for the fact these are weird side characters, so... it’s officially at the bottom of the priority pile. Once Talon shows up in Frayed Knots and readers understand who he is and why he exists, I’ll consider coming back to it.

Identity Theft is a story about Foop and his time in the alternate dimension he was flung into following the episode “Playdate of Doom.” To put it short, Foop was abused by alternate versions of his parents in this dimension and he witnessed some pretty intense stuff, including the death of the alt version of himself who existed in that reality. The trauma he experienced resulted in his alternate personality, Hiccup. Foop himself has very few memories of what happened, as Hiccup has all of those memories. This story is canon in my works, and it is regularly referred to during the 130 Prompts as part of Foop’s backstory. It’s my highest priority side story to work on.

Along the Cherry Lane is a 20-chapter work focusing on the lives of the main human cast from age 11 to age 30, with one chapter showing a snippet of their lives each year. You see Timmy raising Tommy and Tammy in this ‘fic, and it ends with them receiving godparents. Since the 130 Prompts don’t give humans much attention, this ‘fic does. You’ll probably see it debut two years from now, closer to when the 130 Prompts is ready to talk more about humans.

If this becomes a popular ‘fic of mine, I’ll probably write a sequel or continue it past Chapter 30 and write about Tammy and Tommy living with fairies, but I won’t if there’s no interest in that.

Little Imperfections is a Pixie AU ‘fic of mine about what life would be like in a universe where the Fairies are even more like insects than I play them as during my main works (where I already play them as semi-similar to insects). In this world, the Head Pixie is a figurehead whose duty is to reproduce for the sake of the colony and do nothing else, and he’s bored out of his mind until he befriends Sanderson, who introduces him to music. It’s extremely self-indulgent and silly because I like Pixies.

Francis is a multi-chapter ‘fic about bully Francis’s life getting yet another fairy godparent in a long string of memory wipes and godparents. It takes place during the canon series, and when you see an “orange fairy” mentioned in some of my writings, it’s usually referring to this fairy. His name is Rover and I occasionally post art of him. I feel like I can’t truly call myself an FOP fanfic writer until I actually write about a godkid and their godparents, haha...

Hawthorn Haven is a side ‘fic that will be posted towards the end of the 130 Prompts, as it veers off from the prompts in its own self-contained multi-chapter story. It will be approximately the length of “Baby, You’re a Rich Man.”

Acacia Arcadia is a far-past ‘fic detailing the fall of the ancient fae, the imprisonment of the nature spirits, the rise and fall of the chimera nation, the fall of the Martian genies, and the early days of the cloudlands. This is close to the bottom of the priority pile... It’s something I spend time on for personal reference to ensure accuracy in my other ‘fics, but it’s probably not what you guys came here to read.

AA has a bunch of characters in it that you might vaguely recognize, such as Ezekiel Whimsifinado, Evadne, Ione, Two Feathers, Rho, and Sablewood (If you’re astute, you might recall cloudland legends and landmarks in modern day that refer back to these characters). There are also a lot of characters who were reincarnated as Anti-Fairies, in accordance to traditional Anti-Fairy beliefs; Foop for example exists as a main character in one of his past lives, and you’ll see a hint dropped about each of his lives in the first chapter of Identity Theft. My tentative plan is to use Foop’s past lives as my central characters, following the events of each part of the timeline until he gets killed and reincarnates at a later point of the timeline.

I also keep some one-shots in a file I call Mixed Nuts and I may possibly post them someday (they’re mostly just one-shots of main cast characters I do to get a feel for their personalities, I have some Wanda and Cupid in here). @zachbrightside and I are also working on a collab ‘fic called Like a House On Fire that shows more of Timmy and Chloe’s lives during Season 10 (especially around the time of “Which Is Wish?”) No news on a release date for that yet.

As I’ve said before, once all my other FOP works are complete, I will write Devil’s Backbone, which is my far-future ‘fic and the finale of my FOP writing. I do not plan to write any more FOP content after that story is finished, as I expect to have all other FOP projects done by then.

- Devil’s Backbone is a finale 'fic, so all worldbuilding from all stories is fair game to blend together, and it’s highly recommended you read everything else first. This story has been outlined since 2016, and it might not be published for another 10 years... Who knows! But it’s something I always work towards as a concrete endgame goal.

- If something serious comes up in my life and I officially decide I don’t want to write this story, I will post the outline for it. The link to this draft is included with all the other Google Docs links I have in a far-future queued post unveiling my WIPs in case I unexpectedly die and you still want to know how my stories would have gone, so you’ll get access to this story eventually even if I die young. Yes, share access is turned on for them all and I do take extra careful measures to be sure that post doesn’t get posted early skldfj

===

What is the plan for the main blog?

Every Friday, I will post either a fanfic chapter or a progress update. You can blacklist the tag “ridlife” if you do not want to see the progress updates on your dashboard. Fanfic updates will not have the “ridlife” tag, so you will not be blocking them.

During the rest of the week, I might post doodles, reblogs, or general comments. Basically... you’ll see the blog become active again. Feel free to send in Asks about my worldbuilding and thoughts on fanfic characters.

@fountainpenguin is my personal blog, so you will see non-fandom things on here sometimes

@riddledeep is my FOP-exclusive sideblog. It contains all my lore notes and goes into a ton of depth, more than my fanfics give in one breath

===

What does this mean for the Riddledeep sideblog?

I really want to go back and edit those character profiles that were posted early by mistake. The reason they were queued is because if I turned them into drafts, they would have been buried all the way at the beginning of my draft collection, and I have many, many drafts saved. There are no page numbers to navigate quickly through the draft collection, so I would have to click through each page one by one if I ever wanted to look at them. I hated doing this, which is why I kept my posts queued.

I was regularly updating the queue deadlines, trying to keep things in the order I wanted to post them in, but Tumblr made a change to the way drafts are dated and it kept throwing off my system. My inability to remember when my queued things would post combined with my busy schedule led to some profiles being posted early and incomplete. I want to fix these.

Over a year ago, my good friend Vulpix150 helped me finalize my designs for the Aos Sí and Daoine Sith. I’ve been sitting on that art in secret for a while, and at some point I plan to post it on the sideblog and talk more about that lore.

Updating fanfics is my higher priority (and it was the priority my followers voted for when I asked you to send votes to my Ask Box a while back). So, I will usually spend my free time working on fanfics unless I need a break from them and want to work on sideblog profiles instead. Thank you for your patience!

===

TL;DR

I’m posting fanfics again soon. I’m going to take a more relaxed approach to posting them. I’m going to post more of what I want to post and what I feel motivated to post, not always a main ‘fic update. If I’m not “feeling it” when working on a draft, then I’ll set it aside for a while unless I know my followers and readers have high interest in the next chapter of that story. I always write for me first, but if I know there are other people who care a lot about a story, then of course I want to write it for you too!

I’m going to embrace my decade-long love for WordGirl and post more ‘fics and art or this fandom. I’ve always been a little shy about doing this, but I’m ready to make it an official fandom on my main blog (unless there are lots of requests for WordGirl things to be contained in their own sideblog). I will be posting the first chapter for a ‘fic called Factor It In very soon. Love my easily frustrated alien kiddos having a long day.

I am working on Creature-Crossing stuff too, and will be especially busy in November and December. Updates will be slow for a few months, but I hope to find my groove and a good pace soon.

Each Friday, I will post either a fanfic update or a mention of what I am working on. I will be checking in on Tumblr regularly. Feel free to talk! I much prefer you send messages to my Ask Box, not my private messenger, please <3

===

Is there a specific story of mine you like and want more updates for?

Asks and reviews help me know which ‘fics people are enjoying. I plan to keep writing ‘fics no matter what, but I definitely give more time to the ‘fics that get more attention (and I have been spending so much time writing for Creature-Crossing because that’s where the attention was coming from)

It’s easy to stay motivated and get the next part of a story out soon if I know that people like it. It’s always harder if you feel like people are silently judging you and ignoring your posts. So, let me know what you’re interested in. And if you only leave Likes or Favorites instead of asks and reviews, that’s okay too! Thank you for interacting anyway and enjoying my work.

Thanks for reading!

#WordGirl #Factor It In #Kid Math #FAIRIES!#ridlife #riddleverse mention #ridwriting #Mushrooms and more #Satirical vocab alien child show #Frayed Knots #130 Prompts #Origin of the Pixies #Pink and Gray #Acacia Arcadia #Devil's Backbone #Hawthorn Haven #Along the Cherry Lane

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shnuggletea · 3 years

Photo

This is my entry for the Inuparents Day 2021! I was paired with a lovely and talented artist @kirrtash. She'll be posting this fic with her art on her AO3 account for us. You can also find her Ko-fi account here! Make sure you check out her page for the AMAZING art that goes with this fic! I'm so glad I got to work with her; this was a true collab as I really felt she was working with me the entire time. I enjoyed every minute of this event! Thank you so much @inuparentsday for hosting and sharing with all of us!

Link to AO3 HERE!!!

If you want more from this event (and trust me, you totally do) here's the Tumblr page! I would post the AO3 page buuuuutttt yeah I deleted mine lol! But there is one as well!!

Playlist is right here!!

TAGS!!!

@underwater0phelia @lavendertwilight89 @mamabearcat @nartista @nopenname22 @echobows @superpixie42 @smmahamazing @redflamesofpassion @jme-chan @cstorm86 @cicleydark-light @ruddcatha @lavaffair @kirrtash @sistasecbhere @obsessandfangirl @britonell @lordofthechips @mcornilliac @faolenwolf @classyhumanathletepalace @keichanz @phoenix-before-the-flame @artisticloveexpressitsall @lamuertadehambre @noyourenotreal @mitty-san @thenoammonster @little-deeluna @royaltrashpanda @sailorbabydoll92 @storyweaver2017 @malditamigs @adorabubblesblog @lilms-obsessed @petri808 @anniehcresta @fan-dumpp @itzatakahashi @utakuprincess @theschultinator @all-too-ale @little-inukag-obsessed @theseagullqueen @queenofthesquirps @jolinaaa00 @knowall7k @neutronstarchild @fawn-eyed-girl @eringobroke @sapphirestarxx @clearwillow @dangerouspompadour @misspepperpottss @kagometaishostory @egosolivagant @fandompromptsandfun @fandomartlover @fanficnewbiee

Chapter One

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It was a cold night. The kind that made your skin tense as soon as you stepped out into it. It also had a tendency to make a man’s scrotum shrivel and seek warmth. Not something they liked to talk about… usually.

“God damn it’s cold! My balls are up my ass!” Toga said at a level that made it even more inappropriate.

Miya shook his head, the image of Toga dancing on his toes to stay warm filling his brain. “How unpleasant that must be for you…”

“No, seriously! And those are big balls…”

Sitting back from his scope, the Monk pulled his shoulder-length black strands back and tied them there. “Just because we’re on comms doesn’t mean you have to talk so loud. No one is supposed to know you’re there, remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Toga was silent save for his huffing, warming up his hands with his breath, “still fucking cold though…”

“For fucks sake, aren’t you a demon? The temperature shouldn’t bother you!”

Pulling the sight around, Miya zeroed in on the loud mouth, shifting on his toes just as he knew Toga would be. He lifted his gold eyes right at him, somehow knowing Miya had turned his sights onto him. “Yeah, I’m a dog demon. I’m just as if not more sensitive to cold than insensitive humans like you!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think the old lady across the street from you heard it.”

“She needs new batteries in her hearing aid…”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I do, she just told the Shopkeep when she went inside.”

“Can you focus? Use that extra sensitive hearing to find our target?!”

“Can’t find what’s not there, Miya.”

“Then keep searching, Toga!!”

It was silent again but only for a second. “Now who’s being too loud…” Miya growled, getting to his feet and pacing away to kick something. “Calm down, you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Why the hell do I put up with you?”

Miya didn’t need to see Toga to know he was smirking. “Cause I’m the best. And who else you got? Myouga?” As much as he didn’t want to, a laugh sputtered loudly out of him, one the dog demon would have heard even without their comms. “See? You need me and I need you. Now get back to your post.”

Sighing and groaning, he did as ordered; laying down on the cold pavement of the thirty-story building he was perched on. He wasn’t an idiot, Toga placed him this high to keep him ‘safe’ if they found who/what they were looking for. It had been over an hour but Miya knew better than to question Toga’s judgment. Or Myouga’s intel.

Toga was cursing the inconvenience of it all. Winter was by far his least favorite season and he swore the others knew it too. It was why they waited until the middle of the season and hours after sunset to pull this crap. It was all to mess with Toga and nothing anyone said would change his mind about that. The heat from playing with Miya flooded out quickly so he was back to bouncing on his toes. It made his two blades smack against his thighs but that was a nice distraction from the cold as well.

Black toboggan on his head was large enough to cover his ears and his long silvery-white hair covered his neck. But it was his fucking hands and feet, his fingers and toes numb with cold.

He hated cold feet.

Humans passed and didn’t even glance in his direction. And why would they? Humans had no clue of his existence. Him or anyone similar (like Miya) were a secret from the world. Even though Miya was far from a demon; he wasn’t human either. It was that difference that had Toga placing Miya on the high building and far from the fight. If there was even a fight to be had.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a rouse to force him to stand out in the cold all damn night!

That was until he smelled it. “Miya… they’re here.”

“You’re sure?”

Toga glanced upward towards the tiny dot. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the agitation on Miya’s face. But he wasn’t human and it was always there. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled out So’unga and moved to the outer edge of the alley he hid in, glancing around. “Toga, get back! I’m here to scout not you!”

“Even with that scope you still see shit.”

“Toga, it’s an order! Get back!!”

“I’ll be fi….”

Toga was cut off, ice splitting up from his feet towards his heart. Leaping back, he avoided impalement with relative ease. When he found the perpetrator, Toga didn’t hold back his laugh in the slightest. “Good to see you too, Snowflake.”

The cat demon was growling at him and it had just as much to do with the fact that she was a cat and him a dog as it did that he called her ‘Snowflake’. “That’s not my name!!”

“Right, right, right. What was it again?” Toga teased.

If she wasn’t wearing a black hoodie that covered up all her fur, it would be standing up in anger. “It’s Toran, prick!!”

She slung out her arm and ice followed in a path along the ground. Toga stepped to the side to avoid it; making it seem like child’s play. “Well that’s not very nice. At least my nickname for you is a term of endearment. Yours sounds like an insult.”

Toga had his lower lip popped out and Toran roared, pissed. “IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

Glancing around, Toga saw that his little distraction had worked; the street was clear of all possible casualties. They had all seen the display the kitty cat had made and smartly left the area. Which was good because now Toran was tearing up the whole area with her rage; jagged and angry ice breaking up the sidewalk and pavement as it shot upward without warning.

Toga jumped and dodged it all, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Ice. Just had to be ice.”

The already frigid air was made much colder with the glacier that surrounded them. A small arena of sorts, Toga released a slow breath and watched the white puff float away.

Toran broke out of her thoughts of murder for a moment and spun to find him; realizing quickly (but too late) that it was just the two of them now. “What have you done?!”

“Me? You’re the one creating your own ice castle. You know, for an Ice Queen, you sure are hot headed.”

Toga smirked while the cat hissed, throwing out her arm again. Only this time the ice didn’t form on the ground. It shot out of her hand like a missile; long and sharp like a spear. Aimed right at his heart.

He moved out of its way with little struggle. “Careful there Snowflake! Pretty sure your Boss didn’t order you to kill me!”

Toran shuddered and then turned her head back and forth to work out the tension. “No. Not not you.”

The smirk that grew on her face had Toga dropping his. Spinning on his feet was a pointless gesture, they had comms after all. “Miya! Look out!!”

This was why Toran’s attacks were lackluster and easy to dodge. He had thought she was holding back to keep from killing him. But no, it was because her attention and powers were split; ice racing up the front of the building Miya perched on. It shot out of the top in deadly spikes completely destroying the top floors of the short tower. And Miya was silent. Myouga hadn’t told them the target but given the location Toga had assumed it was a human they were after. And he was half right.

“He’s a human with demon powers. Powers that are extremely dangerous for demons; a Black Hole. Why you’ve allowed him to not only live but also stay by your side is a wonder, Fighting Fang. He shouldn’t be allowed to live…”

“Miya has lived just fine by mine and your side for a time. You pick now, of all, times to kill him?!” Toga screamed.

Toran’s smirk grew to a grin and she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Oh?” They both turned and found the monk, a little out of breath, but with his sniper rifle on one arm and his hand out at the ready. “Good to know my life is worth so little. But I knew that already.”

Toga rolled his eyes at the drama queen. Miya had his fist closed tight but the runes that covered the cursed hand were removed. He was ready to kill.

“You won’t do that! Not with Fighting Fang so close! You don’t have the control to suck up only me!” Toran said while shaking with her fear.

Miya tilted his head to the side at her and glanced over at Toga. “That’s true. But he’s such a pain in the ass…”

“HEY!”

The monk used the small distraction to whip his rifle up and fire. He got Snowflake in the upper thigh and she released a loud whimper mixed with a roar. The shot to the leg didn’t slow her down as she leaped away over her ice walls.

Toga turned back to his friend, a lopsided grin on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t risk it, buddy.”

“I should have. She got away.”

Now at his side in a flash, Toga clapped a hand on Miya’s shoulder. “You got her in the leg! Without aiming!!”

“I was aiming. For her gut. I missed.”

“But not completely!”

Miya pulled away roughly from his friend and surveyed the damage. “Those nosy people are going to have a coronary when they get word of this.”

“Speaking of, we should get out of here. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

Toga grabbed Miya by the collar and hoisted them both to another high building; one not destroyed and closer to the scene below. It was a mixture of cops and men in lab coats. Toga didn’t know how much Miya could make out from their distance but he was sure the ones in lab coats were the ones that were at the last mess they made. One in particular was hard to miss; his long black ponytail stood out amongst the others. And he was becoming a constant in their lives.

He was becoming a problem.

“Izayoi, take a look at this for me please.”

Setting down her notes and her pencil, Izayoi straightened her lab coat as she made her way to her colleague’s microscope. Quickly, she pulled back and tied her long black locks out of her way and leaned over. Her colleague had stepped back out of her way and said nothing; so there was no bias.

“This can’t be right. It appears… deformed.”

“Right? I thought so too!”

Stepping back, Izayoi took the sample’s file and began reading. “It says here it was taken from an incident on fifth and Topsail last night? But it doesn’t say anything about the incident or those involved.”

The woman next to her nodded in silence and Izayoi handed her back the file, hurriedly leaving the lab to the one down and across the hall. The man she was looking for was directing boxes that looked like they were filled with ice of all things. He glanced up at her and quickly signed the form in his hands and pushed the attendant off hurriedly. “Dr. Hime, how are you finding your new lab?”

Izayoi shook her head. “It’s fine, Dr. Setsuna, but I’m here about the samples you sent us?”

“What about them?”

“Well… what are they?!”

He chuckled at her and she felt her blood rise to her temples. “That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?”

“Sir, all science aside, it’s difficult to ascertain much from a few drops of blood when we know so little about it…”

“Run it through the database and see if you get a match.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Izayoi liked her job, she really did, until it started to become some kind of cloak and dagger operation and Takemaru got promoted. “We already did that and it came up with nothing.”

“Of course it did.” Takemaru mused quietly.

“Excuse me?”

Izayoi’s attention shot up to her boss but he shook his head with a fake smile. “Nothing. Just mark everything that you find in what you have, Izayoi.”

She turned and left quickly; part in frustration but also because it bothered her greatly when Takemaru spoke informally to her. Just because he was her boss now didn’t mean it was appropriate. Quite the opposite. With so much more going on, Izayoi let it go. For now.

Back in her lab and feeling safe, she looked over the blood sample again. Five had been taken and although they all looked the same they had different locations marked in their file. Izayoi looked again, taking the sample her colleague had away from her (and she was gracious to have it off her plate too). Switching back and forth, Izayoi looked over the DNA results again. They were inconclusive; the only recognizable strands reminded her of feline DNA while the rest were mutated or something. But she noticed one thing; although from different locations the blood was from the same person.

“Maybe the cat DNA is the answer?” She asked herself. The lab was empty as Izayoi got lost in her task.

Even though all the same, she didn’t want to risk any more contamination, taking each sample and amplifying them. Polymerase Chain Reaction took a few hours so Izayoi left for the small cafeteria (more like a break room with a coffee maker and vending machines) for a cup of coffee. She had taken a seat at the small table in the middle when bodies hustled hurriedly past the door.

Leaving her cup behind, Izayoi leapt to her feet and followed as fast as she could behind the small group of overly excited Scientist. They went to the loading bay which was odd in itself. The loading bay was for supplies like chemicals and printing paper. Nothing exciting came through here except when her new genetic analyzer arrived. Izayoi doubted this many were excited over something like that. It was also far too late for a delivery; already nearing ten pm.

Standing off to the side, she hid as she watched the large armored car as it backed into the loading dock. A few men in police uniform hopped out; Izayoi’s confusion and curiosity increased at the sight. One opened the back doors while the other stood right behind, his weapon up and armed.

Everything that Izayoi could have possibly imagined dropped to the floor and shattered as a man walked off the truck. His long silver hair was pulled back and swung as he looked around at the group of men that surrounded him. It was pretty.

Izayoi shook her head of the thought, focusing on the man. His red jacket and dark jeans hid his body from her but he looked normal otherwise. He had drawn purple streaks on his face just under his eyes for some reason. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she hid or make out many details of his face but the purple was hard to miss.

Her eyes traveled down to his hands; cuffed in front of him. He had long, sharp looking nails. And they looked thick and dangerous even from a distance. Her thoughts were interrupted when the man lifted his joined wrists and held his hands up. Everyone jumped except her as she watched with rapt attention; intrigued to just what the man was going to say.

“I come in peace.”

Her eyes rolled instantly and she let out a loud huff. What the hell was this guy even doing here? And why was the staff of Takemaru’s lab about to wet themselves with excitement?

She hadn’t seen him the entire time, too focused on the ‘specimen’ on the truck, but now Takemaru stood before the strange man with a wicked looking grin. He looked over the man in cuffs but said nothing to him, turning to his men who salivated behind. “Take him to the lab.”

They didn’t take the usual hallway. Instead they took the man the back way designed for deliveries. Izayoi stepped back and completely out of sight; sneaking down the hall and back to her lab. When the noise from Takemaru’s lab reached hers, she slowly left hers again and snuck down the hall. When she peeked inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary so she straightened herself and walked right in. Only to be stopped by Takemaru.

“Dr. Hime? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” She said plainly. “I’m still working on those samples you gave me…”

“Oh there’s no rush. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” He said, waving a hand at her like it was no big deal.

“I don’t need to worry?! Sir, I spent all day running them. I’m not about to drop them…”

“Fine, Izayoi, you do what you need to. In your lab.”

He was kicking her out and she resisted the urge to run from the informality; stretching on her toes to look around him instead. “Did you get a new project?”

Takemaru swayed and moved in her way more, blocking her view completely from spying the back of his lab. “It’s ‘need to know’.”

Izayoi seethed. Ever since Takemaru got promoted (over her) he acted like it was some kind of ‘boy’s club’. That’s what it was, all the men in the room moving around without issue while she was stuck in the doorway. She was sure that was how Takemaru got promoted instead of herself. Even with a few women on the board it was very much a ‘man’s world’ in the lab as of late. As much as it pissed her off they did give her a nice raise. And she loved her work as well as those who worked in her lab.

She would put up with it for now until a better offer came along. As it stood, this was the only lab in town that could handle her caliber of study. Didn’t mean she had to pretend she was okay with it, huffing as she turned on her heel. “Whatever, Dr. Setsuna. Enjoy your new toy.”

Let them think they’re keeping their secrets. Izayoi was sure she would figure them out soon. She hated secrets. Secrets and liars her two main pet peeves. It was the reason she became a scientist. To discover all the secrets the world held and to uncover any lies. This was all just another mystery for her to unravel.

And unravel, she would.

#inuyasha fandom #inuparents day #izayoi x toga #cell mates prequel #cell mates universe #inuparents day 2021 #how to make a hanyou

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Text

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first:

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense.

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go.

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish.

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it.

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit.

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

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

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #guess who spent 48 hours doing nothing but writing and formatting #can I get a wahoo

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legolasbadass · 3 years

Text

Heart of Gold, Chapter 16

Characters: Thorin, Dis, Thrain, Dwalin, Balin, Original Characters

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Setting: Post Azanulbizar, Pre Quest of Erebor

Notes: Hi everyone! I hope you are all well and staying safe! These notes are becoming redundant, but I will still apologize for the long wait I have imposed on you (again)! I had a crazy finals season, and then I had barely any inspiration or motivation to finish/edit this chapter! I have spent the last week and a half editing, so I would really appreciate any feedback on this chapter. I also promise (I know, big word, but I really promise!) that you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter. Some exciting things are happening in the story, and I could not be more eager to share them with you! Without any further ado, here is the long-awaited 16th chapter. I hope you enjoy it! 💙

This is the 16th chapter to my Thorin Oakenshield fan fiction, Heart of Gold, which can be read in full on ao3. Go check it out there to read from the start! Please consider liking or reblogging if you enjoyed this chapter or if you are enjoying the story so far!

Word Count: 6893

Thorin could not for the life of him concentrate on the council meeting. It felt as though they had been at it for hours. Glancing up at the clock, he saw that it was now four o'clock in the afternoon, only to realize he had no idea when the meeting had started. All he knew was that it was probably too long ago.

Four o'clock. That meant Dania would be sitting with his mother and sister for tea time. Despite all his best intentions, he could not help but think of her at the most inappropriate times.

Being the heir was his duty.

But she was his heart.

His One.

Why did his father have to recount their whole eventless journey to Lord Yngvi? It was as though he was inciting Thorin's mind to wander; like he was inviting him to drift down deep, secluded dreams where he and Dania were together, and they faced neither enmity nor aversion.

In this fanciful world, he held her proudly, boldly, and loved her frankly and openly. That was what she deserved. Nothing less. The image of her being his — wearing his clasp in her braid, his colours on her gown, and his hand on her arm — was driving him mad. That image almost made him stand up on his feet at that very moment and profess his undying love for her in front of all these council members — their opinions be damned.

But he knew he could not. He must not because he knew what their reaction would be. He knew the frown that would cover their faces and the scandalized revulsion that would flicker in their eyes. And he knew their opinion did matter, regardless of how much he wished it did not.

Dania deserved nothing less than his undivided devotion and to be adored and respected like the jewel she was. That was why he could not forgo their support and condemn her to a life of shame and shunning because she was not the one their kin approved of. Even though he knew there was no one better for him than her, that there was no one better than her to stand by his side and support him through his life. He had to keep it inside.

He could not stand the fact that she had to suffer because of their closed minds. The sight of her tear-stricken cheeks as she told him of the venture she was forced to undertake to keep their union secret haunted him. He despised all the people in this room because of it.

But he had to keep it inside. Sulking, he pressed his fists into his thighs to stop himself from screaming in rage at the injustice of it all.

A hand on his arm pulled him back to reality. Vili was looking at him; concern etched onto his face. Thorin nodded to let him know he was alright and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation unfolding before him.

"With all due respect, My Lord, we are still recovering from Azanulbizar. At this time of the year especially, our supplies are lower than they have ever been, " one of the council members was saying. He was young, perhaps even younger than Thorin, but already he stood right next to Lord Ynvgi; a sign of the trust his lord had in him, a sign of his influence in this room.

Most of the council members were young, yet already they occupied the most influential positions and already led their families.

We are still recovering from Azanulbizar.

How long would that battle haunt them?

So many people — too many — had perished, had suffered, or had been forced to grow up too fast just as he had, many years ago, on the other side of the world when that wretched worm had attacked his homeland.

"I agree with Master Agnar," one of the eldest members said as he stood up. "However, Lord Thrain, like his ancestors before him, is an ally to the Firebeards*." Thorin looked around at those words, assessing where people's loyalties lay. "He has chosen our Halls for his only daughter's wedding — a most joyous occasion — is it not our duty to lend him our hand?"

Lord Ynvgi gave a slight nod, though whether this was a gesture of agreement or dissent, Thorin did not know.

"Master Mundi is right," said a younger Dwarf whom Thorin recognized as Master Airi, the one who had warned them of the orcs' numbers before the battle. "Besides, a wedding would be a welcomed distraction from the hard winter we have suffered."

Several side glances were shared in response. His words rang true, though perhaps they did not form the most persuasive argument.

At the other end of the table, a tall Dwarrow stood and looked to Lord Yngvi.

"Yes, Lady Ragnhildr," Lord Yngvi nodded.

"Perhaps a bargain may be struck, My Lords," she began in a silvery voice. "I believe it is safe to say that I am not the only one who would be honoured for the wedding to take place here in Lord Yngvi's Hall. We may even lend Lord Thrain a hand as he ventures further South and finds a place to settle permanently — "

"Lay Ragnhildr, I usually applaud your council, but this is preposterous. We do not run a charity," the Dwarf right next to Lord Ynvgi interjected.

Thorin heard his father sigh as Lady Ragnhildr smiled scornfully. "Perhaps if you would let me finish speaking my mind, there would be no need to insult my intelligence and hurt your own in the process."

A few, including Vili, had to stifle their snorts.

"As I was saying," she went on with a side glance to the one who had interrupted her, "Perhaps we may strike a deal. The wedding takes place here, and we offer help as you find a place to settle. In exchange, as soon as your forges are up and running, you must give us a third of the weapons produced within the year, and we have your word that if any orcs, or even Men, come to attack us, we can count on your support."

She and Lord Yngvi were staring at each other as she spoke, and he was nodding in approval as she went.

"This is not charity," she said, scanning the table until her eyes landed on Thrain. "Nor is this a favour. This is business. As many of my colleagues have pointed out: times are hard. We will only survive if we can count on one another."

Thorin found himself nodding in approval. Of course, fulfilling such a deal would be a strain on them, but what other choice did they have? They needed their help. And his father, who was intent on Dis being married as soon as possible — "for the good of the line of Durin," as he put it — would find even more cause to agree to this plan.

Thorin had to admire Lady Ragnhildr's negotiation skills. He only had to place himself in her shoes to see that, given the circumstances, this was the best offer she could make and that it was actually an advantage to both parties.

Fortunately, Thrain agreed with his son's unspoken opinions. It only took one glance between them, and the king was nodding. "Very well, Lord Yngvi."

"I am honoured to host your daughter's wedding, Lord Thrain," Lord Yngvi said formerly, but there was something in his tone that hinted at old friends coming together rather than two lords signing an agreement. "Especially since, long ago, I was very close to Lord Viljar, Lord Vili's father," he added for the benefit of the younger council members. "This wedding shall be a celebration of my friendship with him as well as my friendship with you, Lord Thrain.

"There is much planning to get through before that joyous day is upon us," he went on. "But I think this is progress enough for today. I, for one, would like a very large ale." As soon as he said so, the boy sitting next to him stood to fulfill his request. "This meeting is adjourned, for now."

Finally, Thorin thought with a quiet sigh. He was satisfied with how the negotiations had concluded, but all he wanted now was to rest. He still would not get that. There was to be a feast tonight, and then there would be more negotiations tomorrow, and then soon enough, they would be back on the road.

"Are you alright, brother?"

Thorin turned to face Vili and froze. Images of warm Spring days filled with honeycakes and laughter flashed in his mind, juxtaposed with blood and screams. Brother. Frerin always called him that. Not Thorin. Brother.

"Thorin?"

"I am fine," Thorin said firmly, then, more gently, "I am fine. Thank you."

His father, along with Mimir, Dania's father, and Nar, was still conversing with Lord Yngvi, so Thorin made his way out of the council room. He was halfway down the hallway when he realized Vili was walking next to him.

"So," Vili said tentatively. "How are you, truly?"

"I told you: I am fine."

"I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you by calling you brother, I just thought — "

"You did not offend me," Thorin said as he looked at him. "Really. You did not."

"Alright," Vili said with a tilt of his head. "Then, do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Thorin sighed.

"About what is making you so irritable — so . . . distracted," he said.

Thorin frowned, his jaw set. "I am not — "

"Come now, Thorin," Vili chuckled. "I practically had to push you so that you'd listen in there. And your jaw was clenched so tight I was worried you would break your teeth."

How insolent, Thorin thought. He hadn't realized it was Vili's place to study him like he was some sick animal. He had half a mind to tell him off, but then his anger might be interpreted as a sign that there was some truth to Vili's observations. There was truth to it, Thorin did not deny that, but he would not admit it aloud either.

"Is this about Dania?"

Thorin could not hold back his outburst this time.

"What does she have to do with any of this?" he demanded, looking down at him.

His need to protect her — and their secret — mingled with the fear of being discovered, and what that would bring about fogged his mind. He could not let anyone take her away from him. He would not.

"I — I do not know," Vili stammered. "I just thought — "

Looking around, Vili took a deep breath, then looked back to Thorin with softness and determination in his eyes. "Listen, Thorin, I spoke with Dis and from the things she said — I gathered there might be something between you two."

Thorin eyed him intently for a moment. "You mean Dis told you?"

Vili sighed. "Yes, she told me," he admitted as he scratched his pale beard. At least he had the decency to sound embarrassed.

Exasperation stretched Thorin's already overloaded mind. Leaning toward Vili to avoid behind overhead, he groaned, "you cannot tell anyone." He did not even wait for an answer before moving away, though he heard Vili trailing after him.

***

Staring at the soaked leaves at the bottom of her cup, Dania sighed inwardly. The afternoon was passing away slowly, and with each minute, the respite it had promised was diluted like the taste of honey she chased in her tea.

Dania was sick of tea. And most of all, she was sick of the idle chat. Dis didn't seem to mind too much. After all, she was being bombarded with questions about her upcoming wedding, which kept her mind occupied and her cheeks warm and red. Dania, on the other hand, felt out of place.

Sitting on a luxurious, currant red sofa, Dania found herself more easily invested in her surroundings than in the conversation. After all, it went on as it usually did. Ester gossiped, Nal laughed, and Illiana scolded them when they went too far, though a smirk always tugged at her lips. Beside Dania, Lady Adis was silent, while Ester's mother, Lady Inger, and Lady Vigga, Lord Yngvi's wife, participated in the conversation enthusiastically.

Lady Vigga was also quite the gossiper, though everything else about her was still a mystery. The many beads and jewels in her hair and beard marked her as a lady of high standing. She had a handsome face, though her thin lips and her wide-set eyes made her appear stern. The dark red of her dress did nothing to counter that impression.

She obviously had expensive taste, if this room was anything to go by. A stone table stood between the sofa Dania and the queen sat on and the other on which Dis, Illiana, and Nal were sitting. Ester, her mother and Lady Vigga occupied three of the four other chairs, made of some dark wood of which Dania should have remembered the name, and upholstered in faded golden damask. Covering the stone floor was a thick rug, its colours similar to those on the tapestries on the walls. One depicted a large figure with a long beard adorned with dozens of intricate, coloured beads. Dania recognized him as Mahal, their maker. In front of him were seven Dwarves looking up, cowering before him as he raised his hammer.*

Lady Yngvi had offered this sitting room, along with its adjacent chambers, to Lady Adis and Lord Thrain as long as they remained in his Hall. Lord Thrain, however, had insisted on them remaining in their encampment just outside the gates. Whether this was because of pride or simply because he did not wish to abuse their hospitality, Dania was not sure, but she was grateful for it.

When they had first entered the sitting room, Lady Vigga warmly welcomed them, but her eyes soon halted on Dania.

"You must be Dania," Lady Vigga had said with a wry smile. "I have heard a lot about you."

Dania had no idea how to respond to such a greeting. Of course, she was used to people giving her odd looks and whispering behind her back, but that did not make it pleasant. And while she was used to it, it was clear that Lady Adis was not, and somehow she seemed to have taken personally the looks Dania had received.

"Yes, Dania is quite the accomplished young lady," Lady Adis had responded in the same tone as she placed an arm around Dania's shoulders.

Lady Adis and Lady Vigga had glared at one another for a moment as the hand on Dania's shoulder tightened its grip. It was a protective gesture, Dania had realized with embarrassment.

Lady Adis had been quiet since then, and Dania felt terribly guilty. Always, her presence seemed to be asking people to pick a side, as it had now. Dania hated it. Yet, at the same time, she could hardly believe Lady Adis had taken her defence. Did she feel obligated to do so? Or did she actually care? Dania knew her enough to know that the answer probably resided in the latter, but she still could not believe someone would go so far as to ruin their afternoon to defend her. Once again, she was immeasurably indebted to Lady Adis, but even more than this, she was profoundly touched.

As though sensing her inner turmoil, Lady Adis squeezed Dania's hand, a gesture that made her feel like a child, but not in a bad way. It told her that it was alright for her to be upset, that she was not weak for feeling so, and that she was allowed to seek comfort — comfort which Lady Adis wanted to give her.

Promise me that you will tell me if you are feeling scared or lonely ever again. I am here for you, she had said the night the soldiers had returned from Azanulbizar.

Her touch was a reminder of that conversation they'd had, and Dania was so grateful for it.

It was the mention of Thorin's name that brought Dania's attention back to the Dwarrows before her.

"I almost did not recognize him when I saw him yesterday," Lady Vigga said. "He has grown into a very fine young Dwarf. And he looks so much like you, Lady Adis."

"Yes, he does," Lady Adis replied with a small smile.

"I imagine it must be odd for him to see his younger sister married before him," Lady Vigga said.

So they had come to it that quickly. Ester shifted in her seat at those words; that alone was enough to provoke the monster inside Dania.

"Not at all," Lady Adis replied. "I see no reason to rush him into an unwanted marriage. When he finds the right person, he will be ready."

From the corner of her eye, Dania saw Dis glance at her quickly. Dania left her face a blank canvas, yet she could feel moisture forming in her hands, and the ever-present ache she'd fought so hard to bury bloomed again in her stomach.

Whatever Lady Adis said, Lord Thrain did appear to be in a hurry to marry his daughter. Dis, like Dania, was only forty-five years old, and that thought did nothing to ease Dania's worries. Of course, they could not force Thorin to marry, but they could very well place him in a position where he had little choice but to consent to it. Dania hoped it would not come to this because she would have no right to get in the way if it did.

She would not let him sacrifice everything for her.

"Who said anything about 'unwanted'?" Lady Inger said with a chuckle, sounding as though she was attempting to lighten the mood, yet her eyes spoke a different language entirely. She wanted something. "So many young Dwarrows must have their eyes set on him."

Dania hated the way they talked about Thorin. She hated how they talked about him as though he was a piece of meat; a pawn in their grand game of chess.

"I do not think my brother would be overjoyed to learn you were using his personal life as tea time entertainment," Dis said dispassionately. Dania wanted to kiss her in thanks for voicing her thoughts.

"Oh, my dear," Lady Vigga said with a laugh, "this has nothing to do with his personal life."

"You are talking about his marriage prospects — that has everything to do with his personal life!" Dis retorted.

"Not if you are the heir to the throne of Erebor," Lady Vigga said. "Whomever he marries will be a queen one day. This is politics; not love."

"Perhaps these two concepts are not mutually exclusive," Illiana said. "Dis and Vili's upcoming marriage is a political one, but they do love each other."

Smiling softly, Dania and Illiana exchanged a glance. Dis' cheeks had turned a bright red.

"If the prince has his sister's sense then, yes; he will learn to love the one who will make the right queen," Lady Vigga said with a wave of her hand as though they were discussing whether one should wear red or blue to a feast.

"Ah, and the prince is so devoted to his duties. He will make the right choice," Lady Inger said as she shared a look with her daughter. The monster inside Dania coiled its tail and roared.

Nevertheless, Dania could not help but notice that Lady Adis was silent. Everything — or, almost everything — Laddy Vigga had said was true, and yet the queen's silence appeared to Dania as a small beacon of hope. Perhaps it was foolish. It probably was. Yet Dania clung to it like it was a ray of sun, and she was a flower that had bloomed too early in the Spring and found itself in a dark and barren world.

"It is getting late," Lady Adis said as she rose from her seat, "and we must get ready for the feast tonight."

"Yes, and what an event that will be," Lady Vigga replied with a too-wide smile. "I look forward to seeing you there."

Lady Adis nodded, then turned to Dania. "Are you coming, dear?"

Dania smiled shyly at the term of endearment and stood. She gave a quick curtsy to Lady Vigga then gladly followed Lady Adis and Dis out of the sitting room. A long sigh escaped her lips when the door closed behind her.

"Yes, I quite agree with that sentiment," Lady Adis said in response.

Dania blushed, having hoped her most improper display of irritation would go unnoticed, but the queen did not seem to mind.

"I hope you girls will excuse my behaviour," Lady Adis said as they walked down the curved hallway. "It is not like me to lose my temper in this way. But, then again, I have always despised Lady Vigga, and she was particularly bothersome today."

"You mean to say she was an absolute wretch," Dis said with a grimace, causing Dania to snicker.

"Dis!" Lady Adis hissed in reproach, but there was an amused gleam in her eyes. Then a dry cough escaped her lips, causing Dis and Dania to stare at her in concern. "I'm alright — the air was just — quite stuffy in there." When her breathing recovered, she went on, "Dania, I do hope you will not let that viper's words get to you."

"It's alright," Dania said with a shrug. "I'm used to it."

"That does not mean you should accept it," Lady Adis replied.

They had made it back to the crowded entrance hall. Beyond the large stone gate, the sun was beginning to set so that the whole room basked in its warmth.

"Vili!" Dis suddenly called out and walked ahead to where her betrothed had appeared. He smiled widely when he saw her, and the two exchanged a warm embrace, without a care for the stares they were attracting from the crowd of people around them.

"Listen to me carefully, Dania," Lady Adis' voice called her attention away from the couple. "You are a wonderful girl; smart, brave, and above all, you have a kindness that can warm even the coldest of hearts. Many people in this world are close-minded and will seek to tear you down because they refuse to challenge their beliefs. You must not let their words reach your heart."

Dania stared at her with wide eyes, silent as she let the motherly care in Lady Adis' eyes wash over her, feeding her the courage to speak.

"My Lady," she said hesitantly. "What is it that they say?" Lady Adis frowned. Taking this as a sign of misunderstanding, Dania went on. "Lady Vigga said she had heard a lot about me. . . ."

Closing her eyes for an instant, Lady Adis took a deep breath. "Some — like Lady Vigga — believe that you are not one of us; that you are — "

"An outlander," Dania said flatly, looking down at the ground. She only looked up when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We are all outlanders in this part of the world," Lady Adis said. "And you are one of us. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Besides, in what world is it acceptable to scorn someone based on where they come from — something that is out of your control?"

Dania nodded slowly. Lady Adis' words seemed contradictory to her. She was one of them, but she could not be proud of the blood that flowed through her. The blood of their enemies.

As though she heard these thoughts, Lady Adis' grip on her shoulder tightened. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. You must know that we cannot judge an entire race based on the actions of a single individual. Whatever words you might have heard thrown around behind your back, know that your mother — she did not bewitch your father or do anything ridiculous of the sort; they loved each other, and you carry their love within you every day.

"Lady Vigga was wrong about many things, but about this in particular: not everything is about politics; and in times such as these where grief has its claws on us all, it is more important than ever to cling to love."

Tears stung Dania's eyes, and she knew Lady Adis would have understood — perhaps even more than she did herself — but they were in a crowded space; the last thing Dania wanted was to give these people more cause to stare at her.

"Are you alright, Dania?" spoke the deep voice she knew so well and loved dearly.

She curtsied before nodding, but he could read her eyes better than anyone. Concern marked his features as his mother spoke, but neither of them was really listening. All Dania could think of was the conspiring looks Ester and Lady Inger had shared earlier. Don't let them take you from me, she begged him wordlessly.

"Thorin, love, are you listening to me?" Lady Adis said, causing both Dania and Thorin to blush.

"Sorry, amad, I have a lot on my mind," Thorin said as he tore his gaze away from Dania. "What did you say?"

Lady Adis stared at him for a moment before speaking. "I asked you if all was well? I have not seen your father anywhere."

"Yes, all is well. There are still many things to discuss, but, so far, we have struck a good deal with Lord Yngvi. Father is still with Nar and Master Mimir; I imagine they were finalizing some arrangements with Lord Yngvi."

Dis and Vili reappeared at that moment. Dania frowned as Dis looked at her brother for a moment, then at her, a guilty expression on her face.

"Are you coming to the feast tonight, Dania?" Thorin asked her. She could not read his mind, but it seemed to her as though he was deliberately avoiding his sister's eyes.

"Yes, I am, Lord Thorin," she replied.

"Speaking of which," Dis interjected, "we should go and get ready, don't you think?" she asked her.

"Yes, I suppose," Dania said hesitantly. She barely had time to curtsy to Thorin and the queen and give Vili a small smile before Dis dragged her away from the crowd.

They scurried along the path just outside the gates, passed by the guards, and cut across the encampment until they entered their tent.

"Mahal, what's your hurry?" Dania said breathlessly as Dis started pacing in the small space between the two makeshift beds.

"Oh, Dania I'm sorry — so sorry — I didn't think — I thought it would not matter — but of course it does; you told me it was a secret — "

The world froze around Dania. "What?"

"Thorin already chastised me for it so," — she waved her hands in the air in defence — "there's no need to do it again. It is only that — well, we are going to be married, I should not keep secrets from him. But then Thorin went on and on about how it was not my secret but yours and — "

"You told Vili," Dania said with a relieved sigh.

"Yes and — "

"Well, start with that next time! You had me worried!"

It was Dis' turn to freeze. "You mean — you mean you are not mad?"

Dania did not know what she was feeling. How had Vili reacted? He certainly had not taken the first opportunity to divulge the secret to King Thrain — and she doubted he ever would — yet instead of being relieved — if not outright happy — that someone else knew of their love for each other and was not repulsed by it, Dania felt even more dejected.

Judging by the bits and pieces of information she had gathered, Thorin did not seem overjoyed that Vili knew their secret. She knew how important it was for them to take their time before they could try and convince their kin of the viability of their union and the strength of their bond, but this was Vili, not the whole council chamber. Yet letting even one person know, someone they knew well, and that would soon be part of his family, appeared to Thorin as one stroke too many on the battered barrier that protected their shared heart. That only reminded Dania of how little they could trust anyone with their secret, and by extension, just how fanciful was the idea of their parents blessing their union.

But Dania was not mad. Despite her befuddled thoughts, despite how much she wanted to scream at Mahal for placing the other half of her soul so close to her yet so beyond her reach, that foolish and naive part of her mind was glad that Vili knew. He was her friend, and he would soon be her best friend's husband. It felt . . . right for him to know.

Shaking her head, Dania frowned. "No it's — it's Vili. I trust him. You trust him."

"Thank Mahal," Dis exclaimed, relief flooding her every word. Dania wished she could feel the same relief.

Dania let herself fall onto her makeshift bed. They were silent for a while before Dis sat down beside her, their knees touching, and she gently grabbed her hand.

"Amad was right, Dania," she said. "Don't listen to what Lady Vigga says."

Bitting her lips as a cascade of emotions climbed up her throat, Dania shrugged. "But Dis — she was right. Whoever Thorin marries one day, she'll be a queen — "

"You mean you will be — "

"Dis — " Dania said breathlessly, shaking her head. She opened her mouth to speak but then resigned herself to the fact that she knew not how to translate her feelings into words. "I don't want to talk about this for now, alright? Let's just get ready for the feast."

***

The dining room was even more imposing than the sitting room they had visited earlier. Columns and complex geometric patterns were carved directly into the stone walls and had been polished so skilfully that they shone like marble. Most remarkable were the blue streaks of colour that gave these mountains their name gleaming in the candlelight, rippling through the stones like the waves Dania had once admired on the Long Lake.

Dozens of early Spring flowers and candles decorated the long stone table; an effort made to make the guests feel welcomed, but all it did was make them feel slightly out of place. Dania knew this was not just her own impression. Dis had not let go of her arm since they had walked inside, except to let Dania curtsy.

When the doors opened to reveal Lady Vigga, holding onto Lord Yngvi's arm, all Dania wanted to do was shrink up and disappear, but she was already at the back of the room, and no one paid her any mind. Lady Vigga looked even more imposing than she had a few hours before. She wore purple this time, and the cuffs and neckline of her gown were adorned with golden embroidery that matched the ornamental belt at her waist, attached with a large clasp bearing the sigil of the Firebeards.

Despite having had the chance to discard her travel-worn dress and don her only other gown, which Lady Adis had a seamstress restore to a suitable state, the other Dwarrows' fine attire intimidated Dania. She should have known better than to feel this way. With everything that had befallen them in the past year, fabrics and accoutrements should have been the least of her worries, but they became one of the many things that reminded her that she simply did not belong to this life. Her gown was a dull ash grey where the Dwarrows around her wore bright fabrics, embroidered and bejewelled, and her braids were plain compared to the precious beads that adorned their hair and beards. Even Dis was not so richly dressed, for they could not afford it, but then again, the princess did not require such embellishments to appear more elegant and regal than all the people in this room. Something in her countenance spoke more about her status than any jewel ever could.

"There you are!"

Dania and Dis turned around to see Ester, Nal, and Illiana walking towards them. They all wore their prettiest gowns, but only Ester looked like she belonged with the Firebeard ladies. Dania wondered how Ester could wear such expensive fabrics and so many jewels and not feel guilty when most of them had barely had anything to eat during their journey from Dunland.

"Oh, Dis, you look beautiful!" Ester said. Then, without giving anyone else the chance to speak, she asked, "is your brother here?"

Dis' hold on Dania's arm tightened. "Er — well, if he is not, he should be here any minute," the princess said.

"Ester has been talking about him our whole way here," Nal said teasingly. "I do not think I could stand another minute of it!" Me neither, Dania thought.

"Look, there's Dwalin!" Dis said in an attempt to change the topic. Something flickered in Ester's eyes, but she looked away, perhaps to appear uninterested or perhaps because she truly was indifferent to the warrior's presence. Dania was having more and more trouble understanding her motives. But then she remembered the look in Lady Inger's eyes, and she realized that it was possible that a union with Thorin was not something Ester wanted but that her parents wanted for her. Dania did not know which of these two scenarios bothered her more.

Illiana was talking about Lady Vigga's offer to give them a tour of the Hall the next day when Dania's attention was stolen by a group of people entering the room, or rather, by one Dwarf in particular. Thorin was standing next to his father and mother, along with Balin, Nar, and Mimir, looking as handsome as ever. His hair appeared to have been freshly washed and braided, and he was dressed in the deep blue tunic he usually wore to such occasions. The colours were more faded than Dania remembered, but nothing could affect the majesty of his presence.

As she slowly made her way toward her father, Thorin's eyes met her own, conjuring a deep blush from her cheeks. When she was finally close enough to the group, she curtsied, then grabbed the arm her father was extending toward her, but all she could think of was escaping this room to be alone with Thorin and feel his soft lips scorching her skin. As though he could hear her most improper thoughts, the corner of his lips curled up in a smile. That only made the heat inside Dania grow. Damn that Dwarf!

She was glad when they finally took their seats, if only because it might be easier for her to control herself while they sat at different tables. Mimir led her to a table near the main one where the king and his family were sitting with Lord Ygnvi and his wife, so Dania could still see Thorin quite clearly, but she forced herself not to look, or at least, not look as often as she wished to. Her father sat on her right and immediately began conversing with one of Lord Yngvi's advisors while she turned to another young Dwarf who had just pulled up her chair.

"Oh, thank you," Dania said, startled by his kindness.

"Not at all," he said with a warm smile before sitting down. "My name is Airi."

Dania bowed her head in reverence. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Airi. I am Dania."

"Airi will do; not Master Airi," he said with a chuckle. "And the pleasure is all mine, Lady Dania."

It was Dania's turn to chuckle. "I am no Lady."

"Really? Well, you have the countenance of one," Airi replied.

Blushing, Dania looked away, only to find Thorin staring at her through the many people separating them. He looked at her questioningly, but she could do nothing but give a short, almost imperceptible nod and tear her gaze away from him.

Dania had not thought she could be more confounded by her surroundings until the food was served. There was chicken, roast beef, and sausages, too many kinds of cheese to choose from, freshly baked bread, roasted potatoes, and enough wine to drown in. She had not seen this much food in years.

"Have you been enjoying your stay in the Blue Mountains so far?" Airi asked her as she delved into the dishes. One taste of the potatoes was enough to convince her to fill her entire plate with them.

Dania thought of her afternoon with Lady Vigga, but the delicious taste of the wine made her nod in response. "Yes, it is lovely here."

"Have you had a chance to take a tour of the Hall?" Airi asked.

"No yet, I am afraid," Dania said.

"It would be my honour to accompany you around the place."

"I would be honoured, whenever that may be," Dania replied as she took another mouthful of sausages.

"Well, there should be plenty of time for that, given that you will be staying here for a while, I gather," Airi said. "I am certain there are many things that would interest you. The ballroom for one — "

"Is there a library?" Dania asked before she could stop and think twice about interrupting him. She needed to look for other plants to help with her . . . problem, and a library was the place she would find information.

"Yes, of course there is. I could show you, if you would like," he said with a smile.

"I would like that very much," Dania replied in the same tone.

"What would you like?" Dania's father asked as he leaned in toward her.

"I was just telling your daughter that I would be more than happy to accompany her to the library, Master Mimir," Airi explained.

"You know my father?" Dania asked.

"I was at the council meeting today," Airi said, nodding.

Dania turned to her father. "Yes, about that — How did it go?"

"Quite well, I would say, given the king's fixed ambition." He spoke using courtly equivocations to avoid being misunderstood by overeager ears, but Dania knew he was talking of Lord Thrain's hurry to marry Dis to Vili. "Besides, the important thing is that Lord Ygnvi will lend us a hand when we are ready to make our way further South along the mountains. And he has extended his hospitality so that those who are not fit to travel may stay behind in the meantime."

Dania knew that "those not fit to travel" probably included Dwarrows, meaning she would have to stay behind while Thorin left with his father's chosen companions, for Mahal knows how long. The thought left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

"You will have plenty of things to do while we are gone," Mimir said as he noted the slight frown on her face. "There is also much to look forward to before that moment is upon us. Do not fret, gehyith."

Dania gave her father a small smile to ease his worries, but she stopped listening to what her table companions were saying. Glancing up toward Thorin, she saw that he was now conversing with Ester and a Dwarf Dania recognized as her father. They were standing next to the seat Thorin had just vacated to greet them, and she was smiling and laughing at every little thing he said. Somehow, Ester looked even prettier than she usually did. Grinding her teeth, Dania tried to look away, but it was as though an invisible hand was holding her head in place, forcing her to watch as her heart was slowly being ripped away from her. Don't let them take you from me.

When the desserts were served, she regained some of her spirits — that was the power of a perfect trifle — but her mind was still preoccupied with Thorin and the dismay the thought of their separation was causing her. Mimir noticed his daughter's change of mood, and as soon as the first opportunity presented itself, he excused them and led her toward the exit. Dania was both thankful for and annoyed by this gesture, for now, she would not even be able to steal a glance at Thorin, who would undoubtedly be stuck at the feast for at least another hour.

Before stepping out of the room, Dania daringly glanced back to the main table, and she noticed Thorin staring back at her, evidently not listening to a word Ester was saying. Even from this distance, she recognized the fiery look he was giving her, full of promises for their next secret meeting. Perhaps her father was right; she did have much to look forward to.

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin #thorin fan fiction #thorin fanfic #thorin x reader #thorin x oc #tolkien #heart of gold

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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years

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Overdue

Whumptober Day 30: Now Where Did That Come From? Prompt: Ignoring an Injury/Internal Organ Injury

Dr. Iplier has waited months to go out on a date with Host again, he’s not about to get sidelined by an injury from earlier in the day - even when that injury won’t go away.

Warnings: Blood, vomiting

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

It’s date night.

And Dr. Iplier’s stomach hurts.

Earlier that day, he’d been seeing an unruly patient. A man off his head on PCP, with a gash on his arm from some escapade he’d gotten into. It was nothing Dr. Iplier hadn’t seen before, and he hadn’t batted an eye as he paged Plus and waited for his help. The man was already restrained, but extra backup couldn’t hurt. And it was a good thing he’d done that, because the man managed to brute force his way out of the restraints shortly after. Dr. Iplier had tried to calm him, tried to give him a shot to sedate him, but the man had screamed and shoved the stretcher he’d just been lying on into Dr. Iplier with enough force to knock him down. The end of it had gone dead-on into Dr. Iplier’s gut and left him winded as Plus finally arrived and subdued the man. Once the man was sedated, Plus had offered to check on Dr. Iplier, but Dr. Iplier had waved him off. He was sore, sure, but he didn’t see any reason to be concerned. The stretcher was over a hundred pounds, of course his stomach was still sore. It would go away, he just had to walk it off.

But the soreness hadn��t gone away. It’s now a couple hours later, and Dr. Iplier can feel how swollen his gut has become, how much it hurts to touch, and the pain that spikes up his chest when he bends or twists. He should call Plus back and have him look things over.

But it’s date night.

Dr. Iplier and Host already see each other fairly often and spend a lot of time together, but their date nights are special. The pair will dress up and go out, away from the other egos and to fun places around LA. They’ll see a show or a movie, or go out to dinner, as they plan to tonight. They’ve been postponing date nights for ages since the pandemic started, so they’ve both been looking forward to tonight.

Like hell Dr. Iplier is going to let his injury ruin his first date with Host in months. It doesn’t matter if his wound protests when Dr. Iplier pulls on his dress pants and shoes, it doesn’t matter if he catches a glimpse of his stomach’s bruising as he buttons up his white dress shirt, it doesn’t matter if he has to pause while pulling on his navy sweater to keep down the pain in his gut. He ignores it all, adjusts his collar in the mirror, and brushes his hair. He even sprays on a little cologne that smells like a campfire, which he knows is Host’s favorite.

He leaves his room and heads to the library, passing a couple egos on the way. They do double-takes, not used to seeing Dr. Iplier dressed so nicely. He can’t help but grin to himself. His stomach aches worse if he tries to walk too fast, but he won’t let it ruin his mood. Once he reaches the library, he enters and goes to the very back of the room, where Host’s room is tucked into a corner, rather like how Dr. Iplier’s room is attached to his clinic. Dr. Iplier knocks on the Host’s door.

“Ready yet?” he asks.

“Just about,” Host replies from inside, “Come in, make sure I’m decent.”

Dr. Iplier laughs and enters.

Host looks great, of course; he always does to Dr. Iplier. But he’s outdone himself now, wearing a fitted black turtleneck and black-and-brown pinstripe pants under a knee-length caramel-colored coat he’s currently putting on, one a good bit nicer than his usual bloodstained trench coat. Also changed are his eye bandages, traded out for a pair of dark sunglasses. Underneath, Dr. Iplier knows, Host has squares of gauze taped over both eyes. They’ve learned that, so long as Host keeps his narration to a minimum, this should be enough to keep blood from dripping down his face for a few hours. If not, though, Dr. Iplier knows that Host has more gauze and tape in one of his coat pockets. His hair is slicked back like usual, but Host has clearly taken extra care to tame any flyaways and make sure his gold streak is clearly visible.

“Well?” Host says, “Anything off?”

“The knots on your shoes are pretty heinous,” Dr. Iplier chuckles. After years of being blind, neatly tying his shoes is the one thing Host has yet to master. “Want me to redo them?”

“Sure,” Host replies, “Can you grab my cane for me when you’re done?”

“So much work,” Dr. Iplier huffs jokingly, managing not to wince as he bends down to retie Host’s shoes. He suppresses another wince when he stands back up a few moments later. By then, Host’s shoes are tied into neat little bows. Luckily, grabbing Host’s white folding cane and handing it to him doesn’t aggravate his sore abdomen. Since Host can’t rely on his narration in public, his cane helps him navigate instead. As Host takes his cane, Dr. Iplier catches a familiar scent.

“You’re wearing your minty cologne, aren’t you?” Dr. Iplier asks, grinning. Mint’s his favorite scent, and Host definitely knows.

“Of course,” Host replies, grinning right back. “And you’re wearing your campfire one.”

“Well, it’s our first date in ages,” Dr. Iplier says, “I wanted to go all out.”

Host can’t resist sparing a few lines of narration to find out what Dr. Iplier looks like, and nearly chokes once he has a clear image. Dr. Iplier manages not to burst out laughing, though a few snickers do escape.

“So rude,” Host huffs, though he’s grinning again, “You can’t dress so nicely and make fun of me for liking it. I could’ve made fun of you for going speechless a minute ago, but I didn’t.”

“You sort of just did, though,” Dr. Iplier points out.

“Keep being a smartass and we might have to end this night early,” Host scolds, but there’s a note in his voice that suggests that that wouldn’t be much of a punishment.

The pair leave Ego Inc. arm in arm. The walk to the restaurant is uneventful, and the couple make it to the nice sushi restaurant they’ve reserved a table at easily. Dr. Iplier fights yet another wince as he sits down, but since Host isn’t narrating, he isn’t able to notice, which Dr. Iplier prefers. Sitting turns out to be pretty uncomfortable, and no matter how much he squirms, Dr. Iplier can’t figure out a way to sit that doesn’t cause pain. Host may be blind, but he’s not deaf, and that’s how he ends up noticing just after the waitress takes their orders.

“Are you alright?” Host asks, “You’re moving a lot, I can hear it.”

“Ugh, I’m fine,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “I just had a crazy encounter with a patient earlier.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“He was on drugs and broke out of his restraints. When I tried to sedate him he pushed his stretcher right into my gut.”

Host straightens to hear that, his expression goes dark.

“Did he now?” Host asks, angry and foreboding.

“Hey, no need for that,” Dr. Iplier tells him sternly, “Right after he did that Plus came in and helped me get the guy under control, nothing else happened. The guy’s already left the clinic, no sense trying to find him and get revenge now.”

“Fine,” Host grumbles, clearly disappointed, “But you’re still hurting? How long ago was that?”

“A few hours, but I’m not surprised it still hurts,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “Those stretchers are heavier than they look. I’m fine, I swear. I’m not gonna let it ruin my night, and you shouldn’t let it ruin yours, either.”

“If you insist,” Host says, managing a smile. “I will say, love, the weirdest things seem to happen in your clinic.”

“You’re telling me,” Dr. Iplier groans, “Did I ever tell you what happened last week, with the…”

Dr. Iplier shares strange tales from the clinic and Host tells him about bizarre stories he’s read as they wait for their food, and even as they’re eating. They laugh so much they both almost choke on their sushi, which only makes them laugh even harder. But despite how much fun he’s having, Dr. Iplier’s pain is becoming harder to ignore. What was once an ache that got sharper with certain movements is now a throbbing pulse getting sharper by the minute even when he’s still. Dr. Iplier tries to press down on it, but that only makes it hurt worse. He finds himself no longer eating, despite how good the sushi is and how his plate is only half-empty. Host’s words start to fade into the background noise of the restaurant’s other diners as Dr. Iplier tries not to let his agony show. But Host is sharp even without narration, and notices Dr. Iplier’s sudden silence.

“Edward?” he asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dr. Iplier manages, through clenched teeth. “I just need the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He gets out of his chair, and almost gasps at the pain that rushes up his chest when he stands. His walk to the bathroom is long and plodding as he tries not to aggravate his abdomen even more. Once he makes it into a stall, he pulls up his sweater and dress shirt to see his stomach, and swears to himself at the sight.

His abdomen is covered in awful purple and red bruises, deep and ugly and spanning where the stretcher hit and then some. It’s swollen too, hot and painful to touch. When Dr. Iplier tries to tuck his sweater and shirt back into his waistband, the agony is so terrible and blinding that it makes him gag. He only has a moment to turn toward the toilet beside him before he retches. When he opens his watery eyes, he expects to see the remains of his half-finished meal. Instead, dark red blood is floating in the toilet bowl.

“Oh, no,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

He’s a doctor, he knows what this means. The stretcher must’ve hurt him worse than he thought, caused a tear somewhere, and now blood is filling his gut. No, it’s been filling his gut for hours now. Not quickly, obviously, or he'd be dead already. But clearly steadily, continuously, because the blood he’s just vomited doesn’t look hours old. It looks fairly fresh.

Meaning Dr. Iplier is still actively bleeding, and needs medical attention now.

He’s cursing himself as he flushes the toilet and leaves the stall. He catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, takes in how pale and sweaty he looks. He wants to rinse his mouth out, but he doesn’t want to bend and make himself puke again. He settles for wiping his lips with a paper towel before beginning the walk back to his and Host’s table.

Now that he knows how bad off he is, everything feels ten times worse. The pain is deeper, the vomiting only made it worse. He walks even slower than before, but even the slightest movement makes the pain increase. One hand instinctively goes to hold his stomach, and he can feel the heat and swelling through his clothes. He starts panting, the pain making his walk exhausting. Host hears Dr. Iplier coming before he’s even reached the table, and stands to greet him, concern written all over his face.

“Edward, what’s going on?” he asks. “You look sick, are you alright?”

Dr. Iplier must not have done a good job of assuaging Host’s worry if he’s used his narration to see Dr. Iplier’s appearance. Dr. Iplier imagines he looks terrible, with his pale, sweaty face and his shirt and sweater still untucked.

“Isaac, I’m sorry, but we have to go home,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

“Of course, love,” Host says, stepping towards Dr. Iplier, “Sit down a minute first, get your breath back before we go.”

Dr. Iplier opens his mouth to tell Host that sitting down won’t help, and that they should just go before things get worse.

Instead, he throws up blood onto the restaurant floor, so violently that agony steals his strength and whites out his vision, and collapses.

He only half-hears Host’s shout of alarm and the cries of other restaurant patrons who saw him fall. He only half-feels Host catch him at the last second and hold him. His eyelids flutter to see Host’s face staring into his own, twisted in fear. He must’ve narrated to catch Dr. Iplier, because a trickle of blood slowly sneaks out from under his sunglasses down his cheek. Host says something, but Dr. Iplier can’t tell what. People start running over to help, but Dr. Iplier can’t tell how many. Everything is fuzzy, blurry, hard to keep track of. The only thing that’s clear is the unceasing agony of his abdomen. He feels like his stomach is going to explode, or like he’s going to puke again.

But, perhaps fortunately, all that happens is that he passes out.

~~~

When Dr. Iplier wakes up, he realizes immediately that he’s not in his clinic. The bed doesn’t feel like his clinic beds do, the light that he can sense through his closed eyes isn’t the same. Sure enough, when he does crack his eyes open, he’s in an unfamiliar hospital room, with IVs in his arm and thick bandages and stitches across his stomach. He doesn’t feel terribly sore – yet – but he’s still unhappy remembering what happened at the restaurant. He could kick himself for getting himself into this situation, for making such a scene and possibly exposing the egos to humans. When a nurse checks him over and approves him for visitors, Dr. Iplier braces himself for Dark coming in and scolding him harshly.

But no, it’s not Dark, but Host who walks in. He’s gone back to wearing his bandages, and while he’s not wearing his usual bloody trench coat, he’s no longer wearing the fancy one he had for his and Dr. Iplier’s date. It’s obvious he’s exhausted from worrying over Dr. Iplier, and Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel bad about it. Their date was supposed to be the most fun either of them had had for months, but instead it ended up here.

“I guess I have some explaining to do?” Dr. Iplier starts, sheepish.

“You told me you were fine, Edward,” Host says, voice tinged with sharpness, though the first thing he does upon approaching Dr. Iplier’s bed is grab his hand. “And I believed you, because why would you pretend you were okay when you weren’t? Especially when you scold me and everyone else for doing the same thing?”

“I know,” Dr. Iplier sighs, embarrassment growing. “At first I thought it’d be fine, but it got worse and worse, until, well, you know.”

“I do know,” Host grumbles, “And so does half the restaurant we were in.”

“Ah.” Dr. Iplier winces. “I imagine Dark’s not happy with me, either.”

“Definitely not,” Host tells him, “He’s got the Googles hunting down all the patrons who saw us, and once you’re well enough to be moved he’ll have to make sure no one remembers you here, either.”

As a group of people who look like Mark, often sound like Mark, and have the same fingerprints and DNA as Mark, the egos have to be excruciatingly careful to keep a low profile. That means no friendships or relationships with humans, no using special abilities in public where people can see, and no getting entered into the system. Granted, there are gray areas: Silver is allowed to be a hero so long as he stays out of hospitals and no one sees under his mask, Wilford is allowed to have as many one-night stands as his heart desires so long as no one gets his number or takes a photo of him, and Yandere can get into violent fights as long as the cops don’t catch him. Indeed, Dark most often has to do damage control for egos who get in trouble with the law, and that means expunging their arrest records and erasing the memories of the officers involved.

Rarer and more troublesome is when egos end up in a human hospital for one reason or another. Once the ego is removed from the hospital, every paramedic or EMT that brought them in, every doctor and nurse that worked on them, and every receptionist that signed their visitors in has to have their memory of that ego removed. Every record of the ego having been in the hospital must be destroyed. Even worse, every person who saw the ego get hurt and called for help has to be tracked down and get the experience erased from their mind before they can realize that the man they saw get hurt looked just like Markiplier. Some egos call it overkill, but Dr. Iplier can understand Dark’s fears. He remembers the time before the egos were so organized, and how he’d sometimes have to convince a patient that no, he wasn’t related to that popular YouTuber. Now that Mark’s popularity has gotten so much bigger, he can’t imagine how much harder it would be to stay secret without Dark’s strict rules.

That being said, it also means that the punishment for breaking those rules is often just as bad.

“I was expecting you to be Dark, to tell you the truth,” Dr. Iplier admits to Host, “I bet he can’t wait to yell at me.”

“You’re right,” Host says, “I had to convince him not to come in swinging at you and let me see you first, and you owe me for that, for the record. Among other things.”

Where the Author was brazenly unbothered by Dark’s anger, Host is wary of it to the point of fear. Dr. Iplier understands it, though, and he feels bad for putting Host through that on top of everything else.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I should’ve asked Plus to check me over and gotten our date moved, I just…” He squeezes Host’s hand. “I was looking forward to it so much, and I knew you were, too. It’s been so long since we got to do this, I was so excited, I just…I didn’t want anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” Host murmurs, laying his free hand on Dr. Iplier’s cheek, “But the best things about our dates are that they’re with you. Maybe it’s cliche to say so, but it’s the truth. I enjoyed going out with you – until you started coughing up blood, that is – but I would’ve loved sitting by you in the library or the clinic just as much.” His voice turns into a grumpy mumble. “I won’t be doing either of those things until you get better, now.”

“You always know what to say,” Dr. Iplier chuckles softly, even as he leans forward to kiss Host. Once they pull away, Dr. Iplier whispers against his lips. “I love you, Isaac.”

“I love you too, Edward,” Host replies, “Even when you collapse and almost die in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

“I imagine Dark won’t let us go back there again, huh?” Dr. Iplier sighs.

“Most likely not,” Host agrees.

“Damn, their food was so good and I could hardly even enjoy it. Did you remember to get a doggy bag by any chance?”

“I was a bit preoccupied, if you can imagine.”

“Ah, shoot. I mean, I agree that hanging out with you is nice no matter what we’re doing, but I sure would prefer to hang out with you while eating nice sushi.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you puked blood everywhere.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be a jerk to the guy who almost just died? You’re so cruel.”

Host laughs, and the two continue to banter, offering playful jabs at each other for many minutes. But there’s love below it all, though, Dr. Iplier can hear it in Host’s voice and feel it in his own. Even if they can’t return to that specific restaurant, Dr. Iplier hopes he can make up the date to Host at some point in the future.

Once he’s good and healed, of course.

#dr. iplier #markiplier the host #markiplier fanfiction #fanfic #whumptober2020 #my writing #markiplier #kristin says stuff #press f for dochost's date night

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hermits-that-craft · 4 years

Text

Staying With The Traitor - Chapter Three

Runaway

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695042/chapters/65467834

“Nikki, what do I tell Tommy?” Wilbur asks, sunlight filtering through the window to his room. Nikki looks up from the cupboard, putting the fresh flowers down. “About last night, I mean.”

“You should tell him the truth. You got us what we needed to get, after all.” Nikki turns around, her head tilted to the side. “Surely that's a thing he will be happy about.”

“It feels like something is off, though.” Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “It was too easy. We didn’t really have to try.”

“Maybe thats a good thing.” Nikki shrugs. “You deserve to have things happen easily, Wilbur.”

“I’m waiting for the catch.” Wilbur sighs, resting his head in his hands. “There’s gotta be a catch.”

“Eret’s tricky.” Nikki agrees. “He’s hidden me, and when Fundy burnt my flag he comforted me-”

“Fundy did what?”

“But he still betrayed us.” Nikki sighs, looking at the roof. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

“Can we circle back to where Fundy burnt your flag?” Wilbur asks, rage barely hidden in his voice. “How dare he! You spent so much time on that, how could he?”

“I really don’t want to think about it.” Nikki says softly. “He didn’t even look at me when he walked past.”

“That bastard.” Wilbur spits, anger bubbling in his chest. “How could he, after everything-”

“Wilbur, we need to go down for breakfast.” Nikki reminds him gently, and Wilbur nods, wrapping the brown cloak that Eret gave him around his shoulders. “We can talk about Fundy later, but I don’t think being late to breakfast would make Tommy or Eret feel good.”

“Why?” Wilbur asks. “Why do you think that it’d make Tommy upset?”

“They might think we ran off.” Nikki says. “Got the allyship and then fled the city.”

“I wouldn’t leave Tommy behind.”

“Do you think he knows that?” Nikki asks quietly. “He could still panic, even if he knows.”

“I know, I know,” Wilbur agrees, “he’s just a kid.”

“He shouldn’t be in constant wars, Wil.” Nikki sighs, running a hand through her hair. “He should be-”

“Safe, I know.” Wilbur sighs. They walk in silence down the halls, both clearly wanting to say something but neither wanting to say it, to begin an argument over who committed the worse atrocity during the revolutionary war. What is worse, enlisting children or only joining the revolution after the war was over, turning a blind eye to the pain of the children fighting?

They run into Eret, in his full royal garb, his sunglasses thrown off face as the trio tumble to the floor. Eret covers his eyes with one of his hands, trying to find the glasses without the exiled L’manburgians seeing his face. Wilbur picks up the sunglasses, handing them to the man without a comment, knowing how self conscious Eret is about his eyes. Wilbur doesn’t know if he’s even seen the king’s eyes before.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you both.” Eret says, straightening up. “We’re having guests over and I really need to clean up.”

“Guests?”

“Clean up?” Nikki asks, a frown on her face. “Eret, this castle is spotless.”

“There’s so much dust I need to clean before-”

“Have you even eaten today, Eret?” Wilbur interrupts, picking himself up off of the floor.

“There’s no time-”

“Join us for breakfast.” Wilbur orders, slipping back into his commander role without thinking. “You need to eat before you go on a dusting rampage, when will the guests arrive?”

“Around midday.”

“It’s eight am, you can afford some breakfast.” Wilbur says, leading the way to the kitchen. Nikki offers Eret a tense smile, and Eret follows the two, gently tugging at his sleeves.

They follow the scent of burnt toast and coffee to the kitchen, where they watch Tommy struggle to make eggs, toast, bacon and coffee at the same time. The teen looks up, relief written across his face as he spots Wilbur and Nikki, and Wilbur feels taken aback, surprised at the relief. Wilbur hadn’t realised that Tommy was scared of him leaving him behind.

He doesn’t understand why Tommy would think that, they only left Tubbo behind, and Tubbo could have followed them. Really, Tubbo chose his option.

“So I tried to make breakfast - I’m not sure if I made enough or if it’s good but I think it's ready?” Tommy looks down to the eggs, frowning for a second. “No it isn’t.”

Nikki snorts, walking over to the stove to help Tommy as he struggles to cook. Wilbur walks in, sliding onto a chair and watching the two cook, Nikki showing Tommy how to make sure the scrambled eggs don't burn, while still cooking them. Eret hovers in the doorway, his left hand on his right arm, watching without walking in. Wilbur beckons him in hesitantly, not wanting to upset his host but not wanting to sit and eat with him.

“Who’s the guest, besides us, Eret?” Nikki asks, saving Wilbur from any small talk he would have to do.

“Dream and Bad.” Eret swallows, looking at the table. “Sap might also show up.”

“What?” Tommy spits, turning around with fury in his eyes. “You invited them over-”

“I didn't!”

“-Right after you basically forced us to stay with you?”

“Tommy I swear I-”

“You’re going to get us killed! We don’t even have our spawns in other places, we’re just going to be stuck in a death loop until they get bored!” Tears spring in Tommy’s eyes, fear written across his face.

“I won’t let them hurt you.” Eret says, looking at Tommy, his voice laden with promises he can’t keep.

“Didn’t stop them last time.” Tommy glares. “Why? Why did you invite them, Eret?”

“I didn’t. I’m lucky I even got a warning.” Eret runs his hand through his hair. “If you guys want, you can leave. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Then the Manburgians will find us.” Nikki frowns. “There’s nowhere we can go.”

“Surely there’s a place to hide.” Wilbur argues. “Either here or outside of here-”

“No, because getting to that place would let the Manburgians see us.”

“Maybe you could sneak into Tommy’s old house-”

“Not possible, it’s the embassy-”

None of the adults notice as Tommy silently plates three plates, setting them down in front of them. The arguing doesn’t stop, nor does it pause, as Tommy slips out of the room, his hand over his mouth. No one in the castle sees the teen whisper to someone, no one notices him slip into his room, taking a bag out and filling it with food and clothes and potions. No one notices him flee out of a window, even though it’s the middle of the day. The adults don’t notice, still fighting as they clean and prepare to meet with Dream and Bad, not that if they noticed they would find him, the teen in their care long since disappeared to find something.

Someone.

---

Tubbo walks along the edge of where the border wall once stood, his hands playing with the sleeves of the suit that is now the uniform that he wears. It’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have to wear the shackles while he wears the suit. Schlatt claims its because the shackles would make the suit fall unevenly, and that he deserves the comfort of not wearing them, but Tubbo knows better. He knows its because Schlatt doesn’t want the Dreamers to know what he’s doing to Tubbo, especially since he plans to expand the country. To break treaties.

There’s half an hour until he needs to be back with Schlatt, back in the white house for lunch. But until then, Tubbo walks along the edge of the old border. Of where the wall once stood, the ground still indented from the weight of the bricks. It would be naive of him to think it peaceful, but he does. Why wouldn’t he, with all the bees flying about and the birds singing? He’s far enough away from everyone that he can’t hear the fights, the still-hungover men playing the blame game.

A hand reaches out from under the wooden bridge that connects Dream SMP with Manburg, pulling Tubbo into the shadows without giving the teen a moment to react. About time, he had been waiting for almost an hour. Tubbo blinks, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Finally, he’s able to see, his dark blue eyes meeting with cyan ones.

“Tommy?” Tubbo whispers. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods, a sad smile on his face. “I need to hide-”

“You can’t hide here, if Schlatt finds you he’ll kill you!” Tubbo whispers fearfully. “Or he’ll do worse, you have to go!”

“I can’t go back.” Tommy says, and Tubbo notices the bag, slightly glowing with potions and food and clothes filling it to the brim. “Wilbur agreed to stay with Eret and Dream’s coming over and I can’t-”

“He wouldn’t kill you, the treaty-”

“That only applies for citizens, Tubbo.” Tommy sits down on the dirt, his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Where do you want to go?” Tubbo asks quietly. “I could go with you!”

“You’d run away with me?”

“I’d run away with anyone if it means getting away from Schlatt.” Tubbo says sarcastically, but he nods in earnest. “We have like, 20 minutes until someone comes to get me, we have to go.”

“Lets go.” Tommy says, holding out his hand. Tubbo beams, taking his hand as Tommy drags Tubbo behind him, both laughing.

If someone saw the two boys, running hand in hand towards the forest, it would take them quite a few moments to realise what was wrong with the image that used to be so common. Tubbo running in a suit and impractical shoes, and Tommy in a cloak and carrying a bag of supplies. It would take even longer for those who see them to remember that Tommy is an exile of both countries, one due to war and the other due to a dictator. It would take anyone a long time to realise that Tubbo wasn’t supposed to follow, was supposed to arrest Tommy.

But only one person saw, watching from his office in the whitehouse. A smile crosses his face, and his eyes flash red. A traitor in his midst, and an exile in his land. He can use both to his advantage, to bring down both The Dream SMP and Wilbur Soot. All he’ll need is a chance, so he lets the boys lull themselves into feeling safe.

Schlatt reviews the cards in his hands, and the cards at play. The odds are in his favour to win.

---

“You’re on our side?” Wilbur repeats, dumbfounded. Bad smiles at him, and Wilbur can’t discern any lies in his face, but staring at Dream’s mask, all Wilbur can feel is fear. Again.

“What do I gain from lying to you, Wilbur.” Dream’s voice is strained, as though he’s trying to keep himself collected. “I’m on your side. I’ll supply weapons and food, but I can’t aid you anymore than that.”

“Why not?” Nikki asks, less skeptical of Dream’s sudden change of heart but far more weary of his words. “Why can’t you fight alongside us?”

Eret, Bad and Wilbur all look up from their meals, shock on their faces. Nikki and Dream stare knives into each other, trying to force the other into speaking first. Bad and Wilbur raise their eyes, both unsure as to who will win the staring competition as the tension cuts through the air.

“I bet Nikki will win” Eret whispers to Bad and Wilbur, and the two men avert their gazes as they stifle laughter as the tension rises in the room.

“I bet Dream will try to fight Nikki.” Bad whispers to the two men.

“No no no,” Wibur whispers back. “Nikki will throw the first punch.”

“I don’t think that they’ll brawl.” Eret whispers.

“They will.” Bad and Wilbur say at the same time, and Eret chuckles.

Nikki lunges across the table, hitting Dream in the face. Bad gasps as a crack forms down the middle of Dream’s mask, and Wilbur sits stunned as Dream throws a punch to Nikki. Eret, Bad and Wilbur stand up, backing away from the table as the two brawl. Punches and kicks are thrown, until finally Wilbur and Bad pull the pair away from each other, Nikki struggling against Wilbur’s hold, even though Dream doesn’t.

“They fought! They fought for you, they fought against you! There were children among them, there are children among us now! And you won’t fight? You’re a coward!” Nikki screams at Dream, and panic crosses Wilbur’s face.

“I can’t risk him attacking everyone in Dream SMP.” Dream says quietly. “You don’t know what he’s doing to the people who live on the outskirts, he’ll force their hands soon.”

“And you think hiding from him will fix that!”

“Nikki-”

“That won’t change anything! You’ll let children die in pointless wars again, won’t you?”

“Nikki, take a walk.” Wilbur says, letting her go and standing in front of her. “We need his help, we can’t mess this up. Why don’t you have lunch with Tommy?”

“We’re going to have words about this later, Wil.” Nikki sticks a finger in Wilbur’s chest, turning and walking out of the room.

“Maybe you should go for a walk to cool down as well, Dream.” Bad suggests, and Dream nods, walking out the main entrance of the room.

The three men stand in the room, awkwardly looking at the plates of ruined food on the table. Eret sighs, collecting a bin from the corner of the room and putting the food waste into it, before finding a bag to put the broken plates into. Bad and Wilbur try to help out, but Eret waves them off with a small smile.

“I think Wilbur wins the bet.” Eret says after a moment. “Nikki threw the first punch.”

“What do we owe you Wil?” Bad asks after a second, blinking in surprise.

“A way to get into the ‘glowing eye club’ that you two lead.” Wilbur rolls his eyes. “It was a dumb bet, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m glad no one’s seriously hurt.” Bad says quietly. “Dream’ll be mad about his mask, but that’s alright. He can make a new one.”

“It’s not fully broken, so maybe he could fix it?” Wilbur suggests as Dream stands in the doorframe. “It was Nikki who broke it, not himself, so I could fix it for him if need be, Bad.”

“That’s kind of you, but Dream is really attached to those masks. He won’t let anyone see the process of making them, very secretive.” Bad wriggles his eyebrows, offering to take the bin off of Eret. “In any case, its the thought that counts. And that was very thoughtful.”

“You could make him a mask anyways. Like a backup or a peace offering.” Eret suggests, and Wilbur laughs softly, pain in his eyes.

“Peace offerings.” Wilbur’s eyes darken, wet with sadness. “Now there’s an idea.”

“Oh no.” Bad and Eret say at the same time, alarm written on their faces.

“Wilbur, I highly doubt that Schlatt would have anything less than your permadeath as a peace offering.” Dream says, finally leaving the doorway.

“Maybe Tommy would have a home then.” Wilbur looks down. “And he wouldn’t have to fight another war.”

Before anyone can comment, can rebut Wilbur’s statement, a heart wrenching scream echoes down the hallway. Nikki. The four men race out of the room, Wilbur in the lead as they follow the sound of her scream to Tommy’s room. Wilbur bursts into what appears to be a bomb site, clothes and sheets strewn across the room. The windows are wide open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. Nikki stands in the middle of the room, holding something in her hands, staring at it. A photo frame lies empty on the floor, the glass in it shattered and the picture stolen.

Tommy’s disks lie on top of the dresser, untouched by the chaos in the room, as though whatever or whoever took Tommy knew not to touch them. It hurts more than if they were shattered.

“He’s gone.”

---

“What do you mean Tubbo’s missing?” Schlatt asks, acting as though he didn’t watch the boy run away with Tommy. “Was he kidnapped?”

“We don’t know, sir.” Fundy says, nervously bouncing on his feet. “We know nothing.”

“We will have to ask Dream and King Eret.” Schlatt looks out the window, acting thoughtful and worried. “Was anything of his found?”

George and Quackity exchange glances, and Quackity gently puts a tie on the table, red with a dark bloodstain on it. Schlatt frowns at the blood, Tubbo wasn’t injured when he ran. The boy might be a nuisance, an enemy to keep close until he breaks, but he’s still a teenager. Just because Schlatt can and will use him against Tommy and Wilbur, doesn’t mean that he wants harm on the boy.

“He’s been hurt.”

“We expect foul play.” George says simply. “We’ve heard that Wilbur and Nikki have been in Eret’s castle, perhaps they are the reason that Tubbo’s been hurt.”

“Wilbur wouldn’t hurt Tubbo with Tommy present.” Fundy interrupts, and everyone's heads snaps to him. “He wouldn’t, Tommy would riot.”

“Perhaps,” Schlatt smirks, “Perhaps we could use that. Call off the hunting party tonight. We have teens to find.”

“Plural, Schlatt?” Quackity asks, confusion on his face.

“If we find Tubbo, we’ll find Tommy.” Schlatt says. “And I can bet that the two of them are running from Wilbur.”

Taglist:

@octosghost @firefly464 @surohsopsisofclouds @chromations @magpies-and-glitter @wwwwwelcomegays @asmoljay @ribineran @hawheckin @violet--majesty @minecraft-morelikehappiness @marzycielskagwiazda @violets-arepurple

#Staying With The Traitor #swtt:3 #swtt storyline #mcyt #mcyt fic

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