#not all of the characters on this list actually 'have' pride

[gamebunny-advance]

My LGBT+ Headcanons

(Frank discussion about sex and sexuality ahead.)

I have once again neglected to actually think of art to do for pride month, but as a consolation, here's an update on my list of LGBT+ headcanons (except when they're OCs, in which case it's just canon).

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Notes

*"Genderfucked" just means that their gender identity doesn't easily fit under a specific label, due to complications. It's usually due to the character being non-human and thus existing outside the gender binary by default. In other words, this label means they may not be literally queer depending on your definitions, but they otherwise represent or are informed by a queer identity or experience.

**Bisexuality is trans-inclusive. In the context of this list, I've chosen to use "bisexual" to indicate that the character has some preferences for gender expression, and I'm using "pansexual" to indicate that the character has little to no preference in gender expression. If it's important, then I'll specify what they're attracted to, but it usually isn't.

Examples:

A character that is attracted exclusively to cismen and transwomen would be listed as bisexual.

A character that has no preference for gender, but is exclusively attracted to feminine expressions would also be listed as "bisexual."

A transfemale character that is only attracted to cismen and transmen would be listed as "straight."

***Not all of the characters listed here are what I'd call "positive" representation. Most (I'd say) are, but a handful aren't. Just remember: Depiction is not necessarily endorsement.

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OCs

*I'm only listing OCs that I've talked about at least once this year or are important to said OCs), but effectively every OC I have is queer in some fashion.

Kahon (they/them): Genderfucked. As a sentient arcade machine, Kahon doesn't have an assigned gender. They express a feminine identity when acting through Kun3h0, but doesn't particularly identify with any gender. Only attracted to other arcade machines and the characters in them.

Coexistence!Kun3h0 (any pronouns): Genderfucked. In an AU where Kun3h0 is her own character, Kun3h0 is still genderfucked. She was built and designed as a female, but once they gained sentience he said, "fuck that" and went on to do his own thing.

GAB (she/they): Non-binary/Asexual. They're just a little guy.

Carol (he/him): Transman/Asexual. Was gay in life, but becoming a zombie has been a huge damper on his sex life.

The Prince Formerly Known as Frog (us/we): Cisman/Gay. Uses the royal "we" to refer to themselves, but otherwise uses he/him pronouns.

Floats (he/him): Cisman/Gay (closeted). I want to talk more about his relationship with sexuality since it's a core part of his character, but I think explaining it here would be a little too heavy for a list like this.

Spector (he/him and she/her): *Transwoman/Straight. *Identifies as a cismale and uses he/him pronouns at the beginning of the story, but transitions later. This isn't a character I've talked about too much or even really drawn, but she's Floats' business partner and is inspired by the hypermasculine characters you used to find in early FPS games like Doom and Duke Nukem.

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Smash Bros/Retro Buddies

Mr. G&W (he/him): Genderfucked/Ace. He's a shape-shifter and normally lacks genitalia, but he was considered male when he was "born" and identifies as male in all forms. Normally, he doesn't go through the trouble of recreating sex organs when he transforms, since his transformations are usually just a means to an end. Consequently, his body doesn't normally produce those kinds of hormones, so his libido is very low. Sex for him is just a bonding activity that he doesn't particularly seek out.

ROB (any pronouns, but usually he/him): Genderfucked/Demisexual. Technically speaking, he was never assigned a gender at "birth." Due to the limited A.I. of the other ROBs making them only capable of addressing people in the first person and Master Hand never needing to address ROB in the third person, ROB effectively had no pronouns while living on the Island of the Ancients. He only answers to he/him pronouns out of convenience since people assumed his pronouns due to his masculine name, but he doesn't particularly identify with any gender. In the human!AU, he would have been born with a vagina, but is still indifferent to gender as a concept for the same reasons. Since he lived on an isolated island surrounded only by people he considered family, and the first new people he ever met tortured and enslaved said family, he grew a great distrust of other people and is only attracted to people with whom he's already bonded with.

Puck (Pac-Man) (he/him): Transman/Pansexual. He was already transitioning when he first met Pepper. Since they started as rivals, he didn't bother ever bringing it up. When they later fell in love, he still forgot to mention he was trans because he figured that he already said it at some point. They later had 2 kids and are happily married to this day.

Pepper (Ms. Pac-Man) (she/her): Transwoman/Bisexual. She met Puck pre-transition, when she still went by "Otto." She left Pac-Land briefly to work on her transition, and when she came back and met Puck again, she forgot to clarify that she and Otto were the same person because she thought he would just put 2 and 2 together. He didn't. They both didn't realize the other was trans until a conversation about having kids came up. They both laughed it off and are happily married to this day.

Blinky (he/him): Cisman/Gay. Has a love-hate thing for Puck and won't admit it, but wouldn't do anything to seriously sabotage Puck's marriage lest their rivalry become legitimately hostile. He acts tough, but he's a hopeless romantic.

Pinky (she/her): Transwoman/Pansexual. Joined the Ghost Gang as a man and transitioned over time. Unlike Blinky, she is an aspiring homewrecker, but the Pacs are too loyal to each other for anything to come of it.

Inky (he/they): Non-binary/Asexual. The inner mechanisms of his mind are an enigma.

Clyde (pronouns vary): Genderfluid/Bisexual. Not much to say about Clyde. He just does whatever is comfortable for her at the moment.

Tabuu (any pronouns): Genderfucked/Pansexual. Same situation as G&W. He's a little more sexually active, but only because he can use it to get what he wants.

Duck Hunt (Human AU only): Both are cismen (he/him) and gay, but not in a romantic relationship with each other.

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NSR

DJSS (he/him): Non-binary/Ace. AFAB and rejects gender as a limiting concept that he has grown beyond. He's still a little self-conscious about his height though (HRT helped him get wide, but it didn't really help him get tall). Claims to be "sapiosexual" but is actually just uninterested in relationships under most circumstances and sets impossibly high standards just so he doesn't have to deal with it.

Neon J. (he/him): Transman/Gay. He doesn't actually remember that he's trans due to his memory getting corrupted over time. He assumes that he's a cisman and just lost his penis in the war. Is currently pursuing DJSS because he likes a challenge.

Tatiana (she/her): Ciswoman/Lesbian. Was very sexually active during the Goolings era and has only slowed down due to having a lot of other responsibilities now. Originally assumed she was bi and later figured out she was a lesbian. This isn't public knowledge about Tatiana since she's rather reserved about her personal life, but people who know Kul Fyra know. As an aside, she wouldn't date an employee because she's witnessed first hand that having a relationship with someone who is too involved in her business is a disaster waiting to happen.

Kliff (he/him): Cisman/Bisexual (closeted pre-revolution). Believes he's straight because he's only pursued Tatiana romantically, with the excuse that any encounters he had with men were out of desperation from her not reciprocating. He accepts his sexuality post-revolution after he lets go of his fixation on Tatiana. However, he seems to be attracted specifically to people that have similar traits to Tatiana (like big muscular arms and/or fiery personalities), so how "over it" he is about it is debatable.

Mayday (she/her): Ciswoman/Bisexual. She's inexperienced with any kind of romance and has only recently started exploring her attraction to women. Has yet to consider Zuke as a romantic partner, but it could happen.

Zuke (he/him): Cisman/Bisexual. Primarily straight, but could pursue a male love interest if they hit it off. Has considered the possibility of a romantic relationship with Mayday, but is putting it off until they've had more experience as a band (he doesn't want to repeat what happened between him and Eve).

Zam (he/him): Cisman/Gay. I don't have anything to say about it. I just think he's gay.

Yiruk (he/him): Non-binary/Bisexual. Also not much else to say.

Remi (he/him): Demiboy/Straight? He's put a lot of himself into Sayu and is using her as a way to experiment with his feminine side, but he doesn't really feel like a girl. He hasn't had any interest in a relationship yet, so his sexuality is ambiguous right now.

Dodo (he/they): Non-binary/Pansexual. Is very loose with his gender identity. He likes wearing feminine clothes and make-up, but doesn't identify as female. They just like what they like.

Tila (she/her): Demigirl/Bisexual. Is pretty sure she's a girl, but feels ambiguous about it. She has a crush on Remi and generally likes boys, but she thinks girls are really cute too.

Sofa (he/him): Cisman/Gay. Not much to talk about~ He doesn't currently have any crushes.

Sayu (she/her): N/A. "Officially" (as in officially in my headcanon) Sayu is a blank slate so fans can project anything onto her. The most common interpretation with fans is that she's a transgirl lesbian, but other interpretations go around too.

Eve (she/her): Transwoman/Demisexual. She's really attracted to anyone that she thinks could understand her, and is usually disappointed when they aren't. Post-revolution, she hasn't quite opened up to dating again, but at the very least she's healing.

1010 (he/him): Genderfucked/Pansexual. All 1010s are coded without any particular sexual preference, as to make them incapable of rejecting a fan's affection on the basis of sexuality. In this case of "genderfucked" I actually read them as cismen to go with the theme that they are a manufactured product that are not allowed to display any "unmarketable" traits. They'd partake in "rainbow capitalism" but not actually confirm that any of them could be attracted to men or have a non-male identity.

I know I killed DSYNC, but these are the exceptions in the DSYNC!AU:

Kerinting/DSYNC!Green (pronouns vary): Genderfluid. His personality core uses semi-random programming which has leaked into his gender settings, causing her to randomly change gender at random intervals. Sometimes she'll be one gender for a few weeks. Sometimes it only lasts a day. Either way, it throws his sense of self out of whack when her current identity doesn't match his presentation. Kerinting manages this a little better since she's allowed to alter her body more, while this is a major obstacle for Green.

DSYNC!Blue: Gay (closeted). Is in a similar situation to Green. Blue's personality core makes him hyper focus on singular targets. However, this inadvertently affected his sexuality settings, so he became exclusively homosexual. He tries to hide it as to not start controversy for the group (which is easy to do since his emotional expression is a lot more subtle than the others). White is the only one that knows and hasn't told the Captain at Blue's request.

DSYNC!White: Agender/Asexual. In this AU, he has a very negative reaction to being a sex symbol against his will. As a result, he's rejected his sense of sexuality and is sex/touch repulsed. He only keeps up appearances as it pertains to his job. If he had it his way, he would retire alone near the sea and fish for a living.

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Moonside (My ACNH Island) (Sorry, these aren't as deep as others. The lore on Moonside isn't actually that strong, so I haven't given it much thought U_U)

Fuchsia (she/her and he/him): Ciswoman/Lesbian. Currently pursuing Syrup, but Syrup isn't ready to reciprocate yet.

Norma (she/her): Transwoman/Bisexual. In a relationship with Merengue.

Merengue (she/her): Ciswoman/Lesbian. In a relationship with Norma.

Dotty (she/her): Transwoman/Lesbian. This is a carry-over from New Leaf. She doesn't have a partner on Moonside, but her original partner was Coco.

Rolf (he/him): Transman/Gay

Raymond (he/him): Cisman/Gay

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Misc.

Mike Hatsune (he/him): Transman/Bisexual. I dunno if it's canon that he's Miku's dad/creator, but I prefer to think of him as future Miku after he retires from being an idol and goes on to be Domino's new overlord CEO.

Roba (he/him): Transman/Asexual. I think that's just actually canon through subtext. That would unfortunately mean that his friends are kinda transphobic as they consistently misgender him, but I'd like to think they get better about it later.

Horace (he/him): Bisexual. Also actually canon since we know he likes girls and has also fucked a bear thinking it was his best friend.

Alfe (he/him): Gay. Probably canon, but I don't have much evidence to back it up.

#gbunny writes #hopefully i didn't miss anyone important and didn't mess up what i was trying to say #if you have questions feel free to ask #if you're wondering about my identity #then keep wondering #because so am i #anyway the disclaimer at the beginning is not to absolve me if i say something ignorant. do let me know if i say something kinda fucked up #the disclaimer is to say that even though this post is 'for' pride #not all of the characters on this list actually 'have' pride #or are good representations of the LGBT+ community #i think most of you will get that #but at least 1 (collectively 5) might catch y'all off guard if you're not familiar with my past work #but here's your bimonthly reminder: i view 1010 VERY cynically #and i often use them to represent and/or be victims of the worst aspects of their industry #those aspects of them are not mutually exclusive from them also being silly little guys #you can be a silly little guy in a fucked up system/situation

[comicaurora]

You’ve mentioned a lot your characters run free in your head and take on a life of their own. Do you have any advice on how to learn/practice that skill?

I often feel like with my characters they’re less alive, and more action figures with bad joints I have to force to do things, and their choices me essentially stereotyping their characterisation. Eg. my Druid has a survival of the fittest mentality, so all everything he says and does derives from that rather than an actual personality/character.

Sounds like the missing element is how the characters are feeling!

When I'm not sure what a character is going to do next, I'll sit down and check in on their headspace - what emotional state they're in, what they want, what they're avoiding, etc. This gives me ideas for what they're going to do, or at least try.

A survival-of-the-fittest character can reach that worldview from a lot of emotional angles. Do they believe the strong survive because they themselves were once weak, subjugated by someone strong, and they hate this and strive to be strong to avoid it? If so, then they'll have very strong opinions about strong people hurting others, and weak people who remind them of their former self. Do they have a more zen attitude about the world as a whole, not feeling particularly strongly when things die because it's just the cycle of nature? Then they might choose inaction at odd times, like when a friend needs healing, because they believe nature should take its course even if that means losing someone they care about. Do they think of themselves as "the fittest" and hold pride and confidence in this? If so, anything that makes them feel weak might send them into a full-blown irrational panic, because in their worldview, weakness means death.

Characters aren't automatons that act on a list of motivations and flaws, they're bundles of stimulus-response emotions, and sometimes they surprise you because they unexpectedly feel very strongly about something. If you wanna cultivate that school of character-driven writing, check in on how they're feeling and why!

#asks #writing stuff

[popponn]

in perfection and in imperfection.

summary: he is loving, so much so, despite everything and because of 'everything' he calls as you. (a short headcanons of them as boyfriend, again.)

notes: january feels like it will be a busy month for me. in a good way, it's a good feeling. maybe this is also a sign i will meet rl isagi. those things aside, happy new year everyone. good luck for this year too. have this very fit of madness hcs. warnings: none, just fluff of downbad & lovesick boys, reader's gender unspecified.

characters: isagi, chigiri, rin

isagi yoichi—

is so understanding and sharp that you will never feel uncared for. most probably also got a list of your favorite things & important dates in his notes & calendar. even noel noa doesn't get that privilege. he is so downbad that everyone just accepts everything is second to you (and soccer).

is the type that gets so into you once you get his heart. do you worry that you might be #2 soccer? stay still babe, at some point you kind of mix in with 'the soccer' too honestly. every first goal? dedicated in your name. first person to call after a match? you—no matter how short or long it will be, it has to be you. he is away for a match overseas? you better be the one who gets a sleep call schedule ready because when yoichi wants something yoichi will somehow do it. and if you try to praise him—despite all the years of growing confidence—he still gets flustered like a boy with his first crush when it's you. it's as endearing as it is embarrassing to him. if someone points it out he will state it with pride though—after all, his feelings for you are one of his pride.

however, is also the type of guy who would rather shoulder as much as possible. he does it out of love, sure, but having him trying to swallow some problem under the guise of "forcing you to change something is a big no" is just asking for a bigger problem in the long run. so, you do have to be the one who gets the serious talks starting—and he sometimes could get really stubborn even though he is one of the most communicative ones so get ready for that. the thing with yoichi is that he really has to get it to accept it.

chigiri hyoma—

is a beautiful ikemen who walks with the charm of a shoujo manga lead maxed out. as in if this guy falls for you he just naturally acts like a shoujo lead who came to life. and he is also one of the most fashionable guys who puts attention and care on his and your appearance. try to aim for the cutest couple award and high chance you will win.

is also a very dedicated man. he will make sure you know how much he treasures you and it shows. he is not the tidiest person, he is also a pretty demanding guy, but with you? "fine, okay. i'm doing this just for you, you know," he says and hyoma doesn't lie. he will do anything for you. the amount of trust he puts on you is really evident too and he is not one to shy away from saying it. also, trust that this guy will gladly run across tokyo on a lazy monday morning during his rare break just to deliver you anything if you ask. he will demand kisses, yes, but that's also a benefit in its own way.

but, he is also very moody and, admittedly, impatient. so when he gets into this sort of mood you have to keep your head clear and deal with him until his head cools down. he won't hurt you—he will never—but without a doubt his attitude and wording could definitely drag your anger out. he also tends to focus on one thing and one thing only when he gets like this, while it has its benefits, during these times you have to be really patient when trying to talk to him.

itoshi rin—

is the type of guy who truly embodies "it's the small things". also, he is so attentive and combining this with the fact he is more into action than words—you honestly get yourself a gold mine of top-tier 'act of service' bf.

is actually very affectionate once you can translate his silent languages. he is always close to you at every chance he gets. it's not even funny. some people could translate this as some guard dog behavior, some braver souls translate this like a kid following the elder around, but honestly rin just likes being close to you. it calms him down in a way that also somehow manages to keep him awake—which is a nicer way to put 'this guy sometimes barely blinks when he is staring at you'. your happiness is one of his top priorities and he will bite someone literally if he has to just for that. this is how bad it is. but all in all, all of this is a way for him to keep an eye for you and be ready to assist you in anything—you need to take something? you need him to carry something? you want to buy something? just leave it to him, it will make him happy too. if you get overwhelmed? tell him, this guy is actually really quick to adjust things the moment he gets it. and for you? he will somehow do it even faster.

with all that being said though, this guy could get confusing at times. when he gets into a particularly negative thought, his first response would be to bark out his emotions and afterward distance himself. clearly, communication with him is hard. but despite all the silent treatment you get, he still wants to have you close—while being the one who keeps his distance from you. dealing with rin when he is being like this truly requires maturity and delicacy that probably rivals an esper skills.

#bllk imagines #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk fluff #blue lock imagines #bllk scenarios #bllk headcanons #blue lock headcanons #isagi x reader #rin x reader #chigiri x reader #itoshi rin x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #isagi fluff #rin fluff #chigiri fluff #isagi yoichi #rin itoshi #chigiri hyoma #wow bullet notes hcs i did it (it's still paragraphs) #also we are starting the isagi posting again its number 5 bby #january is starting off busy but writing this helps me calm down despite everything. having a hobby is fun. #back to sched. if this doesn't appear on tag then it's fate ♡ (will fix it up when im awake and aware sigh)

[fushic0re]

⸺ 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — POV: you’re dating the giant, brutish himbo nobody can stand. || OR aoi todo brainrot.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. SMUT: size kink, rough sex, penetrative sex, spanking, oral (F receiving). mentions of canonical violence

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

I NEED to start this off by stating that Aoi is a libra man.

Libra men are incredibly hard to impress, which is clear in the way that he presents his notorious “what’s your type?” question and beats the literal shit out of anyone with an unsatisfactory answer.

It’s not that he immediately hates that your type doesn’t align with his, it’s that if you cannot state with conviction what you love—what it is that you’re attracted to—he finds that you have a weak judge of character and is immediately unimpressed.

But when you DO impress him……honey.

Absolutely OBSSESSED with you.

Worships you, adores you to no end.

You could do no wrong in his eyes.

You could deadass kill someone and he'd be like:

Crying "That's my girl right there, mhm."

Always staring at you with lovesick eyes.

At any given moment you just have a giant man following you like a puppy, staring at you like you hung the moon and stars.

He's always cooing at you, complimenting your...well, everything really. He has no qualms about listing literally everything he adores about you.

His obsession with Takada, a woman he never met? Yea, that’s how he’s going to be with you but on CRACK because holy shit! You’re actually his! Not some fantasy, your relationship and love are tangible.

Libra men are picky with their partners, but when they do choose you, their hopeless romantic side is yours and yours alone—Aoi is no exception to this.

His Instagram page turns from pictures of him working out and at Takada events to just…you.

Selfies you send him upon request because he wants to see your pretty little face every second of the day, candid photos he takes of you, pictures of the two of you together, you name it.

Mai had opted to refer to his Instagram page as a fan page for you.

Aoi doesn’t even deny it.

“Of course my page is her fan page, LOOK AT HER!”

 Just so intense with the way he loves you and adores you and not in a way that’s concerning because he’s just a naturally intense guy.

It’s a no brainer that the way he loves you is reflective of that.

Gym dates are definitely a thing.

Aoi puts a lot of effort into his appearance and finds genuine joy in working out, so why not combine something that brings him joy with someone who brings him joy!

“BABE! GYM DAY! We gotta take care of that gorgeous ass of yours!”

Will not take no for an answer. He’ll pick you up, throw you over his shoulders, and get you both to the gym that way.

If you’re a fitness/gym newbie, he’s so, so patient and encouraging with you it almost makes you cry.

He appreciates you deeply for coming to the gym with him just so he can be around you.

He also doesn’t mind seeing you in activewear and cute matching sets because he thinks you look sexy as fuck in them.

Expect quickies in the car after leaving the gym. He won’t even be able to wait until you both get home.

He’s still pumped up from his workout and following with testosterone, so these quickies are usually rough and consist of him yanking your leggings down, pulling your panties to the side, and bouncing you up and down on his lap like a fucking doll.

Because no matter what size you are, you’re lightwork for the great Aoi Todo.

“Fuck baby,” He grunts, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly. The car rocks back and forth from the sheer force of his movements. He pulls you off his cock and lands a firm spank on your rear. “Get your ass in that backseat.”

He’s definitely a giver in all aspects of your relationship. He prides himself on being able to cater to you.

Hungry? He’ll find out exactly what you’re craving and order it or cook it himself.

Tired? You have a big burly man to use as a giant teddy bear.

Sad? Stressed? Having a bad day? He’s there for you to listen, rant with you, cry to, baby you, and offer you advice which contrary to popular belief he’s quite good at.

Beneath is himbo-y, brutish, meathead exterior Aoi is actually very intelligent and insightful.

It’s one of the reasons why you love him so much. There’s so much more to him than meets the eye.

He’ll still beat the shit out of anyone who even looks at you wrong though.

When it comes to sex, you always come first—literally and figuratively.

He’ll have you coming around 3 times before even fucking you. He just wants to be able to indulge you, but selfishly a part of him gets off of making you feel good and being the only one to do so.

When he’s eating you out, you have to practically shove him away between your legs.

He basically turns into a shark when it gets its first whiff of blood in the ocean when it comes to your pussy—frenzied, greedy, and primal.

“Baby,” You whimper as his tongue continues to flick your clit. You’ve already came twice on his mouth, but he’s not slowing down whatsoever. He chuckles deeply as he feels your thighs tremble in his hands.

“You’re so cute.” Aoi coos condescendingly, sucking your pearl in between his lips. “All shaky and whiney for me.”

You cry out loudly when his tongue flicks your clit once more, instinctively jerking away from him. His dark, predacious eyes snap up, staring up at you.

“Don’t try and take my pussy away from me.” He warns, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “That’s my pussy.”

All in all, you are absolutely taken care of in that relationship.

For someone whose biggest fear is boredom, Aoi is surprised to learn that he actually cherishes the more quiet, domestic moments he experiences with you.

Grocery shopping for dinner, cooking together, bandaging each other up after exorcising curses, napping together—he’ll take all of those things over whatever cheap thrills he once longed for any day.

The life of a sorcerer was dangerous.

Sure, he was unwaveringly confident in his strength and abilities, but the truth of the matter was that his life was always on the line.

It’s a heavy fate to have constantly looming over you, but in a swarm of darkness…is you. You.

You’re his home, his person, his solstice, his fucking girl.

You’re everything.  

© all rights reserved to honeystevie — do not translate, repost, or plagiarize.

#aoi todo x reader #aoi todo x you #todo x reader #aoi todo x y/n #aoi toudou #aoi toudou x reader

[frostyhelltime]

I Said Don't Touch My Hair

Basically someone fucks with curly haired GN!Reader's hair and promptly finds out.

Characters Listed: Alastor, Vox, Lucifer.

Warnings: Violence, but it has Vox and Alastor being pissed off, so what did we expect?

Author's Note: I have really curly hair, 3A or 3B typically. And it frustrates me to no end when people just walk up to me and start touching my hair without even asking. Especially if I spent a lot of time making my hair look extra nice that day. So I got to thinking I wonder what the guys would do if someone approached their lover and did something like that?

If anyone wants me to do this for additional characters let me know. I just thought I would start with these three.

Also hope you like the graphics! I made them myself!

Alastor

It's a distinct possibility this person doesn't even get to lay a hand on you, actually. Ever cognizant and aware, especially when it comes to possible threats to you, he likely has this person on his radar before you do. He is the type of person that's typically five steps ahead of everyone else, and he prides himself on it.

It's during a pleasant stroll on the way to Cannibal Town to have tea and coffee with Rosie that some fool accosts you.

Rosie has been pestering him for the better part of a month to introduce his little paramour and he has finally given in because you were just as excited to meet one of his friends.

In fact you had been so excited you made sure to put extra care into your curls today, wanting to impress. He knew from you only partially jokingly berating Angel when he played with your hair that you didn't like it mussed up when you actually put serious effort into their appearance.

But he can't find it in himself to be annoyed or anything of the sort at the people he passes by when he sees your bright smile as you walk, arm in arm, together. He's also smiling as well, of course, but looking at you the smile turns more soft and genuine for a split second, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue about some joke you made when he sees some stranger's hand reaching for your curls.

Although his smile remains ever present, the scrunch of his nose and furrowing of his brow belay his true feelings.

"Ah ah ah. Don't you know it's improper to touch someone without their permission?" His voice rings out with a thicker layer of static, freezing the demon who stupidly hadn't even realized exactly whose arm you were on. He's annoyed at the way his voice takes on an extra edge of static as you turn around to face the poor soul who probably wasn't much longer for his world. He doesn't like that it could be apparent he's so annoyed. Oh well.

"How repulsive." He mocks, delighting in the clear terror they were feeling as they back up and away from you, as if that will save them.

"Don't worry though, my good fellow. It's a mistake I'll be sure you don't make twice. Someone has to teach you some manners, after all." His voice drops low, letting his form shift taller, antlers elongating and becoming more angular, neck craning forward and stretching to reach the man who was already attempting to run away, maliciously excited grin growing closer and closer.

You release his arm, knowing he'll be back once he's done. You also know he would be even more upset if your clothes got ruined by the blood of this poor uneducated sinner who he plans to teach some manners, and goodness knows the last thing this demon needs is another reason for Alastor to be mad at them.

With a twist and a rip of his claws, once, and twice, the sinner finds themselves violently robbed of their hands and begins blubbering for forgiveness. Alastor blinks at the pathetic creature and brings the hands closer to his maw. He swallows the two offending hands without even a second thought, tilting his head to look at the sinner quivering in delightful fear as if pondering what to do with him next. He takes another step forward and is about to continue when he hears your voice ring out.

"Alastor dear, we're going to be late. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. We don't want to keep Rosie waiting, do we?"

"Ah you're right. We can't be late, it's so impolite. I'm afraid I won't get to continue your lesson." He sighs and then tuts at the sinner frozen in fear, who is still unsure if he's actually going to get to live or not.

Alastor's eyes shift from yours to his prey and his claws give one final rip through flesh as if to punctuate his 'lesson', pulling open the demon's chest with practiced ease before he retreats.

"I hope you found my lesson on etiquette quite educational." Alastor chuckles to the man good naturedly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

And with that he's rapidly returning to his normal form, his arm laced through yours again and he's continuing the conversation from before, mood brightening when you thank him and kiss his cheek for protecting you.

Vox

Vox doesn't even see the person coming. No one other than you tends to exist in his peripheral when you're together.

He had been planning awhile, wanting to really wine and dine you for your anniversary. Remind you how good it is to be with him and all the wonderful perks that come with dating the CEO of VoxTek! Of course you knew, but he liked to spoil you and remind you how good he is to you all at the same time and an anniversary was the perfect excuse. Which is also why you're extra dolled up, curls perfectly coiffed and a backless outfit with a cutout in the shape of, a V, of course to entice him for the time you'll spend together...after dinner.

You're listening half mindlessly and half focused as he talks. There's something just nice and relaxing about his ecstatic chatter and it never failed to make you feel at ease.

He's currently talking about his latest idea for a new show that he thinks will be a hit as you two walk, his arm resting on the small of your back on your bare skin. A subtle but possessive claim to you.

A claim that one poor idiot either doesn't heed or doesn't see.

Either way their hand is reaching for you and snags on your curls almost immediately, causing you to jerk back and yelp in pain, frustration and annoyance evident on your face. Though it compares little to the immediate upset it causes Vox.

You think he didn't mean to snag it, only wanting to feel it, though it doesn't much matter now what his intent was.

The guy doesn't even look remorseful since he doesn't seem to even think it's a big deal until he realizes Vox seems upset as well and then he's apologizing, but apparently it doesn't seem sincere enough for Vox.

The tall man quickly steps forward, barely needing to take any steps at all before he snatches the man's hand with sheer brute force, his other hand beginning to gently untangle your hair and pulling it out of this idiot's grasp. You found it such a funny contrast between the grips of his two hands that if you weren't so pissed you would have laughed. As soon as the man is untangled from you, Vox has him picked up and slammed into a wall, electricity crackling from him as he does, errant sparks burning the man's skin without Vox even trying.

"Listen here you piece of shit, do you have any idea who you just fucked with?" His eyes narrow, electric sparks growing bigger and hotter as he speaks. The man just shakes his head no, trying to apologize to try and save his own skin.

"Now, you're going to apologize to my sweeatheart and you're going to mean it." He growls, dropping the man down in front of you as carelessly as he would a sack of trash. Even belly down the man tries to scramble to get up and run but Vox's foot is pressing down and keeping him pinned before he can succeed.

"I'm running out of patience..." He warns, narrowing his eyes, and then the man is changing gears and giving his best attempt at as remorseful of an apology as he can muster.

You are pissed but take pity on the man, not letting his torment get more drawn out. You're certain Vox won't just accept an apology so you might as well let him get on with it, and not extend the suffering.

You kindly accept his apology as you continue to fix your hair.

As soon as the acceptance leaves your mouth though, the man has such a large amount of electricity shot through him so violently that he's almost glowing, a smoldering corpse left in the dust of the smoke that had arisen from the electric burns, which Vox steps over to check on you, making sure you're okay.

You are of course fine, and assure him as much and it seems to placate him a bit that you aren't actually hurt.

He hurls one last insult of "Prick" before he leaves, his hand gently on the bare skin of your back once again, although he pulls you closer than before so you walk almost hip to hip. He would certainly pay more attention to look out for any other idiots that thought they could get handsy with you tonight.

Lucifer

Another one who sees it before it's coming. He's always aware of everyone and everything when he's out with you. Dating the king of hell certainly had some perks! But it also came with a big fat target on your back. Although you never minded. You knew he was always looking out for you and wouldn't let anything happen.

It's part of why you never noticed anything amiss, you always felt so safe around him that you did sometimes let your guard down. It was easy when Lucifer was so sweet and goofy, even when he wasn't trying.

Needless to say, his hyper vigilance that most never noticed beneath the silly facade comes in handy now, his eyes catching someone approaching you from afar as he walks towards you but still too far away to hear anything they might be saying to you.

You were waiting for him, patiently as ever, to meet up for a date. You looked so beautiful, standing there and smiling down at your watch since you knew he would be there any minute now. It made him giddy just seeing you there.

But despite how far away he is, as soon as he sees them reaching for you, he's beside you in a flash, crossing the distance and using his cane to block their hand and push it away from you before it ever makes contact.

"Hey hey hey, what are you doing? That's so rude." He laughs, smiling at the man, who seems genuinely shocked to see the king of hell in front of him suddenly. He is smiling but there is an air of annoyance in his smile, as if he's trying to keep it casual and struggling. He's not unnecessarily violent, and usually just a casual signal that you were with him was enough to have people keep their distance. He's pretty confident the sinner will just turn and run.

"Lucifer!" Your happy voice chirps at him, only barely registering someone had been reaching for you, and clearly not even registering it as a threat now that he was here.

"Sorry I'm late. I...got distracted." He says sheepishly, shifting his attention from the sinner to you, especially since the sinner jumped back as if the cane had been made of pure fire, running off as quick as he can. But not before mumbling out a shakey "S-Sorry!" Seems Lucifer was right on that bet. He wouldn't have to worry about them bothering the two of you anymore, he's sure.

But you just smile and wrap an arm around his, clearly not the least bit annoyed by the interruption.

"...What does this new rubber ducky do?" You only halfway joke, having a pretty good idea what could have distracted him, and just as quickly his face changes from apologetic to excited. You smile seeing how his face changes; you were right on the money it seems.

"Shoots spikes like little pointy bullets!" He grins like a child excited about their latest toy, and he's guiding you now, away from this person who almost caused trouble if he hadn't been there in time.

"Ooo, after dinner can you show me? That sounds so cute!" You smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"Although I know you don't need any spikes to save me, my king." You whisper to him teasingly, his face flushing just a little bit red at your playful use of his title as you headed to your date.

#hazbin hotel #Alastor #alastor x reader #vox x reader #vox #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader

[projecttreehouse]

how to write relatable characters

writing relatable characters may seem like an easy task, especially when you’re constructing your protagonist. but what if you want to make your antagonist likeable? what if you want people to hate your protagonist but still root for them? all of this and more requires that your characters be relatable. they need to feel real, so how do you do that? here’s how:

- flaws: this is probably obvious. everyone has flaws, so we should give our characters flaws, too. this applies even if your character is non-human; they cannot escape the personification that we as writers or readers project onto them. we are humans reading, so we expect to see human qualities everywhere we look. if you’re having trouble of identifying your character’s flaws, here are some prompts for ways to think about flaws beyond a list:

what skills do they lack? what do they struggle with?

can their strengths be turned against them as a weakness?

what makes them react emotionally or impulsively?

are they aware of their flaws? if so, do they want to improve them or change them?

- quirks: these are what make your character unique or special, and no, i don’t mean purple eyes or unique physical traits. i mean: what makes your character authentically themselves? what traits define them that few others have? some ways to think about this are:

how do they react when nervous? do they have a tell? similarly, how do they react on behalf of any emotion?

what skills do they have that hardly anyone else has?

what obscure thing are they obsessed with?

do they have a unique outlook on life compared to their peers?

- values: these come from life experiences: where we were raised, our family and friends, our community, religious affiliations, etc. i suggest identifying eight to ten values that define your character and then narrowing that list down to five values that mark their core or essence. think about how these values influence their choices, decisions, and ultimately, the plot of the novel. here are some more prompts to think about values:

how do they react when their values are challenged? are they one to speak up or do they sit back in the shadows?

what, if anything, will change or shatter their values?

are their actual values misaligned with their believed values?

- stakes: what is at risk for your character? what is motivating them? stakes don’t need to be over the top or life or death; they can be as simple as maintaining a relationship or reaching a goal. unless there’s an outside influence (ie. percy’s mother being kidnapped in The Lightning Thief), most stakes—especially those relatable—tie back to values. even those influenced by outside factors can tie back to values: the only reason percy is motivated to get his mother back is because he cares for her and she is the one person who has always advocated for him and cared for him. he values family and riordan uses his family to motivate him and incite the plot. generally, there will be one overarching stake for your character, but throughout your novel, there should be several smaller stakes. these may not service the plot but should elaborate on your character nonetheless. some ways to think about stakes include:

how can i use internal or external factors to create convincing, relatable stakes that tie back to basic values?

why does the overarching stake matter to my character? why do they care?

how can i raise the stakes or introduce new ones that are relevant to my character and illustrate them as a relatable being?

- connection: even if your character is an introvert, they will still be connected to someone, something, or even an idea. we, as humans, look to certain people, pets, objects, and ideas to maintain our sense of reality whether we realize it or not. if your character prides themselves in having no attachments, think about the ideas or themes that mark the cornerstones of their reality. most human beings strive for some form of connection, so here are more prompts for thinking about your characters and connection:

what does connection mean to my character? how do they show how they value their connections or relationships?

how does my character’s behavior change when around different connections?

what connections define my character and their reality? how will these connections influence my character and/or the plot?

how will removing or challenging a connection change, influence, or motivate my character?

a good rule of thumb is to treat a character as a human, not a plot device. there is a time or place in which a character must act as a plot device, but if you’re wanting your readers to be compelled by your narration and the characters within them, you should strive to write your characters as human (aka as relatable). one of the greatest pleasures i find in writing is when other’s identify themselves in my writing.

you’re not just here to tell a story, you’re here to connect with others through the illustration of your characters. let the reader navigate your prose as a detective, to search for and identify the evidence provided by you. that is to say, show us how these things manifest in your character. don’t tell us.

happy writing! hopefully this post gave you some ways to start thinking about how to show the relatability of your character. if you have any questions about implementing these tools or about writing characters, our ask box is always open.

#writing tips #writing advice #writing help #story writing #novel writing #nanowrimo #writing #write it #writeblr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #books and novels #writers block #character development #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing tools #fiction writing #indie writing

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #look this probably could have been twice as long #but i had to stop somewhere #I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS

[lily-blue]

Prince in disguise

☆ characters: crown prince!san & florist!you ☆ genre: modern royalty au, fluff ☆ warnings: mention of a break-in ☆ summary: you like to joke about how San carries himself like a prince; one day it turns out, it’s because he’s indeed royalty ☆ words: 7,9k ☆ a/n: this story was inspired by this video of San ☆ also: merry Christmas to the lovely @restlessmaknae 💕 i wish you a peaceful holiday, so that you could regain your energy and start the new year stronger than ever ☆ massive thanks to: @dat-town for proofreading the story 💕

You often teased San about how he was the embodiment of your childhood crush, Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. There was just something in the way he held himself, with so much effortless elegance and pride, that screamed royalty. However, up until the very moment three grown ass men in suits and sunglasses stormed into your flower shop, undoubtedly looking for him, you had never been able to decipher how he really felt about your lighthearted jokes. He definitely didn’t hate them, that much you could tell. He knew you would have stopped as soon as he showed any signs of frustration or discomfort, yet his most common reaction was a small smile and kiss on your forehead. 

It had never, not even in your wildest dreams, when you let yourself dream about your future, occurred to you that he was an actual prince. Like a real prince with a queen as a mother and a kingdom to rule.

‘Miss, I would like to kindly advise you to refrain from any form of dishonesty,’ one of the men said, his voice calm and collected despite the photo in his hands and the urgency of the issue they were dealing with. You had never given any thought to the qualities a bodyguard (a royal bodyguard!) should have possessed, but you had to admit that he must have ticked off all the boxes on that imaginary list. ‘We have been informed that the Crown Prince, in fact, entered this flower shop and he could not have possibly had enough time to leave before we came in.’

You could feel your heart picking up its rate and your palms getting clammy, but you refused to show how nervous his way of speaking made you. You also refused to think about all the negative consequences your inner need to protect San could bring you. You knew that as soon as you let your brain come up with those worst case scenarios you would fold like a folding chair. And you simply couldn’t afford to be weak.

‘Thank you for your advice, sir. However, I also need to kindly remind you that you need a warrant in case you wish to enter the staff only area,’ you stood your ground, grateful that the owner of the shop wasn’t present, so she couldn’t grant them access to the storage room. That might have put both San and you into an uncomfortable situation. ‘I have already told you that your Crown Prince is not here. You are wasting your time,’ you claimed, impressed by how calm your words came out despite the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

What would you tell your parents if you got arrested for lying to these men? It wasn’t like you were hiding a criminal, right?

‘Disobeying the Queen is considered high treason,’ the royal bodyguard stated firmly and you gulped down the knot in your throat when you realised he wasn’t talking to you. The warning was dedicated to the guy who was currently hiding behind dozens of bouquets of lilies and sunflowers for a summer themed banquet tomorrow.

‘Sir.’ You cleared your throat to gain his attention or more like, to divert his attention from the storage room’s door that he was eyeing with intent. You didn’t know what you could have done if he decided to push you aside and enter the staff only area anyway. He clearly had the muscles for that and he also had backup even if the other two men were lingering by the front door. ‘I am a South Korean citizen and we are in South Korea. With all due respect, your Queen has no power here,’ you reminded him, mustering up all the confidence that was left in your body, which wasn’t too much to be honest. You were a mere commoner standing in front of a royal bodyguard, after all. Hell, you were a petite woman in her twenties against a man who had biceps the size of a smaller melon.

In the back of your head, you wondered how long your protective instincts would take you. For the sake of San and yourself, you hoped you could hold on long enough for these men to give up and leave. If things had gone there, you didn’t know how you would have explained to your boss why you had stayed overtime on a Wednesday night.

It took time, and a horrendous amount of awkward and pressuring silence, but eventually a new customer came in and your afternoon regained some of its normality. You helped the girl choose the most suitable flowers for her confession and gave her a gift card for free partly because she was adorable and partly because you were so genuinely grateful for her presence. Her ramble about her childhood best friend slash crush had successfully taken your mind off the predicament you were in with a prince in your storage room.

Unfortunately, after that, the rest of the afternoon kept you on your tiptoes. Two of the men in black suits left, but the third bodyguard refused to leave the shop and made sure you didn’t have a moment of peace with his countless questions and polite warnings of which quite a few were meant for San. At least, you honestly doubted his intention was to appeal to your emotions when he brought up the people of their nation, their well-being and the well-being of the royal couple. As much as you could tell from the morsels you actually understood - at one point the guard started to speak the same language San spoke when he was frustrated -, San’s parents were healthy, but his father was too drained to keep ruling the country for much longer. They wanted him to go back and be the king he had always been meant to be. They wanted him to settle down and have his own heirs.

The latter felt like a fist in the gut, like a knife in the stomach even though your translation’s accuracy was heavily dependent on context clues, so you might have been wrong.

You hoped you were wrong.

‘Sir, we are closing. I have to ask you to leave,’ you spoke up ten minutes before eight and let out a relieved sigh when he didn’t argue. You could handle his ice cold stares, but you were doubtful whether you would have had the energy to get into a fight after hours of cold war. His presence alone had drained you dry and honestly, the only things that kept you going were the knowledge that you were doing this for San and the cinnamon rolls from the vintage coffee shop across the street. They closed at ten, so they usually weren’t out of sweets when you visited them at the end of your most tiresome days.

A little paranoid that the bodyguard might have been still lingering out there, waiting for the moment when you foolishly let your guard down, you busied yourself with the online orders that came in in the last hour and stock checked the customer area. It took almost one and a half hours before you informed San that the coast was clear.

The boy walked out from the storage room with his lower lip between his teeth and a rather embarrassed smile on his face that - based on the months you had spent getting to know each other more - was meant to be reassuring.

‘Are you okay?’ San asked, warmth swelling in your chest due to his first words. Of course, your well-being was his top priority. His apologies and weak attempts at making excuses, so you wouldn’t have been mad at him always came second. ‘I’m so sorry.’

You clenched and unclenched your fists as you looked at him. Did he seriously believe that you could be angry with him for longer than a couple of minutes? You had gotten to know the truth hours ago. You were over the initial shock and done being sulky.

At that point, you just wanted him to be safe.

Therefore, you destroyed the distance between the two of you and not giving a damn about his title, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him impossibly close to your body. You could feel your cheek being squeezed as you rested your head on his chest.

‘Are you okay?’ You threw the question right back at him, feeling your heart picking up its rate with each second that passed you by in silence.

San’s lips were soft against your scalp when he kissed the top of your head and wrapped his own arms around your petite frame.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled against your hair, his tone urging you to pull away and look him in the eyes, hence that was what you did. You pulled away with your hands still around his body and rested your chin on his chest, picking apart his facial expression as you tried to decipher what he was thinking.

Your breath hitched when he pressed his lips against yours briefly.

‘I promise I will explain everything,’ he said, his forehead fitting close to yours before he lifted his right hand and brushed a stubborn lock behind your ear. ‘But first, I need to take care of a few things. Important things,’ he claimed and with that - and another tender kiss pressed against your parted lips - he was gone.

You looked after him in trance for minutes before you shook your head and willed yourself to walk in the storage room to finish the stock checking. There was a cinnamon roll waiting for you at the coffee shop across the street.

You hadn’t heard from San that night, which was a tad bit alarming considering that he was living in your apartment unofficially for over a month. He had his own clothes at yours, his own towel, shower gel, shampoo and toothbrush. You had his favourite plant-based milk in your fridge along with his favourite instant coffee. His mug that matched yours was in your cabinet, waiting for him to come home. So why hadn’t he? The number of possibilities made you anxious.

What if those men had found him and he was already out of the country?

By the time the second night of radio silence rolled by, you were checking your phone abnormally frequently and couldn’t stay focused for longer than five or six minutes. It came to a point where even the Thai series you were currently obsessed with couldn’t keep you on the couch. You had to move around, clean up something, do something, anything that might have been able to take your mind off San’s absence. 

You almost knocked off the half-empty mug of hot chocolate from the kitchen counter, the marshmallows still in your hands, when your front door opened out of the blue. You threw the sweets into your drink with a yelp and grabbed the first potential weapon that you came across: the cutting board you kept behind the knife organiser.

‘I have 112 on speed dial,’ you threatened, lowkey wondering whether you should have been more daring and grabbed one of the knives as you walked towards your bedroom, not turning your back to the front door. There should have been a key in the lock from the inside. You should have been safe once you reached the bedroom.

‘Well, that’s good to know, but why are we calling the police?’ A very tired, very amused San asked from the threshold, walking into the open space of your living room slash dining room with a bag of takeout in his hand.

You could feel the rocks being lifted off your chest.

‘Are you crazy? San! You scared the shit out of me,’ you accused, more relieved than angry. Seeing his tired eyes, you were reminded of the bodyguards and wanted to run up to him and inspect his body for injuries. You wanted to make sure he was okay; however, your limbs were frozen, hence you just stood there like a way too realistic statue from Ancient Rome.

Then, your gaze fell on the plastic bags in his hands again and your brain supplied you with all the worst case scenarios it could come up with: San coming over for a last minute farewell dinner before he moved countries; San asking you to change your relationship status to long-distance relationship; San breaking up with you with your favourite black bean noodles. You weren’t ready to let him go after putting so much effort into winning him over.

‘I’m sorry, petal. I thought you would know it’s me. After all, there aren’t many people who know your passcode and your parents are out of town,’ he said. There was something in the way he broke the situation down to you that made you feel a little dramatic. Of course, you should have known it was him. Other than your mom and your best friend, he was the only one who had access to your apartment.

You pressed your lips together and pouted. He had no right to make you feel silly when your survival instincts were the ones to blame.

‘What are the noodles for?’ You asked as soon as you put yourself together, finally finding the power to move your legs and walk up to him. The furrow between San’s eyebrows and the confusion in his eyes shouldn’t have been so adorable.

‘It’s Thursday. You never have energy to cook on Thursdays and Fridays,’ he explained, like you were some kind of alien who wasn’t accustomed to the local habits yet or a person who had just woken up from years of coma. He must have thought that your question was so damn ridiculous, but it wasn’t what you had meant.

‘You didn’t come home yesterday,’ you said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the whiny edge of your statement and the fact that San had his own place to sleep at. His lease wouldn’t expire for at least three more months, so you hadn’t moved in together yet. You had no right to call him to account regarding his whereabouts and still, after what had happened the day before, you kind of felt like you had.

You took the bags out of his hands and helped him unpack the still pleasantly lukewarm food. You also started to prepare a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows for him, too, without asking whether he wanted some. He never said no for hot chocolate.

‘I was with Wooyoung,’ he said, filling a tray with numerous tiny bowls containing various side dishes such as kimchi and yellow radish. ‘I needed his help to contact my oldest cousin, Seonghwa.’

You nodded along with every new revelation, paying close attention to every detail while you slid San’s drink towards him on the dining table. It was your first time hearing about any of his family members, at least from him, so you were admittedly curious.

Even though the trays on the table made it obvious that San’s initial intention was to have this conversation on the couch, you didn’t move an inch from your poor excuse for a dining room. You just stood there, with your elbows on the marble, one of your soles resting on the inner side of your other leg and dove into your food with a pair of wooden chopsticks. You didn’t take your eyes off San while he told you everything about his situation.

‘I left the country with Woonyoung’s family when I was fourteen,’ he started, assuring you that he wasn’t a runaway prince per se, and that he had never hid from his parents. Both the queen and the king of their country knew how to reach him in case of emergency, teenager San had just convinced himself that that day would never come as his parents had never bothered to contact him after he had moved out of the palace. With years of neglect behind his back, his adult-self never thought about the possibility that things might have changed.

You placed your hand on top of his and squeezed it as a sign of your support. You were afraid that he would interpret your sympathy as pity, therefore you tried your best to keep your emotions in check. Instead, you gave San all of your attention, hot chocolate momentarily forgotten.

‘Would you like to go back? Now that it’s an option?’ You mustered up the courage to tear off one of the band-aids; the unsaid inquiry whether he wanted to become a king in the first place hiding between the lines. Somehow, it sounded such an insensitive question, you didn’t have the heart to phrase yours like that despite your curiosity. Therefore, you decided to focus on the fact that the royal couple was his parents. ‘To see your mom and dad?’

After a few seconds of contemplation, San shrugged.

‘I guess so,’ he said and you hated yourself for feeling disappointed. They were his parents. Of course, he wanted to see them again. Who were you in comparison to his family? Without much thought, you took your hand off his; however, San didn’t hesitate to reach after it and intertwined your fingers with a soft smile. ‘But that can wait until Seonghwa’s coronation. It’s been over a decade since we’ve last seen each other. A few more months is no big deal if it means they will let me come back to you.’

As touching as it was that he was willing to delay their reunion to be able to stay with you, your first instinct was to remind him that he was his own person and no one had more power over his life than him. But then you swallowed down the words as your brain caught up with the situation. You might have been absolutely right about this matter in general, but San was a prince. Clearly, general rules didn’t apply to him.

‘What do you mean Seonghwa’s coronation?’ You tried to fill in the holes that made it hard for you to fully comprehend the situation. You thought he was the next in line to rule. You definitely remembered the bodyguard referring to him as the Crown Prince.

‘Well, that’s the most important part of our plan,’ he started, pushing the food closer to you, encouraging you to start eating before it got cold. Albeit reluctantly, you eventually gave in, allowing him to steal himself a couple of seconds as well as he dove into the perfect mixture of noodles and red bean sauce.

Then, he proceeded to tell you about the plan they had made with Woonyoung and six of their mutual friends including his cousin and Seonghwa’s personal bodyguard, Jongho. Since San didn’t wish to become the new ruler of their country, but knew that his parents wouldn’t back off without a fight, they intended to prove to them that Seonghwa was the better choice in every aspect: maturity, dedication towards his people and the country, connections, political and economical knowledge. The way he presented their idea and backed up each one of his reasons made even you think that Seonghwa was more fitting for the role. It made you feel hopeful.

‘Do you think your parents will let you give up the crown?’ You couldn’t help but ask when it became obvious that he didn’t have anything more to say.

The silence that followed was palpable. Still, you let him drag it out and pull you into his lap, so he could wrap his arms around you instead of giving you a definite answer. Now you knew that he wasn’t close to his parents - that their relationship could only have been described as distant. Making guesses based on childhood memories would have just given you false hope. You much preferred his soothing touches and the desperation in the way he held you close.

‘I love you,’ he murmured into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hinting the soft and sensitive area with feather-like kisses.

You sucked in your lower lip, holding your breath. Even though his actions had shown you, even before you two had gotten together, that you were an important person in San’s life, the two of you had never exchanged I love yous before. As much as you hated to acknowledge, it had a bittersweet undertone to it. You wished you could have told him how precious he was to you under different circumstances.

Nevertheless, you said it back.

‘I love you, too. So much.’

That night you eventually relocated to the living room and got comfortable under your fluffy blankets on the couch. You had two mugs of freshly made hot chocolate with you - this time, without marshmallows to lower your already high sugar intake - and some salty snacks you could munch on while you talked. And you talked a lot. You talked about the day before, how the bodyguards had found him and how serious their threats had been. San was almost sure that his parents would have never imprisoned him for high treason if he had refused to go home willingly. By the way his lips curled upwards and his eyes gouged your reaction, you knew he was only trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it was too early, hence it wasn’t funny. Life imprisonment with a cheap excuse was exactly how they could have kept him in the country! How could San not see it?

‘Don’t even think about joking about this again, you hear me? It’s not funny,’ you scoffed when he tried to ease you with lingering kisses atop of your head, temple and on your blade bone. Him disappearing on you just wasn’t it.

‘I promise.’ He nosed your temple, holding you in his arms a big tighter to make up for the anxiety he had unintentionally caused. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added, repeating it like a mantra until he successfully coaxed a chuckle out of you.

With the show you had been watching before his arrival as your background noise and his warmth surrounding your body, you fell asleep on San’s shoulder while he was talking about Seonghwa’s bodyguard, karaoke, imported beer and apples. If anyone had asked you, you were sure you would have failed to draw the connection between all four, but you knew your boyfriend would have never used your tiredness against you. On the contrary, he would have been grateful that you still felt safe in his arms.

And you did. You did feel safe. Because for you, he was your home.

In the back of your mind, you were aware that your story wouldn’t end up being a fairy-tale, and that even those had some dark twists to them here and there when they were told by the original authors. Still, coming home for a messed up apartment and no San in sight knocked the air out of your lungs. No matter how much you tried to rationalise the happenings or keep your cool, panic overcame you in a matter of seconds. You didn’t know what to do. Would calling the police have made things worse? What if it had been those bodyguards? You didn’t intend to put San into a tight position in case the pitiful state of your home was a consequence of their family quarrel.

On the other hand, what if he had been kidnapped? You had left work pretty late that night, so there was a possibility that San had been home when things had escalated.

Hands shaking and mind pushed into an overdrive, you fished your phone out of the bag you had previously dropped on the floor and dialled San’s number. He didn’t pick up, so you did the next best thing you could think about without losing it: you called him again. Again. And again.

You called him as many times as it was necessary for him to answer your call, his calm voice breaking something in you as your knees gave out as soon as his greeting reached you and you fell on the floor, crying.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ When you sniffed into the phone instead of answering, his voice lost its calmness. ‘Petal, what’s happening? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

You weren’t hurt, not physically at least. But the chaotic mess your mental state was in was secondary to the fact that San sounded to be oblivious of the intrusion into your home.

‘Please, petal, talk to me,’ he tried to coax you and while it didn’t work immediately, when he started to do a breathing exercise, you automatically mimicked the way he sucked the air into his lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

‘Where are you?’ The words felt like sand on the tip of your tongue, your urge to know for sure that he was in public or at least among people who could help him in case of emergency pushing all your other worries aside.

‘I’m with the guys at Wooyoung’s place. Do you need me to pick you up? Where are you? I will pick you up,’ San said, the distant sound of keys chiming and wood cracking assuring you that he was ready to leave as soon as you gave him the sign. Hell, he might have left the boys without you explicitly asking for it considering the worry in his voice.

But as comforting as the thought was, you didn’t want him anywhere near your apartment.

‘No!’ You objected, maybe a tad bit too vehemently for which you might have felt awkward under different circumstances. Now, emotions like shame and embarrassment were at the end of your priority list. ‘Can I visit you instead? I promise I’ll tell you everything in person,’ you negotiated. Not realising that you were holding your breath, a relieved sigh escaped through your pressed lips when San chose to withhold his questions for the time being.

Some matters were wiser to discuss in person. Matters that could put you in a tight position if anyone found evidence about your scheming. Especially when you were up against an opponent so powerful, they had the resources of actual royalty.

Looking around in your fucked up apartment, without your heart threatening to explode in your ribcage, you knew you didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. You had to be smart about your next move.

You showed up at Wooyoung’s place an hour later with one sports bag packed with your most necessary belongings and was greeted with a worried San who didn’t understand why you would have brought your entire bathroom cabinet to his best friend’s apartment when you loved your home. You definitely had a lot to unpack, both literally and figuratively.

‘I can’t believe they’re willing to go this far,’ a guy with sharp eyes and nose said, the same guy who had taken it upon himself to bring you a mug of herbal tea when you made yourself comfortable on Wooyoung’s couch. His name was Hongjoong or something similar if you remembered correctly. ‘I start to think that we might have underestimated them a little.’

‘A little?’ Two or three of San’s friends asked in chorus at the same time San lifted his head up from your shoulder and said:

‘I doesn’t matter. Our plan is good, they’ll have no other choice but to go along with it.’

Just by looking at his friends, you couldn’t tell whether they actually believed what San had said, but it was clear as day that they believed in your boyfriend, hence you leaned against his broad chest and let yourself relax. Neither San nor you were alone in this. You had allies and strategies. You had a good plan, and even if that failed, you had options. San’s parents might have been powerful, they could clearly break into your home to scare you, but they had no real authority in Korea.

A voice in the back of your head also reminded you that you lived in the era of social media. You doubted they would have risked bad publicity by pushing their son too much and causing irreversible damage to those he cherished. Or so you hoped.

‘Our plan is good, but will princess Yuna actually agree to go along with it?’ Another guy, whose name you hadn’t memorised yet, asked, his question piquing your interest. It was the first time you heard about this princess and with your obsession with Asian dramas, you did not like the first scenarios your brain threw at you as it tried to fill in the gaps. Who was she? Why was she an important part of the plan? Was she interested in San?

‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about before petal came. She said yes,’ San said, the hollering and overflowing happiness in the room making you feel weird, like something wasn’t quite right with the situation: like you were missing something crucial that would have given you a perfect explanation for the odd reaction the news received.

With naturally pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows, you placed your hands on your lap along with the pleasantly warm mug and turned towards San. His smile was so beautiful. He was genuinely happy about the progress they had made now that this princess was on board.

‘Who is she?’ You asked, mentally reminding yourself that you were San’s girlfriend. You had every right to ask him about this girl until you remained clear-headed and didn’t throw a temper tantrum for no reason.

‘She is the most sought out unmarried royalty in Asia. Her family’s country is very small, but their economic power is remarkable.’ Hongjoong said.

‘She is two years older than San, but they’ve known each other since they were babies, so he’s allowed to talk to her informally. Her kindness isn’t just for show, she really is the most warm-hearted royalty I’ve ever met,’ Wooyoung added before his wide grin turned into a frown. ‘She never lets me talk to her informally, though. Like I haven’t known her for just as long.’

‘Yeah, she’s so unfair.’ Yeosang’s voice was teasing as he altered it to sound more mocking: like Wooyoung’s but a pitch higher. ‘It’s not because you called her Yuna in front of a bunch of politicians when she explicitly told you to use her birth name when people other than your family were present.’ The bombastic side eye the blond boy gave to Wooyoung almost made you laugh. Almost.

You had to admit, this princess Yuna sounded pretty amazing. Gosh. You were such a horrible person.

San must have sensed your inner turmoil, because the next thing you noticed was the light touch of the tip of his nose against your cheek and his pillowy lips against your jawline.

‘She’s also Seonghwa’s fiancée,’ he murmured, placing one of his warm palms on the other side of your face, so that he could turn your head a bit more and make you look at him. You gulped, more shy than nervous. ‘That’s what she said yes to. Seonghwa proposed to her a few hours ago.’

You sucked in your lower lip, but before you could have done any damage, San pulled it out from between your teeth with his thumb; the fondness in his eyes simultaneously took your breath away and made you feel unworthy of his love. How could you have seriously thought that he would have included someone in their plan - felt so happy about her joining their team - if she had any interest in him romantically?

‘So it’s not a fake marriage?’ You inquired, coaxing a small laugh out of your boyfriend. His eyes almost disappeared because of the pure amusement on his face. It didn’t take long before you gave into the urge to hide your own in the crook of his neck.

Going easy on you, San semi-successfully bit back a chuckle and put his chin atop of your head, stroking your hair.

‘No, it’s not a fake marriage. They’ve also known each other since childhood, obviously. And they’re pretty much in love,’ he reassured you, letting you have all the time in the world if that was what you needed to be able to look him in the eyes again.

Fortunately, you didn’t need that much to get over the fact that you were only human; a girl with fears and insecurities. The herbal tea in your mug was still pleasantly lukewarm when you pulled away and straightened your back.

‘So cute,’ San whispered, pressing a soft peck against your lips before he helped you readjust your position on his lap, so you wouldn’t hurt your neck too much with the way your body was twisted and turned to be able to be chest to chest to him.

‘Oh, stop that!’ Wooyoung’s frustrated voice came from somewhere beside you, your brain not registering that he was teasing, or that he was talking to you until he said: ‘One royal wedding will be shocking enough for your parents. I don’t think they will be able to handle two.’

Failing to disregard the sudden attention on you, your cheeks became warmer and more pink with each second; however, you refused to seek comfort in the crook of San’s neck because you just knew that would have made things worse. You concentrated on your tea instead, on the feel of the porcelain against your clammy palms, on the fluffy blanket on your thighs. On everything and anything that wasn’t your boyfriend or his friends.

‘You’re making her shy,’ one of the boys cooed and some other joined, pushing your heart to the verge of an explosion. You didn’t realise that your hands were trembling until San slid his fingers between yours around your mug and leaned close to your ear.

‘Let’s kick Wooyoung out of his bedroom. I know where the clean sheets are, and it can be locked from the inside,’ he whispered, his lips curling upwards, therefore grazing along your earlobe. You hesitated only for a split second before you nodded.

You got up from the couch and let your boyfriend lead you towards his friend’s bedroom. As the key turned in the lock the thought crossed your mind that you had never done anything so scandalising before, but somehow the immense amount of guilt never came. Instead, you felt excited.

Excited, hopeful and safe in San’s arms.

You were arranging a bouquet of light pink carnations and peach-coloured buttercups for an anniversary when San walked out of the storage room at your workplace with a new roll of lace wrapping and his phone in his hands. With the way he dragged his feet, walking impossibly slowly, you just knew that his eyes were glued to the small screen; you didn’t need to tear your gaze away from the flowers that had your attention to be a hundred percent sure.

‘Have they started it already?’ You inquired between two twists and turns, holding the whole bouquet together with practised ease even when you had to take the wrapping from San with one of your hands. You still remembered how many you had dropped on the floor during your first few months at the flower shop. The number of flowers that had gotten destroyed in your care haunted you up to this day.

‘No, they’ve been focusing on mother and father so far. Mostly on father, but that’s kind of understandable,’ he said, your lips twitching at the mention of the royal couple.

Prince Seonghwa and Princess Yuna’s wedding had been a week ago and while you hadn’t attended the event, nor had done San, your boyfriend’s parents had made it to their mission to put you through anxiety when they had demanded to talk to you as soon as San had picked up the phone for them the day his cousin had announced the big news. They hadn’t gone as far as to threaten you or bribe you with more money than your type could comprehend, but you were well aware they didn’t think you were worthy of their son. God, they had quite literally told you he could have done much better.

‘Last minutes being a king. I wonder how he feels about that,’ you commented, putting in a bit of extra effort to not sound rude. You didn’t want San to think you hated his father even if, rightfully so, he hadn’t been your favourite person in the world.

‘I don’t think he minds it that much. He was only twenty-two when he took the throne. Three decades is a long time,’ he explained while he leaned the phone against a vase on the counter and put a part of his weight on his palms that laid flat against the marble. ‘The only thing he might be upset about is Seonghwa taking my place.’

You regretted the snort the moment you did it. Your hands froze around the perfectly wrapped bouquet and so did the air, which made it hard to look your boyfriend in the eye.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,’ you apologised, putting the flowers in water before you took San’s hand in yours. ‘They are your parents and I’ll be forever grateful to them for your existence. For sending you to this country out of all the countries they could choose from.’ You shot a small albeit genuine smile in his direction. It might have sounded a little cheesy, but you meant every word. Without them you would have never had him.

‘I’m not mad at you,’ he reassured you, squeezing your hand and pressing a soft kiss atop of your shoulder blade before he turned back to his phone and you reached for the next pieces of flowers. You had five more bouquets to finish before your lunch break.

Seonghwa’s coronation officially started when your bibimbap was still in need of some more mixing, but that didn’t keep you from leaning closer to San’s phone and watching the live stream with more excitement than you had had for his father. You might have never spoken to your boyfriend’s cousin before, but you had heard enough stories about him from the boys to know he would be an amazing king. Mostly, because he cared for his people and because he genuinely wanted the responsibility that came with the title.

‘He looks like a leader. So serious-looking,’ you commented, shoving a huge spoonful of food in your mouth and humming in appreciation because goodness, it tasted just like your mom’s homemade bibimbap.

You lifted a bite in front of San’s mouth, so he could try it, too.

You watched the ceremony in complete silence; sometimes you fed him, sometimes you put your head on his shoulder while munching. It was nice. You hadn’t been so content in weeks if not in months.

‘Aren’t you disappointed?’ San asked you after the crown was put on Seonghwa’s head and the sovereign’s sceptre and the sovereign’s orb were placed in his hands.

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

‘About what? The ceremony?’ You asked, completely oblivious of what was going on in his head. You jutted out your lower lip; you didn’t like feeling as though you were kept in the dark. It made you feel stupid.

San shook his head, failing to hide the fond smile that was in the corner of his mouth.

‘Yuna is officially a queen now,’ he mumbled and despite how embarrassing it was to admit, it took you a couple of seconds to decipher what he was hinting at: you could have become a queen, too, if only he had gone along with a different plan, with a different goal in mind. You were pretty sure, based on your impactful experience with his parents, that they would have let him keep you if the other option was their nephew on the throne.

‘And you’re officially free. I think it’s an amazing day for everyone,’ you teased, gifting your boyfriend one of your happiest smiles, so that he wouldn’t have doubted that you loved him for who he was instead of what he could have become. You didn’t care about the title or the fortune that golden crown came with. Honestly, all you focused on was how heavy it must have been to carry it, especially when one wasn’t keen on looking after an entire nation.

One careful glance at San was enough for you to know that a well-thought-out retort was already on the tip of his tongue - maybe something along the line that his salary was barely enough to save up a decent amount in each month -, but he never got the opportunity to actually put his concerns into words. The bells above the front door cut him off and naturally, your conversation came to a momentary end.

The new customer was a middle-aged man with a little girl on his right, her tiny hand getting lost in her father’s much bigger one before she pointed at one of the peonies and the man let her explore the flower shop on her own.

‘Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?’ You greeted the man with a smile as soon as his steps came to a halt in front of the counter.

Like most people who visited your workplace, the man had only vague ideas of what he was looking for, but you were fluent in the language of flowers, hence it caused you no headache to help him find the most suitable bouquet for his wife’s birthday. He wanted something that expressed his dedication to make the woman smile, therefore, you gave him options like pink tulips and yellow flowers in general.

Meanwhile, the little girl pulled on the hem of San’s tee and didn’t let go of the fabric until he stood up and followed her towards the customer area that you liked to refer to as the jungle. The corner with the spiller plants for example were like a sight from a botanical book or the children’s book with the gorillas and the little boy taken in and raised by said wild animals.

You bit back a giggle when you saw San lifting the little girl up, so that she could see the red roses from up close; however, your subtle smile froze on your face anyway when the little one asked San:

‘Are you a prince?’ In the most innocent voice you had ever heard in your life. She was so pure. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about and yet, both of you needed a few seconds to realise she wasn’t onto something bigger than her - something that could have put her in harm’s way. ‘Can I be your princess?’

The mortification on her father’s face almost cracked you up, and you did chuckle discretely when looking up, you took a better look at the girl. What looked like a summer dress at first glance turned out to be a princess costume. She even had a tiny, plastic tiara on her head.

San put her on the ground and crouched down to be at eye level with her.

‘I’m sorry, princess, I would be honoured to become your prince, but you see, I already have my own princess and I need to treat her right,’ he explained with utmost patience, then took the little girl’s hand in his (with her permission and her father’s approving nod, of course) and pressed a feather-like kiss on the back of it. ‘Will you forgive me and keep my secret?’

You couldn’t see the little girl’s face, but she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, so your best guess would have been that she wasn’t entirely placated. Still, eventually she nodded and made grabby hands at your boyfriend, insisting that she wanted to see more of the flowers. That, you did not mind at all. In fact, you found it rather adorable.

(San with a tiny human being in his arms was adorable. They turned your legs jelly and your knees uncharacteristically weak.)

‘I’m sorry about Minah. They had Occupation day in school today and she insisted that being a princess is a full-time job, so her mother and I let her dress as one,’ the man explained and you shook your head with an endeared smile. You weren’t mad at his daughter nor were you jealous of the attention she got from your boyfriend. If anything, his willingness to humour her made you fall for San harder.

‘Minah is right. Being a princess is a full-time job,’ you said without contemplating whether your words sounded ridiculous, although before the whole royal guard incident, you would have thought she was childish, rightfully so. She couldn’t have been older than seven.

You didn’t talk much with the customer after that, but you didn’t mind the silence. It gave you the perfect opportunity to listen to San’s conversation with the little girl, which was just as hilarious as cheesy, especially when you caught him declaring his love for you with such vehemency as if real-life princes also needed to defeat magical creatures to protect their loved ones. Where was their debate about good dragons and bad dragons coming from?

A light shade of pink crept up your cheeks when the little girl asked San straightforwardly whether he was talking about you, but you tried to remain composed.

‘It’ll be 30,000₩, sir,’ you informed the customer with a customer-service smile and gave him the bouquet before you took his money; the exchange smooth and fast. The prices were written on the board above your head, right behind the counter; however, some people liked to criticise your craft in hope of a discount. Those customers never failed to make you feel anxious.

‘Thank you. It’s beautiful,’ the man complimented the arrangement before he bid his goodbye and turned towards his daughter. ‘Minah-yah! It’s time to go. Say goodbye.’

Albeit reluctantly, the little girl wrapped her arms around San’s right leg and hugged him. Then, like a real princess, she walked up to you and did a curtsy, which you returned with a few-second-long delay. You were too taken aback to react immediately.

You were still a little shocked when the door closed shut behind the two, but then San hugged you from behind and reality caught up with you. You melted against his broad chest.

‘She was cute,’ he commented, coaxing a hum out of you.

Closing your eyes and letting out a content sigh, in the back of your mind you knew that you still had a very serious conversation on hold. A conversation in which your boyfriend would tell you over and over again why he wasn’t enough: how he had barely enough savings, hence how you couldn’t possibly depend on him in financial emergencies. Like money was the most important thing in a relationship! Like you didn’t have your own savings.

Turning around in his arms, you linked your arms behind his neck and pressed your soft lips against his. You wished these gestures were proof that his heart of gold had won you over years ago; that you didn’t wish to become a queen and even if you did, you didn’t need the title because he already treated you like royalty. He was everything - kind-hearted, attentive, loyal and so much more - and you wouldn’t have changed a thing in your lives. 

Crown Prince or not, San made you happy and excited about the future. About your future. Even if you had a long way to go and might have had numerous battles to march into to earn his parents’ approval.

the end.

#san x reader #san x you #choi san x reader #choi san x you #ateez scenarios #modern royalty au #ateez fluff #ssbyme

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 4

Secrets Exchanged

Part 1 | Part 5 | Table of Contents | Read this on A03

Characters: Ace x reader WordCount: 9k (buckle up! this is a long one!) CW: alcohol mention

You just had to get through this strategy meeting, and then you could avoid Portgas D. Ace for the rest of the day. It wouldn’t be so hard. You had done this a thousand times, as the lead strategist over all the divisions. Ace being wouldn’t make that much of a difference. 

If you thought about it, the second division strategist was actually a demotion. It was significantly less intense. Two years ago, your job had been to review strategy plans and find flaws in them. Now, you just had to present plans and get them picked apart by the other divisions. 

You thought about going to wait for Marco at the commander’s common room, but you didn’t want to risk seeing Ace yet. So you walked to the strategy meeting alone, with a few minutes to spare. 

Only a few commanders and your father were in the room, but you found Marco there with an empty seat next to him, so you sat down beside him. 

“You should really sit with Ace,” Marco urged quietly. You began to steam at his suggestion, so he quickly added more. “Strategists sit with their commanders on the other side of the table. And the commanders who didn’t have strategists present sit over here.”

You ignored him, shuffling through your papers to find the list of names you’d be presenting. You were so nervous for this meeting. You had done this hundreds of times with much higher stakes, why were you nervous now?

“Y/N,” your father called from the head of the table. You paused your work, looking up at him to acknowledge that you were being spoken to. “I’d like to talk to you privately after this meeting.”

There was no trace of anger in his voice, but you were still concerned over the private meeting. You couldn’t let that show though, you had to keep a cool exterior. If anyone picked up on your anxiety, they would question you and your abilities. You couldn’t afford that, not now.   

You nodded once to signify you heard him, but you still didn’t speak to anyone. You simply looked back down at your paper and continued to give one last look over your report until the meeting began. You saw people trickle in, with an occasional double glance at your placement next to Marco. 

Eventually everyone had arrived. Everyone except your commander. 

“Damn Ace,” your father bellowed. “That boy is always late.” 

“Must be with someone,” Blamenco mumbled. “He’s been busy recently.”

“There was a lot of noise coming from his room last night,” Thatch noted.

“Noise?” someone questioned, but you didn’t see who. 

You were looking at your papers, but you could feel a few eyes shift over to you. You could feel your skin start to bubble, and you took a breath to keep your cool. It didn’t matter if Ace was sleeping with someone else. He could do whatever he wanted to. It shouldn’t bother you what, or who, he did in his free time. But it did. 

“I can go get him,” Marco groaned, finally rising from his seat. 

“No,” Whitebeard said, rather firmly. “His strategist can go.”

You were so focused on appearing to look normal, it took you a few seconds of silence to realize that your father was talking to you. You glanced around the table, and found all sets of eyes on you. 

“Me?” you asked, rather stupidly. 

“You are his strategist, aren’t you?” Your father asked, looking at you. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m his babysitter,” you mumbled. You heard a few snickers from around the table, which brought you a bit of pride. 

“Y/N.” Your father’s voice was dangerously close to anger, and you could see a few of the newer commanders tense. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” you grumbled, rising from your seat and slinking out the door. 

Every step towards Portgas D. Ace’s room felt harder than the last. You found yourself hoping you’d meet him in the hallway, or he got his dates mixed up and would be running to the meeting. But that wasn’t the way Ace did things, which you knew from experience. 

You stood in front of his door, hesitant to knock. You didn’t want to know who was on the other side of this door. You didn’t want to see Ace after he had been with someone else. Or worse, see someone else with him. Your stomach twisted into a thousand knots just thinking about the possibilities. 

But you had to do it. Perhaps it would be better to just get it over with. So you knocked. 

There was no answer. 

You knocked again. “Ace!” you shouted, banging on the door. 

The door swung open, Ace’s freckled face inches from yours. He looked rough, like he hadn’t slept at all in the past 24 hours. You wondered if this was how he looked yesterday, when all the commanders came and grabbed him as you hid under the covers. 

“Y/N.” Ace’s breath was warm on your face, and you took a step back. “Just the lady I wanted to see! Can I show you something?”

“We have a meeting. A strategy meeting,” you said. “The one I worked really hard for? That one. Do you remember?”

His eyes grew wide at your words, and it was clear he had lost track of time. “Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit! I’m so sorry.”

“We need to go.” You started to turn around to walk down the hall. “Now.”

“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you turned, and you almost burned him for touching you. Almost. 

“I want to show you something,” he begged. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

“I don’t want to see who-” but he yanked you into his room before you could finish your sentence. 

His room was empty. Well, empty in a sense that there was nobody else inside his cabin. But it was filled with woven strands and half made hats, and new shelves had appeared on his walls since yesterday morning. Whatever he was doing last night, it wasn’t a person. 

“What is this?” you asked. 

“Shelves. Hats. A little thing.”

You hadn’t even noticed the decor strewn across his floor. You were too consumed with the hats and the shelving. It was a garland of wooden flowers all strung up on a piece of long leather cord. Each of the wooden flowers had been hand cut and painted, and they were all unique. It was beautiful, you had to admit. 

“Why?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. 

You scoffed in disbelief. “You can always sleep.”

“I couldn’t last night. I-” he hesitated, looking at you for a moment before his eyes darted away. “I just couldn’t.”

“We need to go, Ace. Tell me about your weird midnight projects later.”

“Wait! Okay let me show you just really quick. Please.”

“Ace,” you hissed. A piece of you was curious, but you knew everyone was counting the moments until you were back. 

“The hats I’m making for Little Oars, right? I made him one, but it's starting to get old, so I need to make a new one, you know?”

“Ace-”

“And the shelves are for the shells. They’re everywhere, I know. I need to take better care of my stuff and organize things better, so…shelves.” He held his hands out, showcasing the shelves he built. 

“And the decorative thing was just…I dunno. For fun. For you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You don’t have a lot of stuff in your bunk.”

“I prefer it that way,” you said. 

“But now you can have this too,” he explained. 

You wanted to take it. You could tell he put a lot of effort into it. But your own preservation was key. 

“I don’t like flowers,” you lied. 

“You do,” Ace argued. “I see you smell them every time you pass the garden.”

Your heart raced. “Ace-”

“I know. Creepy. Whatever. Commanders are supposed to give a personalized gift to their strategist when they join. This is my gift.”

Your cheeks flushed with pink. You were about to decline again, but he picked up the garland and shoved it into your hands. 

“No returns,” he said. “If you try to return them, I’m going to hang them up in your bunkhouse myself.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. You held them gingerly, not wanting to ruin his hard work. You looked over them, admiring all of the detail he had done. It was hard to believe he did this in one day. 

Ace watched you for a moment, and then gave a nervous laugh. “I think we should head out, or more people might come looking for us.”

“Shit!” you hissed. “The meeting!”

Both of you took off towards the command center. Luckily you had to pass by your bunkhouse, and you stopped in briefly to drop off your garland of flowers. You tucked them safely in your bedside drawer, to keep them away from lingering eyes and curious hands.

When you walked back into the command center with Ace, you saw that a few people had shifted around the table. Thatch had taken your seat next to Marco, leaving the only open seats next to one another. You scowled at Thatch, but you took your seat next to Ace without any argument. Your papers were at your new seat, at least that oversight hadn’t been missed. 

“Now that everyone is present,” Whitebeard said as soon as you and Ace took your seats. “Shall we begin with the strategy proposal?”

You nodded, passing out a copy of the division breakdowns and a rough outline of the plan as you began to explain. 

It went well. It barely lasted 20 minutes. There was no pushback from any commanders or the other strategists in the room. Everyone was in agreement that your strategy was airtight. It was clear that the commanders still trusted you completely, even though you had been away for two years. 

You ended the meeting with the promise to reevaluate the day before, when Namur got updated schematics, and the rest of the table agreed.

“Nice work,” Ace congratulated you, holding out his hand for a high five. “I’ve never had a meeting go that fast before.”

You grinned at his compliment, and gave him a high five in celebration.

“You slept practically the whole time,” you teased. 

“No! I was just resting my eyes!”

You giggled at his defensiveness as you gathered up your things. “Sure, whatever you say, commander.”

“I sense sarcasm,” he grumbled, which only made you laugh harder. You both stood to your feet and started to leave, when your father called out your name.  

“Right!” You stopped in your tracks, turning back around to face him. “Sorry, sorry. Coming!”

“Let’s go lover boy,” Marco mumbled to Ace, pulling him out the door. 

You hoped your cheeks weren’t red enough to give you away. Even though it was only your father left in the room, you didn’t want him knowing about whatever you and Ace had going on. Not that there was anything going on.

Your father stared at you for a long while, towering above you. You stared back, waiting for him to begin speaking. 

He chuckled to himself after a bit. “I see you're getting back into ship life again.”

You shrugged. “Some changes from being on land, but it’s been an easy transition.”

“How do you like being in the second division?”

He was watching you. Extremely close. Looking for any hint of a lie or nervous behavior from you. 

You chose to answer truthfully, crafting your answer with just the right language.  “Honestly? I haven’t don’t much with the division as a whole. But I’ve missed strategizing. It was kind of fun getting back into it.”

He squinted at you, aware of what you were doing. “And Ace?”

It felt like a careful game of chess. You couldn’t keep your face completely neutral; it would be obvious that you were hiding something. But you also couldn’t completely react to his words, or else it would show that something happened. 

You chose to scrunch your face in slight disapproval. “How honest do you want me to be?”

“Completely.”

“He seems like a good commander who can rally people when they need their spirits lifted. He cares about his family, that’s clear. But…”

You sighed, looking at your dad. “He’s pretty stupid. And he’s always falling asleep.”

Your dad bellowed out a fit of laughter at your comment, and you could feel the air lighten a bit. You had chosen to move the right piece in your chess game. 

“He is definitely a character, thats for sure,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes before he spoke more seriously. “But how do you feel about him?”

You gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act dumb. How do you personally feel about him as an individual?”

“Oh,” you said. You had to think quickly. Tell the truth, just not the whole truth. “He’s fine, I guess. I don’t know him very well.”

You saw a glint in your father’s eyes, and you knew that he had some kind of information which contradicted your statement. 

“I see,” he said, watching you closely. You resisted the urge to look away from him. If you did that, he would know for certain you were lying about something. 

“Are you happy with your position?” Your father asked you. 

You nodded. “I enjoy it.”

He hummed at your answer, thinking for a moment. “Do you prefer it to your old job?”

You had noticed that your old position hadn’t been filled. Marco seemed to have taken over as the lead strategist in a sense, but he wasn’t as thorough as you had once been. 

“It’s certainly less work,” you said, instead of an answer. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Are you offering me my old job back?” you countered skillfully. You hadn’t been the lead strategist for no reason. You could see what game he was playing. 

Your father sighed, refusing to play the game any further. “If you’d like it back, it’s yours.”

You wouldn’t belong to any division, just like before. Nobody would be in charge of you except your father. You’d be able to get away from Ace. It seemed like the perfect escape from all your troubles. 

And yet, you found yourself wanting to turn down the offer. You wanted to stay in division two. You had enjoyed the freedom you had gotten since your return. You had more time to enjoy yourself than before, even with a big mission coming up. 

“Can I think about it?”

Your father nodded. “I would be worried if you gave me an immediate answer. By sunrise tomorrow?”

“That works great. Thank you.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked. 

“Your decision to wait for an appointment offer until after my first strategy proposal makes sense. If any commanders had concerns about favoritism, those are surely gone now. I do have one question, though.”

Your father raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“What would you have done if I didn’t get appointed to second division strategist?”

Yoru father smirked and gave a light chuckle. “Listen, brat. You’re not the only one playing chess here. I wasn’t about to take away your promised position without giving you another one. Got it?”

An understanding passing between you both. “And you say you don’t play favorites.” You gave him a cheeky grin, the best way you knew how to genuinely say thank you. 

“Get out of my sight,” he groaned, but you could hear him laughing at your comment as you left. 

You skipped out of the room, happy with the knowledge you gained during your time with your father. He was always looking out for you, even if you didn’t feel like it. You had a big decision to make, and you needed to find Marco to talk about it all. He was always a good sounding board when you needed to make decisions. 

You were still skipping as you turned the corner, and ran straight into Portgas D. Ace. 

He grabbed your arm to steady you. “Hey there, smiley. What’s got you all excited?”

“Nothing,” you sang to him. Whitey still sat in the back of your mind, though her tears seemed more like a distant memory at this point. 

You gave him a boastful smile. “My father is offering me my old job back.”

“What?” his voice was sharp when he spoke, as if someone had stabbed him with a knife. 

His fingers dug into your arm. You weren’t expecting to see such devastation and panic in his eyes. It was so startling you took a step back, burning his fingers to make him let go of you. 

“As the lead strategist” you explained. “Just like before.”

“You can’t take that,” Ace’s voice was desperate. “You’re the second division strategist.”

“Well, yeah. But you can always get another one. You have plenty of great-”

“I don’t want another one,” he hissed. 

“I’ll still be looking over everything and offering up strategies, Ace.”

“It won’t be the same and you know that.” You got the sense that he was mad at you, though you weren’t entirely sure what you had done wrong. This was supposed to be good news.

“Why are you so angry with me?” you asked. “What were you expecting?”

“I was expecting you to stick to your word!” Ace answered, his voice rising with every syllable. 

You weren’t sure what facial expression you were wearing, but Ace seemed to realize his mistake in his tone and his words. 

“Sorry I reacted like that,” he apologized. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“Clearly.” You stepped to the side to continue walking down the hallway, but Ace blocked your path. 

“Did you tell him yes?” He asked. His widened eyes looked at you with a strange mixture of pain and hope. “Are you leaving the second division?”

You knew not to be the one to break eye contact with your opponent, but it was painful to continue to stare at him. So you did the one thing you had never done: you looked away first. 

“I told him I’d give him an answer tomorrow morning.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and his lonely eyes bored into your soul as he looked at you. “Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”

You wanted to collapse from the pain that blossomed in your heart. Portgas D. Ace was so easy to fall for. It made sense why everyone adored him, why everyone constantly spoke of him. He was someone who would make your heart grow three sizes, and then would drop it into the ocean the next day. 

“I just need to think about my options,” you admitted softly. 

“Got it.” His voice was full of sadness, and he stepped to the side to let you by. 

You didn’t want to walk past him. Every bone in your body told you to stay there. But you took one agonizing step after the other, and walked past him down the hallway. 

You wanted him to stop you. A part of you even wanted him to rush up to you and kiss your lips, like you had seen happen so many times during the plays in Wano. But he didn’t run to you, or call out your name. He didn’t even move. 

You had planned to go talk to Marco, but you weren’t interested in that now. You didn’t even want to have to make this decision anymore. You just wished someone else could make it for you. 

But yaybe someone could. Someone who wasn’t invested either way. Someone who would be able to help without judgment. 

You roamed the ship, searching for the sixteenth division commander, until you finally found him at the stern of the deck. He was surrounded by friends-ones you didn’t feel comfortable sharing this information with.  

“Izou, can I speak with you for a moment?” 

The man looked startled to see you addressing him, but he quickly regained his composure. 

“Of course,” he said smoothly, standing to his feet. “How private do we need to be?”

“More private than this,” you admitted as you both walked away from the group. “But less than a soundproof room.”

He smiled at your joke, probably one he often heard from your father as well. “If this is about yesterday morning-”

“It’s not!” you quickly said, your ears and cheeks tinting red at the mention of it. “I…need some advice.”

“Is this about your appointment to second division strategist?”

“Kind of…” You found an unoccupied portion of the deck and sat on the railing. “Pops offered me my old position back.”

“And you don’t know what to do now?”

“Right!” you exclaimed. The words came rushing out after that. “I really like being the second division strategist, and the workload is much easier to manage. Plus, I really like working with Ace-” Izou raised an eyebrow, but you rushed on before he had the chance to say anything. “-but it is kind of a demotion from where I was. And if i was lead strategist, nobody would be in charge of me, and I’d be right under Pops again. And I liked what I used to do. It was stressful, but I helped people and I was good at it.”

Izou hummed, looking out across the waves. “Can I ask you an insensitive question?”

You sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Do you only care about status?”

Your mouth dropped open at his question, but he stared at you waiting for an answer. 

“No.”

“Well,” Izou chuckled. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hissed. You were regretting coming to him. 

“You seem much happier in the second division. You had nothing bad to say about it except for the status it put you at. If status is all you care about, then you should be the lead strategist.”

You frowned, trying to think of a rebuttal that didn’t give your feelings away. 

“It’s not just about status. There are other things at play.”

Izou raised an eyebrow at you. “You mean other people.”

“Have you always been this observant?” you grumbled, sulking at being read so easily. 

Izou only laughed and ruffled your hair. “Your secret is safe, kid. But you need to be honest with yourself in a decision like this.”

“We didn’t even sleep together.”

“I know,” Izou smiled. “I believe you.”

You were quiet for a long time, trying to work up the courage to ask Izou one last question.

“You’re observant with everyone on the ship, right?”

Izou sighed. “Just ask the question, kid.”

You stared out at the sea and took a deep breath. “Is he as bad as everyone says he is?”

“Ace?” Izou asked, and you nodded. He hummed, trying to think of the proper way to respond. “He used to be. But he’s calmed down in the past few months.”

You looked at Izou curiously. “What changed?”

Izou laughed. “You’ll have to find that out on your own. I’m not one for gossip. Only advice.”

Advice. Right. You had come here for advice on the strategist position. Ace was always distracting you, even when he wasn’t around. 

“The position. What would you do?”

Izou smirked. It was clear he had been waiting for you to ask that question. He pulled out a golden coin. 

“Heads, you move up to lead strategist. Tails, you stay at division strategist. You stick with whatever the coin tells you. Got it?”

“You’re going to let a coin decide?!” you yelled, but he already threw it up in the air. 

It fell into his hands, and he quickly flipped it onto his wrist, covering the result. Your gut twisted into a ball of nerves. 

Izou looked at you, but your eyes were fixated on his hand. “Show it,” you murmured. 

“Without thinking, answer one question for me.”

“Sure,” you said, still transfixed on what the result would be.

“What do you want it to be?”

“Division strategist,” you said softly. You hardly processed his question before you realized you already answered. 

Your eyes grew wide and you looked up at him in shock, but he was grinning back at you. He revealed the coin to show a shiny golden head. Lead Strategist. Your heart sank.

“You have your answer,” Izou said. “You should stay a division strategist.”

You gave him a confused look. That's not what the coin had chosen.

“The result of the coin doesn’t matter,” Izou explained. “What matters is the feeling you have when the coin is in the air. What matters is the side you hope for.”

He held out the coin for you, and you took it. You turned it over several times, but it was just an ordinary coin. You had seen thousand just like this, it wasn’t special.

“Keep it,” Izou said. “For when you need to make decisions.” He left you alone, Still staring at the coin. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, hearing his footseps recede. Could it really all be that easy? If you flipped the coin again, would you be disappointed with the same result?

You threw the coin in the air, and as it hung there, you still wished for the division strategist position. Even if it wasn’t the most logical choice, it was the one that would make you the happiest. That’s what you had to go off of now. 

Your stomach rumbled, and you realized you hadn’t eaten all day. With the meeting this morning, you had been too nervous to eat, and your mind had been so preoccupied since then, you almost missed lunch. There was only about 20 minutes left of lunch, so you went to the dining hall to find whatever scraps were left over. 

There wasn’t much, but you found enough to make a light meal. You prepared your plate, and found an empty table to sit at to eat your lunch. You had seen a few people you knew, but you weren’t up for chatting much at the moment, so you ate alone. 

After a few minutes, someone sat across from you. Blonde hair, and a tattoo across his chest. Marco. 

“You up for chatting?” he asked, looking up from his meal at you. He sounded tired.

“No,” you answered truthfully.

“Okay.”

That was all he said. The two of you ate together in silence, each in your own world while you mindlessly shoveled food into your mouth. 

It was moments like this when you appreciated Marco. He knew when you needed quiet, and you knew when he needed it. There was a comforting reassurance that you were both able to exist together in silence without there being any tension. 

You finished up your plate, and cleaned up your area. You were about to get up from the table when Marco finally spoke to you.  

“You okay?” Marco asked.

You nodded. “You?”

Marco sighed. “Long day.”

“Hard day in the clinic?” you asked. You hated small talk, but it was tolerable with Marco. 

Marco rolled his eyes. “Let's just say some guy cut off his hand.”

“His hand?!?” your voice carried through the dining hall, and a few people stopped to look at you. 

Marco shot you a look. “Try not to announce it to the whole ship next time.”

You giggled. “Sorry, sorry. Tell me more!”

“I don’t even know how he did it,” Marco groaned, covering his face. “Some accident in construction. I was able to reattach it, but it was exhausting.”

“Incredible,” you breathed out. 

“Miserable,” Marco replied. 

The door to the dining hall swung open, and you looked over to find Ace in the doorway. The coin in your pocket grew heavy. 

“I’m out,” you grumbled. 

You didn’t look back at Marco as you walked away from him. You were sure he was making some sort of face, but you weren’t interested in seeing it. 

You threw your dishes in the kitchen sink and headed out, trying your best to ignore Ace on your way. Now that you saw him, you realised you were still hurt by the way he had spoken to you this morning. 

“Y/N,” Ace called. He reached out for you, touching your arm just for a moment before he pulled away. “Can we talk?”

“No.” You kept walking. You had to get away from lingering eyes that were in the dining hall, especially Marco. 

He didn’t follow you. A part of you was a little disappointed, but you were mostly relieved. You didn’t want to talk, and you weren’t ready to forgive him yet. You had already made up your mind. He didn’t need to persuade you any further. And, though you would never admit it, the devious side of you wanted him to sweat a little bit longer. 

You walked into your father’s office, where he was having a meeting with many familiar members of the crew. You found Whitey in the crowd, and you smiled at her briefly before acknowledging your father. 

“Ah, Y/N,” Whitebeard’s voice boomed. “Back already?”

“I made a decision,” you said, walking over to stand beside him. 

“I see. Let’s go talk, then. Are you good here for a moment?”

A few of the members nodded, and you and your father went into his private office. 

“I’m going to stick with the second division for now,” you said as soon as the door was shut. 

Your father did his best to keep a neutral face, but you could see surprise flicker in his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting that answer. 

“I see,” he said, pondering what to say next. “May I ask what led to your decision?”

“Honestly,” you sighed. “I’m happier being in the second division. It’s less work, I like the people, and I still feel like I can provide assistance and feedback to other division strategists in my current position. I’d be happy to take on the strategist duties that Marco took when I left, but I would like to remain in the second division while doing them.”

Your father watched you carefully, and you did your best not to show your hand. You knew he was aware of something extra you were hiding, he just wasn’t sure enough to ask. 

“Let me talk to Marco and see if he’s willing to give up those duties, but I don’t see a problem in your proposition. Thank you for giving me such a swift answer.”

“Of course. If I may-”

Your father nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

You nodded to Whitey as you left, praying that she never discovered what you had just done. 

You ate dinner alone, and went to bed early. It had been a long and draining day, and you simply didn’t feel like being conscious any longer. 

The bad thing about a bunkhouse is whenever someone comes into the room, the door creaks and the lights flick on, and you were always stirred from the edge of sleep every time. 

After the third time, you huffed in frustration and rose from your bed. You needed a night time walk to reset your body and your brain. You opened the door to find your commander standing outside of it. 

His eyes widened when he saw you. “Great, I really look like a creep now, huh?”

“Ace.” Your mind blanked on any other words. You couldn’t think of what else to even say to him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice soft. “If that’s okay?”

“Sure.” You were trying hard to not let him know he had surprised you, but you could feel your ears starting to fry your hair. 

He led you out onto the deck and up to the crows nest, and you followed him quietly the entire way. It had been later than you expected; the moon was high in the sky and only a few people remained on deck. The night air whispered against your skin and caused goosebumps to rise. You thought about turning up your internal temperature, but the cool air made you feel more alive.

You got up the ladder, and you found several blankets and pillows strewn about the small area. It looked rather cozy, especially for such a chilly night. The area was so small, it was almost impossible for you to sit down without touching Ace in some way. You took a seat across from him and wrapped a blanket around yourself, enjoying its soft touch. 

“Sorry I had to bring you up here,” Ace said, handing you a bottle of sake and opening his own. “I had first watch tonight. I tried to make it as comfortable as I could.”

You nodded, but still couldn’t bring yourself to speak. You weren’t sure what to tell him. Should you yell at him for being so rude to you this morning, or ease his worries by telling him you were staying? You opened the bottle and took a swig, trying to think about what to do.  

“I want you to stay as the second division strategist,” Ace whispered. He was avoiding your eyes. He was dangerously close to touching you, but he made himself as small as he could so you could have your own space. You almost leaned into him, desperate for his warmth, but you refrained. 

“So do whatever you need to,” he continued to say. “Yell at me. Curse me. Ask me whatever you want, and I promise to answer truthfully. Please. Do whatever you need to ease your mind.”

You almost told him you had already made a decision. You opened your mouth to say it, but then you thought better. Now was your opportunity to get answers. 

“Why did you make me the division strategist?”

“I already-” Ace stopped himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “I spent a year hearing all of these great things about you. And a few intimidating things. You intrigued me, and the moment I met you I knew I had to have you. On my team, I mean. I saw how calculated and effortless your movements were, and I knew the stories weren’t just stories.”

You hummed, still not satisfied with his answer. “So why are you trying to hold me back from helping everyone? That's what I would be doing as a lead strategist, isn’t it?”

Ace was silent for a minute, and you could see him trying to curate the right answer. 

You glared at him. “Honesty, Ace.”

He sighed in defeat, realizing he had been caught. He took a long drink before answering. 

“Because I’m selfish. And a little jealous. And Whitebeard entrusted you to me, so I would feel a bit like a failure if you left before we even went on one mission. I know you’ve only been here for a week or two, but it still would look bad to have you instantly transfer out of my division.”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Since when do you care about the way others see you?”

He smiled, and you could see sadness plainly across his face. He didn’t even try to hide it. “I’ve always cared. I just try not to show it.”

Your heart gave a painful ache at his words. You could relate to him in that sense. You always had to act like people’s snide comments about you being the captain’s daughter didn’t bother you. You knew you had gotten to your status by your own merits, but other people never seemed to see it that way. It always hurt, but you had to pretend you didn’t notice the sharpness of their words. 

You almost asked him more, or let him know you understood his pain. But you chose to move on, taking another drink from your bottle. “Why’d you join the crew? How’d your path cross with pops?”

Ace groaned at your question. “Anything but that question.”

“Nope,” you said stubbornly. His distress at the question intrigued you. “You said you’d answer any question.”

“I know.” he put his head into his hands to cover his face. “Just don’t hate me, okay?”

“No promises.”

He peeked up at you with a worried expression, and you laughed at him. He gave an uneasy smile, still unsure if you were being serious or not. 

“I had my own pirate crew, and I was making a name for myself on the Grand Line. So…I tried to kill him. Pops.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise at his words, and then you let out a fit of laughter. “You’re joking!” you said, gasping for air. “What made you think you could kill him?”

“I thought I was hot shit!” Ace said, trying to defend himself. “I thought if I killed him then everyone would take me seriously. I tried several times. Even after he brought me and my crew onboard.”

You were still howling with laughter, amused with the fact Ace thought he could ever do such a thing. You could feel your skin warm and glowing, your magma bubbling beneath the surface with your emotions. 

“I know,” Ace said, taking a drink of alcohol. “It’s so embarrassing looking back on it! He told me to join him, to be his son, and I tried to cut his head off! I obviously didn’t get very far.”

“God, Ace.” You were finally starting to calm down, wiping tears from your eyes. “You really are stupid.”

Ace laughed nervously. “In hindsight, it was pretty dumb. But I thought I was invincible.”

You giggled again, looking up at the sky. It still wasn’t an ideal night to stargaze, but the moon was starting to wane, which meant the perfect night was coming soon. 

You thought of the first night you laid with Ace on the deck and watched the stars, and the night he carried you back to his room. You thought of your father’s proposition, and how you had turned it down. And you thought of Whitey. What would she think, seeing you here like this. You took another long drink of alcohol. It burned going down, but you needed the courage. 

“Whitey,” you whispered. At some point yours and Ace’s legs had made contact with each other, and you felt him stiffen at her name. “What happened with you all?”

“Y/N, please.” Ace’s voice was pained. “Please not that.”

You both stayed quiet for a few minutes, staring at the sky. You knew it had nothing to do with your appointment or your position, but this might be the only time you would get it out of him. Still, it was quite cruel of you to put him in such a position. You were at a crossroads of whether or not to forget the question, when Ace spoke. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard about my reputation on this ship,” Ace finally said, his voice barely a whisper. 

You nodded, still looking at the sky. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the freckled-face boy. You weren’t sure why. 

“Well it’s true. I slept around a lot. A few months ago, Whitey started giving me attention. And I gave it right back to her. The flirtation, the soft touches and little whispers, the looks when you think nobody is looking…it was fun for me. I enjoyed the chase more than the actual catch, if you know what I mean.”

You nodded again, though you didn’t really know what he meant. Your stomach churned with envy just hearing him talk about it. 

“She wanted something more. A real relationship. I just-I dunno. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want that. I became a pirate to be free and to do whatever I wanted. Whoever I wanted. I liked sleeping around with a bunch of people. All different cultures, backgrounds, shapes and sizes.”

“Ace. Get to the point,” you said sharply. You felt like you were going to be sick hearing him talk about all of this. 

“She wanted a relationship, I didn’t. We both thought we could change eachother. But it never happened. Eventually the game got boring with…no reward So I moved on.”

Ace took a deep breath, and you could tell he was trying to figure out how to word the next part of the story. 

“She was devastated. The whole thing really hurt her, that was obvious. Not to sound too cocky, but it turned out she wasn’t the only one who fell in love with me. I just never noticed the trail of broken hearts I was leaving. I guess I’m just too irresistible.” He gave a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “But it made me realize my actions were hurting people, so I took a step back and limited the flirting and sleeping around. I never meant to hurt anybody. I just wanted to have fun.”

You finally pulled your gaze from the sky and looked at him. He was staring at the ground, wearing a look of deep shame. 

“I know she’s one of your closest friends, so I don’t blame you for hating me now that you know. But that’s the truth, I swear. If you don’t want to work in the second division, I won’t blame you. Whitey left too after it all came out.”

You pressed your leg against his, trying to get him to look at you. But his eyes stayed glued to the ground. 

You nudged him again, ignoring the pit that was forming in your stomach. “I don’t hate you,” you said softly. “Thank you for being honest.”

“Yeah.” He sounded miserable. Like he didn’t believe your words at all. He was picking at his skin, trying to calm his nerves.

You knew you should let it go. You had caused him enough painful reflection tonight. But the question was burning as strong as alcohol in the back of your throat.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.  

“No." His answer was immediate. "It was what I needed at the moment. And Whitey was a wake up call. I’m glad it happened to me, even if it hurt other people in the process.” He snorted a laugh that held no humor behind it. “That’s kind of shitty to say out loud.”

“Maybe,” you agreed. “But I know what you mean.”

“Thanks.” He still refused to look at you. 

“Hey.” You nudged his leg again, but he didn’t respond. 

“Hey!” You bumped against his arm this time, leaning in closer to him in the process. “Will you look at me?”

He didn’t for a while, but his eyes finally moved up and landed on your face. 

You gave him a small smile, hoping he wouldn’t be mad with what you were about to say. “I told pops I was staying in the second division.”

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Staying?”

You took a drink. “I like it better than my old job.” You gave him another playful nudge. “Better people.”

“You’re joking,” he scoffed, but his eyes widened, and they looked much more hopeful than they had a moment ago.

“I turned him down right after lunch,” you admitted, a soft blush appearing across your cheeks. 

Ace’s mouth feel open in shock. “Lunch? But then-”

“Ace!?” A booming voice called from the bottom of the mast. “Is it safe to come up?”

“Shift change already?” Ace mumbled, looking up at the moon. “I’ll be damned. Rakuyo! You can come up!”

You heard the seventh division commander climbing the ladder, and your heart raced at the thought of him finding you here. What would he think? Would the rumors with Ace start up again because of you? You weren’t sure those rumors ever really died out, but you didn’t want to fuel the fire more. 

Rakuyo’s head popped up between you and Ace, and it was clear that he was startled to see you there. A sly smirk grew across his face. 

“Oh, darling.” His voice was full of mischief. “Ace, seriously? Up here?”

“We were just talking,” you rushed to say.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rakuyo said, waving you off as he stepped onto the crow’s nest lookout. “That’s what they all say.”

You looked at Ace, who’s eye twitched slightly, but he said nothing in his own defense. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled. You chugged the rest of your sake quickly, desperate to get out of the conversation. “I’m going to bed.” You lowered yourself into the hole and climbed down the ladder. 

“Can you throw my pillows down?” Ace asked his fellow commander, lowering himself down after you.

Rakuyo laughed. “You know the rule dude. Whatever stays up here, stays until morning.”

“Dude,” Ace whined. “Thats what I sleep with.”

“Should’ve taken the all-night shift then.”

Ace groaned. “Seriously?”

“Mmmm, so comfy. And alcohol!? Ace, you shouldn’t have!” Rakuyo jested, and Ace gave up on his endeavor of getting his sheets back. 

You and Ace walked back to the bunkhouses quietly. The walk back gave you a lot of contemplation, and a lot of time to work up your courage. He only spoke again when you were at your door. 

“So you’re really staying?” Ace asked as your hand was on the doorknob. 

“Wait here,” you whispered, and you opened the door just enough to slip inside. 

You snuck into your room quietly and grabbed your comforter and pillows from your bed. You hesitated for a moment, and then reached into your bedside table and shuffled around, looking for the bottle of wine you had stashed in there. You finally found the glass bottle, and slipped out the door with the comforter, pillows, and wine. 

You handed off the wine and pillows to Ace, and got a better grip on the comforter before you looked up at him. 

“What are you doing?” Ace asked, looking at the things you had handed off to him. 

“You don’t have bedsheets,” you said simply, your cheeks warm. “So we’re using mine.”

“I can’t take your bedsheets,” Ace said, looking around dumbfoundedly. 

“Relax,” you hummed, starting to walk towards the commander's chambers. “I’ll sleep with Whitey. It’s not a big deal. But we’ll finish that wine first. I have more questions to ask you.”

Ace groaned, but followed you through the halls. “I thought we were done with honesty hour.”

“No way! I have so much more to learn about you, Portgas D. Ace,” you giggled his name. It felt so sweet on your lips. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

“I get to ask questions too, then,” Ace argued. 

You chuckled. “Maybe. We’ll see how generous I’m feeling.”

Ace scowled at your response. You stuck your tongue out at him, which made his mood lighten a bit.

"You're really staying?" Ace asked again, eager for you to finally answer him.

"Yes, Ace!" you said, smiling at him. He seemed to carry himself higher after you answered his question, and the tense air between you two finally cleared.

You danced down the hallway with a newly found lightness, your comforter still in your hands. You felt comfortably warm, and just a little tipsy, though you weren’t sure if that feeling was coming from the alcohol or from Ace being so close to you. The only thing you truly knew was that you were throwing caution to the wind, and hoping that you weren’t as stupid as your best friend.

After a short walk, you reached his room and quietly slipped inside. As he dropped the pillows onto the mattress, you found a place to sit on his bed and wrapped your comforter around you. Ace sat down across from you, opening the bottle of wine and taking a long drink before handing it to you. 

“So,” he started, wiping the wine from his upper lip. “What else do you want to know?”

You weren’t really sure what else to ask him, so you looked around his room for inspiration. The half-made hats were still strewn around, but you already knew the answer to that mystery. 

“The shells,” you said, looking around. “Why do you have so many?”

“They’re from every island we visit,” Ace said, watching you look around the room. “I make sure to grab one every place we see.”

“Why?”

Ace shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Something that nobody else can get. It’s mine and it’s free. Every island has shells.”

“Even winter islands?” you questioned. 

“I’ll settle for stones too.” He pointed at a pile of rocks on his shelf.

They all looked like normal rocks. Just smooth stones that had been worn down by the current of the ocean. He could’ve gotten them from anywhere. Even the shells were mostly common ones you could find on any beach. Someone could easily swap them or steal one and he’d never be the wiser. But they were obviously important to him. 

“I’m going to show them to my little brother when I see him again,” Ace explained. He was staring at the shells, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. “I’m going to tell him all the stories that come with those shells over a nice bottle of sake.”

You liked this side of Ace. He was kind and gentle and sincere. He had a little brother and he loved shells and he wanted an adventure worth telling. 

You picked up a shell on his bedside table. “What’s the story with this one?”

He looked over and saw the small conch shell in your hand. He smiled fondly, and you felt yourself relaxing.

“Narrow Arrow Island,” he said. His hand reached for the shell, and he turned it over in his hands. 

“Me and Thatch had this big mission, but we totally misread the map to find the town we were going to. We ended up walking 5 miles in the wrong direction. We only found out we were going the wrong way because some bandits tried to rob us and ended up telling us!”

You giggled at his story. “How do you mess up five miles in the wrong direction?”

“The island was narrow as an arrow! It wasn’t named that for no reason!” he said defensively. “And we had the map upside down!”

“You’re lying!” you squealed out, nudging him playfully. 

“I swear.” Ace crossed his heart with his index finger, which only made you laugh harder. Ace couldn’t help but join you in laughing at the outlandish story. Even if he knew it was true, he understood your skepticism.

“Okay, okay,” you said, finally calming down. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Ace asked, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“Ask me anything,” you said, puffing your chest out and taking a long swig of wine. “I can take it.”

Ace thought for a moment, running through his options. He had so many questions, but one had bothered him for a while. 

“Why’d you leave?”

“Pops told me I could have the second commander position if I was stronger,” you said smoothly. It was an answer you gave so frequently, you almost believed it yourself. 

But Ace squinted at you in suspicion. “There’s more though, isn’t there? I imagine you could’ve gotten stronger on the ship if that was the only reason.”

He was good at reading people, you had to admit. Or at least good at reading you. You sighed, taking another drink. You’d need it for this answer. But you owed Ace honesty and vulnerability, since that’s what he had given you all night. 

“My entire life I was always Whitebeard’s Daughter. Everyone looked at me like I didn’t earn my place; like I only got there because of who my father is. Ever since I could remember, wherever I go, his name follows me. Which is fine, most of the time. I love my dad, and I know he loves me. But those looks from others…the hatred, the envy, sometimes a mix of both. I just got sick of it. I needed to know who I could be without him towering over me.”

After you finished, you glanced nervously at Ace to see his reaction. His face surprised you; his mouth was agape in shock, and his eyes seemed to glisten with understanding. He cut his eyes away from you after a moment, deep in thought. 

“I know what you mean,” he mumbled. 

You laughed at his statement. “You know what I mean? And how’s that?”

He glanced over at you nervously, opening his mouth again to say something. He seemed to change his mind though, and reached for the bottle in your hands instead. 

You handed it over him, contemplating on if you should push the question or not. You got the sense that Ace truly did know what you were feeling, but if you tried to open that door, it wouldn’t budge.

“Tell me about your brother,” you offered instead. 

Ace’s eyes lit up. His entire body jumped to attention at your question. He looked like a little kid in the candy store, thrilled to have an opportunity to talk about something he truly loved. 

“Luffy,” he said. “That’s his name. He should be setting out to sea any time now, actually. We made a pact when we were seventeen we’d become pirates. His seventeenth birthday is in a few months, so I’m sure I’ll see him soon. You’ll have to meet him! He’s like nobody else you’ve ever met before, I swear.”

He went on and on, telling you about Luffy’s straw hat and their adventures in the jungle together. They were raised by mountain bandits, which was surprising to you since Ace had such proper manners. He talked about his brother until you both finished the bottle of wine, and you found yourself smiling along at every story. 

“I look forward to meeting him one day,” you said, a sleepy smile on your face. 

“Oh crap,” Ace groaned. “I talked way too much about him, huh?”

“No! I really enjoyed it all, truthfully.” you sighed, rising to your feet. “But I think I do need to go to bed now. It’s pretty late.”

“You can stay, if you want,” Ace offered. His already rosy cheeks turned into a deep shade of red.

You wanted to stay. You really did. It would be so easy to slip back into bed and cuddle up against him. You wanted nothing more than to fall asleep against his warm, bare chest. 

But you couldn’t. He was your commanding officer, and while one night in his bed could be explained away as a fluke, two nights would become a slippery slope. Plus, your absence in the bunkhouse wouldn’t go unnoticed. Whitey was painfully aware of your movements, and the last thing you needed was to hurt her even more. 

“Not tonight,” you said, attempting to give him a smile. “Whitey’s waiting for me.”

He flinched slightly at the name, and you felt a tinge of remorse bringing her up. 

You started walking towards the door, trying to think of something else to say. 

You turned, smiling at him. “Let’s do it again soon though, okay?”

He perked up at that, nodded in agreement. “I’d like that.”

You opened the door and slipped out in the hallway. “Goodnight, Ace,” you whispered. 

“Night.”

You silently shut his door and headed back to your own bunkhouse, unaware of the eyes that were watching you go. 

tags! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog (if you'd like to be included in the tag list, just comment or send me a message!)

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #✧˚ace✧˚ #cozage

[chaifootsteps]

You know what's the sad thing about Lucifer? The casting choice could have been actually kind of perfect from a character-role-evolution standpoint... if Lucifer was actually portrayed as prideful. You know, the embodiment of the Deadly Sin he's the ruler of and supposed to embody in this universe?

Jeremy Jordan, Lucifer's voice actor, was Light Yagami in the Death Note musical concept album. Light Yagami is a character who's incredibly prideful, with a strong but slewed sense of justice and a desire to become "the god of the new world" by ridding the world of criminals. He's conniving, manipulative, severely lacking empathy, and sees his rivalry with the detective L as a game he has to win.

Imagine how fitting that casting could have felt if we got an actually prideful Lucifer. You'd have all of Light's ambitions except in this case the guy would actually get it. He's the King of Hell, for crying out loud! Heck, Jeremy even sounds older as Light than he does as Lucifer, and Light is supposed to be 17.

And for those who are thinking "wait, Death Note has a musical?" it does and the songs are amazing. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLm_hcPaCSyIau7IZGAFvc0z1nT1pn8w4U

The sogns are done by the same guy who did Jekyll and Hyde too. which I'll also share here because it too has an incredible soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjXQ_rLk0ogaVqkK_mrtp1VYs51qk0oUN

See Viv? Frank Wildhorn knows how to write songs and stories about moral nuance.

-Afterlife Anon

Afterlife Anon...when I first heard Lucifer's voice, I didn't think it was possible to be more disappointed than I was. You've proven me wrong. Viv really is a master at squandered potential.

On the plus side, I know this exists now, so gonna tear through the rest of this playlist and then maybe go slime tutorial hunting.

#Anonymous #afterlife anon #Hazbin Hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

[matcha-dango]

Corruption Kink

Diluc x F!Reader ; Childe x F!Reader [nsfw]

CW : corruption kink / virginity 'kink' / smut / dom characters & sub reader / semi public / size kink

Word Count : 996

Diluc

Diluc didn’t have dozens of partners, but a handful at most. He’s quite experienced and it made you feel a little bit overwhelmed, because he wasn’t the type to pick just a pretty face or nice body for one night. You felt like you weren’t enough, lacking – but that’s exactly what he liked in you.

Diluc would be very pleased to teach you everything you don’t know well or not at all. He’d make you sit on his lap, your back leaning on his wide chest and your legs over his knees, making sure you won’t be able to close your legs before he allows you to.

While he would allow you to tightly hold onto his arm, he will smack away your hands if you try to stop him from feeling your already damp panties. He does like the shyness; it enhances the feeling of defilement. But he prefers when you do it as he says, he knows better after all. Once he made you cum with his fingers, you’re ready for more. And this is where the real fun begins.

You’re no more on his lap, but laying on the large bed of his bedroom. Before going any further though, he would scrutinize your embarrassed self, with one hand covering your face and the other on you stomach, fist clenched in anticipation. After all, Diluc remained stoic – all you could notice was the pleased look in his eyes.

Diluc would treat your first time as something very special, as he’s the one and only to see you in a blissful state, to hear your whimpers and moans. The one to see, but also the one to provoke such beautiful reactions from you. Your following nights will be just as special though, as he’ll make a good student out of you. You’d need to only follow his instructions and everything will be alright.

Every time he makes you visit him at the tavern, he’ll have you wear a pretty and modest-looking dress. He’ll take you to the storage room and watch you lift the hem of the skirt, showing him what you’re wearing just for him. What he prefers though, is the aftermath. You still recovering from the pleasure and struggling to recompose yourself, so people drinking in the very next room wouldn’t suspect anything, while he’s already regained his usual neutral expression. He likes seeing you like that, especially since he knows how much you enjoyed doing it in a semi-public place, something you’ve never dreamed of doing before. 

Childe

Childe, on the other hand, has had his share of ‘night fun’. Even though most of it wasn’t serious, you pricked a different kind of interest. You weren’t one to indulge in carnal pleasures and Childe took it as a challenge.

He is totally the type to gradually rile you up but not do anything further than making out and a few touches here and there. One day he may caress your inner thigh, another day he will barely go past your waistline. All of that to keep you on your toes and he knows it’s working. You become more and more desperate for his touch, even to the point of grabbing his hand and partially guiding it lower, but not exactly there. However, Childe will not do anything if you refuse to say it clear and loud.

He will make you beg for anything you want him to do to you and will take immense pride and pleasure, knowing that you got that desperate because of him. If you struggle though, he’ll simply make it worse by whispering his “guesses” on what you want but will make them 10x dirtier than what you actually couldn’t properly say. He’ll laugh at you shaking your head, in an attempt to deny, but he knows that sooner or later you will beg him to do all of what he previously listed. After all, making you needy enough to cast away your pride and combat your coyness is what he meant to do from the moment he saw you.

Once you get to the point of finally getting the resolution you oh so needed, he’ll be nice enough to prepare you for his member. He’ll make you feel good all over your body. But right when you expect a feeling of intrusion, there is nothing. You wait a few seconds before shyly opening your eyes and that’s when you meet his mocking gaze. Did you actually expect him to fuck you without having you imploring him to do so ? How naïve and cute of you. You’ll have to say word by word exactly what you want him to do then or he’ll leave you there and take care of his needs on his own. You could honestly fight him on the spot but you know he’d like that too, so you end up complying, much to his pleasure. He just loves it when dirty things come out of your mouth, whether you’re feeling confident or embarrassed.

After you tasted the feeling of him inside of you, be it his member or fingers, you would get horny just at the thought of that. Unfortunately, your own digits aren’t as long as his and can’t reach that special spot he easily can. No matter how many times, how many ways you try to do it yourself, it simply doesn’t feel nearly as good and even makes you feel even needier. When you timidly manage to ask him for ‘help’, he won’t hesitate a second before pushing you against the nearest surface, whether it’s a table, couch or counter. He’ll of course tease you about the state you’re in and how wet you are, in the course of slowly fingering you. You’ll have to plead him for a faster pace if that’s what you want though, he isn’t that mean – yet. 

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin tartaglia #genshin diluc #tartaglia x reader #diluc x reader #tartaglia x you #diluc x you #tartaglia smut #diluc smut #genshin smut #genshin hcs #genshin x reader smut #md.writes

[cosmic--dandelion]

Hot take: Blitzø's "arrangement" with Stolas isn't abuse. It's sex work.

From the beginning, Blitzø and Stolas's relationship has been mutually consential.

Blitzø is not going to starve to death in the streets if he doesn't fuck Stolas. He's a highly accomplished assassin/bodyguard/fighter-for-hire on par with people like Striker. (How else do you think he started dating a global superstar celebrity like Verosika? He was probably her bodyguard.) Hell, Stolas himself was perfectly willing to pay him regular money to be a bodyguard in "Loo Loo Land." Blitzø almost turned the job down because he wouldn't get to kill people.

Whatever his motivations are for starting his own business, it's not mere survival. It's probably a matter of personal pride since he always wanted to be his own boss and have his own circus, but he was an absolute failure as an enrertainer.

Blitzø is the one who built his entire business model off of having continued access to an infinitely powerful, one-of-a-kind magical artifact that belonged to a demon prince. Blitzø doesn't have any sort of right to the Grimoir; it was given to Stolas so he could serve the machinations of the upper echelons of Hell by interpreting the prophecies in the stars. So no, Stolas is under no obligation to just give it to him.

As seen in "Unhappy Campers", if Blitzø really, desperately wanted to travel to Earth, he could just steal an Asmodean crystal from a sucubus. He stays in this arrangement with Stolas because it's convenient for him. We're not shown how Blitzø actually feels about sleeping with Stolas, but he seems to be pretty neutral on the act itself.

This is Blitzø after sex that he hated. Dude looks borderline traumatized.

Blitzø looks, at worst, mildly annoyed when they're in bed together, and that's largely because Stolas wants the book back so he can perform a ceremony at the Harvest Moon Festival. Blitzø, in his own words, has a long list of clients waiting for heads to roll.

Blitzø straight up volunteered to fuck Stolas's brains out just to thank him for saving him and the rest of I.M.P. The first night they had sex, he spent the whole night with Stolas when he didn't have to. Stolas even offered to skip the whole kinky sex thing multiple times and literally just hand the book over, and Blitzø was relatively indifferent.

Blitzø can and has said no to Stolas when he isn't in the right headspace or just plain doesn't want to, and Stolas accepts it. He never gets angry or entitled toward Blitzø.

It's also worth pointing out as early as "Ozzies", Stolas was researching Asmodean crystal. He knows the transactional nature of their relationship is preventing them from forming any kind of meaningful connection, and it massively hurts the fiercely independent Blitzø's pride that he's basically Stolas's sugar baby.

So Stolitz is an absolute train wreck right now. It's been made very obvious that things can't continue as they are and lead to any sort of genuine, fulfilling relationship like what Asmodeus and Fizzarolli have. Their "arrangement" is unhealthy, sleazy, and exploitive on both sides: Stolas is using Blitzø as an outlet for all his pent up sexual frustration after being trapped in a loveless, sexless marriage with an emotionally abusive partner for almost two decades, and Blitzø is willing to seduce, manipulate, and lie to Stolas to get what he wants.

Look, I like Blitzø, but he is *not* a good person, or a good partner. Remember when Blitzø tricked Stolas into thinking they were on a date just so he could ignore him and spy on the M&M's? Or how he *aggressively* came onto a possibly drunk Stolas, shoving him onto the bed and straddling him when he clearly not ready for what was about to happen and was even protesting a little, all so Blitzø could steal from him. And this is totally in character for Blitzø. Look how he treated Verosika!

Ultimately, they're both very damaged, fucked up people who've done shitty things and hurt themselves and each other. I think they can cobble together some semblance of a functioning relationship when they actually start communicating with each other and admitting what they want.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #stolitz #meta #long post

[halfagone]

Danny is actually super OP. Like, canonically. If you go to the wiki page for his character, there's a list of his powers and abilities, fairly standard stuff they do for every character who has it. (They give you canon instances as well, which I definitely appreciate.)

But it's not the sheer number of powers that really gets me. It's realizing how many other superheroes there are that have just a couple of these powers and are super OP with just those.

Example, powers that Danny has vs. other heroes:

Standard Super Strength/Super-Healing/Super Speed/Super etc. - So many I won't even name them all

Intangibility

Kitty Pride (Marvel)

Martian Manhunter (I have heard that Martians' power is more like density shifting, but you get the idea) (DC)

Invisibility

Martian Manhunter (again, I've heard it's more like camouflage but you get the idea) (DC)

Invisible Woman (Marvel)

Flight - So many I won't name them all

Energy Constructs

Green Lanterns (DC)

Bunker (DC)

Agatha Harkness (Marvel)

Power/Energy Absorption

Blue Beetle (DC)

Scarlet Witch (Marvel)

Captain Marvel (Marvel)

Jean Grey (Marvel)

Electrokinesis

Thor (Marvel)

The Flash (DC)

Storm (Marvel)

Captain Marvel (DC)

Black Lightning (DC)

Static (DC)

Pyrokinesis

Human Torch (Marvel)

Ghost Rider (Marvel)

Phoenix/Jean Grey (Marvel)

Cryokinesis

Killer Frost (DC)

Icicle (DC)

(Technically Dr. Freeze and Captain Cold could be considered too, but we'll tentatively leave that here for now)

Sonic Attack

Banshee (Marvel)

Black Canary (DC)

Telekinesis

Martian Manhunter (DC)

Dr. Fate (DC)

Emma Frost (Marvel)

Raven (DC)

Scarlet Witch (Marvel)

Jean Grey (Marvel)

Danny has even more powers that I haven't listed, as well as corresponding heroes/villains with said powers. Obviously some characters have more than one of these, but Danny still has all of them. And do you know an OP character that has all these powers too? Dr. Manhattan, from DC's Watchmen.

Our boy really is a baby god in the making.

#danny phantom #op danny fenton

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.4k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn Chapter Summary: There's a certain kind of pain in reading or watching something from the perspective of a character who doesn't know about the tragedy ahead of them. It's like watching a scary movie and going, "No, don't go to sleep! He's behind the door!" Like in The Song of Achilles, we all know how the original story ends. We know how the actual prophecy plays out. We know that the moment Patroclus's heart stops, Hector and Achilles fates are set in stone. You wince whenever Achilles says he has no reason to kill Hector because "What has Hector done to me?" You want to tell him that Hector will do the unforgivable to him. You want to tell Patroclus not to go on the field. Tell Achilles to get his damned head out of his ass as he disguises Patroclus as himself because he is at risk of losing something far more important than his pride. You hold your breath as Patroclus is speared in the back and as Achilles realizes the consequences of his actions. You knew it was coming, and yet, you still read the story because a part of you hoped. You hoped for the hopeless. All this to say that knowing and still having hope regardless is crueler than complete ignorance. A/N: I imagined your stylist as Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland.

Past (xiii) - You [22 & 23] - THE CAPITOL

If you were from any other district, maybe it would have surprised you how attached Rue is to you. But the sense of community in Eleven breeds this need for kinship. You’re social creatures; you’re not meant to be on your own. Certainly not in a place like the Capitol. It’s how you end up hugging your knees to your chest, an unnamed ocean projected on your wall as you try to get lost in the tides the night before the tributes will be marched into the arena.

No one talks about this part, or maybe they just don’t want to think about it. The part where being forced back into the room you slept in during your own Games eats at you—that anxiety that courses through your veins and leaves your body thrumming. Because no matter what you tell yourself, your body isn’t entirely convinced that you won’t be the one entering the arena tomorrow. You close your eyes and suddenly you’re fifteen again, gripping the sheets so hard you could tear holes in them as you fight the vomit threatening to ride the wave of acid reflux.

Sleeping beside Finnick helped. He reminded you that you weren’t fifteen and alone and wishing you’d die in your sleep so you wouldn’t be slaughtered live. And now? Well, at least there’ll always be the ocean.

There’s a knock on your door, so tentative that you would have missed it if you weren’t already so keyed up.

You pause the projection of the ocean, assuming the sound woke someone up. You get up and go to open it, only to see Rue. Suddenly you’re shamefaced and embarrassed, like you’ve been caught doing something pathetic, even though it’s doubtful she even knows what the sound was, let alone the significance of you listening to it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Was I being too loud?”

“No.” She shakes her head, shifting from foot to foot. “Um, I couldn’t sleep. And I just—I saw that your light was on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either?”

That may be true, but you don’t think it’s the only reason. Rue is the oldest of six and they all live in Shacktown. With all those people in one house, you’re sure Rue’s never slept alone a day in her life. It makes you wonder how she managed these past few days.

You’re an only child; your dad was killed before your parents could have any more, so you can’t say for certain that you understand what she feels. Yet, you reminisce on the fact that you’ve never really gone through a year of mentoring without Finnick being within arm’s reach.

She stares up at you with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes, and you twist your mouth to the side.

“C’mon.” You move so you aren’t blocking the entrance anymore and you nod your head towards your room. “How ‘bout you sleep in here with me tonight? You don’t have to, of course, but we might as well stay up together.”

You know you’ve made the right choice when she grins big, rushes in, and takes a running start to jump on your bed. You shake your head fondly as she scurries to get under the blanket, lying down with them pulled under her arms and getting comfortable like she belongs there. The door slides shut behind you and you twist the dimmer until the only light comes from the projector. You settle into your bed beside Rue and you can’t help but snort at how she keeps smiling at you.

“So…What were you watching?”

“Uh.” You pick the remote up to unmute the device and the sound of crashing ocean waves fills any remaining silence. “The ocean.”

She looks over, seemingly transfixed by the drag and pull of the water. The nearest ocean to Eleven is the one that rests just outside of the towering fence and only serves as a deterrent for escaping. This very well may be her first time seeing one outside of a textbook. “Why?”

“Well, I,” you let out a weighted breath, "I thought it would make me feel better. Help me sleep.”

“Oh.” Says Rue and then she looks at you. “Why?”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Um. I guess the ocean reminds me of my friend and—I don’t know. It’s just easier to sleep with him around."

“Is he your crush?” Crush? Such an innocent question feels surprisingly weighted considering your current relationship with Finnick. Or lack thereof. Is it a crush now that it’s unrequited?

“I love him.” You tell the wall and it’s the sad truth. You still do. You wouldn’t be so hung up if you didn’t.

"Whoa. You like like him.” Like like. It’s been years since you heard that. It brings to mind how young she is. It’s not as if you needed another reminder. “It’s okay, I won’t tell. I like someone too.”

“Oh? And what’s his name?” You smile. You both flip over to face each other. You picture little you and little Sage, shyly holding hands during downtime, and find yourself hoping this boy liked Rue back.

“You can’t tell anyone.” She narrows her eyes and makes you swear, which you do with a pinky promise. “Coriander.” Her voice goes all quiet and timid as she hides her face and you wonder if you’ve ever seen anything cuter.

“Ah, I think I might know him.” She looks at you with wide eyes as you tease her, peering out from between her fingers.

“Nuh-uh, no way.” She denies it as you tap a finger on your chin and pretend to think about it.

“No, no. I think I do. He’s got pink hair, no teeth, and walks with a waddle, right?”

“No!” She giggles and you can’t help but giggle along with her. You take a moment.

“Finnick. The boy I like.” You provide when she looks confused. “His name is Finnick.”

“Oh! Oh! Is he that boy from Four? The victor?” It’s hardly shocking that she recognizes him. He’s one of ‘the greats’. You nod and she gasps like that’s the juiciest piece of gossip she’s ever heard.

“He’s pretty.” She whispers.

“He is.” You laugh.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you say without thought or contempt. Finnick’s indeed been nothing but kind to you since you’ve met him, current behavior not included. You find that even when you’re mad at him, you can’t actually disparage him. And you don’t want to lie to Rue. “He made me this." You lift your wrist and show her your bracelet. You’ve been wearing it around your ankle while you’re out in public, but when you’re on your own, it goes back to its rightful place.

“Cori made something for me too.”

She pulls her necklace up for you to see. It’s woven grass attached to a wooden charm shaped like a flower—you squint—or maybe a star? Definitely the handiwork of a child. Adorable. It reminds you of Cane.

“Your token?”

“Yep. He gave it to me when everyone came to see me off after I was reaped. He ran all the way home and back to give it to me. He almost didn’t get back in time, but I waited for him. I knew he’d come, and that’s why it’s good luck.”

“Makes sense.” You nod and she nods with you, like she’s happy that you get her logic. “He must like you a lot to go through all that.”

“Yeah. He’s sweet.” She smiles, fidgeting with the charm.

“I bet he is.” You push some of her curls out of her face. Just two doomed girls talking about their equally doomed crushes.

It’s silent for a moment; ocean noises make your eyes feel heavier with the pull of each tide. You watch as the shadows cast from the projector paint the ceiling in a series of swirling blues. You think you can see Finnick’s favorite color hidden amongst the other shades.

“Were you scared? When you went into the arena?” Rue asks and you still can’t find it in yourself to lie to her.

“Terrified.”

“Really? You’re so brave though?” She sounds so genuinely confused that you have to hold back your laughter. You don’t want her to think you're making fun of her. You appreciate the vote of confidence. It’s more than you have in yourself.

“I think…being brave means doing something even if you are terrified.” You look away from the ceiling to make eye contact. “It’s okay to be scared, Rue. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She mumbles like she doesn’t actually believe it.

“I think you’re incredibly brave.” You know she regularly went foraging for food for her siblings, and she took on more hours than what was required of her. Who knows how many times she’s entered her name for Tesserae?

And she’s still so young.

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely.” You laugh at her skepticism. You’ve laughed more with Rue in the short time you’ve had with her than in the last two years combined. Sadly, there hasn’t been much of a reason for you to. Realizing that this is the last night you two will laugh together is devastating. “I was fifteen and I felt like I was on the edge of breaking down the entire time. How are you so calm?” She’s only twelve years old—not even a teenager. If you were in her shoes, you’d have dehydrated yourself from how much you were crying.

“I am scared, but…" She drags out the ‘uh’, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t feel real.”

“Hmm. I get that.” You don’t tell her that it won’t start feeling real until she either wins or dies. It’ll only make her feel worse. She closes her eyes and you two are quiet for a time—so long that you think she’s fallen asleep.

Her voice is small when she asks, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Of course.” You hold your right one out for her to take, and her little fingers lace with yours. Her palms are callused too. Not as much as yours. No, she’ll never have enough time to catch up to yours.

Rue moves closer to you and you wrap your left arm around her. You feel her say your name more than you hear it and you hum in response. “Thank you.”

You pull her closer to your chest, your linked hands resting between you. “Of course, sweetheart.” You say this into the crown of her head, wishing that you could have done more for her and Thresh—wishing you weren’t so helpless.

But you can do this. You can give her this last comfort, this last embrace from home. You hold her tight as you both fall asleep and you only let her go when they come to take her away in the morning.

You do not cry.

-

You miss him, you decide one day. You thought you hated him after you got through your self-pity, but the words "hate" and "Finnick" are too oxymoronic to ever stay together for long. You were so angry at yourself, angry at the world, but you sat with that anger long enough to know what it truly was. Grief. You miss him the way you'd miss a limb. You're so used to having it that you only remember it's gone when you notice the space it used to occupy and feel the phantom aches of what it used to be—what you used to have and took for granted.

Chaff has described in detail the pain of losing his hand. But, he said, nothing hurts worse than remembering it’s not there.

You've never taken Morphling and you don't know anyone personally who's gotten hooked on it, but you imagine this is what withdrawal feels like. You haven't seen him since before he sent that letter, and it feels like he's actively avoiding you. You said years ago, after Annie's Games, that you could handle just being his friend if he decided he didn’t want you anymore. But he never gave you the chance.

That’s alright. It’s perfectly fine. You know when you’re not wanted around, you can take a hint.

Maybe it's for the best. There’s no telling what you would do if you ran into him again. Something pathetic, probably, like begging him to take you back. There's a specific moment when you really feel your loss. A few days into the 74th Hunger Games. Chaff is finalizing the transaction with the money Eleven gathered to send bread for Rue and Thresh, so you’re on your own. 

“Your girl is something else.” You tell Haymitch from where you stand beside him, arms crossed, as you split your attention between him and the Games.

He cocks his head slightly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, then returns to watching Katniss and Rue rehearse their strategy. “I can say the same to you.” You hadn’t expected Rue to team up with anyone, but you can’t say you are surprised that it’s Katniss. The girl did volunteer for her little sister, after all. Primrose, was it? But you’re concerned that your little speech about being brave by doing things that terrify you may have swayed her to come out of hiding and help Katniss.

You can’t take full credit, though. Rue—well, she’s far too kind for her own good.

You look him over, a glass of something alcoholic in one hand while the other remains buried in his pocket. Honestly, you’ve never seen him this invested in the Games before, but you could hazard a guess why. You weren’t just blowing smoke up his ass about Katniss. She’s honestly got a pretty good shot of winning, if not making it to the top five. She’s already a fan favorite, along with Rue, Peeta, Glimmer, and Cato. She’s exceeded your expectations, along with Haymitch’s. No wonder he’s been networking his ass off. If she’s actually got a chance at surviving this, he owes it to her to try.

That’s when it happens.

Rue’s screams echo in your ears as Katniss races through the forest. Something has gone wrong—she's been captured or the Careers are using her as bait, or—you wipe your sweaty hands on your dress and then recross them, wanting more than anything to bite at the skin around your nails. You hold your breath, hoping beyond hope that she’s saved from whatever fate has befallen her.

She’s by herself in the clearing. Caught in a net, but not hurt. Katniss manages to get Rue out and your muscles begin to untense, but the relief is incredibly short-lived. 

Marvel, that cocky little boy from two, throws his spear with deadly precision, lance soaring past Katniss to pierce Rue in the abdomen.

Your hands are numb as they cover your mouth, but then you remember where you are and drop them just as quickly. She pulls the spear from her chest and you want to yell at her not to, that taking it out will only make her bleed quicker. Like it even matters at all when she’ll bleed out regardless. You think you need to sit down.

Katniss catches her before she falls. You’re lightheaded.

Katniss sings to her after she whispers something that the mics can’t pick up and it feels like your heart is being wrung dry. You think of Rue’s mother. You think of her six siblings, who all look up to her. You think of Coriander. You think of how small she felt in your arms and how tightly she held your hand. You think of a lot of things in the time it takes for her heart to stop beating.

The cannon fires and all eyes go to you. Ranging from curious to pitying. Some are even tearful. She was a fan favorite, after all. Mentors and Capitols alike split their attention between you and the screens to catch your reaction, but your face is deceptively blank. You stare ahead silently, your eyes unseeing as they remain on the screen.

You will not give them the pleasure of seeing you break down. Katniss will leave and Rue’s body will be airlifted out and that will be the end of it.

This is nothing new for you. You’ve gone through this twelve other times. Why would she be any different? She isn't. You tell that to your shaky hands and they only tremble further. You tell your heavy lungs and they only get heavier. You try telling your chilly skin, but all it does is make you feel colder. Why is she different?

You want to close your eyes as Katniss grieves. To be able to save one little girl but not another, it must weigh heavy.

“I’m so sorry." Someone comes to stand beside you, some Capitol elite. “One less chance for your district to win.” You look at him from the corner of your eye and Haymitch scoffs on your other side. For one stupid moment, you thought he was offering his condolences.

“Right. Well. There’s still Thresh.” He nods along to your words, thoughtful, like you’re talking about the likelihood of a horse winning a race.

“Yes, he’s the big one, right? I have money riding on him or Cato winning.” Of course, he remembers his name and not Thresh’s. You close your eyes before they can roll out of your head. “I’d like to send him something to eat as a sponsor. I worry—what is she doing?” You open your eyes to see what tribute has captured his attention, only to see Katniss again. But she’s still with Rue, kneeling next to her body with an armful of flowers—

“She’s giving her a funeral.” You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Rue rests on a bed of flowers—white daisies and lavender. She tucks a bouquet of daisies in her little hands and you wonder if Katniss knows the significance that being surrounded by flowers has for your people. Or maybe that’s something your two districts have in common. All that’s missing is fruit and it would be a proper Eleven funeral.

A funeral for a little girl. Your heart grows heavy with that realization and your mouth curls into a scowl.

You shouldn’t think about how she clung to you before she was sent into the arena. You shouldn’t think of Coriander’s childish hope dying with her. You shouldn’t think about her family watching this. You shouldn’t think of how her mother woke up this morning with six children and will go to sleep with only five. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t—

“Oh, how sweet.” The man coos.

“Yes.” Katniss faces the camera, kisses her three middle fingers, and salutes the cameras—salutes District Eleven. You don’t think of Coriander sprinting to the train clutching a grass-woven necklace with a good-luck charm that wasn’t very lucky. “Very sweet."

On instinct, you reach to the left for Finnick, but there's no hand to hold other than your own.

You need Finnick, and he isn’t here and for the first time since you've become a mentor, you have to brave the games by yourself and shoulder your grief alone. 

“Kid…” A flinch rolls through you at the unexpected voice, and you look to your left at Haymitch’s face as he goes through a range of emotions before settling on sympathy. No. Empathy. For a moment, you forgot he was beside you. But he hasn’t forgotten you. 

He does something that surprises you again. He places a big hand on the nape of your neck, warm and callused, and squeezes. You exhale sharply, your face twisting minutely, and it’s the closest thing to crying that you’ll allow yourself to do. He pulls you into his side, and it’s a battle not to burrow into him—a battle you lose. Your image will allow you to do this much. Allow you to be comforted while many of the other Capitols in the room do the same thing because it’s all very sad. You wrap your arms around his waist from where you’re held tight against his side and his hand goes down to rub your back soothingly.

No words are said between you two, and that’s enough. It has to be. Past (xiii) - Finnick 

[22 & 23] - DISTRICT FOUR Finnick has never felt worse.

The sky is clear, the stars are bright, and Finnick has never felt worse.

It’s a particularly quiet night on the beach. There’s no one walking along the shore, no bonfires, no night swimming. There’s only Finnick. 

He sits with his legs crossed under him; the coarse sand is warm against the exposed skin of his legs and feet. He’s always been able to come down to the beach to think and unload any weight on his shoulders. With how heavy his heart feels, he’s never needed that release more. A cool breeze carries the smell of the ocean, but it’s not as comforting as it should be. 

He reaches into the ornate box sitting between his thighs and just rests his hand there, letting his fingers ghost over the pages upon pages of parchment paper. He’s kept a tight lid on this box, hoarding your letters and your scent inside like a corvid. Even now, outside on the shore, your smell wafts around him—concentrated and stiff. He blinks past the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t look inside; he doesn’t think he can handle it. To see the length of your relationship measured by words on paper, to know he’ll never be adding to this box again—it’s too much.

He pulls out a letter at random. 

His eyes have already readjusted to the darkness as he uses the moonlight to read. He traces the looping lines of your handwriting. 

This is the letter you sent along with that pretty picture of yourself in case he forgot what you look like. A beautiful sentiment, but largely unnecessary. Finnick knows your reflection as well as he knows his own, if not better. Even now, with all this space, time, and hurt between the two of you, he could draw your portrait blindfolded. Not that anything could ever live up to the real thing. Nothing can compare to you.

He sighs, twisting his bracelet around his wrist absently. He feels the cool grooves of the fish charm between his thumb and pointer finger as he looks at the stars. There are more stars than there are grains of sand. Each tiny, flickering dot is a blazing inferno, the likes of which he can hardly comprehend. They don’t shine nearly as brightly as you do in his memory. 

He just…he just wishes he could have told you that.

Unconsciously, his eyes fall on Cassiopeia. Punished for boasting about the beauty of her daughter. It’s not fair. Her only crime was loving her child, and for that, she was forced to give her up for the safety of her kingdom.

Sacrificing someone you love for the greater good. He can’t tell if he wants to scoff, scream, or cry. Maybe all three.

Are you looking at the same sky as him? Even now, are the two of you still connected? Is it cruel to hope for that? It has to be, but Finnick has found that he's grown rotten in his misery. Rotten and incredibly selfish. 

Over the past year, you’ve sent him letter after letter and he read each one with ravenous eyes—desperate for you in any way he could have you. You were angry, you were hurt, you were confused. You alternated between begging him and demanding him to reply. So he did. Of course, he did. He could never deny you anything.

He just never sent any of them.

He kept them stashed in a drawer, locked away so he didn’t have to look at them—wouldn’t have to look at his bleeding heart. It wasn’t healthy; he knows that, but still. He just wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was back to normal. That he hadn’t ripped out his soul by tearing yours apart. 

Those letters had been a constant staple in his life for nearly seven years, and—he was going to wean himself off of it, off of you, really, he was. 

But he never got the chance to before they stopped coming a few months ago. They just stopped.

He should be happy about that. He should be pleased that you're moving on. He should be a lot of things that he's not, but, as it turns out, he’s getting pretty fucking sick of performing for an empty audience. You've given up on him, and you have every right to, but— 

God, it hurts.

It’s for the best. It’s what he wanted—no, it’s what he needed to happen for both of you. And it’s certainly better than the alternative Snow offered.

Knowing all that doesn’t make it hurt any less; it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

He takes out another letter, and it’s…it’s the first one? The first letter you left him after you spent the night in his room. He remembers waking up on the floor, tired and raw from that conversation on the balcony. He was fully prepared to act like it never happened. He was a little disappointed to wake up alone, but he was sure that it only proved that you wanted to forget about it too. Imagine his surprise when he rolled over—not to the empty space he was expecting, but to a note on your pillow.

I really appreciate…

Thank you for…

Just thank you.

He was left floored. He was seventeen years old and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone thanked him for anything.

Finnick brings the note to his nose and your perfume floods his senses, drowning him in memories. Memories of long train rides home from the Capitol, his only company being the smell of you on his clothes.

And try as he might, he can’t forget. He can still feel the blood caked under his fingernails and flaking at his wrist. Can still feel the warmth of your beating heart in his hand after he ripped it out. That’s his punishment. Remembering it all, good and bad.

He’s broken from his musing by the crunching of sand approaching him from behind.

“You’ve been out here for hours. Aren’t you cold?” Annie's soft-spoken voice is almost lost in the wind. No. He isn’t. He’s the exact opposite, actually. He’s scorching from the inside out. He’s burning bright and hot and one day he’ll implode under the weight of it all like a supernova. The only respite he can imagine is the cool relief of your touch. He’s scared he’ll forget what that feels like. 

She sighs when he doesn’t answer. “We know you’re hurting, Finnick, and we’re worried. You can talk to us. You don’t have to just…talk to your letters. We’re here for you.”

He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t have the strength to, but he nods anyway. Of course, they can tell he’s hurting. A blind man could spot his suffering from a mile away. He hadn’t bothered to hide it outside of the Capitol.

“...Try not to stay out here too long, okay?

Annie squeezes his shoulder before walking back up the beach, leaving him alone, and he's thankful. She shouldn't have to see him like this. She shouldn't have to see him break down. 

I'm allowed to, he thinks, I'm in mourning.

But how can he mourn something he killed?

He reaches into the box one more time, pulling out a stray scrap of paper and a pen. His hands shake along with his shoulders, his handwriting so bad that only he and you would be able to understand it. He writes:

Dear Heart,

I don’t know who Finnick Odair is without his love for you.

Every day, I think I can’t possibly miss you more than I already do. And then another day passes and I prove myself wrong.

Is there a fate crueler than this?

I just want to see you again. I just want to hold you again. One last glance, one last smile, one last laugh, one last kiss. If I knew the last time I saw you would be the LAST time I saw you, I never would have blinked. I’d have made the moment last forever. But forever isn’t nearly enough, is it?

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

-I love you I love you I love you,

Finn

Present (XI) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“I thought I’d find you here."

“Haymitch.” Finnick leans in the doorway of your room, wiping sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake and bask in the little time he had left with you, but he hadn’t slept next to you in so long and it felt like he was lured in.

“Listen,” the man rubs at his scruff, “it’s not what I came here for, but I’m happy you two figured out whatever the hell…” He trails off with a particularly constipated look, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of your room.

“...Right. Thanks.” Finnick clears his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m happy too.”

“Yeah…Anyway.” He sighs. “There've been a few last-minute adjustments to the plan.”

That wakes Finnick up, his mind running over what Haymitch has already told him to do in the arena. “Oh, should I wake Star—”

“No, no. This is just for you. We realized you’d have no way of knowing when you should be heading to the pickup point, especially since things out here can change on a dime.” He steps closer, burying his hands in his pockets. “Once all of the necessary players are gathered in the arena, a sponsor gift will be sent down, probably some kind of food. Pay attention to the district and the amount that’s sent.”

Finnick squints. “Why?”

“The district tells you the day we’re coming and the amount tells you the hour—do not get the two mixed up.” Haymitch raises a hand, staring Finnick down until he nods. 

“Alright, I won’t. And the pickup point?”

“When in doubt, Beetee will know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s sure working behind the scenes and acting as a messenger is harrowing work, especially with Snow on such high alert. “Our girl managed to get in Peeta’s good graces. Not that I’m surprised; they probably bonded over how ‘fun’ and'rewarding' it is to help the less fortunate or something. Having her plus Beetee and Wiress will definitely give Johanna and Blight some credibility in Katniss’s eyes. You, on the other hand, are gonna need to rely on something other than your good looks and Mags.” He fishes a flash of gold out of his pocket—some kind of bracelet.  

Finnick takes it gingerly, examining how the light makes it shimmer.

“Take it into the arena as a token. Show it to her, preferably before she shoots you between the eyes. And, shit, if that doesn’t work, ask her…tell her to remember who the real enemy is.”

He wants to ask what that means outside of this very specific context; he wants to know what this bracelet means to him and Katniss if just seeing it will be enough for her to make him an ally. But he doesn’t. He feels like it’ll bring on more questions than it’ll answer.

“I’m gonna need you to hold onto something for me then.” He reaches into one of the deep pockets along his billowy pants until he feels the familiar shape against his fingers. He’s almost hesitant to give it away. When the Quell was announced, he was sure he would die with it on him. But it’s a part of you and he can’t take the chance of it getting destroyed. “It’s, um. It’s a photo she gave to me a few years back, I always carry it on me—”

“You don’t need to explain.” When it’s handed to him, Haymitch takes a moment to look at you. Finnick feels a little self-conscious of how faded it is from years of him running his fingers along your face—faded from years of being well loved. “I’ll make sure she gets back to you.” He’s careful when placing your photo in his pocket and Finnick feels relieved that there’s someone on the outside who wants to get you out of the arena just as much as he does.

“Good luck, kid.” He squeezes Finnick’s shoulder and hesitates. His eyes shift to the walkway that leads to where you’re resting. “When she wakes up, tell her…Tell her I said…” He trails off, his face severe, and Finnick understands painfully well.

“I will.” He promises. Haymitch purses his lips before giving a nod. Finnick watches his back as he leaves and wonders if that will be the last conversation he has with the man, one of his oldest friends.

Present (XI) - You 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL; THE ARENA “Your tracker.” The Peacekeeper yanks your arm up wordlessly and waits for you to pull your sleeve back. You squint around the sharp pain as he jabs the needle into your forearm, burying the tracking device under your skin. You glare at his back and rub at your now-raised skin. 

You grip the straps of your seatbelt as the hovercraft begins its ascent.

As relayed from Haymitch to Finnick to you, Peeta brought you up as an ally, and, luckily enough, Katniss wasn't against the idea. It might have something to do with the conversation you and she had before the Chariot Rides or maybe it’s the fact that you're the only person Peeta suggested. It hadn't been your intention to get on his good side when you offered to train him, but you're glad you did. It makes your job that much easier.

“It's a very breathable, lightweight material, so I’m thinking of a humid environment, maybe tropical. Large bodies of water for certain. Have you decided on a token?" Your stylist pipes up from her seat beside you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You lift your hand to show her the blue bracelet sitting snugly on your wrist. She gasps and you pull your wrist away, looking around the carrier for anything that could be the cause of the sound. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” She waves you off with a flippant hand. “It’s just, I didn’t think I’d see you wear that bracelet again. I know Finnick never took his off, but—” You yank your arm back against your chest, holding your bracelet almost as if you can hide it.

"Wha-what..how do you, how…?”

“Us stylists confide in each other, and, well, those of us behind the scenes thought the two of you were just so cute together! I never saw you without that bracelet for five years straight and then one day, it was just gone. Poof! Oh, we were worried sick something happened with you two. But now it’s back!” She cheers, clapping her hands.

You gape at her. “You…you knew? All of you? And you never…?” Never leaked the gossip to the tabloids? To Snow?

“What? Heavens no! We're not heartless, dear. It wasn't our place. Besides,” she leans over, her crimson-painted lips pulled into a smile as she pats your thigh. Her eyes are glossy enough that you’re almost certain she’ll start crying. “You two deserve to be happy.”

You nod stiltedly, rocked by this new information. Did Finnick know? No. If either of you did, you would have been a bit nicer to your stylists. You’re quiet for the rest of the flight as she talks to you. This time around, you do try to listen to what she’s saying, nodding along at the right moments to show you’re paying attention. It’s a bit late, but you feel like you owe it to her.

She walks you down to the tube that’ll take you to the arena.

“This is it, my dear.” She sniffs, raising a hand to her mouth as she actually starts crying now. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’m sorry.” She apologizes, fanning her pale face. You don’t think about it too hard; instead, you step toward her and pull her into a tentative hug.

“It’s okay, Shimmer,” you comfort her. “And for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“It’s not okay. It’s not fair at all.” You let her squeeze you tight, allowing the hug to go on longer than you normally would. She inhales and then pulls away. She holds you by your shoulders and takes you in. “It’s been an honor working with you, my dear.”

“Same here.” You smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

You step onto the platform.

The door slides shut behind you and you start feeling sick as you rise. Sick enough that you worry you might vomit before you even make it into the arena. Your heart beats in your teeth. It’s starting to dawn on you, you realize, just how fucked you are. There’s the revolution, but there’s no guarantee you’ll even live long enough to be saved. You’ve been training like crazy, not that it was that hard with the way you grew up. It’s one thing to use your skills for physical labor; it’s another to use them in a fight to the death. That wasn’t how you survived your Games.

You hold your breath, gathering and reminding yourself of what’s important. The plan. And the plan hinges on you getting to the Cornucopia and surviving.

Your stylist tearfully waves you off as you rise, her elaborate and puffy white gown the last you see of her. You look up at the hole of light as you approach it, your nails digging into your palm.

The drastic temperature change makes you shiver and squint, raising your hand to block the blinding rays of the sun. This heat is different from the kind you’re used to. Heavier, somehow even more humid than Eleven’s muggy summers. The sun disorients you and the little wind that comes through carries the smell of salt. You push through the fog of your senses and force yourself to see.

There’s water—a shit ton of it. Saltwater if your nose is to be trusted. Shimmer was right.

The first thing you do is look for Finnick. You can’t help yourself; the need to know where he is is stronger than your need to acclimate. Your gaze bounces from tribute to tribute in your search for him. Sweat is already gathering on your brow when you finally find him. You see him, but only barely, on your left. He’s about three sections away, close enough that you make eye contact with him. It’s brief and fleeting, but long enough for your stomach to settle and your heartbeat to slow. 

You’re all divided by rocky strips of land that protrude from the island the Cornucopia rests on like the spokes of a wheel. And in between each spoke are two tributes. That would mean there are twelve sections.

Mentally, you try to map out where everyone is. You note that Finnick is standing beside Chaff.

On your immediate left is Johanna, sectioned off from you by the long line of rocks. You nod at each other and relief courses through you knowing you won’t have to search for her. Beetee stands with Cecilia in between Finnick and Johanna’s respective sections. Was this placement intentional or just luck?

With half of your group near you, your eyes rove around for the missing two and—

“Shit.” You curse. You’ll have to go looking for Wiress. That’s the first part of the plan: Johanna gets Beetee, you get Wiress, and Blight waits for the four of you away from the Cornucopia. You’re lucky to be placed next to Beetee and Johanna, but it would have been nice if Wiress was a little closer. Or within your line of sight, at least.

“Let the 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.” 

The sound of Ceasar’s cohost echoes throughout the arena and you rush to gather more information. On your immediate right is the woman from Nine, about the same distance from you as the strip of land on your left. You know she never stepped foot in the training center, so you’re confident in the fact that she isn’t a threat. A little further down are Peeta and the man from Ten. You do a double-take. You hadn’t expected him to be so close to you and you have to force yourself to ignore him. You beat back the instinct to watch him like a hawk; that isn’t your job right now—it’s Mags and Finnick’s. The next section houses Woof and Mags and beside them are Enobaria and the female morphling. That’s as far down as you can see.

Your muscles tense up when he begins the countdown. 

You take stock of your surroundings. Before you is the Cornucopia, and behind you is a beach and a deep forest—no, a jungle. The large body of water surrounding your platform looks pretty clear. Nothing but fish and plants, you’re sure. It’s doubtful they’d put anything deadly in there. Not when so many of the tributes can’t do anything more than doggy paddle. And certainly not this early into the Games. What an odd choice to have water this deep. Especially considering how rare a skill swimming is in the districts.

You watch the red, rotating cube as it flashes down to one, your muscles poised like a spring as you prepare to jump. You take a breath and dive in.

Deep in the woods behind the shack your family used to call home, there was a lake in an area the Peacekeepers seldom patrolled. That’s where your dad taught you to swim. You haven’t done it in a long time, not since before he was killed. You’re more than a little rusty and you wish you had aimed a little more to your left.

The cold water is a shock to your system, but you don’t have time to stay idle. You don’t sink to the bottom like you think you will; you’ve forgotten how much lighter water makes your body. The salt in the water burns your eyes every time you try to open them so you squint and swim towards where you think the strip of land is. It’s a battle. The distance, while a problem on its own, is nothing compared to the strength of the waves. 

You’re panting by the time you make it there, shaky fingers grappling with the wet rocks as you pull yourself up, thanking your forethought to focus on training your upper body strength. The woman from Nine had jumped in the opposite direction, aiming for the beach instead of the Cornucopia. Smart. You’d do the same, but you need a weapon and you need to find Wiress. You push your water-laden hair out of your eyes, getting your feet under you and taking off towards the Cornucopia. 

You're surprised when you make it across without slipping. You have to make the split-second decision between getting a weapon or looking for Wiress first. You glance behind you, and no one seems that adept in the water on your side. Johanna is just now clawing her way out of the waves. You guess there aren’t many reasons to swim in Seven. You make a run for the mouth of the Cornucopia with the sound of cannon fire chasing you and you hope to God that no one sets their sights on Wiress. You glance to your right, and you can blurrily make out Finnick, Katniss, and Mags helping Peeta out of the water.

You skid to a stop, your legs freezing without your actual input.

“Finnick!” You yell, and his head whips up before you fully get his name out. The water weighs his hair down, turning it a darker blond than you’re used to seeing it. You aren’t entirely sure why you called out for him. Maybe it was more for his comfort than yours; he’ll need to know that you weren’t the cause of one of the cannons firing. 

“Star!” He grasps his trident tighter, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. When he sees none, his shoulders relax but his trident remains poised in anticipation.

He looks from you to his group and back again. You shake your head to stop him from taking that step forward. It was only three hours ago that you last saw him. And before that, the two of you stayed up talking about nothing until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. Nonetheless, the desire to run to him is strong. You can see him fight that same impulse you do. When the cannon fires again, Finnick leaps into action, nodding at you with an uncertain gleam in his eyes before placing Mags on his back. 

You watch them all run for the jungle before getting your weapon. You spot a scythe propped up with spears and tridents and can tell immediately that it was planted for you. You take a second to analyze it distrustfully. A metal handle and a deeply curved blade, undoubtedly for show rather than harvesting. You won’t take it. It’s big and cumbersome, and it’ll slow you down in this kind of terrain. Plus, the strength needed to wield this in an actual fight is beyond you. Someone like Chaff or Brutus would get far more use out of it. Maybe even Finnick, if his trident ever fails him. It’ll just tire you out.

Instead, you opt for the twin sickles hanging next to it. They’re also bigger than any you’ve seen in Eleven. With their thick, smooth wooden handles, the blades are sharper than any you have ever used. Their weight will take some getting used to. When you notice more tributes orienting themselves on the rocks behind you, you decide the time for contemplation is over. 

You sprint to your left, eyes scouring the water for a small brunette woman. Wiress is on the other side of the Cornucopia, more floating in the water than swimming.

“Wiress!” You call. She waves her hands as if you can’t see her and you nod, weary of attracting unwanted attention. Luckily, she’s been in the water for so long that the waves have carried her towards the island. It doesn’t take much to pull her out.

“You, you’re hurt?” She speaks in her usually broken speech pattern, gesturing towards you, and you’re quick to look down, thinking you’ve been hurt without knowing it. When you come back with nothing, you look back at her, confused, and she gestures again. You realize it’s a question, not a statement. 

She seems tunneled in on whether you’re hurt or not. Drenched with water and frustration, you spin around in front of her. “I’m fine, Wiress, I’m fine, but we have to go.” She’s a lot more amicable now, allowing you to corral her back to where you saw Johanna last. The bodies littered around give you pause. In front of you lies a woman who is half-submerged in the pinkish water. Taking a deep breath, you step over her and drag Wiress with you.

When you get to the mouth of the Cornucopia, you spot your two allies locked in a fight. That is to say, Beetee huddles behind Johanna as she fights, clutching a spool of wire to his chest as if it were the only thing between him and certain death. Johanna and the man from Nine are locked in the most dangerous game of tug of war you’ve ever seen. They both have their hands on an axe and if this were a game of speed, she’d have him on his knees already. But he’s bigger than her, stronger too, and just as unwilling to let it go.

Her teeth are bared in exertion, legs almost buckling under the strain. He has the blade pushed alarmingly close to her neck and you don’t think about it; your body is pushed into action before you’re even aware that you’re moving. Later, you’ll think back on how easy it was. You’ll think about how quickly he stopped being a human being like you and instead became an enemy—a threat. You’ll think about it—about who he used to be before he became a body—and you will come alarmingly close to crying. For now, you kick the man in the back of the knee and he goes down with a grunt. Johanna uses the leverage the new position gives her and snatches the axe out of his hands with a huff.

You lift the sickle in your dominant hand high in the air, putting your full weight behind it as you drive the blade into the top of his head. The collision of metal against bone ricochets up your arms, leaving your muscles vibrating. He falls forward with a heavy thud and you stumble backwards. Your hands feel like they’re vibrating and the adrenaline coursing through you puts a stop to any panic before it can begin. 

You move forward and have to place your foot on his back, grunting as you use both hands to yank your weapon back out. He makes a keening sound in the back of his throat—the guttural moans of a dying animal. You’re not used to being the one on this side of the slaughter. He’s still alive, but he won’t be for long. You won’t wait for the cannon to go off. 

“Let’s go!” The four of you sprint towards the beach, glancing behind you in case the Careers decide to give chase. There are still plenty of tributes on their platforms, too scared to brave the water. They should hold their attention long enough for your group to get away. Running away as the Careers lay claim to the Cornucopia makes you feel like prey. 

“Blight!” Johanna shouts and your head whips around, searching until you find the burly man a few yards away, waving you over. You all run to him and you take another mental stock.  

Between the five of you, you have an axe, two sickles, a machete Johanna grabbed, a spool of wire, and two brilliant minds. That should be more than enough for the plan. Johanna hands the machete over to Blight and you and her share a glance before wordlessly booking it into the jungle with your charges. Blight leads and you carry the rear. 

You really hope it doesn’t take long to find Finnick.

A/N: ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ Heyyyy, are you mad at me? I hope you didn't mind that rant in the summary. I felt like Rue's death from this perspective hurt a little more bc you know it's coming, but Star doesn't, and sometimes I get carried away with writing my thoughts. ┐(シ)┌ More Finnick audios in the next chapter to make up for the shortage in this one. Come yell at me!!!

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #and they'd find us in a week #finnick fanfic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games fic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow

[blusherbaker]

TWST Kink Headcanons: Savanaclaw Edition

Minors/ageless blogs DNI; all characters are 18+ for these scenarios

Each character is given a short write-up of one of their main kinks, as well as a list of other kinks they may like (with a little more info added in some cases), and a list of things they would dislike.

Warnings: Smut, discussion/mention of multiple kinks of different varieties, including those related to D/s dynamics, marking, breeding, etc.

<——« Heartslabyul | Octavinelle »——>

Leona: Marking

This kink of Leona's interests him for a few reasons. First, he's a bit possessive, so leaving marks on you, and getting marks from you is almost a claim of sorts. Each mark is a clear reminder for you, him, and anybody else who sees it that you're his. He's the one who marked you up so pretty. And in return, any marks you leave on him show that he's yours, too. To Leona, the bites, scratches, hickeys, and everything else are a visual symbol of your relationship and of him on your body... and vice-versa.  And he really enjoys being left with marks on his skin, too; not only is it a claim, it's a sign that you're enjoying yourself when you're with him. If you leave him with scratches along the skin of his back or chest, or a bite on his shoulder? He'll be admiring your work with pride until the day it finally fades. (BTW, he will mention the marks to you as often as he can. Be prepared for him to make you blush, because he will be relentless about it.)

Other possible kinks: 

Domination

Cockwarming

Biting

Body worship (receiving)

Degradation (giving)

Corruption

Somnophilia / sleep sex (receiving)

Orgasm control

Dislikes: 

Pet play

Breeding (There's not a chance in hell he even wants to think about having a baby, even if his partner isn't even able to get pregnant.)

Brat play 

Ruggie: Belly kink

Ruggie likes bellies. He really likes them. And not just one specific kind, either! A tummy with an innie belly button, an outie belly button, stretch marks, rolls of fat, hair, toned muscles… he adores every possibility. A lean middle with a nipped-in, grabbable waist? He loves it. Ripped, muscular abs? He wants to run his hands over every inch. A skinny, flat tummy? He thinks it's adorable, and can't wait to kiss it. A strong, bulky waistline? He can't stop staring. A big, soft belly with rolls?  He's drooling.  No matter your body, Ruggie will practically worship your tummy. His caresses and kisses will be soft, but so very hungry as his hands and lips brush over the skin. He'll get so turned on, just from touching - or even merely seeing - your bare belly… it's actually adorable. Chances are, he'll end up looking up at you with a desperate, pleading expression and a little whimper after just a couple moments of feeling that smooth skin around your middle. It wouldn't take much at all for him to be practically begging you for more. 

Other possible kinks: 

Praise

Food play

Submission

Face sitting?

Domesticity

Exhibitionism

Dislikes: 

Pet play

Degradation

Domination (he’s pretty much only a sub in my mind. I can't see him wanting to be dominant at all) 

Jack: Scent kink

I don't think Jack would be the kinkiest of the bunch; in fact, he's probably pretty vanilla in most aspects. But something about his partner's scent would really appeal to him. Along with having a better sense of smell than many of the others, there's something so intimate about him being able to smell his partner - that's what would really appeal to him. Knowing that it's the scent of your perfume, your skin, your hair, your sweat, your sex... that's what excites Jack the most. And if your smell lingered on his clothes or sheets? He wouldn't be able to think of anything else. Hopefully it wasn't his jacket or shirt you borrowed, because you'll have him worked up all day if he can smell you on it.  However, he wouldn’t just find it arousing, he’d find it incredibly comforting as well. There are many times he’d hold you close, burying his nose into the crook of your neck, onto your scalp, or into your chest, just letting your scent envelop him and remind him you’re there. Yes, smelling your scent(s) may turn him on, but it also makes him feel safe, and connected to you in a way not even he can fully describe.

Other possible kinks: 

Breeding

Size kink

Praise

Dislikes: 

Pet play

Sadomasochism

Degradation

Similar to Deuce, he wouldn't like most things that could really harm you or himself. He's just a sweet guy ♥︎

And there are the Savanaclaw boys' kinks! I feel a little less confident about these ones than the Heartslabyul ones, mainly because I don't think about these guys quite as much ^^;

If you have any additional thoughts or opinions on these headcanons, I'd love to hear them!

You can read some extra ideas about these kinks here!

#mdni #twst headcanons #savanaclaw #twst smut #leona kingscholar smut #ruggie bucchi smut #jack howl smut #x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #jack howl x reader #twst thoughts #blusher's original ♥︎ #I have some more thoughts about them which I'll add in another post later so I don't get carried away here! #and I'll be back in a day or two for Octavinelle ^w^

[respectthepetty]

GMMTV 2024 Part 2 - Hot Tops

I did this for the first part, so I'm following up with the second part. I still have no Midnight Museum 2 or gym bros BL (why?!!!!!), and I'm excluding Ossan's Love and ReVamp since we knew those were coming, but, honestly, this list could have just been one show, and if you know me, you already know what it is . . .

#1 - The Heart Killers

I'm a JoongDunk fan first, and a human second. My troublesome tykes get to be gay and do crime, this might be a Jojo show, and they get to chill next to FirstKhao.

This isn't a gym bros BL, but somehow, I still won! Who do I look at first? Khao and Joong playing criminal brothers? Dunk being a mechanic? First being a tattoo artist? Not only am I getting a YinWar heist BL this year, but now this?! The chemistry is going to be 100%, and for this gift from the BL gods, I'm watching TWO shows on my Pride Petty Watch because I. Have. Been. Blessed.

#2 - Us

Sing was looking fine with his hair, and his body, and his presence, so for me to see him in all his beauty and still scream for him to get the fuck off my screen so I could focus on the ladies means THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD! I'm still holding petty grudges against Emi for the character she played in 609 Bedtime Story and Intern in My Heart, but the second she told her boyfriend's sister to come closer . . . *bites knuckles*

#3 - Heart that Skips a Beat

I'm shocked. I am fully invested in watching this idol love story knowing damn well I hate singing and dancing in my shows. And yet, somehow, this three-minute trailer convinced me that this wasn't just an average One Direction fanfic. No. This is about to be gold-tier fanfic storytelling. These boys aren't living in the BL bubble, but in actual this-shit-is-about-to-have-consequences-for-everyone reality. Plus, it appears to be color-coded, so bring me my idols!

Honorable Mention - Hide & Sis

Jan, drenched in blood?

Yes.

Everything Else

Talking shit about any of the others is pointless because I'm going to watch them all anyway, at least the queer ones that is, so I'm just gonna write that my beef with JittiRain, who got two shows this time around, and Krist is still as strong as ever even though Be My Favorite, which was with both of them, was a great show.

But there was a lot of pink in Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist

And I like Perth x Chimon.

So whatevs. I'll be here. Watching.

#gmmtv 2024 #the heart killers #joongdunk AND firstkhao! #us the series #heart that skips a beat #I support the girls‚ the gays‚ and the goths #and strangely‚ I'm kinda get all of those