of this men shall know nothing

Whenever I feel in a witchy rut, like I don’t know what to do next, or simply stalled in my practice, I go back and re-read the Witches Sequence of the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett.

Nothing will teach you more about witchcraft than Granny Weatherwax.

anonymous asked:

this is an invitation for you to expand on cassian andor's and mon mothma's relationship if you want

‘Relationship’ isn’t the right word. ‘Relationship’ implies something between them, the existence of ties beyond spy and senator, general and soldier, and that just isn’t true. (A pyromaniac has no relationship with the matches she tosses into the pool of accelerant. There’s no special love between between a weapon and the hand cradling the blaster.) Whatever they have lives in the negative space of what they are. ‘Relationship’ isn’t the word.

But then again, Cassian suspects matches don’t feel anything about the pyromaniac. Or about the fire, either.


Technically, Cassian has a supervisor, the way that technically, the rebellion is a coalition of militarized terrorist cells undermining a democratically elected authority. (Namely, these things might be true, but they’re not exactly relevant. They’ve waded too far out into the storm to be discussing whether the water is cold.)

Still, Mothma likes to bring it up sometimes. Mostly when he sidles into her meetings, her office, her caf breaks, her—

“I’m fairly certain you are meant to report to General Draven, Captain Andor,” she says coolly after her rank and file have filed out, and he ducks his head, smiles. His smile is like a blaster-shot, brutal and unerring, carving bloody lines into where it lands. Mon Mothma is draped in stainless funerary white, she is a woman already wearing her shroud, but she let out an awful hiss of breath the first time Cassian Andor smiled at her. (It still aches.)

“And you, Senator Mothma?” he asks, his dark eyes fixed on her, already flaying her open, bloody. “Who do you report to?”

“All free peoples,” Mon answers with the practiced ease.

“I don’t think I know them,” Cassian says mildly, because Mon is good at nothing so much as finding these men, full of so much unrealized and violent strength; their sharp teeth, their bright determination, all masked beneath mildness. “You should introduce me, next time.”

“I shall,” Mon Mothma says, and then Cassian Andor is very close to her, smelling of the particular bitter chemical discharge of a blaster. “Do you doubt me?” she asks archly. (When she turns her head, her jugular is bared. Is this deliberate, or weakness?)

“Of course not,” Cassian Andor says. “To doubt you is to doubt the Rebellion.”

“That is not an answer,” Mon Mothma says sharply, but he is already gone, vanished from the space she commands. And then she is alone.


There’s a very beautiful lie he tells sometimes, about how they met. That he was a boy with a flower in his hand, and she was a junior senator, very young and yet already grave, draped in purple. That he had made her smile.

The truth is that he burned her in Separatist effigy before he ever met her. Knew her name, and cursed it. When they did meet, she was still young but he was younger, rawboned and furious, just over the edge of youth into manhood. (It was strange to see her in the flesh at last; how small she was, standing there before him. 

They’d gotten her eyes wrong on the effigy, he thought.)

“War makes strange bedfellows,” are Senator Mon Mothma’s first words to Cassian Andor.

His first words to her are crude and unrepeatable. "Senator,” he tacks on after a long minute of silence.

“You do not have to like me,” Mon Mothma says, though the corner of her mouth quirks, and he knows then that she likes him. “You do not even have to speak to me, after this. What—will be asked of you, you do for the Rebellion. I do not enter into its calculus.”

Cassian Andor looks at her. Remembers flames.



She kills him.

She kills him over and over, on a dozen, two dozen planets. Not herself, of course—he doesn’t think she’s ever actually held a blaster, regards them with thinly-veiled contempt whenever they enter into her line of sight, which means her mouth is always pinched in a thin, unpleasant line, as though to keep her lip from curling. But she authorizes Draven’s orders regarding his missions and that’s much the same. 

Cassian is a good soldier. (Has been, since—) He doesn’t take it personally.

“Your microexpressions indicate anger,” the Imperial droid they’ve saddled him with for this mission says, in the neutral, pleasant voice that drives Cassian mad. Gods spare him from kriffing droids.

“Do they,” he answers dryly, watching as Mon Mothma disappears into one of Yavin’s makeshift conference rooms. She does not look in his direction, though she only just signed the order to make him a killer.

Well. More of a killer.

“In fact, there is a ninety-four percent correlation between Senator Mothma entering your line of vision and—”

Cassian whips around to glare at the droid. (Kaytoo, to his credit, does not bring up this subject for discussion again.)


She is still there, posture very straight and draped in white, whenever he returns. She is always there, standing or sitting at the head of the war-table, watching someone else speak her orders for her. (She doesn’t talk much. It’s an odd realization, when she looms so large in Cassian’s mind, when her voice, her commands, seem thick in the air on Yavin. But she lets others give orders, and Cassian isn’t certain how to feel about that.)

Once—exactly once—he comes across her falling asleep, her head tilted back against the cushion of the chair. It is just between shift-change, and so they are alone in the command center. Her face is older, asleep; she has lines at the corners of her pursed mouth, her shuttered eyes. Her copper hair is falling in her eyes.

He gets close enough to his breath stirs her hair, and he very gently touches her forehead, just with two fingertips.

Cassian doesn’t feel the knife until it is already between his ribs and twisting home. He drops to his knees, finding himself laughing despite himself. (He can feel the warmth of blood gathering thickly at the back of his throat.) He has the unique pleasure of watching Senator Mothma blanch, shoot to her feet and shout for a meddroid—

“Knife?” he rasps, as she drags in a ragged breath.

“Vibroblade,” she says dazedly, sounding more shellshocked than Cassian feels. She can’t stop staring at the hilt, sticking out of his chest. “We’re at war. No—traitor to the Empire would go unarmed. Even among friends.”

“And here I thought you were incapable of violence, Senator,” he says, grinning, and the grin is helpless too.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she breathes. Her eyes are wide and very pale, colorless fish-eyes, reflecting light when they flick to the door. The med staff rushes in, their noise almost eating up the next words: “I send sentients to their death every day.”

(When Cassian returns to the command center, still smelling of bacta and metal hands, Viceroy Organa stands at the head of the war table. “Chancellor Mothma has recused herself from duty, citing lack of sleep,” Organa says. “She’s—she regrets the harm her lack of judgment caused,” he adds, glancing at Cassian’s chest and then away.

Cassian is disappointed, for reasons he can’t quite name.)


The first time—

She is thirty-four, and is sure she will die sooner rather than later. But then, she has known that since she stood up in the Senate chambers and called for a vote to remove the usurper snake from his Imperial throne.

(She had been alone, more alone than she had been before or since, and looked into Sheev Palpatine’s eyes. She had thought, I am not afraid. You can hurt me, but you cannot use me, because I am not afraid.

Palpatine had smiled.)

Cassian Andor is twenty-five, and dead. He shows her the holonet notice with a grin, all his teeth bared the way Mon’s noina cat had once left mice on her doorstep. ANDOR, CASSIAN (CONFIRMED DEAD) watches her face as she reads the official Imperial record, which says he was blasted apart by a trooper on Morand.

His skin is smooth and brown, for someone who was supposed to have died with a hole burned through his skull.

“A dangerous rebel has been eliminated,” Mon says dryly, handing the datapad back to him. “Hurrah.”

“Aren’t you proud of me, Senator?”

She’s not, really. She’s somehow annoyed he made it to the grave before she did. (MOTHMA, MON is only LOCATION UNKNOWN.)  “Of course, Captain Andor. It was a successful mission, losses were minimal and we have every hope the intelligence you gathered will lead us to Imperial weapons caches. You have a good deal to be proud of.”

“Not the same thing.”

She glances at his face. He is better than he used to be at keeping it blank. “No.”

“No,” Cassian echoes, a little more softly. 

Something about the way the shadow falls on his face is—

He bridles when she reaches out, though he forces himself back into stillness so quickly she almost misses it. (He is better at that too.) Still, he does not resist when she presses her fingertips just below his jaw, where the stubble softens into throat. Underneath her hand, his pulse beats, fast and strong. “You seem very alive to me, Captain.”

He swallows, her hand moves. She can feel the rumble of his voicebox when he says, “Yes, Senator.”

She withdraws her hand, but he catches her by the wrist, tightly as binders. She wonders if he can feel her pulse, how hard it’s beating against her skin. But he doesn’t say anything, a faintly quizzical look on his face, as though he’s not sure how to proceed. 

She kisses him out of clumsy uncertainty, more than anything. (She skipped the mother, went directly from virginal maiden to sexless crone without stopping. She has practice in defying demagogues, ordering men to die, not to—)

It is a fumbling, cold affair. But afterwards, he rests his cheek against hers, and she rests her palm over the place where her blade went in between his ribs. It is the closest to human contact either of them has come in some time, she thinks.


“What will you do, after?” Mothma asks once. Cassian is gathering up his things, pushing an errant lock of hair behind his ear, and she is studying the way the light slants onto the dust. Neither of them is thinking about the other, but then, they are not supposed to be. (It is easier, if they are looking separate ways.)

“After what?” he asks.

“After the war. What will you do?”

He twitches, and then goes very still. “You seem sure there will be an ‘after’ for me, Senator,” he says lightly, the corner of his mouth curling.

Mon has no answer for that.


She keeps killing him; there’s a war on.

He keeps killing; ditto.

(Who cares what the dead do, in those snatched moments between dying?)


Senator Mon Mothma is forty-one, and sure she will die—sooner, rather than later. But she has known that for nineteen years now; its sting no longer can pierce her. She is a dead woman, she wears her white shroud. Everything else is…

Captain Cassian Andor is thirty-seven, and dead. Truly dead, this time, nothing to reach for and assure herself with, no proof of life.

(She does not think of his pulse, hot and steady under her hand. She does not think of his mouth curling, the way he had said after. She does not think of anything. No true pyromaniac would pity a match burnt up to ash. No soldier cries, firing a blaster.

She hates blasters.)

She personally changes his Alliance file to read ANDOR, CASSIAN (CONFIRMED DEAD).


‘How can I take you from my mind, my sweet Guinevere, when I see you each day? How must I remove you from my heart? I wish to take a knife and cut the part out so that I pain no more. But if I did this, my beautiful Guinevere, I should have no heart left all all.’
‘You are my soul, Sir Lancelot,’ She whispered to herself ‘I know I have married the wrong man, but he is a good man and forever I shall be his Queen. Your heart is large and pure for you, in truth, love all men. For your gift in healing is visionary and you shall be a legend in your own lifetime. Sir Lancelot, I shall love you forever, for you are my only soul.’  
— Realm Of The Bear, S. R. Sorel


Imagine: you are engaged to Thranduil and while you were helping with the plans for the battle of the five armies one of the human men insults you and thus causes you to headbutt them and Tranduil doesn’t seem to mind this.


Man: huh and how can you be so sure your just a she-elf who is weak and knows nothing.

Y/n: your right I’m a she elf but I’m am not weak

ma: prove it.

y/n: *headbutts man* anybody else wish to make a comment about me being weak.

thranduil:*smirks* shall we continue with our plan


the following prompts were taken from the concept album / folk opera hadestown by american singer-songwriter anaïs mitchell, based on the greek myth of orpheus & eurydice. feel free to change pronouns in the prompts as you see fit !

  • ❛ lover, tell me if you can, who’s gonna buy the wedding bands? ❜
  • ❛ times being what they are, hard, and getting harder all the time. ❜
  • ❛ lover, when i sing my song, all the trees gonna sing along. ❜
  • ❛ king of diamonds, king of spades. ❜
  • ❛ there ain’t no difference anymore. ❜
  • ❛ those who go, they don’t come back. ❜
  • ❛ winter’s nigh and summer’s o’er. ❜
  • ❛ i hear that high & lonesome sound. ❜
  • ❛ everybody dresses in clothes so fine. ❜
  • ❛ everybody sipping ambrosia wine. ❜
  • ❛ all them shiny little heads & tails, where do you think they come from? ❜
  • ❛ seems like he owns everything. ❜
  • ❛ kind of makes you wonder how it feels. ❜

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Our purpose is to find out whether innocence, the moment it becomes involved in action, can avoid committing murder. We can act only in terms of our own time, among the people who surround us. We shall know nothing until we know whether we have the right to kill our fellow men, or the right to let them be killed. In that every action today leads to murder, direct or indirect, we cannot act until we know whether or why we have the right to kill.
The important thing, therefore, is not, as yet, to go to the root of things, but, the world being what it is, to know how to live in it. In the age of negation, it was of some avail to examine one’s position concerning suicide. In the age of ideologies, we must examine our position in relation to murder. If murder has rational foundations, then our period and we ourselves are rationally consequent. If it has no rational foundations, then we are insane and there is no alternative but to find some justification or to avert our faces. It is incumbent upon us, at all events, to give a definite answer to the question implicit in the blood and strife of this century. For we are being put to the rack. Thirty years ago, before reaching a decision to kill, people denied many things, to the point of denying themselves by suicide. God is deceitful; the whole world (myself included) is deceitful; therefore I choose to die: suicide was the problem then. Ideology today is concerned only with the denial of other human beings, who alone bear the responsibility of deceit. It is then that we kill. Each day at dawn, assassins in judges’ robes slip into some cell: murder is the problem today.
—  Albert Camus, The Rebel (1951) - 2
Hellenic Polytheism 200: Moral and Ethical Guidelines

I’m going to preface this with a few disclaimers. One, the moral and ethical standards of the ancient Greeks were different in a lot of ways from our modern ideals. It was a different place, a different time, and a vastly different culture. That of course shaped their moral standards in a different way from how our societal moral standards have been shaped. Not to mention the fact that those moral guides came out of a vast chunk of land and were created over a long period of time. Which leads to the next point.

Two, there are a LOT of different sources that can be used to help define moral and ethical guidelines from a religious context that you can apply to your worship and life. You are going to find contradicting ideals, thoughts that are out-dated now, and frankly just a whole lot of stuff. These are not necessary for being a Hellenic polytheist. They are a supplementary tool which can be used to further shape your worship and how it defines your interaction with the world, but is NOT a hard-fast set of rules that must be followed 100% to a fault.

Three, these will not apply to everyone, they are not relevant to everyone, and it is okay if you have zero interest in using any of these within your practice. The general idea of all of them is “be a good person”, and the specific sources simply elaborate on how the ancients thought a person could go about being good.

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vivacephoenix  asked:

Hamilton, L or F

F. An absent look or touch. L. A stolen kiss.

It had not been an easy conversation to witness.  Hamilton was only called to attend Washington’s meeting with the Marquis de Lafayette to provide translation should meanings be lost in over-complicated explanation.  But, Lafayette already knew the source of Washington’s frustration as he gave his report of the projected northern expedition…botched and fabricated as the entire endeavor obviously was, he knew that the Commander had good cause to be angry.

Hamilton was not sure the Marquis knew that the General was not angry with him.

He watched the boy’s face twist in every shade of blush and pale, brows drawing and loosening on obvious emotions, guilt and shame, that-somehow- became lost in translation to Washington’s blind frustration.

In his impulse to comfort, Hamilton’s hand slid over the other boy’s where it clenched into a fist over his thigh.  He realized the motion after the hand was already held, but he kept it there until the General was abruptly called away by Tilghman carrying some urgent note.  

The office door closed with a click and Hamilton looked at it for a moment until a soft sniffling came from behind him.

“I betray’d my General- I betray’d you…”

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dragdragdragon  asked:

001:"You're really soft." coldflash please.

(probably not what you meant by that :D but hey, poetic license XD includes demi!Len(?) and background Mick/undefined male character)

“You’re really soft,” Barry notes, his hand in Len’s lap and his eyes wide with surprise as if he hasn’t been warned previously. He’s probably a bit more drunk than one would expect from a metahuman with hyper-metabolism, no doubt courtesy of Dr. Snow’s scientific endeavors. Len briefly wonders how over-funded and bored a scientist has to be to devote time to figuring out how to get the Flash drunk; but apparently, without another imminent Armageddon hanging over their heads, superhero priorities shift quite a bit.

Not that it’s a surprising realization for Len. He’s been working with ‘heroes’ for the better part of three years, and he knows what they get up to in their spare time. It’s a possible side-effect of the weight of the world on their shoulders – they get to work hard and party harder.

Especially when a hero is getting married. Len doesn’t know why he felt that he couldn’t decline the invitation, but it’s too late to cry over spilt milk – or spilt whiskey, in this case – he’s going to have to suffer through the rest of the night in a seedy strip club where it seems impossible to look even down one’s glass without encountering a bouncy pair of breasts.

It is a rather strange venue for the stag party of two men getting hitched to each other, but since both of them have been known to enjoy female company previously, they have declared it their last opportunity to feast their eyes on lady curves without cheating on each other. Personally, Len doesn’t think those two are lacking anything in the sex department, if the sounds carrying unpleasantly loudly from their room some nights are any indication, but hey, who is he to judge.

“You’re really drunk,” Len counters, when he finds that Barry is still staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. It’s making Len squirm a little, to be honest, all that intensity and surprise, like Barry’s trying to read into this simple fact of (Len’s) life and coming up with all sorts of preposterous explanations.

“I didn’t think you were gay,” Barry mumbles, and Len knows he’s correct: Barry’s coming to all sorts of conclusions and Len isn’t sure if he should even bother to explain when the kid’s apparently two-and-a-half sheets to the wind. But he gives it a valiant try anyway, because he’s never been able to outright deny Barry Allen anything, no matter how annoyed it always made him to surrender.

“I’m not.”

“Right,” Barry snorts and takes a healthy swig from something in his glass – it’s more of a gel than a liquid and looks like it’s been pre-digested by a swamp, but it’s been successfully making Barry woozy and giggly for the past couple of hours. The kid barely even winces at the taste anymore. “I don’t think anyone not gay could stay soft after that lapdance.”

It’s Len’s turn to wince at that: he wasn’t particularly impressed when Mick decided to ‘share the fun’ as he called it, and ordered a busty girl with a glittery thong to writhe all over Len’s dick for ten minutes. He can’t deny that the girl was pretty, all sleek black hair and luscious curves, but Len has never exactly enjoyed this kind of entertainment. Regardless of the gender of the dancer, actually.

He shrugs and tries to ignore the Drunk Flash at his side, but the kid’s staring at him with open curiosity and eventually it makes Len’s skin itch so much he has to turn and smirk at him:

“Apparently, I could.”


“What does it matter?”

“It just does,” Barry puffs sulkily and it’s far more adorable than a grown man who has saved the world numerous times should be. “You are gay, right? You’re just teasing me.”

Len smirks and looks away – if Scarlet wants to think he’s teasing, so be it. It’s not exactly easy to explain why he’s the way he is, why he doesn’t enjoy nudity in public spaces and strangers slithering their bodies against his under the blinking neon lights. He tries to make sense of himself enough to explain it to Barry, even as the kid continues to pout about it.

“Not like anyone would mind, you know,” Barry grumbles, eyes trailing after a lovely dark-haired woman dancing about ten feet from their table. He’s blushing just from the sight, and Len has a ridiculous thought about how fast a speedster’s blood can travel, and whether it’s possible for Barry to be that red in the face and growing hard under the table. Judging by the way the kid’s shifting in his seat, it probably is. Suddenly, Barry’s eyes shift back towards Len and he looks worried: “If it’s a side-effect of the time-travel, I’m sure Caitlin could help-“

“I’ll pass,” Len snorts: it’s just like a randy twenty-something to assume that if one doesn’t pop a boner at the mere hint of nudity, there’s an underlying medical reason. Though, to be honest, even when Len used to be a randy twenty-year-old himself, his dick didn’t usually take interest in every inch of skin to be had. “Let it go, Scarlet, or I’m going to tell Mick to get you one of those.”

Barry looks torn between interested and horrified; in the end, he crosses his arms over his (nicely toned and half-revealed) chest. Len licks his lips at the sight, but doesn’t comment.

“For real, though, I don’t get why you won’t just say that you’re gay,” he says, and something in his voice sounds miserable enough that Len’s resolve cracks a little, pushing him from teasing towards honesty. It’s not often that he feels like spilling the truth about his… peculiar tastes to anyone, and it’s even less often that it happens in a public setting, but Scarlet always had a knack for superb puppy faces and right now, he looks like his pet rabbit just died. Possibly, Len’s also had too much to drink himself, so his ability to avoid emotional confrontation is weakened – and he really wants to know why Barry seems so insistent to prove Len’s interest in men.

“I’m not,” he repeats, and when Barry turns hurt eyes towards him, he shrugs, “but I’m not straight either. Regardless of gender, I don’t particularly enjoy… nudity for entertainment purposes. Or, shall we say, casual acquaintances.”

Barry’s eyebrows shoot up at the confession, and Len feels his cheeks warm a little. It’s ridiculous – as a rule, he doesn’t blush, he’s forty-five years old for fuck’s sake, and well on his way to be a legend of the future times. Except rules apparently mean nothing when dealing with Barry Allen.

“Seriously?” he blurts, and Len frowns, the old worry and hurt of being different, wrong, flaring up in his chest like a twisting knife.

“I expected more understanding from a hopeless romantic like yourself, Scarlet,” he snaps with a sneer, sarcasm his go-to defense mechanism. It slides off Barry’s skin like water off his ridiculous non-leather suit, as if he’s learned to navigate the minefield of Len’s prickly answers to look for the truth underneath. Len’s not sure if that makes him glad or terrified.

“No, I get it,” Barry backtracks quickly and his hand is back – well, not back in Len’s lap as such. His warm fingers cover Len’s wrist and squeeze lightly, and Len looks at the places their skin touches and wonders why he’s not pulling back, or reacting in any way. He usually does, way before he can even think about it – how many times has Scarlet touched him without Len finding it weird in the past couple of years? When has this happened? Try as he might, he can’t pinpoint the exact time when he stopped tensing under Scarlet’s careful, questioning fingers.

“I get it,” the kid repeats, looking remorseful as if he just said something insulting about Len’s freshly deceased grandmother. “I just… I didn’t expect it from you, you know?”

That warrants a perfect eyebrow arch in response, and Barry flusters even more.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you!” he yelps and his fingers tighten against Len’s wrist. “Just, you’re always flirting, you know?”

Len sighs, but it’s more fond exasperation than true annoyance. He knows he’s weak when it comes to Barry, and it scares him most of the time, but he’s long come to accept that it will never change, no matter how much shit he pulls to re-establish his ‘don’t-care-I’m-the-bad-guy’ reputation. Barry’s not buying it – and the funny thing is, Len’s not buying it either when Scarlet’s nearby.

“Only with you, Red,” Len chuckles. Barry’s face turns almost purple, he blushes so hard; and then he’s sidling closer (away from the splash of beer an overeager patron has just caused next to him, but Len chooses to interpret it as ‘closer to him’ instead of ‘away from the spill’ anyway).



“So… do you want to get out of here?” Barry mumbles, and Len can’t help but stare at him for a moment.

“I think I just said I don’t do casual acquaintances,” he retorts slowly, watching Barry’s face for clues. ‘Get out of here’ has so many different meanings that Len is afraid to interpret it as the one that would suit him best. But Barry frowns at him, purses his lips for a moment, and Len knows, even before the speedster opens his mouth again.

“I didn’t mean that. We can watch a movie, get something to eat maybe… Okay?”

The last word sounds like a plea and yeah, Len’s weak alright. He doesn’t even point out that the evening started with dinner that would feed an army (and mostly fed Barry) – he twists his hand in Barry’s grip until their fingers fall together like pieces of puzzle cut out to complement each other, and nods.


100christy  asked:

Can I get a Mc that's a creative, wild spirit. So independent that the bidders forget that she's younger than them, and she would say, "Man, your just like my dad," or "Whatever dad." whenever they try to hold her back from what she wants to do.😂

I loved this idea so much! It was super fun to write, and I hope this is sort of what you had in mind…


Eisuke hadn’t expected, not in a million years, to enter the bedroom and find his girlfriend, Aimi, wearing… that.

The dress was a thin, cunning piece of material; it was obsidian black in colour and clung mischievously to every curve on Aimi’s body.

To put it rather simply, it accentuated everything, and the neck was so low that Eisuke could only thank the Gods that she was wearing a bra underneath, and as for the low-cut back that pretty much didn’t exist, revealing that creamy white skin that his girlfriend often forgot to cover up…

Bracing himself against the wall for support, Eisuke kept his cool, quickly banishing the stunned expression on his face and replacing it with a no-nonsense stare.

“There’s no way that you’re going to the IVC dressed like that, Aimi,” he finally spoke, making sure to use her name in his words in order to finalise the point.

Aimi, however, only gazed back at him through the all-seeing mirror.

She ran a hand over the dress, meaning to tease the CEO.

“… Do you not like it, Eisuke?” she purred, enjoying his reaction to her bravery. She watched as he crossed his arms and averted his gaze, far, far away from the beautiful brunette in the sexy dress. “I chose it especially for you, too”. It was taking every ounce of self-control that Eisuke could muster to stand as still as he was doing right now, especially as she continued to shamelessly run her hands over her body, turning this way and that as the mirror admired her in return.

She stopped suddenly, and gave him a murdering smile.

“Tell me you like it, Eisuke”.

“I don’t like it,” he said quickly, moving further into the room. They were both as stubborn as each other, which was usually the reason as to why a majority of their arguments ended in either interruption or… well, something else entirely. “It’s tacky and exposing”. His thoughts were thinking the opposites; she was stunning in whatever the heck she wore, be it a dress or a plastic bag, but Eisuke would not let another man see her like this tonight. His pride stood firmly in the way of any compliment he might have wanted to make.

“Oh,” Aimi said, reacting to his comment. She looked down at herself, pretending to be completely offended. Her brown eyes were bright and beautiful and everything, but her tone was ever-teasing. “Maybe someone else will like it?” she wondered out loud, stepping closer towards her boyfriend. She could see his façade slipping by the second; he had even begun to run a hand through his messy bangs in that way he tended to do when under extreme stress. “Maybe I’ll go ask the guys!-“.

“No,” he said, and it was low enough and harsh enough to stop Aimi in her tracks, already half-way to the door, ready to take her teasing game to the next level.

“Why not?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Because,” he started to explain, stepping towards her. It almost infuriated her with how difficult it was to get him to snap; she couldn’t help but try every now and then. “You shouldn’t be wearing something so revealing in public, Aimi”.

“Okay, Dad,” she replied, laughing and rolling her eyes. Eisuke wasn’t anywhere near as amused. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping as close towards him as she could. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating, teasing just as she was. The last thing he wanted to do to her tonight was take her to the IVC. “You seem stressed-“.

“I’m fine-“.

“Are you scared that someone will steal me away?” she whispered through parted red lips, her breath caressing Eisuke’s cheek as she stood on her tiptoes to reach it. She grinned as she felt him tense at her words – finally! So the great Eisuke Ichinomiya did have a limit! “…Or maybe you don’t think you’ll be able to control yourself with me dressed like this?-”.

As abrupt as he usually was, Eisuke pushed Aimi away gently, practically flying out of the room in a rush to regain his composure.

“Wear whatever you want,” he made sure to say, before shutting the door.

Whilst Aimi giggled fondly at her boyfriend’s cute reaction to her teasing, Eisuke was pouring himself a drink in the penthouse lounge.


It wasn’t until he loosened his grip on the glass that he realised just how tightly he was holding onto it, pushing all of the rage and burning jealousy down, down into his fists.

If Soryu had to watch another second, another millisecond in fact, of Mai’s interactions with the Ice Dragons… His fingers seemed to stretch almost instinctively towards his trusted gun, but he admonished himself for being so unreasonable.

She’s just having fun, he tried to convince himself, but the attempt did nothing to soothe the angry look on the mob leader’s face, an angry look that was amplified by a great deal every time Mai moved towards another one of the men.

It’s just fun, he repeated, tightening and loosening his grip on the stress ball that was his glass, wishing he really could stare daggers in this moment, whilst Mai laughed carelessly, long hair dark against the night, eyes twinkling and wise like famous constellations…

She was independent, and beautiful, and Soryu wanted nothing more than to see her smile…

But at the expense of what? Having to see her dancing with another man?

The office was alive with the warmth and affection of Mai, the girlfriend of the leader (as everyone seemed to be currently forgetting) who could probably relight the sun with all of the energy and fire she carried inside of her, music playing loudly as she stepped in time to it, as if every song was custom-made for her, the usual serious expressions of Soryu’s underlings now replaced effortlessly with such joy that they all looked, momentarily of course, like a normal group of guys.

Except for Soryu, who eyed everyone not so casually from his position by the wall. He thought that he must have looked incredibly awkward, but Soryu Oh always looked as though he had some idea as to what he was doing, so nobody else thought so.

“You okay, Boss?” one of his men enquired on his way back into the crowded, lively atmosphere.

Why were they celebrating? A perfectly good question without any valid answer, and Soryu had been a fool to allow it, especially when he knows how… wild, shall we say, his girlfriend tends to get when in a party situation.

“I’m fine,” he replied briskly, smoothing his hair back and trying his best to remove the stubborn, hard expression on his face, but every time Mai danced, that modest dress doing nothing to stop the ogling eyes of the other Dragons… every time she stood so close to another man, every time she laughed with Inui and winked in Samejima’s direction… Gods.

He was anything but fine.

Uncaring as to what anyone thought of him for doing so, Soryu made quick work of finding his way through the cluttered room, his line of sight focused entirely on Mai, and getting to Mai, and then leaving with her, too.

“That’s enough,” he said, giving her a pointed stare as she reached for her glass, the remnants of a laugh still etched onto her features.

She grinned at Soryu - always so serious and stern in front of everyone else, but impossibly gentle to her when they were alone. Still, Mai was having fun and had no intentions of leaving yet.

“Actually,” she began, maintaining eye contact with him as she took a large gulp of her drink. “That’s nowhere near enough, Boss”.

Drunk, Soryu thought, awkwardly folding his arms across his chest.

He had no idea what to do with her when she was like this, especially when surrounded by so many people, people who respected Soryu as a wise man.

“Mai,” he warned.

“Soryu,” she replied evenly, stepping closer towards him and grinning.

Soryu successfully hid his slight amusement; there was something deeply attractive about everything she did, even when she was like this: completely gone, smiling brightly at anyone and everyone, her voluminous hair somewhat dishevelled… she still made his day.

Mai,” he said again, leaning down so that his voice was more prominent in her thoughts. Inui and Samejima had retreated by now, Samejima dragging Inui away, who protested, screaming about how much fun he had been having with Princess. “We are leaving”. Grateful for the lack of a witty comeback from his girlfriend, Soryu added: “Right now”.

He would deal with the Dragons tomorrow for the way they had watched her, although he couldn’t think of a way to express those feelings without sounding despicably jealous.

She rolled her eyes – rolled her eyes! – at him, right there in front of everyone, and passed by him swiftly, making for the door.

“Okay, Dad,” she called behind her shoulder, not turning to lock eyes with him or anything.

Soryu did not bother with goodbyes. Was she insane? What if somebody were to attack her now, at her most vulnerable, and she’s just going to walk off into the night, drunk and, well, barely even walking straight?!

“Mai”. He had caught up to her in a heartbeat. She turned, flashing him a cheeky grin. He was damned for loving her as much as he did. “Don’t run off like that. You could have…”. He trailed off as she turned, slinking her arms around his neck in a way that meant they had to stand so, so close to each other. They were far enough away from the office now that Soryu didn’t bother pretending not to be surprised by her sudden attack.

Mai stared into the depths of those grey eyes, seeing nothing but love and affection and slight concern towards her outwards freeness… But yeah, love was definitely the most prominent emotion.

And it made her want to kiss her boyfriend, so she did, the alcohol boosting her bravery.

“You’re adorably protective,” she said simply, smiling at him before releasing him and turning back to continue her walk.

She was most likely aware of the stunned and dazed state that Soryu had been left in just behind her.


From the start -the very start - back when Baba had first bought her and their journey together had first started… Muri has always had a secret love for the thrill, and the rush that came whenever Baba agreed to let her accompany him on one of his many “outings”.

And tonight was no different.

The master thief had reluctantly agreed to let Muri come along today, and she was buzzing, every sense completely captivated by the imminent danger and the threat of fear… There was an excitement to it, and despite Baba’s attempts at convincing Muri to stay home, using scary words and phrases such as ‘It could all go wrong’ and ‘inevitable death’, Muri did not hesitate before coming with him tonight.

They were just checking out the Modern Day Lupin’s next target; a huge, unnecessary mansion with tonnes of free space, and apparently, according to Baba, a bunch of counterfeit paintings. It was seemingly fortunate that a party was being held tonight, and the duo had arrived with the correct attire, Baba wearing his usual hat, a friendly smile on his face as he moved from guest to guest, exchanging polite greetings and shaking hands whilst his other hand remained on Muri’s waist, as if to guide her through the crowds.

Muri had watched her boyfriend, his brown eyes alight with fake interest whenever anybody struck up a conversation with him, his hand an ever-there reminder of his presence.

Things had started to go rather wrongly only when Baba had led Muri up to the owner’s private gallery to view the paintings, and then some sort of security measure had been set off… and that’s how the pair have ended up where they are now, at the edge of a corridor, Baba cursing himself for not checking first.

“How would you have known?” Muri asked for maybe the tenth time. Baba paced, unnaturally stirred by the turn of events. “No one could have known, Baba-“.

“You distract me, Muri,” he told her, turning to look at her finally, and Muri was relieved to find a smile on that familiar face, a confident smile that told her that there was nothing to be concerned about. They would get out of here just fine. “Now, listen to me very carefully”. Baba’s expression turned serious at, well, the drop of a hat, and Muri knew she needed to hear what he had to say.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Muri,” he swore, the most sincere look in his eyes as he leaned right into her face, and his voice dropped to a whisper that only she would be able to hear. “You’re such a daredevil, little lady”.

“Well, what can I say?” she matched, her eyes flashing with mischief and wit. “A girl’s gotta have a little fun every now and then, Baba”. She grinned up at him, and he immediately leant that extra bit of distance downwards to kiss her.

So soft, he though idly, reaching a hand up to cradle Muri’s head as he deepened the kiss. He wasn’t aware of it at the time, but he wanted the kiss to last, just in case something unspeakable really did happen to him tonight. He wanted the kiss to last…

It was Muri who broke away, giving him a light shove. She was eager to hear their plan of escape; she wanted to feel that rush, that feeling of being on the edge of everything all at once. Gods, this was so exciting.

But, of course, life-threatening, Muri’s mind managed to remind her, but Muri’s eyes were already twinkling as she asked Baba, “What do we do?”.

Turning serious once more, Baba didn’t stop as he spoke through their escape route. It was admirable – yes, he was a thief – but it was admirable all the same the way in which he worked. He took each job more seriously than anybody could ever imagine Baba could take anything, and it was exceedingly attractive, listening to her boyfriend speak in that low voice. She caught herself watching the way his eyes shone in the dim lighting of the corridor, rather than listening as she should have been…

“…Got it, pretty lady?”. He smirked at her, confident as always.

Muri nodded. It’d be fine. Baba knew what he was doing. And most importantly…

It would be fun.

She followed close behind as Baba sneaked his way down the corridor, not having to glance behind to check on her; he knew that his girlfriend could handle herself.

As if to give her the opportunity to prove this, one of the owner’s thugs had gotten behind Muri, and had given himself away with a victorious shout.

Baba jumped to protect her, but… she was already doing a pretty good job of it herself.

With a swift kick to the stomach, Muri spun, as if to build momentum just before she swung her clutch, hard and merciless, into her assailant’s face.

There was a moment of awe and silence as the man, heavier than Muri, surely stronger than her, too, fell to the shiny wooden floor as if he had been nothing more than a fly.

“…You’ll have to show me how you did that,” Baba commented, flashing her that usual grin. She laughed, a proud look on her face. Muri couldn’t help but feel like a slight badass – this was the excitement that she had been talking about!

“I’ll show you later,” she responded, winking at him.

Baba, for once, was speechless. His plan became a thing of the past as he stared at his beautiful, magnificent partner in crime. God, he loved her. She was crazy and impatient and a genuine health risk, but he’d trade every remaining day of his life if it meant that she would be happy…

“We’re gonna have to jump out of the window”. Muri’s voice hit him like a slap of wind, and he registered that panicked yet calm expression on her gorgeous face before he realised that there were several security guards racing towards them.

They were coming from both directions, and Baba hadn’t noticed.

She really is a distraction.

“What are you doing?!”. Muri was standing by the window, looking down at the roof below as if she was genuinely even entertaining the idea for a single second.

Baba was at her side in an instant, his thoughts telling him that she had finally gone mad.

But there were seconds left to think it through, to argue it with one another.

Muri faced Baba and shrugged her shoulders, as if they had been debating a choice of pizza toppings rather than a life or death situation such as this one.

“It’ll be fun,” she claimed, smiling up at him, opening the windows wide.

Baba looked down. It was definitely further than-

“Remember? We did this before,” Muri said, beating his thoughts by a second.

Baba didn’t have time to contemplate the fact that this distance was much taller, or time to do anything really.

He only had a moment to turn to his girlfriend and tell her the most important thing of all.

“I love you, Muri,”.

She hiked up her dress, her dark hair blossoming in the relentless wind as she climbed up onto the window ledge, a clear sense of urgency in her eyes as she spoke to him.



Gen had spent the entire day at work, looking forward to seeing her boyfriend, the Angelic Artist himself, this evening.

Whilst cleaning guest rooms, taking Erika’s petty insults on the chin like a proper classy lady and tending to the all-important guests… her thoughts had been a collage, a slideshow in fact, of Ota.

I’m not infatuated with him, she thought to herself as she straightened down the duvet on one of the beds, the loose ponytail she wore her hair in already starting to untangle itself. A smile caressed her lips. In love, would be the words to use.

She’d drifted from room to room that day, untouchable, excited and practically counting down the milliseconds until tonight.

What had he meant when he had told her to get home as quickly as possible?…

What on earth did he have planned?!

Unable to hide her excitement, Gen was a dancing breeze through the hotel that day, and then, the moment it was all over, she was in that elevator and then in that penthouse lounge as though she actually did have super speed, and then!…

“Hey, Gen”.

It wasn’t even Ota who had spoken.

Baba was the one who’s eyes had moved to meet hers when she walked in, and he grinned that same casual grin at her as she walked further into the room.

The other guys were there, as well. And of course… there was Ota.

He wasn’t half as interested in Gen’s presence though, which sucked a hell of a lot really, because apparently his sketchpad was of far more importance.

So important in fact that he couldn’t even be arsed enough to look up for a second! She thought rather angrily, marching her way through the room.

“Hi,” she said to them all in a cold manner.

Eisuke was prattling on about how he hoped that her attitude towards the guests had been very different today, and Gen had to resist every single urge in her body to curse at him as she made her way up the stairs, her footsteps audible around the room that she had left the confused men in.

Baba gave Ota a weary look, but Ota was busy, his pencil busy, too; creating swift and effortless shapes and shades on the paper in front of him. He stuck his tongue out slightly as he worked tirelessly on the drawing that he had planned to show Gen…

Where is Koro? he thought absently, daring a look up at the rest of the guys, who were all busy being terribly not busy.

“…Where’s Gen?” he said aloud, and it was Kishi who answered, taking a simultaneous puff of his cigarette.

“'Kid stormed off upstairs,” he remarked, and then Ota noticed Baba’s weary look.

“I think she’s a little…”.


Ota hadn’t noticed that she had come in. He’d been caught up in perfecting the drawing that he’d so badly wanted to show her, waiting on her to come home so much so that he had missed the very moment.

He cursed himself as he made to follow Gen up the stairs, wondering how he could apologise without seeming pathetic.

Meanwhile, Gen was standing in the doorway to her and Ota’s bedroom.

He didn’t notice me, she thought almost solemnly, but then a mischievous thought sailed across her mind, and she smirked, the smirk sending warnings of trouble.

“I’ll have to just make him notice me,” she spoke aloud, moving over to the bed.

And then she began to take layer after layer off, exposing more skin with each clothing item she carelessly threw to the side, until she was finally – completely – naked.

Ota’s footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs, and he called for Koro once, and then, when no reply came, he called her real name once, too.

She could practically hear the apology in his voice and the way he quickly moved to find her.

Lying on the bed, rather dramatically actually, Gen’s face was a picture of trouble and mischief as her boyfriend finally reached the room.


Ota had forgotten what speech was.

Why?… What?…

Why would she?…

“Paint me like one of your French girls,” she joked, followed by her usual, wild laugh.

The Angelic artist averted his gaze quickly, removing his cardigan and throwing it at her, resisting the urge to do what he really wanted to do right now after seeing her like this; beautiful and troublesome, undeniably more gorgeous with each breath she took. Her hair was a dark wave that flowed down her exposed back as she stared up at him, batting those long eyelashes in that practiced, seductive manner.

“… Get some clothes on, Gen”. He had managed to regain composure, although his cheeks and ears were tinged with red by now. “You’ll catch a cold” he reasoned.

“Seriously?”. Gen looked unimpressed, but she reluctantly threw Ota’s cardigan around her shoulders anyway, honestly grateful for the warmth and his scent. “Are you my Dad or my boyfriend?”.

Ota risked a look in her direction, thanking the Gods that she was dressed now – He would deal with that particular issue later tonight when they were alone and the other Bidders were out of ear shot…. But for now…

Finding his way with ease towards her, he sat down next to his girlfriend, put an affectionate arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him before kissing the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, Gen,” he said gently. Gen melted into him – this was what she had been missing all day. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise”. His amber eyes shone with certainty, and she nodded.

They stood up together, walking towards the door, Ota’s arm hung lovingly around Gen’s shoulder.

“Seriously,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Go put some clothes on”.

“Yes, sir”. She winked at him, turning back to change.


He was fast asleep.

He had been fast asleep for a majority of the evening, and Rin could literally feel the night slipping away with every passing minute that she spent sat beside him, waiting for him to wake up…

But Mamoru slept on, and he had already started snoring loudly, a sign that he did not plan on waking up any time soon.

Disbelievingly, Rin checked the time on her phone.

It was only eight ‘o’ clock!

“Old man,” she remarked, poking him in the cheek.

But still, she couldn’t help but smile as she watched him sleep, ruggedly handsome in whatever he did, somehow. His hair was a mess on top of his head thanks to the sleeping, and Rin traced a finger along his stubbly jaw.

My Mamo, she thought somewhat possessively, standing up and strengthening her resolve.

She would be going out tonight, by herself, alone and without an escort, because she was an independent woman who would surely be able to find her way around the city by herself without getting into any trouble.

Her hair was perfectly curled in no time, eyeliner applied in perfectly flicked lines, and she looked amazing – Mamo wouldn’t have dared call her a kid if he were to see how she looked tonight.

I’m ready, she thought, grabbing her purse and her phone and making for the door.

She had close to no idea where she would go, just that she would be going somewhere.

Perhaps she would call up Sakiko and they would head out somewhere togeth-

“And just where do you think you’re goin’?”.

Apparently wide awake, Mamoru sat on the bed, staring at his girlfriend with unease.

He must have been jolted awake, like some sort of watchdog maybe, for he was still rubbing his eyes and yawning as he spoke to her.

Rin smiled sweetly at him.

“Out,” she replied. “I’m not gonna sit and watch you sleep all evening, Mamo”.

“I weren’t sleepin’,” he claimed, but Rin just tilted her head to one side, not even bothering to argue the point with him.

He sighed, standing up slowly and approaching her.

“You’re not convincing me to stay,” she warned him, raising an eyebrow and secretly hoping that he didn’t come too close – if he held her like he had done last night… she wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to go anywhere fast. “I’m going out and that’s that”. She folded her arms as if to finalise her point, and now it was Mamoru’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“Well, smart mouth,” he name called, even though he was the one attempting to sound clever. He too folded his arms… their arguments were often baby steps away from becoming childish, like the kind of fights that end in tongues being stuck out and kids being called losers. “’The hell d’you plan on surviving out there, alone?”.

“It’s not a jungle, smartass,”. Rin almost laughed, but that would be a success for Mamoru, and she was not backing down. “I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much-“.

“Ya do realise just how you’re lookin’ in that damn dress right now, don’t you, Rin?”. He spoke quietly, as if it honestly killed him to pay her a compliment!

Honestly, this man!

“Aw, thanks” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he replied in an equal tone.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and although Rin’s face portrayed annoyance and boredom, her thoughts revolved around him, and her heart would always belong to him.

He just didn’t need to know that.

“I haven’t got time to stand around here chatting with you,” she said quite coldly, turning away from her boyfriend, who looked completely taken aback, as though he had almost expected her to just stay with him after all.

She wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction.

“Bye, Mamo!” she called cheerfully.

“Kid”. Mamoru’s hand was warm on Rin’s arm, causing her to halt just before she stepped outside of the bedroom.

Mamoru pulled her closer towards him so that she was forced to look up into those gorgeous, grey eyes. And she couldn’t do anything to stop her heart from going all funny.

Damn him.

Face completely serious, Mamoru held her for a minute, and he would have been a fool to admit that he had been almost savouring the feel of her, the scent that she was always sporting, that carefree smile that, more often than not, meant trouble for him.

“I’m not lettin’ you go off tonight by yourself,” he said, his voice rough from being asleep just moments ago. He held her softening gaze for another long moment. “Come on, kid”. He scratched his head in thinking. “…How about I come with ya?”.

Rin was stubborn, and she wasn’t going to agree to this change of plans. She could handle herself, and was not a ‘kid’. She would go out by herself and Mamo would just have to deal with it.

“I can handle myself,” she reminded him, shrugging away from his touch, already missing the warmth but marching ahead even so. “Soryu taught me some self-defence, remember?-“.

He interrupted her with a scoff, which pissed Rin off to completely new heights.

When he reached for her again, she deemed it appropriate to show him what she had learnt.

Twisting his arm round just enough for it be a warning not to touch her again, she caught him unaware and managed to floor him, straddling him to keep him down.

Mamoru’s eyes were wide and disbelieving, but Rin just smiled and kissed his cheek sweetly.

“…I’ll be fine,” she repeated, and this time, not even Mamoru had anything to say to that. He could only watch as his girlfriend, who he loved but was also genuinely scared of as well, got up and walked away from him, leaving him breathless on the floor.

Hit or Bust

A/N: This was an AU idea I had last year, but resurfaced when talking to @nothingbutwordsstuff, so I decided to write a one-shot about it. I left it open-ended in case I wanted to write another part later, if I have the inspiration, but I hope you all enjoy this!

Rating: T (for mentions of gambling and alcohol)

Summery: In a kill or be killed world, sometimes the greatest weapon is the mind, and your best deck of cards. 

“Damnit I can never win at this game!”

“Sorry, miss, maybe next time!”

Natsu Dragneel smiled, sending the young, rich, and probably drunk, woman off with a wave. Of course he just told the biggest lie in the universe, seeing as he never lost a game. If there was anything Natsu was good at, it was pulling the wool over people’s eyes, and deceiving.

Well maybe combat also fit the bill.

Unbeknownst to the people who entered the small casino parlor, Natsu Dragneel had actually aided the victory of many-a-war, but somewhere down the road, the lives that he took began weighing on his soul too heavily, and eventually, he just kinda stopped.

Of course he still had a way of getting what he wanted. And that was through games. Card games, board games, party games, games of chance, luck, life and death. And after about after about 400 years he had perfected his skill, and could flawlessly outsmart people at any day of the week.

And what he craved now, more than anything else? Information. Information on a person close to him who had gone missing recently. But the odd thing was, why was sniffing him out so hard to do? Tracking was usually one of his strong suits.

Natsu stuffed his deck in his pocket, as another dealer came to take over, forcing Natsu to straighten his tie, before leaving the small establishment, into the dark, damp street. Grimacing, he found it was drizzling out. Now his clothes would be ruined. Great.

Hat now tipped down to keep the rain out of his eyes as he picked up his pace into a light jog. Natsu took cover into a alley, where the roofs were angled in such a way that the water just missed him, allowing the lean man to rest while he waited for the rain to pass.

Natsu paused as he wrung the water out of his tie, hearing voices further down the alley, one of that being a more feminine voice, the other obviously being male. And so, with the utmost delicacy, he crept to the corner, the voices becoming louder as he did so.

“I won already, girlie, now… It’s time for my prize.”

“W-Wait, best two out of three…?”

“Not interested”

Natsu quickly showed himself before the situation could get anymore dicey than it already was, revealing a blonde girl in a red silky dress, and a guy in a suit, with a pin tacked on the front, looking like two intertwined hammers.

Looks like fate was smiling on Natsu today.

“Mind a change in players?” Natsu practically purred, stepping forward, past the shocked blonde, sizing up the man before him, who had dirty blonde, chin length hair, and animalistic eyes. This one shouldn’t be too hard.

“Oh yeah? And what do you want?” His opponent growled, eyes glancing back at the young woman who was to be his prize.

Natsu grinned, the corners of his mouth pulling back to reveal fanged teeth “Double or nothing, shall we?” he insisted “You win, you get both me and the girl, no questions asked.” Natsu could faintly hear said girl protesting behind her, but he easily dismissed it.

There was a small pause before the young man across from them raised a thin, curious brow “And if YOU win?”

“You tell us anything we want to know.” Natsu reasoned simply “Unless, that is, you’re scared to take a chance?” The two men entered a stare off., but Natsu already knew the outcome. Male pride was something so easy to use, it was laughable, really. Not accepting a presented challenge was like saying your own self-doubt to the enemy, at least in their own minds.

It wasn’t long before he agreed, albeit, a bit reluctantly, and Natsu walked over, sitting himself across from his new target, crossing one leg over the other.

“What’s the game?” The blonde male asked as Natsu pulled his deck from his vest pocket, shuffling the cards expertly.

“A game of wit.” Natsu answered, eyes alight with playful mischief , as he set the deck in the middle, of the small, makeshift table. “The game itself is simple. We each pull a card off the top of this deck, and the other must guess what it is. We each have three turns”

The other man looked apprehensive, narrowing his dark eyes at the pink haired guy across from him “Game of wit? More like game of luck. And what if neither gets it right after three turns?” he demanded, making Natsu roll his eyes.

“If it reassures you, if none of us get it within the allotted time, you automatically win.” Natsu answered impatiently, waving his hand dismissively, watching his expression turn much more sinister. Natsu couldn’t help but smirk. “With the odds stacked up like that, I’d say Lady Luck is in your favor, no?”

Human nature was always so easy to manipulate, and that much hadn’t changed over the years. Always so easy to rile them up, and make them walk right into your trap. Even now it was stupidly easy to read them. ‘I just have to wait it out and I win!’ was such a simple and cowardly thought, and this man would have to try much harder to win against Natsu in cards.

The first two rounds went as anyone would expect, and neither had guessed the others card, which in turn made the gentleman more excited and less focused, as he anticipated his victory.

Well, that was a lie; Natsu knew what the man’s card was, but he always enjoyed letting them think they had bested him only to utterly disappoint them again.

“Is it a queen of hearts?” the man said, eyes flashing dangerously as he thought he had already won. But what he hadn’t known was that he had lost the moment he crossed paths with Natsu.

“No. And your card is the jack of spades.” Natsu said simply, watching his opponent’s face drop in seconds.

“H-How-?! You just got lucky!” He barked, standing abruptly, Natsu standing casually after him, chuckling.

“I also know your last two cards you held were a two of diamonds and a 8 of clubs, because you were SO insecure about your game skills, that you swapped out your card on each turn.” Natsu stated matter-of-factly, stepping forward to rip the man’s sleeve, sending cards scattering from it, and fluttering into the puddles of water around them.

The once cocky individual paled, stepping back “H-How did you-!” he stammered, backing up, gasping as his back hit the wall, Natsu stepping towards him the whole way.

“If you paid any attention to your surroundings, you would’ve noticed the window directly behind you, which made it easy to see your cards and what you were doing, thanks to the dim sky.” Natsu quipped, before reaching out, snagging the terrified person by his suit collar.

“And now, you will tell me.” Natsu started coolly, before his gaze hardened, glaring hard enough to set the boy to flames in his hand, and speaking loudly and firmly;


Kylux fanfic: Soulmate AU pt 1

(‘cause I actually really like the clichés)

Pairing: General Hux/Kylo Ren
Warnings: tfa spoilers, kylux (yes, I’m warning against that)
Plot: In a world where soulmates excist, their names written permanently on their other half’s wrist, Kylo and Hux really have no idea they’ve actually already found their soulmate. Desperetaly denying their feelings for each other, since they know they have to leave when their soulmate arrives, they try to continue on with their normal lifes.

Angst, frustration, some humour and a lot of buried tension ensues.

Keep reading

To Lead Fantastic Lives - Chapter Two

I gotta admit that I was overwhelmed by the response that the previous chapter got. I really didn’t expect this story to get more than 10 notes! Anyways, I thank all of you who have decided to give this story a chance. Here’s chapter two, and I would’ve put it up earlier, but I had to take a few days off the internet to study for my engineering exam.

Now that I got the bad stuff out of the way, I’ve decided to update this fic every Saturday, so be on the look out for that!

Read Chapter One Here


Oowada stepped back, a slight frown fixed on his face.

“Wait, so you’ll do it?”

“Did you perceive the nod as something else?”

“No, I-I didn’t. Just…” Oowada trailed off uncomfortably. “Right. Let’s start tomorrow after class. I’ll just give you the address to my house.”


Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I miss your daily remembers :(

Aw!  Thank you anon. I miss them too. But just because I’m not posting new ones doesn’t mean they didn’t happen and that they weren’t real.  They were real. And I believe in love. 

I know how Hollywood works. This is a town where gay men marry women and have children with them while still having their real-life partner living with them in their home. This is a town where people will hide secret love children to help win Oscars. Jen and Josh pretending to be dating people they have nothing in common with is not at all a big stretch.  They’re actors after all, paid to pretend every day of their lives. 

So don’t despair. Revisit the reminders when needed. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/joshifer-daily-reminders

This too shall pass.