#Family History Discovery Day

[nickysfacts]

The Gelato, was clearly only possible thanks to Enlightened ideas!

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[salem-s]

05 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, holy annngst (familial issues, mentions of a parent leaving). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 6.6k. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. inaccurate from canonical cameron family history idfk. ── SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER sun bleached flies by ethel cain

You wake up bright and early on accident. 

It’s not your fault, as a strange dream jolts you from your slumber out of confusion, but when your eyes crack open and blink away the rising sunlight, the scene in front of you is disgustingly endearing. 

Rafe’s sleeping face is inches away from yours, your heads sharing the same thin pillow.

His lips are puffy and parted, breaths taken silently through his nose as his chest rises and falls in deep syncopation. The urge to laugh at his disheveled hair is high, as it sticks up in every kind of direction: over his eyes, straight up, sideways, making him look absolutely insane.

Knowing him, he’d probably be embarrassed at the sight, and would probably jab at your appearance in retaliation to take the spotlight off of him for a mere moment. An arm is lazily draped around your waist and one of his lanky legs is slotted between your thighs. 

Content with the sleeping arrangement, your heartbeat simmers from the craziness of your dream, falling back asleep within a few minutes knowing you're safely caged in his arms. 

When you wake again, Rafe is gone, and you try to ignore the dull ache that settles in your heart at the discovery.

There’s no Po or sunlight who wake you up this time and you surprisingly wish that there was, because the absence of it allows you to think about today’s agenda: your last day staying with Lorenza. 

Your heart drops in anxious anticipation, knowing tomorrow you'll be off to whatever overpriced resort your family rented out for the weekend surrounded by disingenuous people. It almost feels like enemy territory, the more you think about it, and a small part of you is relieved at Rafe’s presence to help you through it.

Whereas the other part of you is dreading it, fearful of exposing him to such dreary conditions. 

Last night, Rafe explained how his family and the community in his home town aren’t much different from yours, full of obnoxious, rich assholes who don’t care whether he lives or dies as long as they have enough funds for their biannual Mykonos trip, so he has a general idea of what he’s getting himself into.

Despite this, you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt to subjecting him to it again, simply in a different font.

Although, it was admittedly nice to hear a little more about his life before college, realizing that you really don't know much about him besides the preconceptions of his university personality. 

The need to know more has you reeling.

You shouldn't want to learn more.

Eventually, you pull herself out of the twin bed, hating the way you want to linger between the sheets because they smell like him. You hate the thought, loathe it, despise the way it makes you feel.

Desperate. Clingy. Addicted.

Rafe’s been playing his part a little too well on this trip, solidifying your realization that you misjudged him.

In the days leading up to your departure, you were (rightfully) highly cynical of Rafe as a boyfriend, reiterating to yourself that he’s a player, he has no desire to be tied down to someone in college (as he told you when you created the arrangement), he doesn’t want to subject himself to the mental game of emotionally relying on someone else. The whole thing seemed like one big, fat joke to you, a disaster waiting to happen. 

You never expect him to lean into the role as much as he has. 

The playtime acting in front of Lorenza has been convincing, your nonna expressing genuine favor towards Rafe when she initially met him. She claimed his eagerness to help around the house is simply an added perk, because she took note of the way he looked at you when you weren't looking and how he talked about you in private to Lorenza was most endearing.

That simple observation had you reeling, because you didn't even realize Rafe was sneaking glances or talking about you behind your back in the first place. 

It only makes you spiral. 

Last night only augments your emotional confusion. 

Rafe had looked at you like you hung the stars yourself, treating you with such delicacy and, dare you say, admiration, that you felt like a fraud when you leaned into it, knowing the whole ordeal isn’t real and simply a part he’s been playing for the past few days. He simply wanted to treat you nice because it was your birthday.

Your confusion further grows when you eventually get out of bed to discover him in the garden. But his demeanor is different, and it makes you pause before blindly running outside into his arms.

Rafe’s on the phone, you realize, talking animatedly with a permanent etch in his brow. He looks angry.

No, he looks pissed.

Pacing back and forth in the garden, he alternates between nearly screaming into the phone and listening with a clenched jaw, his hand switching from rubbing out a migraine to gesturing wildly to emphasize his words. 

You've only experienced Rafe like this once before, and it was when you overheard him on the phone with his father.

Now, you really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your dorm rooms are right next to each other so you're bound to catch a few loud words on a phone call here or there. But this particular time, it was essentially a screaming match, Rafe loudly arguing over the phone – on speaker, by the way – with another person who happened to scream even louder back to him. 

You couldn’t believe the vulgarities you heard: Rafe’s father – who he doesn’t even call dad but rather his name, Ward – calling his son an embarrassment to the family for how poorly he’s been doing in some classes, having no shame in calling him a pussy when he heard Rafe sniffle, telling him to man the fuck up. Rafe would retaliate and say his share only to be shut down again by Ward time and time again. It was a losing battle. 

The behavior that followed that phone call was abysmal: Rafe was distant, cold, mean.

He rarely spoke, but when he did, it wasn’t anything nice, and that’s if he even attended events. Normally he just disappeared, was radio silent. On the rare occasion that he actually wanted to talk, he would privately message you and simply fuck his frustration out onto you: you who wouldn't dare instigate or pry about his life, and instead would wordlessly offer the only comfort you know how to provide.

Part of you wanted him to talk to you about it when that happened, but admitting that you overheard that phone call would be brutal blow to him. So you simply let him come, take what he needed, and not put up a fight. 

You never brought it up to Rafe because – duh – it isn't any of your business, but also you understand the sensitive subject that is parental relationships. 

So, you know better than to not approach him right now, begrudgingly turning a blind eye and retreating to the living room to sit with your nonna. 

You and Lorenza mainly hang out together for the better part of the morning, besides the short interruption where Rafe comes back into the house, aggravated from his emotional phone call, softly declaring he's going to go for a run, changing into the appropriate attire, and then leaving the cottage in a hurry.

The silence that follows his departure is filled with confusion, and you have to explain to Lorenza that Rafe and his father don’t really get along without exposing too much detail. The older woman simply shakes her head in sadness for the boy, and that is the end of that conversation.

Lorenza is making panini when Rafe returns, just around lunchtime as it starts to lightly rain, barely sparing you a glance before retreating to the bathroom to shower. You sit on the love seat couch in the living room, reading and annotating the already-annotated copy of Un Principe that he bought you yesterday, and you continue to sit there dumbfounded at his behavior.

You can’t help but feel a twinge of worry for him, because at the end of the day you are kind-of friends. You just want him to be alright. 

Pushing the thought aside, you and Lorenza eat together in the kitchen, laughing and talking about nonsense for the duration of the meal. Rafe doesn’t leave the bedroom, not even making a sound for what feels like an hour. Lorenza leaves out a sandwich for him to eat when he’s ready, and eventually leaves with Ticino to venture into town for tonight’s groceries despite the rain. 

As if he knows your nonna leaves, Rafe quietly emerges from the bedroom ten minutes later. 

You're lounging on the living room couch, nose deep in your book with the soothing pitter-patter of the rain against the window, not even noticing his presence until he rounds the sofa and sits down next to you.

The cushion dipping from his weight startles you, nearly dropping your pen and book in the process. You're almost ready to cuss him out but the words die in your throat when you notice his sullen expression and slightly bloodshot eyes which avoid your gaze. 

You bite your tongue.

You know that he probably doesn’t want to talk about it.

Rafe never wants to talk about anything remotely serious in his life because anytime you've gotten close, the topic’s brushed off without argument. But you figure if he really needs to, he’ll come to you when he’s ready.

So, you settle on something safe.

“Nonna made sandwiches. She left one for you in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Wet hair clings to his forehead like a second skin, and he smells faintly of the citrus shampoo from the shower. Rafe doesn’t meet your eye, and his fingers that rest on his thigh twitch in your direction unintentionally. He offers no words, simply shaking his head faintly, gaze fixated distantly on your lap, on the book that you're holding so tenderly. 

He blinks a few times, the worry line in his forehead prominent as he sits for a moment, as if deciding on what he wants to do. Whether he wants to speak, or simply sit, or get up and leave- you have no idea, and again bite your tongue to further prod or coddle. The last thing you want to do is overwhelm him with choices.

Let him come to you, you think firmly.

And he does.

Wordlessly, Rafe shifts his position, leaning his head down to rest on your chest, bringing his legs to lay fully on the couch. 

You try and mask your surprise, adjusting to accommodate him so he slots between your legs with his one arm snaking under your back and the other resting on your hip.

God, Rafe feels pathetic as he practically nuzzles himself into your body, especially when you gingerly brush the wet hair out of his eyes and smooth out the wrinkles in his graphic t-shirt by the collar.

The sound of your heartbeat calms him from the calamity he’s already endured this morning.

And yet, for the first time today, Rafe feels like he can breathe.

Rafe tried going on a run to clear his thoughts, but the solitude only seemed to isolate them, amplify them, and none of his ideas worked on how to control his anger, none of those stupid breathing exercises his one-time therapist taught him or the 5-4-3-2-1 senses method his sister introduced him to.

He nearly had a panic attack on what to do: he’s stuck in a foreign country with people who haven’t been exposed to his erratic temperament, nor does he want them to see the detriments of it, and he has no idea how to calm down, how to fix his rapid heartbeat and racing thoughts and overwhelming urge to punch something.

To his horror, the only remedy he can think of is you, and the sudden need for co-dependency really scares the shit out of him. 

So here Rafe is: laying on you like a child because he doesn’t know how to properly emote. 

What’s even more mortifying is that you allow it.

Rafe prefers it if you pushed him away, told him to deal with it on his own or to grow up and start acting like a man, then he wouldn’t have this overtly disgusting infatuation with you. He would get over it, move on, and go back to the way things were before this whole feelings crap started. 

But you don't. You embrace him without question. 

Rafe realizes he’s horrifically, utterly, tremendously down bad when you start quietly reading to him.

Of course, the book is in Italian so he doesn’t understand a single concept, but after every chapter you give a few sentence summary in English to keep him informed on the matter, taking one hand away from his back every now and then to jot down a note or circle a phrase or underline a sentence. Your hand returns to his back, scratching up and down and side to side lightly as your focus never wavers from the words on the page, never interrupting the book to pry in on his personal life or make sure he’s okay.

You simply invite him into your moment.

After four chapters, he’s feeling infinitely better. 

Rafe even manages to ask a few questions, grimacing at his hoarse voice, damaged from all of the shouting, but you don't acknowledge it and dive right into your explanations. You explain the origins of the book, the historical significance, and how it shaped politics after it was published.

And, goddamnit, if he doesn’t listen to every single word. 

You lay together like this for a little over an hour, limbs entangled with soft whispers and aged pages crinkling while the soft thumping of the rain continues outside.

After you finish a later chapter, you decide to close the book, saving your page with the pen and gently dropping it on the floor.

Wordlessly, you wrap your once-preoccupied arm around Rafe and simply hold him, patiently waiting to see if he’ll say anything. But he doesn’t. He only lays there in your arms, eyes trained on the window with a far-away expression. 

After what feels like forever, you decide to bite.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hate the way he stiffens, biting your lip in worry because, shit, you should’ve just kept your mouth shut and waited for him to come to you. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you add quickly, not wanting to scare him away, “I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

There’s a long silence, and you eventually come to the conclusion that he’s asleep, or pretending to, so he can avoid the question. But the spark of hope - his thumb gently skimming over the exposed skin of your waist from your tank top that bunched up - has you intently focused, oh-so patiently waiting if he’ll speak. 

And he does. “My dad is forcing me to come home for Christmas.”

If you don't already know some of the underlying preconceptions of his father, you probably would’ve been confused and asked what the big deal was. But you do understand, unfortunately, knowing that Rafe wants to spend the least amount of time possible at home, something you can definitely relate to. 

Before you can comfort him about it, he scoffs against your chest. 

“When I say it aloud, it doesn’t sound like a big deal.”

“Why is it a big deal?” You ask, not out of annoyance but genuine curiosity. 

Rafe seems to nuzzle into you a fraction more. “I hate Christmas.”

You want to shake him, ask him why, learn more, have him open up.

But you can’t. He needs to come to you, if he even wants to. You know he probably doesn't, because he's never been open with you on anything remotely personal, so why on earth would he start now? He has no obligation to tell you anything, truly, because that insinuates a trust deeper than friendship.

With a heavy heart, you remember that you're not together. You're not supposed to care about things like this . You're not supposed to want to know more.

You're friends. You shouldn’t expect him to suddenly spill his deepest secrets and familial insecurities just because you ask nicely. 

“Okay,” is all you say in return. 

Rafe's chest heaves with a particularly deep sigh, one of irritation.

He’s frustrated with himself, because why can’t he say the words? You've confided in him more times than he can count for the duration of this trip, he could at least have the common decency to do the same, or at least try to offer you that.

But he’s bad with words. Astronomically abhorrid.

Rafe wants to try. For you.

“When I was eight, my mom left.”

Thankfully he’s not looking at you, because your brows raise in surprise. 

“It was three days before Christmas Eve and she just…got up and left. Her and my dad were fighting nonstop, and I guess she couldn’t take it anymore. Left behind three kids.” Rafe frowns at the memory, then bitterly scoffs. “I sat on the front porch every day waiting for her to come back. Sometimes slept out there. But she left no note, no phone number, nothing for us to trace back to her.”

Your heart lurches at the thought of Rafe as a young boy, eagerly waiting for his mother who would never return, sleeping out in the cold and hoping every car that passed was her running back home. 

A lot of things suddenly make sense: Rafe’s lack of compassion towards intimacy, his skepticism of relationships, his overarching masculine demeanor.

He’s had no maternal love, no one to coddle him or teach him how to handle emotional situations. The closed off, distant approach to anything remotely related to sentiment is all he knows, all he was taught as a young boy.

“So my dad gets really fucking brutal,” he continues, pulling you from your thoughts. “More than usual. It’s always a really shitty time for me and my sisters. Hopefully next year I’ll have my own place so we can just…stay there instead. Without him.”

Then, he lets out a breath he isn’t aware he was holding. Rafe hates how hard his heart is pounding.

“That’s really it. I’m fine.”

You smooth out his hair gently, wondering if he can feel your matched hammering heartbeat. “Are you, though?”

No, he thinks immediately. There’s so many things I want to tell you but I don't know how.

“Yeah.”

It’s bullshit, you both know it, but you don't press further, instead offering solace in your arms as you coddle him. Part of him wants you to ask more, to force him to open up because maybe it’ll take some stress off his poor heart, juggling so many emotions at once, but he understands why you don't. He wouldn’t do it if he was in your shoes, anyway. 

But your voice surprises him.

You speak before you can stop yourself. “I know you and I are just…” Friends? Fuck buddies? Something else? “...us, but you can talk to me about these things. If you want.”

That makes Rafe frown. Why would you even care?

“You wouldn’t want to know.”

Because you shouldn't want to know the extensive details. It's brutal and dehumanizing. He can't count how many times his father has made him feel less than for making simple mistakes, how many backhanded jabs he's gotten - or literal backhands - at the expense jeopardizing his father's publicity. How he always feels like a failure when his father's around.

“Try me.”

Then, Rafe finally tilts his head up to look at you, seeing that you're already staring at him.

Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together and, normally, your eye contact puts him at ease, but frustration bubbles in his chest when he can’t discern your concerned expression from pity.

And he doesn’t fucking want anyone’s pity.

Not even yours.

Rafe doesn't want to be treated as some charity case that people need to feel bad for because his mom left, because his dad is a piece of shit. Whoopty-fucking-do. There's nothing worse than false concern, like you're looking at him as a glass box, like a shame.

Before you realize it, Rafe is suddenly pushing himself upright and avoiding your gaze as if it’s the plague. 

“Rafe?” You ask worriedly, sitting up and attempting to extend a hand out to him.

He shrugs you off, standing so you can’t reach him. “Just– Stop.”

The sudden tone shift has you reeling in confusion.

“Are you–?”

“Yes, I’m fucking fine,” Rafe snaps, ignoring the way you flinch. “Stop acting like you give a shit.”

Then he’s turning his heel and retreating back into the shared bedroom, you flinching again when he shuts the door particularly aggressively.

You can only sit frozen in your spot.

What the fuck was that?

Thankfully the rain stops, because it gives you something else to do besides being cooped up in the house. 

Lorenza returns eventually with the groceries and you help her unload them. Rafe, surprisingly, sits in the living room to make his presence known, but offers no words or anything as he sits with Ticino. The dog doesn’t complain about the attention, and Po eventually comes and attempts to steal it away. Rafe doesn’t mind, in fact he encourages it, because it gives him an excuse to be anti-social. 

You give Rafe space, an astronomical amount of it.

You half understand his outburst, yet are half pissed at his behavior earlier. You were only trying to help, he needs to understand that, there’s no reason to be a dick about it.

Thinking back to all the times you've reluctantly shared information because he asked about it comes into fruition. Of course, you never want to share any of your familial baggage to anyone, and talking about it only pisses you off further. But you always told him because he asked, or seemed like he cared.

And you never took it out on him like that.

Sure, you were a brat for the entirety of yesterday, but his words were different, they were venomous. 

Whatever.

You try to brush it off as you spend time outside with your nonna, tending to the garden and fixing some of the outdoor furniture and decor that may have gotten messed up from the rain. Simultaneously, you do your best to avoid Rafe’s gaze through the window, collectively deciding that you're ignoring him (as best as you can without raising suspicions from nonna) until he apologizes.

It’s childish, you know, but you figure it’s the only way he’ll get it through his head that that’s not how you talk to people. 

Besides, today is your last day at the cottage. You're not letting Rafe Cameron of all people ruin the time you have with your nonna. 

So, with that in mind, you have a beautiful day spent with Lorenza, helping prepare and cook dinner, sharing a few glasses of wine during the process, recounting funny stories and chatting as if there’s no tomorrow. 

Dinner is relatively normal, Rafe offering his two cents and chatting as he’s done the entire trip, but it doesn’t take an idiot to notice your clear apprehension with him.

You offer the translation between the two cordially, and mainly only talk at Lorenza. She tries to sneak some English words into her sentences to let him try and follow their conversation, and he’s grateful for that, given you don't aid him as much as normal. 

And Rafe?

Well, Rafe wants to kick himself.

He knows he fucked up - what else is new - but he hates the coldness from you.

The words are on the tip of his tongue every time he gets a fraction of a moment alone with you, but before he can embarrass himself and attempt to apologize, you're brushing him off and distracting yourself with something to do, deliberately avoiding him unless Lorenza’s in the room.

Rafe doesn’t know what’s worse: you acting like everything is fine in front of your nonna and giving him the false hope that you're not actually mad at him, or your abrasive demeanor towards him when it’s just the two of you that showcases your real feelings. 

After dinner, he politely thanks Lorenza for the meal and retires to the bedroom, not wanting to intrude any further.

He’s laying on the bed when you come in twenty minutes later, and there's a spark of dumb hope in his chest at the opportunity to finally get you alone. But you're lightning fast: changing into your pajamas and grabbing your bag before leaving the room without a word, which only makes him more frustrated. 

You and Lorenza sit outside after doing the dishes, the older woman surprisingly letting you help with them, as you chat animatedly into the night. You both smoke a cigarette as you overlook the ocean, talking for what seems like hours until Lorenza is ashing her third cigarette, announcing her departure.

You don't realize how high the moon is in the sky when Lorenza goes back inside, the time passing like seconds.

Now it's just you and the night.

You really don't want her to leave, the thought of being alone with your thoughts makes you slightly panic, but you really don't want to make Lorenza worry about you even more than she already has.

Lorenza is well aware of the treatment and behavior within your family, and hates that you're being forced to spend the weekend at the resort versus just the night of the wedding, like her. You've constantly reassured her that you'll be fine, but it doesn’t come across very genuine, because you're trying to convince yourself of that at the same time. You've never been that great a liar.

But you know that's only one of the reasons you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and the other being a certain dirty blond.

The thought of retreating back to the bedroom where Rafe is either asleep or waiting for you to return so he can fuck his frustration out on you isn’t what you want to deal with right now. Plus, you know that your body naturally gravitates towards him, and are afraid you'll give into it when you would really prefer an apology first.

But, knowing Rafe, that isn’t happening. 

So, you stay outside in the chilly breeze, toggling between journaling out your life’s problems in the small spiral notebook and reading Un Principe and continuing your annotations. 

It’s lonely, no doubt about it, but the journaling offers a mental escape from your own mind, being able to freely jot down the thoughts you can’t seem to vocalize, and the reading provides a distraction to the upcoming events.

Because if you think about the wedding for more than five minutes, you are, no doubt, going to spiral. 

But your mind continuously drifts back to Rafe, to your arrangement.

You never meant for it to get this frustratingly complicated, because everything was better when you were only fucking and treating it as so. You're barely friends, only brought together by your social circle, so why do you feel so compelled to be near him? To help him? To smooth out the worry line on his forehead when he furrows his eyebrows, or grab his hand when you're in a crowd to steady yourself, or be the only name spoken from his lips in moments of intimacy? 

You know you're going to get hurt if you allow yourself to descend down this rabbit hole.

Rafe Cameron does not do girlfriends.

He doesn’t see the same girl twice. He doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend, a real one, anyway. These feelings towards him, these implications to love and care for him, are only going to bite you in the ass.

You did that once, in high school. You loved and cared for Grant like he hung the goddamn stars in the sky, and then what happened? That whole ordeal ended up being a disaster, too, orchestrated by the talons of your mother's scheme. His feelings weren’t real, not in the way high-school-you would’ve liked.

Neither are Rafe’s, because he’s simply playing a part because he has to. Not because he wants to.

Guys don’t want you the way you yearn to be wanted.

They want you for a few hours after going out and drinking, or on Sunday’s, or for a cheeky photo to get them through their history lecture. So, sure, if that’s what they want you to be, then that’s what you'll be, and you'll never ask for more.

Because you don't know how to be more. 

“Hey.”

The voice startles you, pulling your disassociated gaze from your book and looking up to see Rafe, shifting his weight between feet with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

He looks unsure of his place, as if he’s cautiously waiting for you to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. A bubble of anger nurses in your chest at the sight of him, remembering his previous venom, but you don't send him away just yet. 

You simply look at him, silently beckoning him to continue. 

Rafe scratches the back of his neck, nervous under your stare. “Uhm, it’s late.”

You nod slowly, as if that’s obvious.

“Are…are you coming to bed?”

Darting your gaze from him, the book, to the ocean, and back to him, you simply shrug, knowing your silence is aggravating him.

Rafe exhales through his nostrils, composing himself. Then, he nods and starts to turn around to go back inside but stops himself. The way his brows are pinched it’s obvious he wants to say more, but what that more is, he isn’t sure. 

After a moment of contemplation, he faces you again and finds your eyes. 

“Can I sit?”

That surprises you.

But you try to not let it show as you nonchalantly nod, nearly snorting at how quickly he takes the seat across from you, almost eagerly. Still, you don't offer any words, and simply go back to reading your book (or at least pretending to), and occasionally clicking and un-clicking the pen to circle a word or write a note.

In your peripheral, you feel Rafe watching you, picking at his nails when he rests his arms on the garden table. His mouth opens and closes, fighting himself on where to start and you nearly talk out of pity.

But no. No.

He needs to come to you. You learned that the hard way, and refuse to make that mistake again. 

“What part are you at?”

You nearly roll your eyes. If this is some form of prolonged apology foreplay, he’s sure doing a good job. 

“Chapter seventeen.”

As relieved as he is to hear your voice, Rafe takes a deep breath at your stubbornness, but recoils his temper and bites his tongue. You're certainly not making it easy for him to apologize, and he doesn’t blame you in the slightest, but he simply doesn’t know how. No one ever taught him.

“What’s it about?”

Is he serious?

Then you drop the book against the table and deadpan glare at him, raising a brow in anticipation to give him the green light to say what he actually wants to say.

Rafe stares right back at you, fidgeting with his hands and feeling his heart race. The words in his mind don’t translate to his mouth, gaping open and closed like an idiot. 

Speak! He yells at himself. For the love of Christ.

Groaning, Rafe throws his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on the table as he rubs at his eyes, his temples, eventually pushing his hair out of his eyes with his gaze focused on the book in front of him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says slowly, the words feeling foreign. 

“For what?”

Rafe bites back a frustrated sigh, wishing he could just let you see into his brain for a few moments to show you all that he desires to say, to do, to feel free of consequence.

But, obviously, he can’t do that.

So, instead, he looks up to meet your intense stare. “For snapping today. I shouldn’t have been mean to you when you were…just trying to help.”

You soak in his words, analyzing the way he stutters through the apology as if he’s never given a sincere one before. Despite it being from him, the King of Being a Prick, his tone feels genuine enough. 

“I’m not used to people giving a shit about me…” he trails off, looking back down at the book at the rawness of the confession.

Frowning, you urgently want to pick his chin up and have him look at you again. You grip the book to refrain from reaching out, reminding yourself that he needs to come to you.

Let him, you urge yourself.

And thankfully, he continues. “It made me feel weird. I mistook your kindness for pity, or whatever. So, I’m sorry.”

You really hate the way he won’t look at you, because if he did, he’d see the instant forgiveness written all over your face.

It’s not the fanciest of apologies, but it’s his version of one, the only way he knows how. And it feels sincere, calculated, genuine. The confession is altogether gut wrenching, thinking back to his emotional turmoil this morning and slowly putting the pieces of his life together little by little, gradually understanding why he says certain things and feels certain ways based on the shape of his upbringing. 

The pained expression on his face gives you the impression that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, especially how he anxiously fidgets with his fingers as if he’s waiting for the spotlight to shine on something else. 

You notice, biting your lip to suppress a smile, proud that he said his piece. Before you realize it, you're reaching a hand forward to encase his, stopping his incessant writhing to save his poor nail beds.

Rafe flinches, his actions stilling, but when you give a gentle squeeze, his shoulders seem to relax, as you wordlessly tell him that it’s okay.

The gesture comes and goes quickly, retreating your hand to trace over the spine of the book instead.

You swallow thickly, the tense moment breaking your walls down. 

“This chapter is the first to introduce the debate of if it’s better to be loved or feared,” you find yourself saying.

Rafe instantly looks up to meet your eye at the subject change, almost thanking you with a low exhale.

“Macchiavelli says a ruler must be one, but cannot be both. He writes this to Lorenzo di Giovane, who was a part of the Medici family. The Medici essentially ruled Florence through politics and religion and economics, inserting themselves in the papacy and government to be able to control both.”

You take a breath, checking to see if he’s listening.

He is, very intently. So you continue.

“So he offers pros and cons for both, however, he leans more towards the notion of fear used as a punishment, to be merciful but not careless. Like, Cesare Borgia, who was a cruel leader but was the one who brought peace to Romagna. Both provide the means for success, but implies that there’s a choice to be one or the other.”

There’s a moment of silence, and the longer it stretches, you feel a little silly for going off on the tangent.

God, is this really your idea of comforting someone?

You nearly shrink into yourself sheepishly, kicking yourself because that was not the time or place to circle back to one of his earlier questions, or go on a nerd-tangent at the expense of filling the silence. 

Before you can take it back, Rafe hums.

“What would you rather be?”

The question startles you, but the answer is immediate. “Loved.”

“Why?” Rafe asks so gently that you almost miss it. 

You pause for a moment, half confused on his curiosity and half endeared that he wants to know, or at least pretend like he wants to know.

But your answer is easy. “Because it’s genuine. That way I’d know that people trust me for me, not because they feel like they have to, but because they want to.”

Another silence elongates between you as Rafe soaks in your words, pinching his brows together in thought.

You frown when you notice his gaze isn’t really here, it’s somewhere else, distracted and despondent. Pushing down the overwhelming urge to grab his hand again, to pull him back to reality, you swallow thickly.

He's not mine, you remind yourself. I'm not his.

You're just...yourselves...separately.

“What about you?” 

Rafe wishes you don't ask, because he hates that he already knows his answer, and hates that it’s different from yours.

The thought process behind it is justifiable to him, because Rafe can’t even fathom being loved rather than feared. He’s spent his whole life using fear and panic as a tool to get what he wants, courtesy of the teachings from his father, learning that that’s how you obtain knowledge and advantages.

The concept is all he knows, so trying to imagine the other possibility feels like a far off dream. 

“Feared, I guess.”

You tilt your head to the size, inspecting him intently but not judging. 

He'd rather you to judge instead of whatever emotion is written on your face. Understanding, maybe? It would make it easier for him to brush the question aside, to have you fear him, then you could move on and go back to your limited sharing of emotional vulnerability. 

But no matter how harshly he can snap at you or fuck you a little rougher than usual, you're always there, seeing past his intimidating facade and instead seeing him. Just...Rafe...

“Why?”

Because it’s all I know, he thinks immediately.

“It’s efficient,” is all he offers.

Rafe knows the explanation is lame, but you must have some sort of idea of the real truth, one he refuses to speak aloud. You must know how people whisper about him on campus, how half the people are too scared to look him in the eye and the other half are eager to kiss his ass so they can stay on his good side, to be in good favor with him. 

“It’s lonely,” you argue quietly. 

Then Rafe finds it in himself to look at you, confused.

His heart lurches when he sees that you're gazing at him with a twinge of sadness in your eyes, a bit of concern, and a sliver of something else he can’t put his finger on. Rafe nearly squirms, uncomfortable with the attention and desperately wishing he just said the other choice to refrain from this interrogation, of sorts. He figures he’s a good liar, he could've done it. 

Shit, he’s been lying to you this whole time on how he really feels, so that must count for something. 

Rafe only shrugs, wanting to move on. “Good thing it’s a hypothetical.”

The lax tone makes you lean back in your chair, studying him intently, hating the way you frown at him attempting to brush it off, but letting him do so anyway. It’s obvious you want to know more on why he believes that, but submit with an understanding nod. 

“Right.”

Rafe wants to talk about something else. Now. “Why can’t you sleep?”

You allow the subject change, taking your eyes off of him and looking out to sea. “Why do you think?”

A snort escapes his lips. “I figured as much.” Then, softer, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just...dreading it.”

“Do you want to try and sleep?”

You frown, still avoiding his gaze. You can feel his eyes burning into your profile.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’d probably just end up hitting my head again, or some shit.”

That makes Rafe laugh, and it’s boyish and genuine that it makes your heart skip a beat. “You gotta start wearing a helmet to bed, sweet girl,” he almost whispers, carefully.

"Mhm," you find yourself murmuring, distant.

You end up going to bed shortly after, laying stiff as boards in your separate beds.

It’s obvious the other is awake, Rafe laying on his back and you laying on your side facing the wall. Silence envelopes the room, the only sounds audible are low breaths and occasional shifts of position against soft sheets. 

Rafe hates how his bed is cold.

He hates how you called his choice lonely without so much as a single thought, as if you can see right through him. He hates how you're right, how his entire life of pretending to be pleased with people keeping their distance from him only masks the overarching reality of just that: he’s lonely.

Pathetically, he’s used to being alone, for fending for himself or taking care of his sisters without anyone to take care of him, for seeming like the most popular guy on campus but being utterly isolated behind closed doors. It’s why he seeks temporary company in women, to exhaust himself so much that he doesn’t lay awake at night with his own thoughts after kicking them out, to pretend like the excuse is that he needs his alone time but the reason is that he doesn’t know how to be in someone’s company for an extended amount of time. 

In the darkness, Rafe says your name before he can convince himself not to. His voice is so detrimentally quiet, he isn't sure you even hear him.

But you do.

“Yeah?”

He swallows his pride. “Can you c’mere?”

You're up in an instant, padding over to his side of the room in record time where he greets you with outstretched arms.

Rafe brings you close to his body, enveloping you in his big arms as you nuzzle right into his neck, your cool hands slithering underneath his t-shirt and seeking warmth against his bare skin. He fights the overwhelming urge to kiss you, to try and initiate something to forget the emotional toil he suffered all day.

But he can't do that, not to you.

Instead he places a chaste kiss on your hairline to satisfy the impulse.

“I’m really anxious about this weekend,” you whisper, your breath tickling his neck.

He sighs into your hair, rubbing your back. “I know.”

“I need to–” You cut yourself off, trying to find the right words. “I’m apologizing in advance.”

“For what, baby?”

You nearly purr at the pet name. “For my family’s behavior. For my behavior, too. I’m probably not going to be very nice. I need you to know it’s not personal, it’s…” you trail off, the vocabulary escaping you. 

But Rafe understands. He'll always understand.

“I know.”

A part of him wishes he could apologize as easily as you just did.

"I know," he repeats, gentler.

The moment he snapped at you earlier replays in his head over and over again, the sight of your worried expression imprinted on his brain like a projector stuck on the same frame. It's a look he rarely sees from you, one of concern and genuine compassion that it throws him for a loophole.

Once he feels your steady breaths against his chest, Rafe allows himself to relax a fraction.

He's assuming you've forgiven him, or partially, or simply creating a truce because he knows that you'll need him for the next few days. Either way, he's surprised his shitty attempt at an apology got you - seemingly - okay with him again, even if it's all for your own benefit.

That's all this is, Rafe reminds himself. He's doing you a favor. You're simply being cordial and calculated.

The last thing that flashes across his mind before he lulls to sleep is the image of your face, of how pretty you looked in the moonlight.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes bit of a filler. thanks for all the support, y'all are making me laugh. godspeed.

[asphodeldreams]

made a discovery today

this is a star trek post for the two people who follow me that care about star trek. specifically odo from DS9.

if you haven't looked up the actor before, his wikipedia is some crazy shit. looked at today literally just because i needed a clear photo of him for the sake of making a joke.

this is

René Auberjonois.

wikipedia spiraling to be found under the cut

when i scrolled down on his wiki page to find out god knows what i was even curious about, i noticed that some of his family members have wikipedia pages. like "oh cool was his dad like an actor or something?'

no.

that's not what this was.

let's start with his father:

his father was a swiss-american journalist who worked as the foreign correspondent of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and the Toledo Blade. Throughout most of the Cold War, Auberjonois was one of the most admired American reporters based in London.

During World War II, he enlisted in the U.S. and served on secret assignments, including setting up radio transmissions for the Allies to divert the German's attention from the real invasion site on D-Day. From World War II through the Cold War, he worked for many print organizations, and also for NBC and Voice of America. (source)

pretty cool, pretty cool. it gets wilder.

his grandfather:

His grandfather René, who he was presumably named after, was a prominent swiss post-impressionist painter. No clue how well known he is outside of my very specific art-history freak circles, but i can tell you that i was absolutely familiar with his work before this research spiral. Here are some examples of his work:

Nature morte en bleu et rouge (left) and Prière devant la croix (right)

this is an artist whose work i actively studied in class so im aware this won't be as surprising to anyone else but. man. WILD that i never noticed the two people had the same damn name.

ANYWAYS onto the main event:

his great-great-great grandparents.

it's so rare that i look at an actor's wiki page and see someone so distantly related who has a wiki page. i clicked on his great-great-great grandmother's page and was absolutely in no way prepared for what i found.

she was royalty.

not only that, but she's

NAPOLEON'S FUCKING SISTER.

caroline. bonaparte.

younger sister to napoleon, who upon becoming emperor gave her the title of imperial princess. she also was married to Joachim Murat. who was the literal king of Naples from 1 August 1808 – 20 May 1815. (pictured below)

also this other painting of him that is genuinely one of my favorite paintings from the era.

caroline bonaparte and joachim murat's direct descendant is the man perpetually referred to by me as "that goo guy from star trek"

what the hell

[2b4st4r]

Can you do Zoro x female reader where they are hit with a devil fruit power and are now brainwashed into believing that chopper is their child for a couple of weeks. Like actual blood child, as if they birthed and raised chopper themselves. Reader and Zoro already had feelings for each other, but havent confessed yet, and are now having to deal with this mess. Poor chopper having to deal with his "new parents" till this wears off, and the crew being hysterical about the whole situation.

Forced Family

Zoro x Reader

Words: 9,041

Warnings: Temporary Mind Alteration, Implied Non-Consensual Actions (due to mind alteration), emotional distress, and mild violence, and use of y/n, FEMALE READER.

Requests open

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The Thousand Sunny sailed under a sky painted with the vibrant hues of a new day, the salty spray of the Grand Line a familiar kiss on Y/n's face. As the Straw Hat Pirates' Quartermaster, their days were a symphony of organized chaos – ensuring supplies were stocked, negotiating with eccentric island merchants, and meticulously logging every berry spent and earned. Yet, their role extended beyond the ledger and the storeroom. As the Master-at-Arms, Y/n was responsible for the maintenance and readiness of all weapons on board, a task they approached with a quiet intensity that mirrored their own formidable skill.

Y/n’s relationship with each Straw Hat was a thread woven into the very fabric of the crew. With Luffy, it was an easy camaraderie built on shared dreams and an understanding of boundless freedom. They often found themselves laughing at the captain's antics, a quiet smile playing on their lips as they watched him chase a new adventure. Nami and Y/n shared a pragmatic bond, often poring over charts and supply lists, their shared sense of responsibility a grounding force amidst the crew's eccentricities. Y/n admired Nami's unwavering determination and sharp wit, and Nami respected Y/n's meticulous nature and unwavering loyalty.

Usopp often sought Y/n out for advice on new weapon designs or to boast about his latest invention, finding an appreciative and discerning ear in the Master-at-Arms. Y/n, in turn, found Usopp's boundless creativity and occasional bursts of unexpected courage endearing. Sanji always ensured Y/n had a steaming mug of their favorite tea during late-night inventory checks, his chivalry extending to a respectful acknowledgment of their tireless work. Their banter was light and frequent, Sanji's flamboyant compliments met with Y/n's dry wit.

Chopper would often bring Y/n newly gathered medicinal herbs, a silent offering of his care, and Y/n would always make time to listen to his latest medical discoveries. Y/n's calm demeanor was a comfort to the easily flustered doctor. Robin and Y/n shared a quiet understanding, often found reading in comfortable silence on the deck, a shared appreciation for knowledge and history binding them. Their conversations were often profound, delving into topics that went beyond the immediate adventures.

Franky and Y/n frequently collaborated on ship upgrades and weapon enhancements, their combined mechanical prowess leading to some of the Sunny's most ingenious features. Y/n appreciated Franky's unbridled enthusiasm and innovative spirit, while Franky admired Y/n's precision and attention to detail. Brook would serenade Y/n with a melancholic tune, often leading to a shared moment of reflection or a burst of laughter at his skull jokes. Y/n enjoyed Brook's unique perspective and his unwavering spirit. Jinbei, the newest addition, found a reliable and steadfast presence in Y/n, often exchanging quiet observations about the sea and the crew. Y/n respected Jinbei's wisdom and strength, and Jinbei recognized Y/n's quiet resolve.

But it was with Roronoa Zoro that Y/n's connection hummed with an unspoken electricity. Their interactions were often clipped, a language of nods and shared glances, yet each held a depth of unspoken understanding. They sparred together with a brutal honesty, the clang of steel on steel a familiar rhythm that resonated deep within them. During these training sessions, their eyes would meet across crossed blades, a spark igniting in the silent space between them. Y/n admired Zoro’s unwavering dedication to his dream, his formidable strength, and the surprising moments of genuine care he showed, often disguised beneath a gruff exterior. Zoro, in turn, was captivated by Y/n's quiet confidence, their sharp mind, and the fluid grace with which they moved, whether wielding a weapon or meticulously organizing supplies. A mutual, unspoken admiration simmered beneath the surface, a delicate tension that added an intriguing layer to their already intricate dance aboard the Thousand Sunny. Both were too stubborn, too focused, and perhaps, too afraid to acknowledge the blossoming feelings that pulsed beneath the surface, a silent promise hanging in the salty air of the Grand Line.

The anchor dropped with a familiar thud, signaling the Thousand Sunny's arrival at yet another uncharted island in the New World. This one felt… different. The air, though carrying the usual salty tang, held a stillness that was almost unsettling. From the deck, you could see a small, clustered town nestled amidst strangely twisted trees, and the few figures moving about had a languid, almost detached air about them.

"Something feels a bit strange about this place," Nami murmured, her brow furrowed as she scanned the island with her keen eyes. "Keep your guard up, everyone."

As Quartermaster, the need for resupply was always on your mind. "We're running low on a few key items," you announced, consulting your meticulously kept list. "I should head to town and see what they have." You were generally comfortable handling such tasks on your own, your skills with a blade more than sufficient to deter any opportunistic trouble. You were kind by nature, always willing to lend a hand or offer a comforting word, but you were also fiercely capable and self-reliant.

Nami, however, her observation skills honed by years navigating treacherous waters and even more treacherous people, didn't seem entirely comfortable with the idea of you going alone this time. "Y/n," she said, her gaze thoughtful, "this island… the people seem a little… off. Maybe it's just my nerves, but I'd feel better if Zoro went with you."

Zoro, who had been honing his swords nearby, his movements as precise and deadly as a striking viper, paused, his dark eye flicking towards you and then to Nami. He didn't comment, but you could sense a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"It's alright, Nami, I can handle it," you started, not wanting to pull Zoro away from his training, especially since you knew how seriously he took it.

"Humph," Zoro finally grunted, sheathing Wado Ichimonji. "Doesn't matter to me. Lead the way, Quartermaster." There was a subtle shift in his stance, a readiness that spoke volumes despite his seemingly indifferent tone.

Nami sighed in relief. "Thanks, Zoro. Just… be careful, both of you. Something about this place gives me the creeps."

You met Zoro's gaze for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. A small, almost imperceptible warmth spread through you at the thought of him accompanying you. It wasn’t just the added security; there was a quiet comfort in his presence, a feeling of unspoken understanding that always lingered between you.

"Alright," you said, a subtle nod to Nami. "Let's go see what this town has to offer." As you turned to head towards the shore, you could feel Zoro falling into step beside you, his large frame a reassuring presence at your side. The familiar weight of your own weapons at your hip felt a little less significant with him there, and as you both set off towards the peculiar little town, a strange mix of anticipation and unease settled over you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this seemingly simple resupply trip might turn out to be anything but.

The path from the shore to the town was overgrown with thick, unfamiliar foliage, some plants sporting vibrant, almost unnaturally bright blossoms, while others were a dull, sickly green. The air grew heavier with a strange, sweet scent the further you walked, a fragrance that was both alluring and vaguely unsettling.

"You smell that?" you asked, turning your head slightly to Zoro. Your voice was low, a natural caution in your tone.

He grunted in response, his hand already resting on the hilt of his Wado Ichimonji, his single eye scanning the surroundings with a familiar intensity. "Something's off," he echoed Nami's earlier sentiment, his voice a low rumble. "Smells like… too much. Like it's trying to cover something up."

You nodded, a shiver tracing its way down your spine despite the warm, humid air. "My thoughts exactly." You picked up your pace slightly, eager to get to the town and finish your business.

As you walked, the silence between you was punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant, indistinct sounds from the town. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, not with Zoro. With him, there was a shared understanding, a sense of quiet companionship that transcended the need for words. Still, the underlying tension of your unspoken feelings thrummed beneath the surface, a constant, subtle hum in the air around you.

Suddenly, a small, dark shadow darted across the path ahead. Your hand instinctively went to the hilt of your own blade, but Zoro was quicker, his sword half-drawn before the shadow even registered. It was just a small, scurrying creature, resembling a large, dark rodent.

"Relax," he muttered, though his eye remained sharp. He re-sheathed his sword with a soft click.

"Just a little jumpy, I suppose," you admitted, offering a small, sheepish smile. You dropped your hand from your weapon. "Nami's warning got to me."

Zoro let out a low "Hmph," a sound that could mean anything from agreement to amusement. He didn't look at you, but you felt his presence, a solid, reassuring anchor beside you. The air around him always felt… steady. Strong. It was a feeling you found yourself increasingly drawn to.

As you neared the town, the strange quiet deepened. The small, wooden buildings looked like they'd been built haphazardly, leaning at odd angles. The few villagers you saw were indeed "off," as Nami had put it. They moved slowly, their eyes vacant, and they didn't seem to acknowledge your presence, even when you passed directly by them. They were like puppets on slack strings.

"This is really strange," you whispered, pulling your list from your pocket but feeling less and less inclined to actually shop. You glanced at Zoro, and for the first time, his gaze met yours directly. There was a rare intensity in his eye, a hint of concern that was rarely visible.

"Stay close," he said, his voice softer than usual, barely a whisper. His hand, subtly, moved closer to yours, almost brushing your fingers as you walked. The unspoken current between you flared, a brief, hot pulse. You quickly looked away, your cheeks warming, but you didn't move your hand. The almost-touch was a tantalizing, frustrating, beautiful thing.

You continued through the deserted-feeling streets, the tension between you and the unnerving atmosphere of the town building with every step. You needed to get those supplies, but something here felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. And with Zoro by your side, the air was thick with more than just the sweet, cloying scent of strange flowers. It was thick with unspoken words, with a silent yearning that neither of you dared to name.

You and Zoro pressed on, the unsettling quiet of the town amplifying with every step. The main street, which should have been bustling with activity, was eerily still. Shop doors hung ajar, revealing interiors that appeared perfectly preserved – baskets overflowing with vibrant fruits, shelves stacked with colorful fabrics, tools glinting in the dim light. But there was no one. Not a single soul.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice echoing strangely in the deserted space. You felt a prickle of unease at the lack of response. "Is anyone here? Shopkeeper?"

Zoro, ever pragmatic, strode directly into what looked like a small grocer's. You followed, your eyes scanning the shelves for the items on your list. A display of bright red apples caught your eye. They looked perfectly ripe, glistening under a shaft of sunlight that somehow seemed too artificial.

"Seems like everyone just… vanished," you murmured, reaching for an apple. You pulled your hand back just before touching it, a strange intuition stopping you.

Zoro, meanwhile, had been peering intently at a stack of what looked like freshly baked bread. "This is a waste of time," he grumbled, his voice cutting through the silence. He picked up a loaf. "Just take what we need. They're clearly not here to sell it."

"Zoro, no!" you protested immediately, your quartermaster's ethics kicking in. "We can't just steal from them, even if they're not around. That's not how we operate." You might be pirates, but you had your own code, and wanton thievery wasn't part of it, especially when no direct threat was present.

He sighed, dropping the bread with a soft thud that seemed overly loud in the quiet shop. "Fine. But we're not waiting around forever. This place feels wrong."

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the vibrant apples. The silence stretched, the air growing heavier, almost suffocating. Something compelled you to try, just to confirm. With a deep breath, you reached out and firmly grasped for one of the red fruits.

Your fingers passed right through it.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. No resistance, no tangible form – just air where the apple should have been. You looked around, your heart beginning to pound. The vibrant colors of the fruits, the intricate patterns on the fabrics, the solid-looking walls of the shop – they all seemed to shimmer, ever so slightly.

"Zoro," you breathed, the word barely a whisper, your voice laced with sudden urgency. You grabbed his arm, your grip tight. "Zoro, it's an illusion! This whole place… it's not real!"

As if on cue, the world around you began to waver. The edges of the shop, the shelves, the apples, even the street outside, started to blur and distort, like a painting melting in the rain. The vibrant hues faded, replaced by ghostly, translucent outlines. The sweet, cloying scent vanished, replaced by the faint, familiar smell of the sea.

The unsettling quiet of the town morphed into a chilling, echoing silence as the illusion peeled away. You could feel Zoro's muscles tense under your hand, his single eye now wide with realization as the fabricated reality dissolved around you. The seemingly solid world was dissolving, revealing whatever lay beneath.

You looked around frantically, the dissolving town a swirling vortex of shimmering light and fading colors. Panic clawed at your throat. The perfectly arranged shops, the cobblestone streets, the peculiar villagers – all of it was dissolving into thin air, replaced by what appeared to be a vast, oppressive darkness.

Then you saw it – a flicker of movement, a deeper shade of black against the already encroaching gloom. A shadow.

A sharp pinch on your hand ripped a gasp from your lips. You looked down, your eyes wide with confusion, and saw nothing. No bite, no sting, no mark. Yet, an immediate wave of nausea washed over you. The world tilted, the faint outlines of the illusionary town spinning around you. You felt lightheaded, the ground swaying beneath your feet.

"Zo... Zoro..." you mumbled, your voice thin and reedy, your gaze fixed on your hand as if it held the answer to this sudden, crushing weakness.

Zoro’s worry was immediate, a tangible force that cut through the lingering traces of the illusion. His usual stoicism shattered, replaced by an raw, urgent concern that painted itself across his face. His hand instinctively shot out, steadying you as you swayed. "You're okay, you are okay," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble, far softer than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t seem to be talking to you as much as trying to convince himself, his grip tightening around your arm.

Your knees buckled. You went limp, your vision tunneling. Zoro moved instantly, catching you before you could hit the ground, gathering you into his arms. The scent of salt and steel, uniquely his, filled your senses even as darkness threatened to consume you. He knew he should let you go, knew he should be drawing his swords, ready to confront whatever unseen assailant had struck you. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to just drop you. His resolve to fight warred with an overwhelming need to protect you, to ensure your safety above all else.

Just gently, he told himself, just put her down gently.

He lowered you carefully to the ground, his touch surprisingly tender despite the urgency of the moment. Your head rested on the strangely coarse earth beneath the dissolving illusion, your eyes fluttering closed. He straightened, his body instantly coiled, ready for battle, his hand already on the h hilt of Wado Ichimonji.

That's when he felt it. A sharp prick on his neck, mirroring the sensation you'd described on your hand. His fingers instinctively shot to the spot, but there was nothing there. Just a sudden, searing pain that quickly gave way to the same sickening lightheadedness that had stolen your strength. His vision blurred, the last vestiges of the illusionary town fading into an oppressive blackness.

Zoro felt the world tilt, the oppressive darkness pressing in on him. His muscles, usually steel-hard and responsive, began to go limp, betraying him. His vision blurred, the last flickers of the dissolving illusion replaced by swirling shadows. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of confusion. Protect her. The thought roared through his mind, a primal command overriding the sudden weakness.

With a monumental effort, he managed to pull Wado Ichimonji from its sheath, the familiar weight of the sword a faint comfort in his failing grasp. He tried to take a fighting stance, to brace himself against the unseen assailant, but his limbs felt heavy, distant. Numbness crept insidiously from his neck, spreading rapidly through his arms and legs. He swayed, his formidable balance deserting him. The ground, which had been solid just moments before, seemed to lurch beneath his feet.

He staggered, his resolve to fight warring with the relentless advance of the unknown poison. His grip on his sword loosened, his arm trembling uncontrollably. Every instinct screamed at him to stay upright, to defend Y/n, but his body was failing him. The darkness swelled, threatening to consume him entirely, and with a final, desperate lurch, he lost his footing. He collapsed, Wado Ichimonji clattering uselessly beside him as the blackness swallowed him whole.

A dull ache throbbed behind your eyes, a constant drumbeat against a canvas of unfamiliarity. Your eyelids felt dry, glued shut, but with a monumental effort, you forced them open. Your body was a symphony of soreness, every muscle protesting, every joint screaming in protest. You blinked, attempting to clear the haze from your vision, and as your surroundings slowly came into focus, a wave of confusion washed over you.

This wasn't the strange, fading town. This was the infirmary aboard the Thousand Sunny. The familiar scent of antiseptics and Chopper's unique medicinal herbs filled the air. But something was profoundly, terrifyingly wrong. A hollow ache bloomed in your chest, a feeling of searching for something, someone, vital. Where was Zoro? Was he okay?

You tried to sit up, a sharp wince escaping your lips as pain lanced through your side. Your limbs felt heavy, sluggish, but the desperate need to find Zoro spurred you on.

"Y/n! Please sit down! You'll just injure yourself more!"

The familiar, small voice cut through your muddled thoughts. Your eyes, still swimming with concern, met those of Chopper. He was standing by your bunk, his little hooves fidgeting with a clipboard, his face etched with worry. But as your gaze locked with his, the world shifted. The lingering confusion solidified into something else, something intensely, unequivocally real.

"My child," you whispered, the words escaping your lips before you could even process them. A profound, overwhelming love flooded your heart, a fierce protective instinct unlike anything you'd ever known. You reached out a trembling hand, a deep, maternal yearning gripping you. "Are you alright, my little one? Are you hurt?" The notion that this small, adorable reindeer was anything but your flesh and blood, your very own child, simply didn't exist in your mind.

The memory of a strong, steadfast presence, of calloused hands and a comforting scent, flickered through your altered mind. "And… your father?" you continued, your voice laced with fresh worry. "Is your father well? Where is he?" You were certain, with every fiber of your being, that Roronoa Zoro was not just your crewmate, but your devoted husband, the other half of your family. The concern for him was a desperate, agonizing knot in your stomach.

Chopper stood frozen, his little hooves gripping the clipboard so tightly his knuckles turned white. His wide, innocent eyes blinked rapidly as you, Y/n, a fierce and capable pirate, reached out and gently cupped his furry cheek. Your touch, usually firm and reassuring, was now impossibly tender, filled with an emotion that utterly bewildered him.

"There, there, my precious one," you murmured, your thumb stroking his fur. "It's alright. Mama's here."

Chopper’s jaw dropped. Mama? His brain, usually a whirlwind of medical knowledge and panicky deductions, seized up entirely. He was a reindeer! A doctor! He was definitely not a "child," especially not your child. And "Mama"? That wasn't even… He felt a flush of heat rise to his face, a mix of profound confusion and genuine fear.

Then, you leaned in, pressing a soft, maternal kiss to his forehead.

GASP!

Chopper literally levitated a few inches off the ground in sheer, unadulterated shock. His fur bristled. This was beyond odd. This was beyond a concussion. His mind, scrambling for a diagnosis, whirred through every medical text he'd ever read. But no fever, no head trauma, no obvious injury could account for this.

A Devil Fruit! The thought hit him like a cannonball. It had to be! Some insidious power, something they'd encountered on that strange island, had twisted your mind. Or… or was it a severe case of amnesia coupled with a delusion? But the way you looked at him, with such overwhelming maternal affection, felt too real, too deep to be just a simple bump on the head. He frantically searched his memory for any information on mind-altering abilities, his tiny heart pounding in his chest. His beloved Y/n, his sensible, reliable Y/n, was calling him "my child" and looking at him like he was her son. It was terrifying, and he had absolutely no idea what to do.

Chopper stood frozen, his little hooves gripping the clipboard so tightly his knuckles turned white. His wide, innocent eyes blinked rapidly as you, Y/n, a fierce and capable pirate, reached out and gently cupped his furry cheek. Your touch, usually firm and reassuring, was now impossibly tender, filled with an emotion that utterly bewildered him.

"There, there, my precious one," you murmured, your thumb stroking his fur. "It's alright. Mama's here."

Chopper’s jaw dropped. Mama? His brain, usually a whirlwind of medical knowledge and panicky deductions, seized up entirely. He was a reindeer! A doctor! He was definitely not a "child," especially not your child. And "Mama"? That wasn't even… He felt a flush of heat rise to his face, a mix of profound confusion and genuine fear.

Then, you leaned in, pressing a soft, maternal kiss to his forehead.

GASP!

Chopper literally levitated a few inches off the ground in sheer, unadulterated shock. His fur bristled. This was beyond odd. This was beyond a concussion. His mind, scrambling for a diagnosis, whirred through every medical text he'd ever read. But no fever, no head trauma, no obvious injury could account for this.

A Devil Fruit! The thought hit him like a cannonball. It had to be! Some insidious power, something they'd encountered on that strange island, had twisted your mind. Or… or was it a severe case of amnesia coupled with a delusion? But the way you looked at him, with such overwhelming maternal affection, felt too real, too deep to be just a simple bump on the head. He frantically searched his memory for any information on mind-altering abilities, his tiny heart pounding in his chest. His beloved Y/n, his sensible, reliable Y/n, was calling him "my child" and looking at him like he was her son. It was terrifying, and he had absolutely no idea what to do.

Just as Chopper was about to launch into a full-blown medical panic, the infirmary door creaked open. Zoro stumbled in, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and his movements were sluggish, like a marionette with tangled strings. But his eyes, though still a little glazed, immediately found you and Chopper.

The sight of you, your hand gently caressing Chopper's fur, ignited a familiar, fiercely protective instinct within him. The subtle influence of the unknown power had woven itself into the very fabric of his being, replacing logic with a profound, unshakeable conviction. This was his family. His wife. His child.

"Y/n," he rasped, his voice rough with lingering weakness but laced with an undeniable tenderness. He pushed off the doorframe, taking a shaky step towards you. "Are you alright? What happened?" His eyes, filled with a deep, loving concern, swept over you, searching for any sign of injury. He then looked at Chopper, a softer, almost proud glint in his gaze. "Is our son okay?"

Chopper, who had been on the verge of tears from confusion, froze again, his tiny jaw hanging open. "Our... son?" he squeaked, looking from you to Zoro and back again. The sheer, compounding absurdity of the situation sent his mind spiraling. Two of his most reliable crewmates, the toughest ones, were now completely convinced he was their child and they were married.

You, however, beamed at Zoro, a wave of relief washing over you at the sight of him. "Oh, Zoro! Thank goodness you're alright, my love," you said, your voice thick with emotion. You quickly tried to get up again, extending a hand towards him. "I was so worried about you, husband. I woke up here and you weren't with us. Our little one here," you gestured to Chopper with a loving glance, "was just telling me what happened."

Zoro’s eyes softened even further, a rare, gentle smile gracing his lips as he saw your outstretched hand. He stumbled the rest of the way, his large hand enveloping yours. "Never worry, Y/n. I'd always come back to you. And our son." He pulled you gently into a sitting embrace, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, a silent promise of protection in the gesture. He looked at Chopper again, a flicker of something akin to fatherly pride in his eye. "What exactly happened, Chopper? Are you both truly well?"

Chopper, trapped between two doting, completely deluded "parents," felt his fur stand on end. He was a doctor! He needed to figure this out! But how could he explain to his "Mama" and "Papa" that they were both victims of some bizarre, mind-altering attack? The air in the infirmary, usually a sanctuary of healing, now felt thick with a bizarre, familial delusion that only he seemed aware of.

As Zoro settled beside you, his arm a warm, solid weight around your waist, his gaze, usually so intense, softened to an almost unbearable tenderness. His eyes, in their altered reality, saw you not just as his crewmate, but as his beloved wife, the mother of his child. Leaning in, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was a kiss born of a deep, comfortable familiarity, as if it were a daily ritual performed hundreds of times, a silent promise of enduring love.

When he pulled back, a rare, genuine smile stretched across his face – a smile that usually only made an appearance when he was fighting a truly challenging foe or indulging in a particularly good nap. He looked at Chopper, his smile widening. "You're a strong one, aren't you, little guy?" he rumbled, his voice laced with an affection that made Chopper's fur stand on end. "Just like your dad."

Chopper, his small brain reeling, felt a fresh wave of panic. He had to make them understand! "No! Zoro! Y/n!" he squeaked, jumping up and down on the bunk. "You're not my parents! And you're not married! We were attacked! Remember? On the island! Something happened to your minds!" He waved his little hooves frantically, trying to gesture towards the distant memory of the strange town.

Zoro let out a deep, chesty chuckle, the sound warm and full. You, still leaning into Zoro's side, laughed too, a light, melodic sound that filled the infirmary. "Oh, Chopper," you said, reaching out to gently pat his head, "what a funny joke! You always have the wildest imagination." You exchanged a fond look with Zoro. "He's always been a bit dramatic, hasn't he, love?"

Zoro nodded in agreement, his rare smile still firmly in place. He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him. The infirmary, meant to be a place of healing, was now transformed into a bizarre, heartwarming domestic scene, utterly oblivious to the true nature of their altered reality. Chopper, left staring at his "parents" nestled together, could only gape in dismay.

The rest of the day was a bizarre, bewildering spectacle for the Straw Hats, and a nightmare for poor Chopper. He spent most of his time trying to subtly avoid his two deluded "parents," hiding behind Franky's legs or attempting to blend in with a pile of spare cannonballs.

The full extent of the situation became undeniably clear at lunch. Chopper, still reeling from the morning's events, sat at the long table, glumly poking at his sandwich. "I hate the crust," he mumbled, pushing the offending edges away.

Across the table, your head snapped up. "Oh, my precious one," you cooed, instantly reaching for his plate. With deft movements, you quickly and carefully sliced off the crusts, just the way he preferred, your movements as natural as if you’d done it a thousand times. "There you go, sweetheart. Mama knows you don't like the crunchy bits."

Luffy, mid-chew on a massive bite of meat, paused, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Shishishi! Y/n, you're acting just like a mom!"

You smiled, a genuine, loving warmth in your eyes as you looked at Chopper. "Well, of course, Luffy. He is my baby, after all."

A collective gasp rippled through the table. Nami's jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock. Usopp choked on his drink, nearly spraying Franky with cola. Robin, usually unflappable, raised a hand to her mouth, a rare flicker of surprise in her elegant features. Sanji spluttered, dropping the plate of food he was carrying, his usual suave demeanor completely shattered. "Y-Y/n-chan?! A mother?!"

Before anyone could fully process this bombshell, the mess hall door swung open. Zoro strode in, his lingering stiffness barely noticeable as his gaze immediately found you. Without a word, he walked directly to your side, leaned down, and pressed a deep, unhurried kiss to your lips.

The mess hall erupted.

Luffy burst into roaring laughter, slapping his knee. "SHISHISHISHI! ZORO'S A DAD! AND Y/N'S HIS WIFE! THAT'S HILARIOUS!"

Nami practically shot out of her seat. "WHAT?!" she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger. "Zoro! Y/n! What is going on?! You two have never even looked at each other like that!"

You, however, were completely unfazed, a soft smile on your face as you pulled back from the kiss. You leaned your head contentedly on Zoro's shoulder. "That's my husband," you stated simply, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world. "We've been together for years, haven't we, dear?"

Zoro grunted in agreement, a rare, fond light in his eye as he looked down at you. "Of course. And this noisy little one," he gestured to a horrified Chopper, who was now attempting to burrow under the table, "is ours."

Sanji, looking utterly devastated, dramatically clutched his chest. "IMPOSSIBLE! Y/N-CHAN, MY SWEET ANGEL, MARRIED TO THIS MARIMO?! AND A MOTHER?! MY DREAMS ARE CRUSHED!" He began spiraling into a maelstrom of despair and self-pity.

Usopp, still recovering from his cola incident, spluttered, "But... but how?! When?! We've been on this ship together for years! We would have known!"

Robin's eyes, though still surprised, took on a thoughtful glint. "This is certainly... unexpected. It would appear a powerful external force is at play."

Franky, ever the dramatic one, pounded the table. "SUPER! Our Quartermaster and Swordsman, secretly married with a SUPER doctor son! This is the most UNEXPECTED romance of the seas!"

Brook, ever polite, bowed his head. "Yohohoho! My deepest congratulations on your matrimonial bliss and your adorable child! Though, forgive me, my eyes are but sockets, so I had no idea of such a grand secret!"

Jinbei, ever the voice of calm reason, stroked his chin. "This is highly unusual. Y/n-san and Zoro-san are clearly under some kind of influence. Chopper-san, did you notice anything peculiar on the island before this began?"

Chopper, finally emerging from under the table, his face a mottled mix of red and blue, pointed a trembling hoof at you and Zoro. "They're not my parents! They're not married! Something from that island did this to them! They were stung by something!"

You and Zoro just smiled at him, a unified front of delusional parental affection. The rest of the Straw Hats exchanged worried glances. This was going to be a long day.

Days bled into a bewildering week, a constant, low hum of anxiety settling over the Thousand Sunny. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a grim determination among the Straw Hats to find a cure. It wasn't just Chopper freaking out anymore; it was everyone. Sanji still occasionally keeled over dramatically, muttering about the sanctity of love, but even he, alongside Nami and Robin, worked tirelessly with Chopper to research every known Devil Fruit ability, every strange plant, every rumored curse of the New World. Luffy, while still finding the situation amusing, also worried, sensing the underlying wrongness. Even Jinbei, calm as ever, acknowledged the gravity of the situation, constantly looking for any subtle changes in the afflicted duo.

What truly unnerved them all was the chilling accuracy of Chopper's assessment: this wasn’t the natural progression of Y/n and Zoro’s unspoken feelings. This was a forced reality, a complete overwrite of their personalities. Their quiet, subtle affections had been replaced by a saccharine, domestic intensity that felt utterly alien. They still looked like Y/n and Zoro, but the essence of who they were, those distinct quirks and personal rhythms, felt stripped away, subsumed by this imposed familial role. And Chopper, the unwitting "son," was the primary victim of their relentless, if affectionate, parental delusion.

The little "parent things" were constant, a bizarre new routine for the crew.

One evening, Chopper, exhausted from another day of frantic research and dodging parental overtures, finally managed to sneak into the infirmary for some rest. He'd just pulled his blanket up to his chin when the door gently creaked open. It was Y/n, her eyes soft with a profound maternal love.

"My little one," she whispered, tiptoeing to his bunk. She carefully tucked the blanket tighter around him, smoothing it down with a tenderness that made Chopper's fur prickle. She then leaned down, humming a soft, unfamiliar lullaby, and gently brushed his forehead, a gesture of almost ethereal affection that made his stomach churn with discomfort. "Sleep well, my precious deer. Mama will watch over you."

Another time, during a particularly stormy night that had Usopp huddled in fear, Zoro, instead of his usual silent contemplation of the raging seas, found Chopper shivering under his blanket. "You're a strong boy, aren't you?" Zoro rumbled, his voice low and comforting, completely devoid of his usual gruffness. He sat on the edge of Chopper's bed, gently ruffling his fur with a large hand. "No need to be scared, son. Your father's here. Nothing's going to hurt you." He stayed there for a long time, a silent, unwavering presence, until the storm passed and Chopper, despite his internal turmoil, actually drifted off to sleep, feeling oddly safe.

Mealtimes, previously a chaotic free-for-all, now featured Y/n meticulously cutting Chopper's meat into bite-sized pieces and even, to Sanji's utter horror, attempting to spoon-feed him a few times. "You need your strength, my big boy," she'd insist, her voice laced with a warmth that was undeniably genuine, yet utterly misplaced.

Even during training, Zoro would often call out to Chopper, his voice booming with pride. "Look, Y/n! Our boy's got good reflexes! He'll be a fine fighter!" He'd then demonstrate a simplified sword movement, urging Chopper to mimic him, completely oblivious to the trauma he was inflicting on his "son."

The crew observed these moments with a mixture of heartbreak and desperation. They knew these actions, while outwardly loving, were not truly Y/n and Zoro's. They were manifestations of a cruel, forced illusion, turning two of their most formidable members into doting, oblivious parents, and their innocent doctor into the bewildered victim of their warped affection. The clock was ticking, and they knew they had to break this spell before their nakama were lost to them forever.

The breaking point arrived during one particularly surreal dinner. Zoro had just demonstrated how to properly polish a sword to a bewildered Chopper, referring to it as "something a son should learn from his father," while Y/n meticulously arranged Chopper's vegetables into a smiley face. The sight was too much.

"Alright! That's enough!" Luffy suddenly roared, slamming his fists on the table, his usual jovial expression replaced by a stern, determined frown. "This isn't fun anymore! Y/n and Zoro aren't acting like themselves! We're going back to that island! We're gonna find whoever did this and kick their butts!"

A wave of relief, potent and almost palpable, washed over the crew.

"It's about time, Luffy!" Nami exclaimed, her eyes blazing with resolve. "I've run every diagnostic, every environmental scan, cross-referenced every Devil Fruit, and nothing explains this! We need to find the source!"

"My dreams of chivalry are shattered, but my loyalty to my nakama is not!" Sanji declared, lighting a cigarette with a dramatic flourish. "I shall unleash the full force of my kicks on whoever dared to sully Y/n-chan's precious mind!"

Usopp, though visibly nervous, clutched his trusty slingshot. "Yeah! They messed with our friends! And our doctor! That's unforgivable!"

Robin's usually calm voice held a rare edge of intensity. "This 'Kokoromi no Mi,' as Chopper has tentatively identified it, is a truly insidious power. Its effects are deeply unsettling. We must locate its user."

Franky pounded his chest. "SUPER! Time to bring back our SUPER serious swordsman and our SUPER organized Quartermaster! No one messes with the Straw Hat family!"

Brook strummed a mournful chord on his violin. "My heart, though I have none, weeps for their altered state. We must restore their true selves! Yohohoho!"

Even Jinbei, who had maintained a stoic front, nodded gravely. "We cannot allow our nakama to remain under such a spell. This is a task that requires our full attention."

Zoro, his arm still around your waist, merely grunted, his gaze fixed on Chopper. "What are they talking about, Y/n? Are they going somewhere without us?"

You smiled sweetly. "Oh, dear. Perhaps they're just planning a little outing. But we have our little one to take care of."

Luffy, however, had already sprung to the deck. "Alright! Set sail for that weird island! We're gonna find out who did this and make them regret it!" He turned to Zoro and you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And Zoro, Y/n! When this is all over, we're gonna tell you all the funny stuff you did! Like how you two were kissing all over the place!"

You and Zoro exchanged a loving glance, completely oblivious to the crew's exasperation. "Kissing?" you murmured, a light blush dusting your cheeks. "But we do that all the time, don't we, husband?"

"Hmph. What's wrong with that?" Zoro added, completely missing the point.

The rest of the crew groaned, a unified wave of frustration washing over the deck. This was going to be a tough fight, not just against the Devil Fruit user, but against the sheer awkwardness of their friends' delusion.

Hours later, the Thousand Sunny once again dropped anchor off the strange, silent island. The twisted trees seemed to loom even more ominously in the twilight. The crew disembarked, their faces grim and determined. Luffy led the charge, his voice echoing through the eerie stillness. "Alright, you weirdo! Show yourself! We're here to get our friends back!" The hunt for the Kokoromi no Mi user had officially begun.

The Straw Hats fanned out, their usual boisterous energy replaced by a focused, almost grim determination. The island, which had seemed merely "off" before, now felt palpably sinister. The twisted trees clawed at the perpetually overcast sky, and the sickly sweet scent intensified, clinging to their clothes and hair.

Nami led the charge, her navigator's instincts honed by years of charting treacherous waters. She pulled out a small, intricate compass, its needle spinning wildly at first, then settling on a distinct, unsettling tremor. "The magnetic field is completely warped here," she murmured, her brow furrowed. "Whatever's causing this... it's radiating a powerful, unnatural energy."

Robin walked beside her, her usually serene expression thoughtful. She used her Devil Fruit ability, sprouting eyes and ears on the strange flora, extending their sensory reach far beyond their immediate vicinity. "The 'villagers' we saw earlier," she observed, her voice low, "they appear to be little more than echoes. Residual projections, perhaps. The true source of this illusion must be nearby, manipulating these phantoms."

Chopper, still reeling from his "parental" ordeal, pointed a trembling hoof. "That smell! It's stronger over there!" He had noticed the distinct, sickly sweet aroma was more concentrated near certain clusters of the gnarled trees.

Usopp, ever the sniper, climbed one of the taller, less stable-looking trees, his scope scanning the bizarre landscape. "I've got nothing! Just more weird plants and... wait! There's a clearing up ahead, deeper in the woods! And something's shimmering there!"

As they pushed through the dense undergrowth, the air grew thick and heavy, the sweet scent cloying, almost suffocating. The ground underfoot became strangely soft, spongy, as if they were walking on a rotten carpet of leaves.

Suddenly, Franky let out a shout. "SUPER! Look at this!" He pointed to a patch of ground where the strange, colorful flowers seemed to glow with an ethereal light. As he approached, the flowers seemed to shimmer, and for a fleeting moment, he saw faint, transparent images of the town's buildings flickering within their petals.

"It's a resonance," Robin deduced, her eyes narrowing. "These flowers... they are somehow amplifying and sustaining the illusion. The user must be at the epicenter of their concentration."

Following the increasingly strong scent and the subtle shimmering of the flora, they eventually stumbled into a circular clearing, strangely devoid of the gnarled trees. In the very center, seated cross-legged amidst a vibrant bed of the glowing flowers, was a thin, almost frail-looking man. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped, and a faint, almost invisible aura of shimmering light emanated from him, pulsing in time with the faint distortions in the air around him. The air here was so thick with the sweet scent it was almost difficult to breathe.

Luffy saw him, and his usual grin vanished, replaced by a dark, intense fury. The image of Zoro and Y/n, so utterly unlike themselves, flashed through his mind. His fists clenched, steam beginning to rise from his body.

"So you're the one," Luffy growled, his voice low and dangerous, "You'll pay for messing with my nakama!" Without another word, he lunged forward, stretching his arm back, ready to unleash a devastating Gum-Gum Pistol. The fight for Y/n and Zoro's true selves had finally begun.

Luffy's Gum-Gum Pistol shot forward like a compressed spring, aiming directly for the man's serene, unsuspecting face. But just before impact, the man's eyes snapped open, revealing pupils that seemed to swirl with iridescent colors. The air around him shimmered violently, and Luffy's fist passed through him as if he were made of smoke.

"An illusionary body!" Nami shouted, instantly grasping the situation. "He's projecting himself! The real one is somewhere else, maintaining the illusion!"

"Then we just have to hit everything!" Luffy declared, not missing a beat. His arms began to flail, a flurry of Gum-Gum Gatling punches raining down on the entire clearing. Each punch dissolved a part of the shimmering landscape, tearing away at the illusion, revealing glimpses of rougher, more mundane reality beneath.

Sanji, meanwhile, was already in motion. "Diable Jambe!" he roared, his leg igniting with flames. He launched himself into a searing kick, aiming not at the man's image, but at the very ground beneath the glowing flowers. His kick tore a fiery trench, disrupting the delicate network of roots and earth that seemed to anchor the illusion.

Robin's hands sprouted from the glowing flowers, from the bizarre, twisted trees, even from the man's illusory form itself, seeking a physical connection. "Dos Fleur!" she commanded, her eyes fixed on the man's true body which, she surmised, had to be tethered to the focal point of the illusion. Her hands probed through the shimmering air, feeling for any point of resistance, any solid form.

Usopp, perched on a higher branch, loaded a special Pop Green. "Sleep Star!" he yelled, firing a small, spherical projectile that exploded into a cloud of soporific pollen. The pollen, however, seemed to simply phase through the illusionary man, wavering and dissipating. "Damn it! He's not even real!"

"We need to disrupt the source directly!" Jinbei bellowed, his powerful fists slamming into the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. He targeted the clusters of glowing flowers, recognizing them as key components of the man's power. "Ryugu Kawarajima Seiken!" His attacks sent plumes of dirt and pulverized plant matter into the air, each impact causing a visible ripple in the illusion.

As the Straw Hats unleashed their assault, the man's calm demeanor began to crack. His face contorted in a sneer, and the illusions around them became more aggressive, spectral figures rising from the dissolving trees, attempting to swipe at the crew. But the Straw Hats, focused and determined, ignored the phantoms, concentrating their attacks on the central figure and the glowing flora.

Suddenly, Robin's eyes widened. "Found you!" she exclaimed, her hands appearing on a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor in the air behind the illusory man. She had found the true, vulnerable body, hidden deep within the illusion's core. "Cien Fleur: Wing!" Hundreds of arms sprouted, forming massive, powerful wings that slammed down, shattering the last vestiges of the illusion.

The shimmering veil ripped apart, revealing the man's actual body, frail and shaking, hidden behind the dissolving mirage. He was small, cowering, and utterly exposed.

Luffy, his face still etched with anger, didn't hesitate. "Gum-Gum... RED HAWK!" His fist ignited with flames, a powerful, haki-infused blow that struck the man squarely in the chest. The man crumpled, unconscious, the glowing flowers around him instantly wilting, turning to ash. The air cleared, the sickly sweet scent dissipating, replaced by the natural smell of the island's damp earth and the distant sea. The illusion was completely, utterly broken.

Back on the Thousand Sunny, in the infirmary, Zoro and Y/n lay peacefully, their eyes closed. As the Devil Fruit user on the island fell, a violent shiver ran through both of them. The warmth that had enveloped their minds, the loving conviction of their marriage and parenthood, abruptly shattered. It was like waking from a vivid, beautiful dream into a stark, bewildering reality.

A gasp escaped your lips as your eyes snapped open. The familiar ceiling of the infirmary came into focus. A sharp, disorienting ache pounded behind your temples, and your body felt strangely heavy, intimately connected to something else. You tried to shift, but something held you fast.

You looked down, your eyes widening in shock. You were not alone. You were lying pressed against a broad, muscular chest, an arm thrown possessively over your waist. Your head was nestled in the crook of a strong shoulder, and your legs were tangled with another's.

Zoro.

His eyes, still a little unfocused, blinked open moments after yours. His breath hitched as he, too, realized the intimate proximity. His vision cleared, taking in the soft, dark hair against his cheek, the curve of a familiar waist against his side, the warmth of a body pressed against his own.

A rush of heat flooded your face. This wasn't the false warmth of an illusion; this was raw, undeniable embarrassment mixed with a dizzying current of something else, something thrilling and terrifying. You were in Zoro's arms, your bodies intimately connected, closer than you had ever been in waking reality.

He stirred, his arm tightening around you almost imperceptibly, his body stiffening with a mixture of confusion and dawning realization. His gaze met yours, wide with shock, a deep blush slowly creeping up his neck and dusting his ears. The unspoken tension that had always hummed between you now roared, a deafening silence filled with mutual, profound mortification. Neither of you moved, caught in the sudden, undeniable reality of your entangled forms, the remnants of a powerful illusion leaving behind a very real, very awkward truth.

A wave of disorienting clarity washed over you and Zoro, replacing the comforting delusion with a sudden, searing awareness of your intertwined limbs. The softness of the infirmary bed beneath you was undeniable, as was the unmistakable heat of Zoro's body pressed against yours. Your face burned, a deep crimson flush spreading across your cheeks.

"Wh-what the hell?" you stammered, trying to shift, but his arm, still possessively draped over your waist, held you firmly in place. Your mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory: the strange island, the illusion, the prick on your hand... and then, a horrifying, vivid recollection of calling Chopper "my child" and Zoro "my husband."

Zoro's single eye, wide with a mixture of shock and mortification, met yours. His usual stoic composure had completely evaporated. A deep blush, so rare it was almost unheard of, crept up his neck and stained his ears. "What in the…?" he grunted, his voice rougher than usual, betraying his utter bewilderment. He too, was clearly grappling with the sudden, jarring return of his true memories. The image of Y/n, his crewmate, his Quartermaster, his... you, calling him "my love" and then that kiss... it slammed into him with the force of a cannonball.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the rapid thumping of your hearts. The air crackled with a tension that was both mortifying and, inexplicably, electric. You were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his skin, the scent of him – salt, steel, and something uniquely masculine – filling your nostrils.

"We… we were on the island," you managed, your voice barely a whisper, trying to make sense of the chaos. "And then… that man… the illusion. And then… this." You gestured vaguely between your tangled bodies, then to the infirmary around you. "Did... did they bring us back here?"

Zoro groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure exasperation. He finally managed to pull his arm back, creating a sliver of space between your bodies, though the warmth where he'd been lingered tantalizingly. He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away the last vestiges of confusion. "That damn Devil Fruit user," he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. "They hit us with something. That's why... that's why we were acting like that." He paused, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him as he recalled his own actions. "Calling Chopper our kid... and you..." He trailed off, unable to voice the word "wife."

You instinctively drew your knees up, covering yourself with the blanket, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled you both must look. "And you! You were acting like... like you've been my husband for years!" You couldn't help but feel a flicker of indignation, despite the heat still flooding your cheeks. It wasn't fair that he was the only one allowed to be embarrassed.

He shot you a rare, exasperated look. "Don't look at me like that! You were calling me 'my love,' and 'husband'!" He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the green strands in frustration. "And that... that kiss... we've never..." He trailed off again, the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air.

The memory of the kiss, though under the influence of the Devil Fruit, sent a fresh jolt through you. It had felt so natural, so right in that warped reality. And the way he had looked at you, with that deep, loving concern... a part of you, a very quiet, secret part, had actually liked it.

You both lay there for another long moment, the silence thick with the unspoken tension of your mutual feelings, now magnified by the bizarre circumstances. The illusion might have been broken, but it had stripped away the comfortable layers of unspoken understanding, leaving raw, exposed emotions.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh that seemed to echo the very depths of his embarrassment, Zoro groaned again. But this time, instead of pulling away, he shifted. He leaned back into you, his large frame settling comfortably against yours, his arm subtly sliding back around your waist, his hand coming to rest just above your hip. He lowered his head, nestling into the crook of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat. Every nerve ending screamed in awareness of his proximity, of the subtle weight of his head, the familiar scent of him now intoxicatingly close. For a split second, panic warred with an overwhelming wave of something else – a deep, almost primal comfort that settled over you. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, you relaxed into his embrace. The awkwardness was still there, a buzzing undercurrent, but beneath it, a new, fragile warmth began to bloom. The illusion had been a lie, but the connection, the undeniable truth of your intertwined feelings, was very, very real.

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu · 漢服]The past and present of "eating mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival"

As the Mid-Autumn Festival/Zhong Qiu Jie 中秋节 is coming, let us learn how “mooncakes/月饼” became an iconic traditional food of the Mid-Autumn Festival

🌕🥮Mooncake/月饼🥮🏮

A mooncake (simplified Chinese: 月饼; traditional Chinese: 月餅) is a Chinese bakery product traditionally eaten during the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋節).The festival is primarily about the harvest while a legend connects it to moon watching, and mooncakes are regarded as a delicacy. Mooncakes are offered between friends or on family gatherings while celebrating the festival. The Mid-Autumn Festival is widely regarded as one of the four most important Chinese festivals.

Mooncakes were originally used as offerings to worship the moon god.

Worshiping the moon is a very old custom in China. It is actually a worship activity for the "moon god" by the ancients. Eating mooncakes and appreciating the moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival are indispensable customs for celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival in all parts of China. Mooncakes symbolize reunion. People regard them as festive food, use them to worship the moon, and give them to relatives and friends.

Cultural relics believed to be the predecessor of mooncakes were unearthed:

<China Tang Dynasty Baoxiang flower-patterned mooncakes/宝相花月饼>⬇️

Mooncakes, traditionally offered as a tribute to the Moon Goddess, have a long and rich history. The term "mooncake" was first recorded in the Southern Song Dynasty in Wu Zimu’s <梦梁录/Meng Liang Lu>.

Over time, mooncakes merged with various regional culinary traditions, giving rise to different styles such as Cantonese, Shanxi, Beijing, Suzhou, Chaozhou, and Yunnan mooncakes, all of which are beloved by people across China：

Mooncakes truly became associated with the Mid-Autumn Festival during the Ming Dynasty. In the writings of Liu Ruoyu 刘若愚, a eunuch during the reigns of the Wanli and Chongzhen emperors, he mentioned in his prison work Zhuozhong Zhi 《酌中志》(Vol. 20, "Brief Record of Culinary Preferences"): “八月宫中赏秋海棠、玉簪花。自初一日起，即有卖月饼者。加以西瓜、藕，互相馈送。西苑鹿藕。至十五日，家家供月饼瓜果，候月上焚香后，即大肆饮啖，多竟夜始散席者。如有剩月饼，仍整收于干燥风凉之处，至岁暮合家分用之，曰‘团圆饼’也”

Translation：

"In August, the palace having event appreciates autumn crabapple blossoms. From the first day of the month, mooncakes are sold,it accompanied by watermelons and lotus roots, and are exchanged as gifts.By the fifteenth day, every household offers mooncakes and fruits in worship, waiting for the moon to rise before burning incense and feasting lavishly, with some gatherings lasting all night. If there are leftover mooncakes, they are stored in a dry and cool place until the end of the year, when the whole family shares them, calling them 'reunion cakes.'

In the Qing Dynasty, there were books that detailed the methods of making mooncakes. For example, Zeng Yi, a female writer and female doctor in the late Qing Dynasty, recorded the "Method of Making Crisp Mooncakes" in her book "Zhongkuilu": "Use white ash flour, half of which is steamed in a steamer, and no water vapor is seen; the other half is raw, and kneaded with lard and cold water. Then, mix the steamed flour with lard. Use a ball of raw oil flour, and wrap a small ball of cooked oil flour inside; use a rolling pin to roll it into a cup-sized shape, fold it into a square; roll it into a ball again, and fold it into a square again; then wrap the filling. Use a cake stamp to stamp it, and put it on the stove to cook. For the oil-flavored filling, use cooked flour, sugar, walnuts, etc., and add a little sesame oil, so that it will not fall apart." The method is very similar to today's Suzhou-style mooncakes.

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🧚🏻‍Production & Model/Makeup：@曾嚼子

🔗Xiaohongshu:https://www.xiaohongshu.com/discovery/item/66e66ef70000000026033df2

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello hello! I dunno if you’re taking request but I was thinking if you can write smth silly about reader pulling the “Fellas grab your ladies if your lady fine” trend on Ford :3

You didn’t know how you had gotten put in this predicament where you were standing behind Ford, all the while Mabel was hiding behind the doorway -phone in hand- as she gestured for you to grab Ford by his waist and pull him in close.

Oh wait you did know exactly how you had gotten in this because Mabel came up to you that very same morning, phone in her hand as though it was super glued there, as she shown you this trend couples were doing for public validation and praise; and or to rub their relationship in the publics face.

‘What am I-‘

‘Just watch.’ Mabel exclaimed as she pointed to her phone that she had shoved under your face just as the man grabbed his girlfriend by the waist and pull her in close in tandem with the lyrics; ‘fellas grab your ladies if your ladies fine.’ Just as the video ends and goes back to the beginning.

‘And what was I meant to take away from that exactly?’ You questioned, not understanding the point of anything that was presented to you, especially so early in the morning where all you wanted to do was enjoy your morning drink without having to think so hard. However there’s never been a quiet morning in the Pines household in the history of forever, and each time a member of the Pines Family was usually the source of the unrest.

Ford trying to catch his anomalies that somehow snuck into your room

Stan loudly complaining about his aging body while burning the pancakes because he wasn’t paying attention to it.

Wendy’s loud ass snores. She’s always hanging out at the shack so often you might as well consider her apart of the family as well alongside Soos, Candy and Grenda.

Dipper being Dipper

And now Mabel with this supposedly popular couples trend. You couldn’t catch a break but you loved this family and Ford too much to care about how early it was for their shenanigans.

‘You and Ford should totally do the trend!’ Mable said as she beams at you. ‘The people would love a cute nerdy couple like you two!’

You chuckled as you ruffled the energetic girls’ hair affectingly. ‘I highly doubt your Grunkle Ford would want any part in it, he’s been in the lab all week on a recent discovery. What it is he wouldn’t tell me. He only ran into our room one day to scream THEY’RE PROCREATING and left for the lab.’

‘Please! Please! Please!’ Mabel cried as she clasped her hands together and gave you the cutest pair of puppy eyes ever as you felt your resolve crumble the longer you stared into your niece.

‘Fine.’ You playfully groaned as you allowed the young girl to drag you by your arm and lead you down into the lab where Ford was, only to shove you awkwardly close to Ford while she hide near the doorway, phone in hand.

‘Hello darling.’ Ford greeted without looking up from his work, he claims he could tell apart your footsteps from the rest of his family, but you just assumed that Stan or Dipper or Mabel kept coming down and Ford took the opportunity to learn how each of his family sounded when coming down the stairs through specific things they did.

‘Hello sweetheart.’ You greeted back as you could see Mabel practically on the brink of bursting into confetti with how hard she tried to contain her excitement.

‘Grab him by the waist.’ Mabel mouthed, her eyes becoming comedically large glittery stars. ‘Grab him by the waist!’

You looked back at Ford who was leaned over his desk, looking over his work throughly with his brows furrowed and his glasses slightly drooping off his nose. He looked handsome when he was concentrating but in your eyes Ford was always handsome even when he was explaining to you dungeons, dungeons and even more dungeons.

You looked back at Mabel who had her phone In front of her -most likely recording you- before you took a deep breath and brought your hand to Ford’s waist, quickly pulled him close to you so that his back rested against your chest. Poor Ford was a flustered mess, his cheeks were aflame, his eyes were wide and you could feel how stiff his body was against yours, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked in the moment.

‘What’s the meaning behind this y/n.’ Ford asked as he tried to calm his excepted heart rate and regain composure.

You kissed his cheek before nuzzling it slightly. ‘Did you catch all that Mabel?’ You asked, much to Ford’s confusion. ‘Mabel?’

‘Yes! I caught all of that!’ She cried as she popped out from her hiding spot, ‘this is going on the family group chat!’ She adds as she bolts up the stairs giggling and squealing to herself at how cute you and her grunkle Ford were, leaving you and Ford alone.

‘Sorry sweetheart, her puppy eyes are my weakness.’ You confessed as you rested your head against his shoulder, still holding onto his waist and breathing in his scent that never failed to relive you and any and all stress. Ford chuckled as he moved his head to kiss the top of yours, smiling fondly at your weak spot for his grandniece and nephew. ‘It’s alright darling, just let me know next time before you do something so bold, my old heart can only take so many surprises.’ He joked as he rested his hand atop of your own, rubbing the back of it soothingly.

‘I promise.’ You mumbled softly against his shoulder. ‘But you did look cute all flustered, do you like being grabbed by the waist?’ You then asked, only to receive silence on Ford’s and, which made you life your head from his shoulder to see that he was cover the lower half of his face with his hand.

‘Cute.’ You thought yourself, you might do this more often if this is the response you get, it was a power trip you didn’t know you needed over your cute but extremely smart fordsy.

[bridenore]

Drarry fic recs - from A to Z

Every week, when I do these lists, I sort everything in alphabetical order. Somehow, I kind of hope I'll end up using every letter of the alphabet, but I never do. So this week I decided to do something a little different.

At Your Service by @faith2wood [95k]

Hogwarts students are in danger; Harry is determined to save them all. There’s only one thing he knows for certain: Draco Malfoy is somehow involved.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered [139k]

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Collect Your Courage by mervab [44k]

Potter needs control; Draco needs forgiveness. They shag; Lavender gives advice; they yell; Seamus makes muffins; they fight; and everyone else drinks far too much coffee for their own wellbeing.

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton [26k]

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Choosing to lead it in Muggle Brixton comes with its own set of challenges, including Malfoys in the biscuit aisle.

Every You, Every Me by daftfear [49k]

I thought I had already hit the lowest point in my life, but as the universe seems intent on proving, I was wrong. The only thing that could possibly make this worse is Potter. And more Muggles.

Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid [169k]

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he’s become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre [122k]

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Here’s The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout [49k]

Harry thinks “Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?” is a much simpler question than, “Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don’t, what will you do?”

It’s No Great Mystery by @agentmoppet​ [57k]

Who on earth decided that bringing back the Yule Ball for their eighth year would be a good idea? It feels like the worst day of Harry’s life, watching everyone get glammed up like the war never happened, like the last Triwizard Tournament wasn’t such a colossal failure. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

Jolene by @romaine2424 [21k]

Harry comes back from a mandatory holiday and finds that an Auror raid on his favourite establishment could expose his biggest secret.   However, another has even more secrets than he does at stake. Jolene Deux by @romaine2424 [5k] Draco makes special plans after being told by his Healer that he’s fully recovered from being pregnant and having given birth to his and Harry’s daughter, Violet.  I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into Harry’s and Draco’s future life together.  The story begins immediately after where Jolene ended.

Kiss A Boy In London Town (And Other Intimate Misadventures of A Society Whore) by @femmequixotic [36k]

There’s only one cardinal sin for a whore.

LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally [42k]

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic [61k]

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all.

Never Mind the Bollocks  by @the-sinking-ship [118k]

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

Owl Was Well by @fencer-x [66k]

Draco Malfoy is not an owl, really he isn’t. He simply assumes the shape of one on occasion when he wants to find a bit of privacy—a goal entirely thwarted because Harry Potter doesn’t understand you can’t just grab any old bird from the Owlery and force it to send your missives and deliver your packages.

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy [66k]

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself.

Quietus by @novembersnowflakes [17k]

To save himself and his family, Draco must disappear in plain sight—of Harry Potter, that is.

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks [73k] 

Harry felt Malfoy’s breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

Salt on the Western Wind by Saras_Girl [60k]

When the war isn’t quite as over as it first appears, a guilt-ridden Harry is sent to a mysterious safe-house. Among sandwiches, insomnia, and Mills & Boon, he discovers something quite unexpected.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop [70k]

It’s Potter’s fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It’s been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco’s getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he’s falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

The Unknown Door by @amywaterwings [60k]

There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so. Where Draco is a magical property manager, Harry is a recluse, and they’re definitely not hiding from their problems in the run-down flats of the Bellcrest. Not at all. Not one bit. It goes as well as one might expect.

Verba Volant by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony​ [34k]

The first letter arrives after the Trials. Harry unfolds the parchment and his eyes open wide when he realises who it’s from. He soon finds himself waiting for those letters to arrive, staring at the window in search of Malfoy’s owl. He wants to know more.

When It Alteration Finds by  momatu [55k]

After the war, Harry left most of the Wizarding world behind and built a new life for himself in the Channel Islands. He opened a bakery and is happy with his life. Draco is a fiction author who writes under a penname, and he’s currently suffering from writer’s block. His agent suggests he try writing in a new environment and rents a cottage in the Channel Islands for him.  

@xanthippe74 wrote Follow the Water [38k]

Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

You open always (petal by petal) by birdsofshore [65k]

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

@lol-zeitgeistic wrote Azoth [88k]

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did

[radiance1]

Tim traced Bruce's family tree, and that led him down a path where he finds out that apparently his ancestors, the fentonightingales, split off into the Wayne family and the Fenton family and decides to trace down the Fenton family history to see if Bruce had any unknown relatives.

He finds Jack Fenton, his wife, Madeline Fenton, their daughter, Jasmine Fenton, their son, Daniel Fenton, and their second daughter and youngest child, Danielle Fenton.

Then he digs a bit through their social media, finds out that reclusive billionaire and CEO of a morally questionable company, Vlad Masters, is the godfather of the three children. Unfortunately, for some reason it's been hard to find information about Vlad Masters that isn't involving his company or publicity stunts, anything past that and it's only bits and pieces of information.

The biggest piece in his past is that he was trapped in a hospital due to an unknown illness that left him bedridden, and then making an miraculous recovery one day, then going to found Vladco and become a business empire.

He thinks the only reason that tidbit of information was so easy to find was that it tied into his business as some type of origin story.

Tim does a bit more digging and, yet to inform anyone else of his discovery, finds a video titled:

"Pranking my godfather after he stopped trying to get with my mom and kill my dad!"

Which, was a concerning title really, then he found the godfather in question to be Vlad Masters, and the one who recorded said video was Daniel Fenton.

Curious.

He did some more digging.

He didn't really get very far, for some odd reason there isn't a lot of information to scrap together past the surface of Amity Park. Stuff like their museum, being a tourist attraction, it's history, normal stuff like that.

Nothing about the day to day lives of its citizens, nor any videos posted by said citizens or anything of the like.

He did come across some papers posted by the Fentons, however. Some research abouts ghosts, their behaviors and all that.

What he found wasn't pleasant, and he was thinking about telling Bruce before he came across another page.

The Fenton page.

It was, very, very clean of research papers of any kind having to deal with ghosts as a species, and while they are mentioned it's mostly in reference to take about one of their many weapons, or an installation to equip to your home as a safety precaution.

Then he went back to the page where their 'research' is placed, did some digging, and found it to be published by some kind of organization called the Guys In White, or GIW for short. Weird name, but he's seen weirder.

Although, this does cause some concern for him.

Tim, still not telling anyone of the information he's found besides Alfred (You can hide NOTHING from that man), decides to go over to Amity Park to check out the Fenton family firsthand, gather information about these ghosts to decide if magic is involved or not, and find out why the GIW are using the Fentons' name to publish their papers.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 149 (A New Pet - And a New Landgraab Problem?)

Captain Whitaker made himself right at home at the Gordon house on Sable Square. When Lavender returned from daycare on his first day as a reanimated dog, the Captain was thrilled to meet the energetic toddler who loved pets.

He also celebrated discovery of the chicken coop in the backyard, and he loved to chase the cats. It had been a while since Heather and Conrad needed to train bad habits out of a new pet, but they were happy to do it, because Captain Whitaker fit their family like a glove.

Heather's sister, Hazel, dropped by for breakfast one morning, on her way to help Alexander Goth put together his application to run for mayor.

"It's a long process and the town hasn't had an election in close to forty years, but Alex has a lot of really great ideas to make the Bay even better," Hazel said. "I really believe in him, and he needs more help with his campaign now that he's doing midnight feedings with baby Carina."

At the mention of Alex and Lydia Goth's second child, newborn Carina, Heather rubbed her belly as she felt her own baby kick. "I'd love to see this town running smoothly with a real mayor at the helm. The water shut-offs we've had to deal with lately make it so much harder to get the kids bathed, and the dogs, let alone us!"

"I hate to sound like Dad, but get a dew catcher. It rains enough on the coast you could collect enough water to last for weeks!"

"What's a dew catcher?" wondered Lavender.

"It stores water for when there's drought or the pipes freeze in winter. It's kind of like recycling the rain," Hazel explained, and Lavender nodded along thoughtfully.

"What's recyclig?"

"It's when you take something and use it again for something else, rather than getting something new, because it's better for the environment. Like new toys. If you bought a used toy, it would be recycled, as opposed to a new toy from a store."

"Used toys are better for the envi-erment?"

Hazel nodded. "Yeah, because new production uses a carbon footprint, and you want that carbon footprint to be as small as possible to help the planet."

Heather glanced pleadingly at Hazel, launching into one of her public policy talks with a four-year-old. "Why don't you get your Aunt Hazel to read you a story before she goes to work?"

Lavender smiled, dragging Hazel to the living room and picking out a book. "Can you do the voices again, too?"

"Of course, Lava. I can't read you a story without doing the voices!"

"No you can't!"

Lavender wasn't the only one in the household interested in books. Ash had picked up as many books on time travel from the library as he could, and he'd barely put them down since. If he was supposed to invent time travel, he had to understand it first.

Heather and Conrad were wary of what he was learning, but they'd encouraged Felix and Lilith to pursue it before they knew what Marco had said. Ash promised to leave the actual time travel to the adults, so they allowed him to study books like Theoretical Electronics and A History of Time Travel to offer assistance to Felix and Lilith - but only if they needed it.

Conrad accompanied him to the local library to return a few books he'd finished and check out a few more, bringing the dogs to run around. They sat in bright inflatable chairs that seemed out of place in the old wooden building. But the local historian and librarian, Gunther Lynx-Munch, said they'd been dropped off by an anonymous donor and he didn't want them to go to waste.

As he thumbed through the books on the shelves, Conrad turned to his stepson. "Are you really interested in all this time travel stuff?"

Ash shrugged. "Felix and Lilith say Emit's nice. What if changing the future changes him, too? I don't want to change the future too much, but I don't want to be feared. If I do help Felix and Lilith, I don't mind people not knowing I did it."

That night, Heather prepped fruit for Ash's school lunch while Conrad was bent over the sink to repair the plumbing. "Malcolm called again," she groused. "He's so interested in Ash's counseling sessions all of a sudden."

"I think this time travel and seeing ghosts stuff freaks Malcolm out a bit."

"He doesn't even think it's real!" She closed the fridge door with a heavy thud to put away the sliced fruit. "I think he's plotting something. With his mother."

Conrad finished with the plumbing and dried his hands, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her stomach. "Like what?"

"He's acting like I can't take care of our son, as if he wasn't flirting with Miko instead of watching Ash when he was taken. He actually said 'It can't be easy to move around that small house with all those animals.' They have a dog!"

"Don't get upset," he pleaded gently. "Has Malcolm ever been worth it?"

She forced herself to breathe, letting herself fall into his embrace. "I love you. I just worry about Ash all the time lately."

"I love you, too. Let's get some sleep; the baby needs it. We can worry about everything again in the morning."

Despite her fear and worry, the days were busy and long. Pregnant Heather was easily fatigued, and she soon fell asleep in Conrad's arms. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[whetstonefires]

The trilobite crest of the Heterodynes really raises questions about the history of palaeontology in the setting.

Like, honestly, considering this is a world where autism gives you deeply unpleasant cognitive superpowers that are nevertheless constrained (to some extent) by your background knowledge, it would kind of make sense if a lot of the 'making lists' sorts of natural science were millennia ahead of our timeline. Because that's a science you can do without an industrial revolution behind you, right?

According to wikipedia the trilobite (wildly common as fossils go) first appears in the scientific literature in 1698 when

Rev. Edward Lhwyd published in 1698 in The Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, the oldest scientific journal in the English language, part of his letter "Concerning Several Regularly Figured Stones Lately Found by Him", that was accompanied by a page of etchings of fossils.[118] One of his etchings depicted a trilobite he found near Llandeilo, probably on the grounds of Lord Dynefor's castle, he described as "the skeleton of some flat Fish".

A family with the antiquity and inflexibility of the Heterodynes is not going to have adopted their characteristic logo within the past 200 years. 200 years ago is like. Euphrosinia's day. They were already infamous on a massive scale. There is no way.

So does this suggest a classical discipline of palaeontology? Like. To do really useful paleontology you need a fairly systematic process, and I feel like if the scientific method had recognizably developed by the classical period this would have ended the 'wizard spark' era sooner than the Renaissance.

Or did the trilobite just not perish in the Permian mass extinction event and they still exist???

Also oh hey check it out, trilobites are apparently technically a Welsh discovery huh.

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Happy Monday, everybody! Today's fish of the day is the colossal squid!

The colossal squid, also known by scientific name Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni. This squid is known for being the largest invertebrate, and largest squid in the world! This squid is incredibly unique, being the only known animal in the genus Mesonychoteuthis, which is within the family of glass squids, Cranchiidae. Some of you may have seen in the recent news that humans have, for the first time since discovering the species, recorded a colossal squid in its natural habitat. This is a huge advancement, as previous to this all recorded film and video of these animals consisted of sick, injured, or otherwise dying adults! Previously, capturing this species in video and as a sample has only happened a handful of times throughout history, since our discovery of the colossal squid in 1925. This is believed to be due to the location of this squid. The colossal squid can be found in and around the Southern Ocean, ranging from the area around Antarctica to the southern tips of Africa, New Zealand, and South America. Most often found in the Weddell sea, close to the trenches surrounding the Antarctic west. Another reason for the rarity of this animal is due to their often exceptional depth. We know due to sperm whale predation activity that adult colossal squid can be found as high up as 2,200 meters below the surface. But, it is believed that their range may go well below that. Colossal squids hatch in shallow waters, with surviving individuals slowly migrating into deeper and deeper waters as their lives progress. Juveniles, the most often predated on, can be found within the top 1000 meters below sea level.

There is often a comparison made between the colossal squid and the giant squid Architeuthis dux, due to the large size of each cephalopod. Giant squid happen to be the longest cephalopod, coming in at just over 14 meters long in a recorded specimen, and with talk of specimens over 20m existing. This is compared to the colossal squid, which is considered the largest due to the far heavier weight than that of the giant squid. The colossal squid has a body that can weigh around 495kg (1,100lbs), with a body length from 10-14 meters. The mantle alone stretches from 2-4 meters, and below that are 8 arms and two feeding tentacles. These tentacles are known for a unique feature found only in the Cranchiidae family, a series of 25 rotatable hooks, which are used to catch and hold prey. These squids are also well known for having the largest eyes of any animal, 30-40cm in diameter or 12-16in. These eyes partially work in the depth due to a series of photophores, or light producing organs found around the arms of the squid, and in the eyes themselves.

This eye is used not only by the squid to catch prey, but also to hide from predators. As indicated by the hooks of the colossal squid, they expend no energy on chasing down prey. Instead these giants of the deep will progressively move downward as they grow and age, always moving to where they can no longer be seen by prey animals, lying still and in wait for prey to come close enough before they lunge. These eyes serve a purpose as having the ability to see where potential prey is above or in front of them, regardless of the oppressive darkness around them. These, of course, also double as a tool to avoid predation, as these eyes can see movement well beyond 120 meters, longer than the sonar range of a sperm whale. This of course is to make up for the fact that despite their ability to hear noises, they can only perceive noises below 500 hz. Well below the high pitched noises of sonar. Many large whales hunt for colossal squid, primarily the sperm whale, but others such as pilot whales, and cuvier's beaked whale are also known for sporting the scars of colossal squid battle. These colossal squid are mostly associated with the sperm whale as the sperm whale is the main predator, going so far as to make up 77% of the diet of Antarctic sperm whale pods.

Most of their prey is patagonian toothfish, lanternfish, deep-sea smelt, and other squid; which are torn apart by the large chitin beak. This rips prey into fine ribbons as the brain of the squid surrounds the esophagus in a donut shape, so all food must be tiny. Influenced by their hunting behavior, these squid do not actively chase after prey, despite their impressive ability to swim upwards of 20mph. Once again influenced by their hunting prowess, these squid expend no energy on hunting, and in almost all cases of found specimens have an entirely empty stomach, leading to the idea they may be able to survive long periods of time without food. Some estimates even state they can live off of 5kg of food supporting 500kg of squid for up to 200 days, although this may be influenced by all current caught specimens being near death, or already dead.

The swimming pattern of the colossal squid is a hotly debated topic, as the position of their front facing eyes would mean holding their arms out in front of them would block the view. This is why there is ongoing discussion as to if they likely swim in a "cockatoo" or "reverse cockatoo" position. The cockatoo position is one where the arms are held above the head, making the feeding tentecles on the bottom longer, and easier to catch prey, this can be supported by the position of the hooks. This would substantially cover the eyes however. The reverse cockatoo on the other hand positions the arms flat and below the mantle, which is supported only by the location of the eyes. However, we won’t know for sure until there is video of an adult squid.

Information on the lifecycle of colossal squid is minimal, but we do know some key details. Like all squids, the colossal produces a mass of eggs. After these eggs are laid in the uppermost waters of the Southern Ocean, they go through an unknown length juvenile stage, where they are primarily translucent. A long thought theory, proven true for the first time by the first ever wild specimen captured on video. As time goes on, these squid will progressively move into deeper and deeper waters, as they become a striking red color, their eyes grow larger, and bioluminescence develops. This depth serves several roles to the squid, as it allows them protection from predators, and an ability to hide in the shadows, waiting to lunge at prey. Young, most still entirely translucent, can be found at depths of 0-500 meters, adolescents ranging from 500-2000, and full grown adults stretching from anywhere below 2000 meters. There is no current known maximum depth the colossal squid ranges. The lifespan of the colossal squid is currently unknown, but sexual maturity is estimated to occur anywhere from 1-3 years of age. In warm summer months of the Antarctic when surface waters can get as high as a whooping 0 to 0.9 degrees Celsius the colossal squid of age will come together to breed. Nothing is known about how colossal squid find one another, or where they meet. However, we do know that unlike most other cephalopods the colossal squid males contain penises, which they use to implant sperm directly into female squids. As opposed to the regular squid method of broadcasting sperm into the water over or around eggs. The female squid will then make a last journey to the surface, and it's thought possibly to the same location she was born in. This is where she will lay her thousands of eggs, in these warm shallow waters, before passing away. Like all cephalopods, after breeding the colossal squid dies too. This is the time period all living colossal squid have been caught by humans.

The human history of cataloguing and seeing the colossal squid starts 100 years ago in 1925. Found partially digested in the belly of a sperm whale the tentacles were found with their distinctive hook structures, discovered by E. Hamilton. After this the next specimen was found in 1981 as a juvenile female only 4 meters long found along the surface of the Ross sea in the Antarctic. In 2003 a second specimen was collected, a subadult female found along the surface only 8meters long. The first recording of a colossal squid was taken in 2005, a rather unclear video of a squid taking a tooth fish off the line of a deep sea fisher at a depth of 1,625meters below surface. After that is perhaps the most notable capture of an adult female who had recently spawned, found weak and sickly beside a deep sea fishing boat in 2007. She was 10meters long and collected by the fishers and taken to the nearby New Zealand. This is where the preserved sample remains in their national museum. This preserved sample is how we know that larger colossal squids exist, as far larger beaks have been found in the stomach of sperm whales. After this is the most recent sighting of the colossal squid, recorded in late March of 2025 is the first ever recorded sighting of a colossal squid in its natural habitat. Recorded by the Schmidt’s Oceanographic institute near the South Sandwich Islands at a depth of 600 meters we recorded a juvenile colossal squid. Only 30cm or around 12 inches long, and still translucent in color primarily, with some coloration implying they may be able to turn translucent. This sighting is particularly exciting as the first wild sighting of a live and healthy squid, and we’ll be seeing more information about these animals over time!

That’s the colossal squid everybody! Hope everyone is having a wonderful day and had a good time learning about the squid!

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Dec 27th

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1. Fic finder request!

Misnmian has a ghost in her apartment and ends up calling LWJ to go with her to meet WWX to get rid of the ghost. I don’t remember much other than she had to make the ghost soup or something? And then Wangxian hooked up at the end. I think it was short but had lots of cool details. Plz help!! 🥲

FOUND! wuchang by auberjing, hotpotluck_chaoscollective (M, 4k, MM & WWX, MM & LWJ, WangXian, Modern, Supernatural Elements, LWJ & MM Friendship, Past MM/WWX, MM & WWX Friendship, Businesswoman MM, Medium WWX, Professor LWJ, Cooking, MM's journey of self-discovery, Friendship, Self-Discovery, Family Feels, Bisexual WWX, Bisexual MM, Aromantic MM, Implied Sexual Content, Hopeful Ending, Family History, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, folk religion)

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2. hi, i can’t remember if i saw this fic on here or twitter but i can’t find it now and i’d really like to. all i remember about it is that the summary said that lwj and wwx hadn’t seen each other in a long time (might be exes) and wwx was now a famous singer. does anyone have an idea which fic it might be?

FOUND? Talisman by Witch_Nova221 (M, 192k, WangXian, Modern AU, Eventual Romance, Theatre, Rock Band, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Spousal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Stalking, Minor Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining)

FOUND? 🔒 B-Side by Suspicious_Popsicle (M, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, metalhead x classical music teacher AU)

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3. hello!! i was wondering if you guys could help me find a fic- i was literally just rereading it not that long ago but for some reason i can’t find it. It’s a modern au of wangxian in which they are already married. Wwx was planning to go visit the jiangs for an event but lwj doesn’t want him to bc of of how they treat wwx poorly. They have an argument abt it and wwx eventually still goes, leaving lwj to sulk but over the next few days they still call each other constantly to check in even when they’re upset at each other and yeah it’s just fic of wangxian bickering like an old married couple @makkachiin

FOUND! tipping point by cherrywhiskey (M, 13k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Married Life, Bickering, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fights, Arguing, Making Up, Kissing, Angry Kissing, Making Out, Modern, POV Alternating, Fighting, love and loyalty through petty fights, it gets intense before it gets better, but only coz they're SO IN LOVE, WangXian fighting, no seriously, this is just a fic where husbands wangxian have a fight, like typical married couples, then they make up and make out, lots of banter)

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4. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where wei wuxian cross-dresses in burial mounds settlement days for hiding identity reasons, ends up enjoying being fem-presenting as much as masc, and saves the Wens by marrying LWJ as his fem identity. This fic is not My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun for at least 2 reasons: 1st, Wwx's fem name had "lian" (I thought it was something really simple like lianhua but now I'm second guessing) in it for lotus. In LRES it was a ning yinying instead. 2nd, he was genderfluid/genderqueer, whereas in LRES it seems to be just cross-dressing. I remember one specific scene where WWX as his fem self is "meeting" lqr for the first time, and LQR approves of her a lot more than wwx lol

thanks for your help :) @classygreydove

FOUND! Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, WangXian, Mild to Moderate Pining, lotus pier siblings quietly also have a penchant for chaos, WWX will make LQR like him whether the old man likes it or not, WWX just wants to have fun and not be killed, and also to go to his sister's wedding, WWX is more stubborn than a boulder and twice as dense, Nobody Dies, nobody who matters anyways, except for WN, you're an angel and we're delighted you're here, "WWX fools the entire cultivation world", "and kicks up drama in front of their salad", warnings for sexual harassment due to JGS, and for the canonical behavior of the jin clan, ie war crimes forced labor human trafficking etc., hello naughty jin cultivators it's revenge time :) ) Wei Ying being the best daughter in law to Lan Qiren one lol

NOT FOUND! Propagate Understanding by draechaeli (E, 175k, WangXian, Not Everyone Dies, Pregnancy Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, MXY Lives, MXY has an arc, Original Children Characters, Babies for Everyone, Crossdressing, Temporary Character Death, easy to skip nsfw chapters, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon Divergence)

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5. Hi! I am new here but I wanted ask about ff in ao3 where Lan sizhui and Lan Wangji searches for "Xian-gege" via television show its modern au @yuukikonnos-world

FOUND! Yesterday Once More by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern, Reality Show, Long Lost Family AU, Adoption, Family Reunions, Reunions, Lost Love, Getting Back Together, Family Feels, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, [Podfic] Yesterday Once More by shash_reads (sunkitten_shash))

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6. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that has a passage from LWJ's POV that goes something like "Do you love him? Yes. Did you have a choice? No. Would you have liked to? Yes. Would you have chosen differently? No." Unfortunately I can't remember anything at all about the story but that passage stuck with me and I'd like to read it again. Thanks for your help! @somehowbirds

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7. Hello to you all, and happy Holidays! I am looking for the fanfic (I think it was time travel) where Lan Zhan gets Madam Yu to give away Wei Ying for a single copper coin (I think). Then she finds out shes been played and gets angry. She attacks LZ, they fight but LZ wins. In this fic I believe thats how he gets his title (Hanguang-Jun). Then he leaves with WY. It's a well-known fic but for the life of me I can no longer find it! Please help! @dreammaiden21

FOUND! If Wishes Were Donkeys by NightOwl1 (M, 117k, WIP, WangXian, SVSSS, Time Travel Fix-It, Case Fic, Mpreg, Fluff and Humor, Dysfunctional Jiāng Family, Bad Parent YZY, WangXian Get a Happy Ending,   Period-Typical Homophobia, Crossdressing, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, It’s All The System’s Fault, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Warning: JGS, Good Uncle LQR, LWJ and WWX Are LSZ’s Parents, Inappropriate Humor, Family Feels)

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8. Hi! This is fir fic finder. I dont remember much but it was in sunshot campign. WQ and MY work together i think. WQ search for the member of wen sect who wants to rebel to make an alliance. I think MY helped her but im not sure about this. WQ is in charge for healing a prisoner i think and using her skill in accupunture to make the prisoner appears dead and smuggle them out of nighless city. Im not sure if it was a different fic, but NMJ is outnumbered/ambushed by the wen and MY help him and hide in a cottage. MY dont know which side he wants to take but in the end he burn the cottage as NMJ flee. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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9. Hello I'm looking for a tumblr fic that was reposted on ao3. It's a modern au wangxian where the Jiang do not treat wwx well and the Lans are rich. Wwx accompanies jc to balls the lan organised just to make sure jc doesn't act out of line. They all eat together with lwj and the jiang start to shit on wwx only for lwj to say he's married? To wwx. Thank you very much in advance 💙

FOUND? The family I chose by Mialovesbl (Not rated, 12k, WangXian, LXC & WWX, WWX & WN & WQ, LQR & WWX, WWX &OFC, Modern, Jiang Family Bashing, JC Bashing, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, BAMF WWX, Everyone Loves WWX, Homophobic Language, BAMF WN, Married WangXian, CEO WWX, Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Good Uncle LQR)

FOUND? Confetti (on your lies) by imakirae (Not rated, 15k, WangXian, Mpreg, Pregnant WWX, Protective LWJ, Relationship Reveal, Modern, Toxic Jiangs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse YZY Bashing, JC Bashing, Soft LQR, Confident WWX) They are not perfect matches but sound similar enough to the prompt that if they are not then I hope the asker will still enjoy them

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10. Hi, I'm looking for a fic where wwx started dating lwj on a bet from jc. The bet got revealed and lwj's feelings were severely hurt so wwx got kicked out by yzy. He ends up on the streets for awhile and ends up with the Wens at Yiling Cafe. Eventually lwj, who is now a musician, ends up coming across yiling cafe and Wwx on tour. They fall in love again and wwx was able to reconnect with jyl and jc through lwj. @foyoum

FOUND? 💖 love wakes me by dea_liberty (E, 46k, WangXian, Happy Ending, Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, Misunderstandings, Famous LWJ, Coffee Shop Owner WWX, Finding each other again, Found Families, lots and lots of feelings, so many feelings, Stupid Grand Romantic Gestures)

FOUND? 🔒 i swim in hollow lakes carved from memories (in neocities) by spookykingdomstarlight (T, 154k, WangXian, XiYao, Modern AU, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Music, Baking, Social Media, Misunderstandings, Consequences of Fake Dating Schemes, Flashbacks, Vlogger WWX, Professional Musician LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mistakes, Pining, Matchmaking, Romance, Illnesses, Slow Burn, Background SangNing, POV Multiple, Second Chances)

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11. Hello, I’m looking for a fic where the Jiang get involved in war with Jin against Wei Ying’s advice. He’s not close with the Jiang. He even puts a stop to a battle with Lan Zhan to save a village from a landslide. Eventually, he surrenders to Lan Zhan and is taken prisoner but is treated well because he was kind during the battles. @ruchiruchi123

FOUND? 🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending)

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12. Hello! I remembered a fic I read a couple years ago that takes place as a canin divergence during the Yi City arc, where Xue Yang succeeds in kidnapping Wei Wuxian and forces him to try and bring back Xiao Xingchen like he threatened. I can't remember much else about the fic, but I would love to reread it. Thank you so much! @peanutbutter-nutella

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13. Hi again and thank you so much for the last fic! I have another one. Its post burial grounds and wwx participates in the war but is changed and I remember there was this scene when he broke into a pile of skeletons after a disagreement(?) between himself, jc, jy and lw. They were horrified and wangji broke down crying gathering the skeletons in his arms. At the end they went to the burial grounds to free wwx @raven-hale

FOUND? Grief Kindly Stopped by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Identity Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV LWJ, AU after WWX gets dropped in the Burial Mounds, Light Horror, Fix-It) it's not an exact match but fairly similar to the description.

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14. Hiiii I’m so sorry I’ve asked this but unsure if I got a response and for some reason I’ve missed my email and I can’t find the thread. This fanfic was one where wwx is a like a demon or higher up and is very familiar with LZ. LZ needs find a match. He’s an omega I think. There’s a scene where he just suddenly appears and LZ caters to him like gives him tea and then there’s a scene where WWZ gets all handsy with him and says if you wanna marry marry me or something. This is all I remember @ruyilantern

FOUND? Sanctuary by lunarvelle (E, 153k, WangXian, WIP, A/B/O, Bottom LWJ, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Demon WWX, Intersex LWJ, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Pack Dynamics, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Breastfeeding, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink)

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15. Hello here is a fic that has rolled in my head … I read it but typical I cannot find it and my history got deleted 🥲 the story goes like this;

wei ying has baby a-yuan sleeping inside a file cabinet when lan zhan comes in and finds the baby asleep questions WY then takes the baby and gets pampered by LQ and LXC and buy him expensive baby clothes brand name loui b or Chanel or another high end brand by the time WY caught up to them LQ or LXC went to the store to get baby furniture … or so

Thank you @bkpmystinen

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16. If possible, there are two fics I would like to find.

A) Modern au Jiang Cheng meets canonverse Wei Ying and I think the ploy is Jiang Cheng trying to get him home?

B) Wei Ying dies during the core transfer and Jiang Cheng has to take him all the way to Qinghe so they cab give him a proper burial. @couldntgiveastraightanswer

16B)

FOUND? Impossible Remains by Jengabears (M, 128k, WangXIan, WIP, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Tragedy, Golden Core Transfer, Canon Divergence, Misunderstandings, Tragic Romance, Revenge, Betrayal, Guilt, Survivor Guilt, Childhood Memories, Grief/Mourning, Oaths & Vows, Gore, Insecurity, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Feelings, Self-Sacrifice, Ultimate Sacrifice, Guilty Conscience, Loss, Regret, Assumptions, Wrong Target, Sunshot Campaign, Major Original Character(s), No Demonic Cultivation, Sad, Action, sect politics, WWX has a good reputation, Yi City Arc Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, Some Humor, BAMF NHS, War, Strategy & Tactics, Butterfly Effect, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, New sects, new powers, BAMF WN, Posthumous YZY bashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire)

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17. Hi! This is for fic finder. I only remember a few last chapter but it was an unfinished fic. In this fic i think WWX and LWJ is married. Lanling Jin attacks Gusu Lan under JGY. At first, he make a plan to draw WWX attention. At first, JGY think his plan success. But he found out in cloud recessess there are Nies cultivator waiting there. He found out someone outsmart him (it was NHS). I think he run away using a tunnel? I dont remember but they are in tunnel. LXC confront him there with some character that i dont remember. And then with JGY command there are explosion. He managed to run away a bit i think. WWX is in the tunnel but not with LXC. I think many cultivator either ally or foe is terrified of him. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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18. Help me find this fanfic where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying (cn Bucky and Mulan) entered military acad. There was time where Lan Zhan stepped on a land mine and Wei Ying ignored Lan Zhan when the latter said to abandon him already. Before or after that, Lan Zhan was shot by Su She or was it Jin Zixun. Something unfortunate happened after that and Lan Zhan couldn't do anything to help Wei Ying. Lan Zhan become a president I guess but it was a long time before he met Wei Ying again. As far as remember, the title was "your name on my chest" by anonymous for Lan Zhan marked his chest with Wei Ying's nameplate (the one they got on military) Thank you in advance. @lu-wanji

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19. Another ficfinder request if you please

I don’t have a lot of details about this fic so I don’t really know how to search for it, but it was a wx mpreg story and what I remember most of all was wwx repeatedly asking for a chubby baby, and I think after it’s born lwj is like you got a chubby baby just like you wanted

FOUND! Post-war baby! by like_a_bird_that_flew (E, 24k, WangXian, JC & WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, WangXian get together in the Zuanwu cave, this affects the plot, Mpreg, Secret Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Domestic Fluff, Good Uncle LQR, A-Yuan is Wangxian's son, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, brief mention of the Lan parent's dubious marriage, Weddings, Wedding Night, Eventual Smut, Established Relationship, petnames, Non-Graphic Depiction of Childbirth, Happy Ending, Pregnant WWX, Unplanned Pregnancy)

NOT FOUND! I think chapter 5 of Baby, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet by TriviasFolly (E, 177k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Omega LSZ, Mafia, Crime, Sects are Clans, Feral WWX, Feral Omegas, Nurse WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Possessive LWJ, feminine WWX, wwx’s cannon desire to be a sugar baby/trophy wife, Breeding Kink, Mpreg)

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20. Hii! I'm looking for a wangxian fic I think its A/B/O I don't remember much other than it had a part where husiang got with one of the wen sons to upset his father but then they actually liked eachother? Thank you :D

FOUND? Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, SangXu, ChengJue, ChenLi, Modern AU, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching - Omegaverse, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC)

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[ephemerensis]

Cologne // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

hay guys! where Tim Drake and Red Robin (ur bodyguard for the time being) smell suspiciously the same— it’s like you can’t even tell the difference! no angst, this took me so long oh my goodness i’m gonna stick to writing what i know. stay tuned for hurt/angst i have a lot of grievances to spit out! not proofread.

Part 2

—

Gotham was the last place you’d expected to be sent off to, but it’s where you found yourself now. Despite being disgustingly crime ridden, it was the center of trade, commerce, business, and more importantly— information. Which is precisely what you’d been sent to offer.

Your family’s company recently made a ground breaking discovery in pharmaceuticals, creating a drug that could limit the spread of cancer cells without traditional side effects; YB-V they called it. However, the by-product of production was much more severe, resulting in a chemical compound capable of mutating all the cells in a person completely to become something other as if they belonged to a different entity. Given the right motivations and means, the cells could be manipulated by a third party, turning them into fully conscious puppets of some sort.

With data leaks and security concerns, and the serious nature of the consequences if your drug had fallen into the wrong hands, you were sent to deliver the research and development to the production team personally; placed in charge of overseeing production until launch.

Which all sounded good in theory, but as you found yourself twiddling your thumbs in a blacked out office space, getting briefed on the gravity of the situation by a police task force with some vigilante character hanging around behind you, you began to question what it was all worth.

“So let me get this straight, an email between Wayne Corp and ourselves was leaked and now a couple big shot villains want to steal it? What kind of bad guy reads emails?”

A burly officer with a thick white mustache and a pair of square set glasses cleared his throat awkwardly, “That’s correct.”

“Some tech team,” you scoffed. “I’m the only one that can access any of the files, it’s all biometrically locked. While this certainly puts a damper on my day, we should be able to proceed normally.”

“They have your identity too,” the figure in the back voiced. Red Robin, you’d been informed, one of Gotham’s crime fighters in spandex (allegedly.) Up until now he hadn’t spoken a word, loitering while the police explained everything to you.

“Which is why we brought you here,” the commissioner pipped, reaching for his coffee mug as he spoke. “Red Robin has agreed to watch over your activities for the duration of your time in Gotham. For your safety, and ours.”

Have this guy tail you? As if. You were occupied enough without having a stranger watch your every move. A vigilante at that, it’s not like you could look at his resume and review his history.

“While that is a gracious offer, I have my own bodyguards. They’re well trained and—“

“Not for Gotham, you don’t.” Red Robin stepped out from the corner he’d situated himself in, arms crossed and a frown plastered on his face. “And unless you want to stay in a bunker for three months, I’m your best bet.”

Silence fell as you stared at the masked man, contemplating your options. The underground bunker was out of the question. On top of running production, you had a company to run and a reputation to upkeep; meetings, galas, charity events to attend. And as much as you hated to admit it, they had to be right. Gotham knows Gotham, and with the crises you’d witnessed on screen it was clear their criminals were on a polarly different level.

Pressing your hands to the table, you stood up and turned around, “I see. And you being around won’t make me more of a target?”

“Not even you would know I’m there.”

Closing the distance between the two of you in a few paces, you stuck your hand out to him, “In that case, I look forward to working with you Red Robin.”

Standing near him, the faint smell of lavender was imminent and something deeper lingered under it, an amber of some sort. It was pleasant; Red Robin had good taste in cologne. And that is all you needed to trust him.

It took a second for him to shake your outstretched hand. In your palm, his grip was firm, rough gloves pressing into your satin skin. Secure, you’d decided, secure and reliable.

And just as he’d promised, you hardly noticed him. On the contrary, you were also never attacked; not in the days following the abrupt meeting, nor the week after that, nor the month after that. There was the occasional mention of trouble, or something that went bump in the night— but whether it concerned you or not it didn’t matter. Nothing ever happened.

When he was tucked away it felt like he was really gone, not even the eerie feeling that followed being watched lingered. The only thing that drew you back into the reality was when you’d catch the scent of lavender lingering or in the few cases where he’d appear before you. In his absence you felt almost lonely, despite your work occupying it all. So you soon found yourself leaving notes.

“Bought coffee for the office.”

And he began to write back.

“Just black next time, thanks.”

…

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Cornflower blue.”

“That’s a dumb name. Your costume is red, I think you got out branded by Nightwing.”

“In my defense, I didn’t design it.”

…

He didn’t say much in them, nothing that you could glean in depth anyway. But you found yourself oddly pleased with his nothing. It’s not like you cared so desperately for his identity, that was his to keep of course. You did care for his presence. Something about it was magnetizing, and because he hardly appeared before you, these were the tidbits you found yourself drawn to.

Not that you’d kept them, he would see. Despite knowing the situation you were in, it still felt like a strange game— where he knew every detail about you, and you knew nothing of him. Your feelings, at the least, these you could keep on your own.

“Do you need lab access? I know you follow me in, but if there’s an emergency or something…” Production and distribution for YB-V was run by Wayne Corp and like all things related to your project it was kept secure in an underground bunker while you worked to transfer the information your company developed.

While the scientists and developers were mainly in charge of carrying out the project, none of it could move forward without you. The security system had been meticulously set up so that you, and only you, could access the files with the research and instructions. And beyond even your capabilities, every stage written into the plan had to be completed before the next could be unlocked. So you had to be there, supervise and guide them during the entirety of the process.

Archaic, you’d decided. But necessary according to the rest of the world.

Red Robin accompanied you on these trips. Being underground and all, it was one of the few moments he went with you rather than watching from afar.

“No, I’ll find a way in if I need a way in.”

You looked back at him questioningly. You didn’t doubt his capabilities of course, but he said it with such ease, “Is it that easy to break into? I should increase security.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “It’s secure. I’m the issue.”

You turned back around shaking your head with a snort. He was growing on you, sass and all. Stopping by a display of notes and charts, you looked them over to ensure they aligned with protocol.

“I have to attend a gala next week, by the way.”

He hummed in response, a couple steps behind you like he usually was when you visited the lab.

“It’s at Wayne Manor… and I can get you an invite. Security is stricter than it is here, I’ve been told. It’d be troublesome to sneak around.” Ruffling through the papers, you extracted the one you needed, holding it up to your face.

“And I don’t have a date,” you added.

“…are you asking me out?” You could hear a hint of a smile in his voice, making your face burn red at the accusation.

You set the paper down, abruptly whipping around with the most serious expression you could muster, “Strictly for my safety! I don’t know how credible everyone attending is and—“

The smile on his face shut you up. Embarrassed and slightly dejected you looked around the room for something else to lock eyes on, clearing your throat.

“I would’ve loved to, but I won’t be there. Something came up that I need to take care of. But like you said, security is strict, you’ll be safe,” he interjected before you could say anymore. Honestly you couldn’t even be mad, he let you down so sincerely you had to believe it. The small smile plastered on his face and the gentle tone he used in opposition to his usual curt one melted you down far more than you would’ve liked it to.

“Right.” It took you a second to cough anything out, like you were thirteen and starstruck again by any character that tossed you a bone, “so much for you or the bunker, I could’ve hired the Waynes’ security.”

But you were disappointed, and his answer did surprise you. Busy? He hadn’t left your side your entire stay as far as you were aware, granted you couldn’t see him 95% of the time, but in principle.

He must’ve picked up on your downtrodden state because he leaned in teasingly, that familiar lavender scent washing over you, “You have your own bodyguards though, right? They’re well trained.”

You wondered what color his eyes were behind the mask, a warm brown or a melancholy blue. Either way you’d decided you were done for, his were the type of eyes you could drown in; “Not for Gotham, I don’t.”

The night of the gala you didn’t expect much. You were supposed to represent your company of course, as their Gotham socialite, and you were to meet with your business partner. Up until now everything had been transactional, taken care of on invisible ends. Which was fine, but to maintain business relations you had to show up to these things.

And so it was about as dry as you’d thought it to be. Most of everyone was twice your age, many were so stuck in their desire for affluence it radiated off of them like maggots in a burn pile. Supposedly it was a charity gala, in reality it was an egoistic echo chamber and you were in no position to defy it.

Flitting around you sipped your champagne and made conversation and promises that didn’t matter until a hand graced your shoulder with the lightest touch, it felt almost invisible. Turning around you saw a boy with raven hair and the tamest of blue eyes. And he looked to be around your age, a moment of respite at last.

“Hi,” he breathed the word into a smile that was dazzlingly honest and strikingly warm in juxtaposition with the mood of the room.

“Hi,” you shook the hand he offered to you. His hands were rougher than you’d imagine an aristocrat’s to be, littered with callouses you attributed with a dedication to some sport, “I’m Y/N, I don’t think we’ve met before?”

“Sort of, I’m Tim.” In your correspondence with Wayne Corp, Tim had been your main contact; at least for big ticket decisions. In other words, he was your collaborator and your business’ partner. In your head you recalled all the times you poked fun at the archaic way he wrote his emails, like he was 52 and balding— in reality he was just the opposite.

“Oh! It’s nice to finally meet you! Thank you for working with us, we couldn’t have progressed this far without Wayne Corp.”

“On the contrary, thank you for trusting us. This project’s been a huge safety concern for you I’ve heard.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Not at all! I have one of the best vigilantes in the city.” But this, he should’ve already known. Red Robin had to be cleared for access to certain things, and you’d corresponded as much through your emails. “I must say though, I was disappointed it wasn’t Nightwing at first, he used to be my favorite.”

Tim blinked at you for a spell and you couldn’t read his expression. Pleasant and cordial with some twinge of underlying distaste was the best way to describe it, something in the way his eyes glinted with a malice behind his smile. “Has that changed?”

He must love Red Robin.

“I suppose,” growing on you was an understatement. It was a strange ordeal because he wasn’t real. No name or title you could address, but everything you learned about Red Robin made you want to know more about Red Robin. He was magnetizing. “Have you met them? Is it a normal Gotham thing?”

“No,”his response came swiftly, “they’re usually in other parts of the city and I’m never out at night. Married to the office.”

“I see.” That would explain the emails.

“Do you… want to dance?” He extended his hand to you graciously, but with a gentle hesitance that made him seem softer than he was. In a way you felt like you were betraying your vigilante delusionship, but he hadn’t agreed to go with you and Tim was charming enough. Besides, business relations.

“Of course.” Placing your flute of champagne on a nearby table, you took his arm as he led you to the floor. He smiled in a demure sort of way that made your heart flutter like the excitement you’d felt interacting with Red Robin. Maybe you just liked the attention that much, that must be the correlation between the two.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Typically galas didn’t have much dancing at all, let alone organized ballroom dancing, but leave it to the Waynes to find a way to stun the crowd with their class and extravagance.

“Sort of, I’ve taken rudimentary classes.” Like when you were five.

“Perfect,” he grinned. He placed his hand faintly on the small of your waist while the other found purchase in your opposing palm, “I’ll lead. Just follow along, you’ll be fine.”

Miraculously you were fine. You started out with your eyes glued to the floor, following after him and avoiding his toes. But once you’d gotten into a rhythm, it all felt like floating.

“You haven’t stepped on my toes once,” he joked. Up close and under the mesmerizing ballroom light he looked angelic, the way the light caught in his lashes and the reflected off the blue of his eyes—like little golden flecks glimmering under supple flowing rivers.

“I’ve been trying not to!” you laughed.

“You look beautiful,” as if his eyes could get any more mesmerizing, they softened somehow with his words, “outfit and all.”

“Thank you,” at this you averted your gaze, and prayed the lighting didn’t highlight the flush of your cheeks. Out of being flustered or embarrassment, you didn’t know. On the one hand, a rich, beautiful, respectful man was complimenting you. On the other, you were wearing cornflower blue because it was someone else’s favorite color. Like you were twelve again and going to some middle school dance where you wanted to impress your hallway crush.

“Your Getty pictures don’t do you justice,” he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t seen one bad photo, but you always look so serious and intimidating.”

It never occurred to you he’d Googled you before, it made sense now how he was able to single you out in the crowd. Maybe the thought was so foreign because you’d never paid him any mind, but now you were thinking you should’ve. At the very least because it’s polite and helpful to know the bare minimum, but if you were honest with yourself it’s because he struck a curiosity in you that needed to be sated—too breathtaking to be real and all you’d known was his face and arresting demeanor.

“Because I am serious and intimidating, I’m very good at my job you know. You’re not the only one married to an office,” you boasted. In reality you hated work, but worse still was posing for pictures. Especially at crowded social functions your parents ushered you to where you didn’t know a soul, you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself in front of a camera—that was your excuse anyway.

“That explains the dancing,” he quipped with a sideward smile.

Your eyes widened slightly in shock as your mouth fell open to scoff. “Hey! I thought I was doing pretty good!”

He burst into a contagious laughter that hypnotically made you follow suit. But you wouldn’t settle for that after all your efforts to keep up. With a look to the wayside, you pretended to lose touch of the tandem between your steps and lurch forward, consequently stepping on his polished brown loafers. And then it was his turn to be shocked.

“Woah! So much for trying,”Tim teased. Not that he lost his footing, he was as stable as ever. In his eyes you swore there was a glint of mockery, as if he knew and anticipated it.

“Oh did I hurt you,” you feigned concern before slipping into the most innocent smile you could muster. “I’m a terrible dancer, I can’t help it.”

“Aren’t you petty?”

“You have no idea.”

“Petty and pretty, how dangerous.”

Before you could fire some witty retort you noticed your steps slowing to a halt with the swoon of the music. He’d brought his hand above you to spin you once, slowly. The other on your waist moved to your lower back to support you as he pulled you into a dip and all you could do was follow. Something about the atmosphere had your heart palpitating. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like you were an art piece on display, overhead light illuminating behind him as he stared down at you like an angel emerging from the heavens.

Sundering you to the earth, you couldn’t fixate your eyes on anything else, and though it was only for a moment it felt like eternity. You were close enough now for the scent of his cologne to waft over you faintly amongst the throng of strongly powdered people in the room. Lavender. A familiar lavender with all the base notes that’d been lingering around you for the past few weeks. Your look of awe faded to confusion.

Red Robin’s.

“Is that—“

But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead you followed his gaze down to your chest, eyes widening as you saw the little red laser mark hovering over your heart. Before you could react, you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs as Tim shoved you away. The sound of the gun firing pierced cleanly through the noise of the glitz and glamour, and something burned across the skin of the side of your arm.

You couldn’t tell if it was broken glass that cut you or something else, you couldn’t feel much of anything with the adrenaline flooding your body. Scared and discombobulated, you scrambled backwards as panic set into the crowd.

In the midst of the onset of gunshots and people scattering towards exits, Tim had rushed over to you. Kneeling beside you, he gave you a quick look over and gently pulled you up by your uninjured arm. As soon as you were up he rushedly dragged you away from it all, winding through the hallways of the manor wordlessly. Though it was probably for the better, because you didn’t have an ounce of air left in your lungs trying to keep up with his pace or a thought in your head after what you’d just witnessed.

The further you trudged along, the heavier your limbs felt and the harder it was to pry your eyes open after blinking. Which was strange, you hadn’t lost so much blood, but it must’ve been the confusion of it all or something you ate. A couple halls and turns later you arrived at a room. He ushered you inside, seating you on the bed before rummaging through the drawers.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt badly?” from the drawer he procured a bandage. He sat himself next to you, promptly wrapping the cloth tightly around your arm.

“No, it’s not bad,” truthfully it felt numb, which you couldn’t decide was a good or bad thing. You couldn’t think much of anything, focused on keeping your eyes from fluttering shut.

“I should’ve known they’d do something,” he’d muttered. As he finished, pushing himself off the bed, your head suddenly felt too heavy to hold up and your eyes too tired to function.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling nothing abnormal and deepening his concern. But you couldn’t process what he was saying. With a lilt, you fell to your side, feeling the injunctive relief of not having to hold yourself upright.

He undid your bandages to look at the wound again before scowling as it dawned on him, “Tranquilizers.”

After rewrapping your arm, he hurriedly stalked towards the door, “You’ll be safe here, I’ll send someone.”

With whatever consciousness you had left you managed to slur a sentence, “Where are you going?”

“To find my brother.”

If he said anything after you didn’t hear it, because the moment your eyes fluttered shut, they stayed shut.

You didn’t know how long you were out. Not terribly so. When you’d awoken, it was still dark out. Tim must’ve flicked the light off when he’d left too, the only light that flooded in was from the streetlamp out the window. The drugs hadn’t cleared your system yet if the pounding in your head and brain fog you were experiencing was any indicator. And they didn’t even hit you directly, who knows where you’d be if they did.

In the streets you could hear the panic of people and the wail of police sirens, which would’ve settled your stomach if not for the fact that it clearly wasn’t over and the police weren’t entering.

You jerked your head towards the door as a loud thud sounded just outside of it. Looking around the room for a place to hide, there was none. And if there was one, you couldn’t see it with the lights out. Some commotion followed before what sounded like a body hit the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, you wrapped yourself in the bedding, pulling it to the floor behind the bed and huddling there. At the very least, no one knew you were in there but Tim, and surely he’d locked the door.

Nope.

The sound of the knob turning made your blood run cold. You drew the blankets tightly around yourself, hoping you’d amalgamate into the cloths if you’d clutched them tightly enough.

With the bed obscuring your view, you couldn’t see the perpetrator and you didn’t want to. You screwed your eyes shut as footsteps creaked on the wood pacing towards you. Against your will, you hands couldn’t cease trembling and you wondered if the other person in the room could hear your heart beating out of your chest.

This was it. If someone wanted to swoop in, now would be great.

The footsteps halted on the opposite side of the bed. You considered jumping out at them, throwing the blanket and bolting for it, but your limbs felt like they were filled with lead. And in any case, if they were armed you were done for anyway. So you held your breath and willed them away instead.

To your horror they’d started again in your direction. Silence. And then a hand touched the blanket and you couldn’t help it, you shrieked and covered your head with your arms.

But instead of force or a bludgeoning, they’d knelt in front of you, gently grabbing your arms as you thrashed. A familiar voice called your name out a couple times before you recognized it and opened your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me! You’re okay,” in the dark you couldn’t really see his face but it was Tim’s voice that called to you. Delirious and reeling, the relief flooded your body so intensely, the tears didn’t even have time to well before they were streaming down your cheeks.

Throwing your arms around him, you sobbed for all you were worth, “I was so scared, why’d you just leave me!”

You felt him stiffen beneath you at the sudden intrusion before softening and patting the back of your head with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And it felt so safe there, in his arms, secure but soft all at once. The familiar lavender mixed with the champagney smell from the gala soothed you in a way you’d never thought you’d needed.

“I thought they were gonna get me,” you choked out between sobs. This was in no way attractive, “and then I’d get kidnapped, and everyone would turn into puppets!”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Not mocking or laughing at you like your more awake self would’ve expected, he was mellow about the whole thing. Sorry and really sorry for it—and it wasn’t even his fault.

When you calmed down enough to sound coherent, he pulled back to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Let me see that,” he nodded towards your bandaged arm. You stretched it out for him and he undid the gauze, “This doesn’t look too bad. Shouldn’t scar.”

Procuring new dressings, he took his time with it this time, applying a salve before wrapping it around you again.

“Tim?” you said his name just to say his name, because you liked the way it felt to say and you wanted to hear him speak. Instead he paused before resuming his work, “I’m Red Robin.”

“Oh.” That’s embarrassing. You were so certain of it too, but he did say he would send someone and he was probably with his family or waiting outside for things to settle. So instead you got the infinitely intangible Red Robin, “I thought you were busy.”

“Plans changed.” He was never this curt with you, not after knowing you anyway. He had to maintain secrecy, you knew this, but he’d find ways to say more anyway.

You flinched as he constricted your arm with the bandage, “You’re pulling it a little tight.”

This made him pause again, letting go of the wrap altogether this time as the circulation breathed back into your marrow.

Exhaling, he ran a hand through his raven hair, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, still fighting to keep your eyelids open but worried nonetheless. This was unlike him, “Red?”

“Sorry, I’m just on edge. I should’ve known, I could’ve prevented this,” shaking his head, it was if he made up his mind, “Everything is transferred now, the project can wrap up without you. We’ll get you on the next flight back tomorrow.”

Somewhere in you an inkling of anger stirred, as if you were an object that could be sent as needed. But the strain in his voice was evident, how could hold a grudge against that? “I don’t want to leave yet.”

“You’re going.”

You huffed, “I’m not. And you don’t have to watch me anymore if it’s too much, I never expected that from you! You’re here now, you didn’t have to be, but you are— that’s more than my useless bodyguards or Wayne security have done and they’re paid for it. You put up with me and nothing has happened to me. I’m sorry for being so vulnerable, that’s my fault. Don’t you dare berate yourself, you haven’t done one wrong thing!”

He said nothing, just stared at you with something like curiosity. Under the pale moonlight and with his face obstructed you could only speculate.

You stuck out your injured arm to him again, urging him to take it, “Hurry and finish, I’m still sleepy.”

Wordlessly he finished binding your arm. As soon as he was done you fell on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Tim—“

“I’m not Tim,” he reiterated. There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place; annoyance?

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling sleep creep up on you again, “you smell the same... I think I like him.” Surely it’s fine to confess this much, or that’s what you told yourself as you started to drift off, words slurring and thoughts blurring, “you should meet him, he’s a big fan.”

—

i have a final in 5 hours please with me luck (it’s 2am)

[winchesterwild78]

The Arrangement pt 5

Part 4

Characters: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: fluff (finally), surprises await them

A/N: Sorry I’ve been away for a while. Been dealing with life, the NJ convention and end of the year craziness. I hope to be back more. I’ve needed to write. This story will be in several parts. It’s just a crazy rollercoaster ride of a story that popped in my head. It’s full of angst and heartbreak, but I think it’s a good one. 

This is not real like and doesn’t depict it. It’s FICTION! No disrespect to Jensen or his family. 

Minors DNI 18+

Months of careful, quiet rebuilding had reshaped the very foundations of our relationship. The house, once a cold stage for our public performance, now held the echoes of shared laughter and hushed confessions. The pretense had dissolved, replaced by a tentative, then growing, genuine affection. Jensen's eyes no longer held distant politeness when they met mine; they held warmth, understanding, and a deepening desire.

One crisp autumn evening, after a long conversation about our childhoods – a topic we'd never dared to touch before – a comfortable silence settled between us. We were in the living room, the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls, a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. He reached for my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. His thumb stroked my skin, a gesture that had become second nature, filled with an easy intimacy.

He turned to me, his gaze intense, vulnerable, and utterly sincere. "I..." he began, his voice low, "I never thought... I never imagined I could feel this with you."

My heart pounded in response, acknowledging the truth in his words, for I felt it too. The air thickened, charged with unspoken emotions that had been building, layer by careful layer, over the past weeks. I leaned in, drawn by an undeniable pull, and he met me halfway.

This kiss was different from others we had shared. It began softly, tentatively, a question and an answer, but quickly deepened into something fervent, urgent, and deeply desired. It was a kiss born of shared history, of pain overcome, and of a profound, blossoming connection. It was filled with need – a need for closeness, for intimacy, for the physical expression of everything that had been painstakingly rebuilt between us. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him, and I clung to him, pouring all my unspoken feelings into the embrace.

The night unfolded with a tender inevitability. We moved from the living room to his bedroom, the room that had once housed his infidelity, but now felt like a space of profound redemption. Every touch was deliberate, every caress infused with a raw honesty and a reverence for the intimacy we had finally found. There was no rush, only a deep, mutual exploration, a confirmation of the emotional bonds that had formed.

Finally, as dawn painted the sky in soft hues, I drifted off to sleep, my head nestled against his chest, his arm securely wrapped around me. The rhythmic beat of his heart beneath my ear was the most comforting sound I had ever known. We had finally made love, not out of obligation or pretense, but from a place of genuine, burgeoning affection. And as I lay there, safe in his arms, the weight of a lonely marriage finally lifted, I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was irrevocably, truly falling for him.

That night of shared passion was a turning point, a silent agreement to discard the old pretenses and build something real from the shattered pieces. The very next day, I moved my things into Jensen's room. My clothes mingled with his in the closet, my books found a home on his nightstand, and my presence became a comforting constant in his personal space.

Every night became a new discovery. We explored each other's bodies with a tender curiosity, each touch and kiss deepening the profound connection that had blossomed between us. We made love not just with our bodies, but with our souls, whispering confessions and dreams in the quiet intimacy of the darkness. The physical closeness mirrored the emotional vulnerability we had finally found, solidifying the love that had emerged from the ashes of a forced union.

As the weeks stretched into months, our relationship solidified into something beautiful and undeniable. We started venturing out in public together again, but this time, the dynamic was entirely different. We no longer cared about the cameras in the same way; we were simply being ourselves. He’d still flash his famous smile, but now, his eyes would always seek mine, a silent testament to the genuine happiness he found by my side.

Jensen, who had once been so guarded, now delighted in sharing glimpses of our authentic life. His social media, once a carefully curated feed of red carpet events and professional triumphs, began to feature candid photos of us. There were snapshots of me with a messy bun, absorbed in a book on the sofa; us laughing over a burnt dinner in the kitchen; or a tender shot of him kissing the top of my head, or my lips, completely unposed. These weren't PR stunts; they were moments of true bliss, shared freely, without the need for explanation or justification. His fans, initially shocked by the paternity scandal, slowly began to embrace this new, more human Jensen, and by extension, our unconventional love story.

As our first wedding anniversary approached, a date that once symbolized the beginning of my despair now represented a triumphant turning point. Jensen, ever the grand gesture enthusiast, planned something truly significant. "It's not just about a year of being married," he'd said, pulling me into a hug, his eyes shining with a familiar intensity, "it's about the past few months of actually falling in love. And we deserve to celebrate that. Big."

The anticipation buzzed between us. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that whatever he had planned, it would be a celebration of our hard-won happiness, a testament to the real, undeniable love that had blossomed where only loneliness had once resided.

The grand celebration Jensen had planned for our anniversary turned out to be the most intimate gesture of all. He booked a private getaway, a secluded villa nestled on a sun-drenched coast, eerily similar to the Tuscan villa where our loveless honeymoon had unfolded. But this time, everything was different. There were no camera flashes, no forced smiles, just the two of us. It was a deliberate act of reclaiming that painful memory, imbuing it with the burgeoning love we now shared.

We spent our days exploring hidden coves, laughing as we cooked meals together in the sun-drenched kitchen, and simply existing in the blissful quiet of each other's company. The nights were filled with whispered secrets and tender touches, each moment a testament to the journey we had embarked on. This was our real honeymoon, a testament to a love forged in the fires of scandal and personal reckoning.

One morning, a few days into our serene escape, a subtle wave of nausea washed over me. I dismissed it at first, attributing it to the rich food or the change of scenery. But as the days passed, the feeling persisted, accompanied by an unfamiliar fatigue that settled deep in my bones. I started noticing things—a heightened sense of smell, a strange aversion to my favorite coffee, a tenderness I couldn't explain.

A quiet suspicion began to form, growing stronger with each passing hour. My period was late. More than late. My mind reeled, doing quick calculations, connecting the dots between the tender nights we had shared and these unexpected symptoms. It was too soon, too impossible, given the history of our beginning.

My heart began to pound with a frantic, hopeful rhythm. Later that day, while Jensen was out arranging a private boat trip, I slipped away to a small pharmacy in the nearby town. My hands trembled as I bought a pregnancy test, the box feeling impossibly heavy in my palm.

Back at the villa, I locked myself in the bathroom, my breath catching in my throat. I followed the instructions, my eyes fixed on the small window. The wait felt like an eternity.

Then, slowly, almost miraculously, two clear lines appeared.

I was pregnant.

An audible gasp escaped my lips, but this time, it was one of pure, unadulterated shock and overwhelming joy. A wave of emotions crashed over me: disbelief, fear, but most profoundly, an immense, blossoming love. A secret of my own, a tiny, precious life, growing inside me, a true symbol of the real, unexpected love that had blossomed between Jensen and me. This wasn't a PR baby; this was our baby, a testament to a love that had defied all odds.

The little plastic stick with its undeniable two lines lay hidden in my travel bag, a monumental secret pulsing between Jensen and me. I spent the rest of the day in a haze, the beauty of the private villa, the warmth of the sun, and Jensen's easy laughter all magnified by the incredible news. I knew I couldn't keep it from him, not after everything we'd built.

That evening, as twilight painted the sky in soft mauves and oranges, we lay tangled in the crisp sheets of our bed, the quiet stillness of the villa wrapped around us. His arm was draped over me, his hand resting gently on my hip, a familiar weight of comfort and intimacy.

"Jensen?" I whispered, my voice a little shaky.

He hummed, pressing a soft kiss to my hair. "Hm? Everything okay, love?"

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was it. "I was just thinking," I began, trying to keep my voice casual, though it trembled slightly, "about... about children."

His body tensed imperceptibly against mine. The topic, loaded with the pain of Isabella's false claim, was still a sensitive one. "What about them?" he asked, his voice cautious.

"I mean," I continued, gathering my courage, "do you... do you still want them? Someday? A family?" I turned slightly in his arms, looking up at his face, trying to gauge his reaction in the dim light.

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, processing the question. Then, his eyes met mine, softening. "After everything with Isabella, it's been hard to even think about it," he admitted, his voice low. "But yeah. Someday, with the right person... more than anything, I want a family. A real one. A family built on truth and love." He paused, his thumb gently caressing my arm. "Why do you ask?"

My breath hitched. This was my moment. The words tumbled out, a mix of fear and overwhelming joy. "Because, Jensen," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes, "that day in the hospital, when you thought you'd lost me... you changed my life. And our love... our love has grown into something so real." My voice broke slightly. "And now... now we're going to have a baby."

He froze. His arm stiffened around me. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, searched my face in the fading light. "A... a baby?" he whispered, the words barely audible.

I nodded, tears now freely flowing down my cheeks, tears of relief and burgeoning happiness. "Yes," I confirmed, a soft, joyful sob escaping me. "Our baby. I'm pregnant."

My whispered confession hung in the stillness of the villa, "I'm pregnant." Jensen's eyes, wide with disbelief, searched my face, trying to reconcile the impossible with the miraculous. He lay motionless for a long moment, his arm still around me, but his body rigid with shock. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of waves outside and the frantic beat of my own heart.

Then, slowly, a tremor started in his arm. His breath hitched, a soft, disbelieving laugh bubbling from his chest. It wasn't the cynical, public laugh, but a sound of pure, unadulterated joy that deepened into a joyful sob.

"Pregnant?" he whispered again, the word tasting new and sacred on his tongue. He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears on my cheeks. His eyes, though still swimming with surprise, were now alight with overwhelming happiness. "Our baby?"

I nodded, a watery smile spreading across my face.

And then, the dam broke. He pulled me into a fierce, joyous embrace, burying his face in my hair. His entire body shook with silent laughter and profound emotion. "Oh, my God," he murmured against my temple, his voice thick with tears. "Oh, my God, Y/N. This is... this is incredible."

He pulled back again, his hands moving to cup my stomach, a gesture of awe and tenderness. A radiant smile, so genuine and unburdened, stretched across his face, lighting up his eyes. "A baby," he repeated, his voice filled with wonder. "A real family. With you." The joy radiating from him was palpable, a stark contrast to the despair that had once defined our marriage. In that moment, surrounded by the quiet love we had built, a new chapter, one filled with the promise of a truly loving family, began.

Part 6

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[specialagentartemis]

Citizen Science and Contributing To Scientific Endeavor When You're Not "A Scientist"

Comments on some of my posts about science and misinformation express frustration with scientific establishments, and want to see more accessibility and attention given to amateurs participating in the scientific process and having their scientific voices heard.

If being involved in the creation of knowledge and discovery is something important to you, that's something I strongly encourage! It's absolutely possible. Amateur researchers with a passion and an eye for detail have made some fantastic discoveries - but what is often glossed over in stories like these are the years of work, the patient dedication, and the collaboration with university researchers that often underlie such discoveries.

The search for truth and information and the passion for science is present in a lot of people who aren't official "scientists" - curiosity is natural! And if participation in scientific observation, hypothesizing, experimentation, and discovering new things about the world is important to you, there are lots of ways to go about contributing - and the new year is a great time to start.

What are you interested in?

Ecology

Observing the world around you is for everybody. Getting invested in the environment of your hometown is for everybody. And, as the Mythbusters famously said,

Some ideas for a local ecology project:

Record the temperature outside every day at the same time - at sunrise, or noon, or sunset, or midnight. Depending on where you are, the local weather recording station may be miles away or on top of a mountain - measure the temperature yourself and compare it each day to what your app says. When is it accurate? When isn't it?

Record the weather every day. How much precipitation? What time of day? What kind?

Record what animals you see every day, where, when, and how many. Or choose a specific animal, like birds, or bees on flowers, or turtles or frogs in a local pond, or whiptail lizards vs. invasive house geckos, and record the numbers you see each day.

Record when in the year you see the first, or last, of a plant or animal. When the crocuses sprout, when the buds appear on the maple trees, when you see the first clover flowers or prickly pear flowers, when the first robin comes out or the first lizards come out of hibernation.

If you have an outdoor cat or a free-roaming dog, attach a GoPro or similar small camera to its collar to see where it goes and what it does.

Identify the plants growing in your neighborhood, and check in on it regularly to keep track of how each one fares in different weather conditions, or if any animals particularly like or don't like to eat it.

Bulk order some test strips, then take a small sample of soil from a local park or water from a local waterway each weekend and test them for PH, lead, chemicals, or whatever. See if it changes over the year, or after a heavy rainfall, or during drought.

Take a photo of the same spot every day for a year.

Linguistics

The study of how people use language! Everybody uses language in some capacity.

Do you have any small children near you? Talk to them! Record how they pronounce things and what they call new (or even familiar) concepts. Look for patterns.

Ask people you know if "dog" and "blog" rhyme, or if "Alohop" is a good pun for a pineapple beer. My family gets ENDLESS amounts of mileage out of this one with each other. Ask people you know questions about how they pronounce things, or what they call things. Make maps of dialectical differences between generations, neighborhoods, etc. Track linguistic shifts in the modern world.

History

Everyone and everywhere has a history, and accurate history is pressingly relevant always.

See if you have a local historical society, library archive, or history museum that is looking for volunteers to transcribe or translate collections.

Get elbow-deep in local archives. You likely have some sort of local archive near you that has not been fully digitized. Go in with a topic you want to learn about - Black families, Jewish communities, how your hometown transferred from Indigenous hands to settler ones, women who owned their own businesses, immigration, inter-racial relationships, sports, ice harvesting, farming practices, contemporary opinions on a major world history event that now seems so inevitable, sports and people's reactions to sports - and read everything in newspapers, wills, deeds, photographs, or other available records about your topic of choice. See if you can find connections that you haven't seen anyone else talking about.

These are just some things that occur to me immediately as something that anyone can do, if you're sufficiently interested in a question and want to discover more about it. The more local your topic, the less likely anyone has a solid answer to whatever you're wondering - and the more immediately relevant to the people around you your discoveries may be!

Combining it with a New Year's Resolution can also get you more motivated to do the things you want to do. Is your resolution to get more exercise? Take a brisk walk each morning and take a picture of the same area every day for a year. Take a walk every weekend down to the lake and count the turtles and frogs you see. Is your resolution to keep a daily diary For Real This Time? If nothing else, resolve to write down the weather and precipitation each day! Do you want to volunteer more or meet new people? Look for citizen science or local history groups! Feeling like you're working toward something Real is a great motivator.

Henry David Thoreau's detailed descriptions of the nature each day around Walden Pond in the 1840s provides a valuable benchmark for modern ecologists to compare environmental and climatic changes since then on a granular level. Silly rhyming poems and idiosyncratic spellings in letters and diaries help linguists track dialectical and pronunciation changes across time. Amateur science is great and valuable! We all can have a part in understanding and paying deeper attention to the world around us, if we want to.

[whencyclopedia]

Discovery of Troy

In his epic poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, the Greek poet Homer (c. 750 BCE) told the story of the Trojan War, a ten-year siege of the city of Troy by an alliance of Greek city-states. Troy was also known by its Latinised name of Ilium and was located on the northwest coast of Anatolia (modern-day Turkey).

The city was continuously inhabited from the Early Bronze Age (c. 3000-2200 BCE) for around 4,000 years until two major earthquakes destroyed Troy in 1300 CE, and it fell into decline. Archaeological finds suggest that a small Byzantine community lived at Troy in the 12th century CE, but the powerful kingdom of Homer's epics was lost to history, although it remained in the popular imagination.

In the 19th century, Hisarlik was widely believed to be the site of ancient Troy. Its location on a hill near Tevfikiye in the Dardanelles, which connects the Aegean to the Black Sea, was a strategically important position because it commanded a major trading route. Archaeologists started to excavate the strata or layers of the different settlements, which, over time, had formed a mound or tell 20 m (65 ft) in height, and these layers are labelled Troy I to Troy IX. To date, nine cities and 46 levels of occupation have been unearthed, showing that there was no single Troy but a succession of civilisations that occupied the area.

Whether the Trojan War was a Late Bronze Age (c. 1700-1000 BCE) historical event or merely Greek mythology remains the subject of scholarly debate, but the city of Homer's Iliad is generally accepted to have been found and is associated with three famous archaeologists: Heinrich Schliemann, Wilhelm Dörpfeld, and Carl Blegen.

Heinrich Schliemann: Finding & Almost Losing Troy

Johann Ludwig Heinrich Julius Schliemann (1822-1890) achieved worldwide fame in 1873 when he claimed to have discovered Troy. Schliemann was a German businessman and a pioneer archaeologist (although untrained) who was fascinated by the idea of Troy after seeing a picture of the city burning in a book entitled Weltgeschichte für Kinder ("World History for Children") when he was seven years old.

The son of an impoverished Lutheran pastor and the fifth of seven children, Schliemann was an extraordinarily gifted linguist who spoke more than 15 languages and started travelling at an early age. He wanted to emigrate to South America and took a position as a cabin boy on board a vessel bound for La Guajira, Colombia, that was wrecked off the Dutch coast in 1841. He stayed in Amsterdam and worked as a bookkeeper for a city merchant, learning French, Dutch, and English – the main trading languages.

In 1846, Heinrich Schliemann became an agent for the German trading house B. H. Schröder & Co. and was sent to Saint Petersburg because he was the only Russian-speaking employee. This was the start of Schliemann's accumulation of his fortune, trading in indigo dye and saltpetre before arriving in California in 1851 and turning a multimillion-dollar profit during the Gold Rush.

Heinrich Schliemann retired in 1858 at the age of 36, having returned to Europe and marrying his first wife, Russian-born Ekaterina Petrovna Lyschin (1826-1896). He spent his time touring classical archaeology sites, and in 1868, Schliemann met Frank Calvert (1828-1908), a British expatriate diplomat whose Levantine English family owned land in Hisarlik, which included the eastern half of the Hisarlik mound (the western half belonged to the Turkish government).

Calvert studied the site, excavated trenches, and was convinced he had found Homeric Troy, but he lacked the finances to conduct further digging seasons. Calvert invited Schliemann to dinner, recognising that the German businessman was backed by an enormous fortune and a fierce determination to find Troy. The two men embarked on a partnership, and Heinrich Schliemann began excavations in 1870, bringing along his much younger second wife, Greek-born Sophia Engastromenou (1852-1932), whom he married in 1869 after divorcing Ekaterina.

Schliemann's excavation methods have been called into question. Employing 80 to 160 unskilled workers daily, Schliemann and his team dug a 14 m (45 ft) trench through the centre of the tell, tossing aside earth and building rubble from layers he considered too late in time to be Troy. Schliemann assumed the lowest layer (Troy 1) was the city of Troy, so destroying the 'real Troy' that was later identified in the upper layers. Pickaxes, shovels, and dynamite were used, and the site was very nearly destroyed, leading many professional scholars to accuse Heinrich Schliemann of being more a treasure hunter than an archaeologist. Kenneth Harl, a classical scholar, said in his Asia Minor lecture series that Schliemann did what the Greeks could not: razed the city walls.

In May 1873, Schliemann claimed to have discovered "Priam's treasure," a hoard of gold, valuable artefacts, and jewellery, including the famed golden diadem (royal headdress) worn by his wife, Sophia, in a photograph taken in 1874. Schliemann equated Priam's Treasure with the riches mentioned in Book 24 of the Iliad. Priam's Treasure was found in Troy II – a layer showing evidence of fire – but Priam would have been the king of Troy during the time of Troy VI (1750-1300 BCE) or Troy VIIa (c. 1300-1180 BCE).

Controversy focused on Schliemann's diaries of the dig, which were incomplete. He also misidentified artefacts, and the dates when some of his discoveries were unearthed are vague. This led to accusations, among them being that Heinrich Schliemann did not tell the truth and combined his findings with artefacts found elsewhere on the site. Schliemann habitually drew any object he found, but Priam's Treasure was photographed instead, and not one of the artefacts was mentioned in early documentation. Did Schliemann's single-minded pursuit of legendary Troy lead him to falsify his discoveries? This is a question that has been asked ever since, and it was not helped by Schliemann later admitting that he had sensationalised the account of his wife, Sophia, being present when Priam's Treasure was found. She was, in fact, in Athens with her family following the death of her father.

Schliemann then smuggled Priam's Treasure (around 8,000 objects) out of Turkey. Most of the collection went to the Neues Museum in Berlin, and during World War II (1939-1945), it was hidden beneath the Berlin Zoo. Soviet soldiers discovered the bounty, and it was taken to Moscow and displayed at the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, where the majority of the artefacts are still held. Priam's Treasure has been dated to 2200 BCE or earlier, and this is 1,000 years older than Homeric Troy. Schliemann also crated up pottery, gold jewellery, bronze kettles, and figurines and shipped them to Europe or sold artefacts to private collectors.

In 1876, the Turkish government brought a lawsuit against Schliemann, who promptly left the country and headed to Greece, where he began excavations at Mycenae. Here he discovered the Greek Bronze Age "Mask of Agamemnon," the gold leaf funeral mask of the famous king of ancient Mycenae who led the Greek army in the Trojan War of Homer's Iliad. This find has also met with controversy, with some critics accusing Schliemann of having the mask forged. Modern archaeological research suggests that the separated eyebrows of the mythological king of Mycenae are stylistically different from other death masks found at the site.

Nevertheless, Heinrich Schliemann became an international celebrity, spending over 20 years and seven digging seasons at Troy, deepening and widening what is known as Schliemann's Trench and destroying valuable material in the process. He never credited Frank Calvert, who perhaps may be considered the true discoverer of Homeric Troy.

Although Schliemann's archaeological methods were often brutal, he is considered the founder of modern field archaeology, but it took the work of another archaeologist, one who pioneered stratigraphic excavation, to shift Schliemann's focus from the lower to the upper layers of Troy.

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