#I hope my descendants look at me with a fraction of the respect that I looked at her with.

[graviconscientia]

I know not everyone is lucky enough to meet their ancestor, or their descendant, but I got to be such good friends with both of mine. I wish all of you could have met Minnie. Ermine Periti! The Champion! The greatest legislacerator the Empire will ever see! Funny and smart and kind and braver than I could ever dream of being. I was lucky to get to love her. I wish you all could have had that luck too.

[fayes-fics]

What The True Poet Describes

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Having been parted for many weeks, it makes you and Benedict realise some truths…

Warnings: none… this is utter fluff. Romantic confessions and proposals.

Word Count: 1.4k

Authors Note: Anon request fill from HERE (reader returns from travel to confess her feelings for Benedict). Unbetaed. Sorry it has taken me ten months to fulfil this Nonny, but I hope you enjoy! <3

As your carriage thunders down the cobbled street of Mayfair, your stomach flutters—not from the jostling of the rough surface, but for an entirely different reason. This is a homecoming of sorts, it certainly feels too long since you were here; the sights and the smells of London so enthralling, teeming with life, such a contrast to where you have been. 

But it’s not just that.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and for you, nothing could be more apt. It’s been nine weeks, and you are positively aching inside, distance bringing clarity to your heart's true desire. You are jangling with anticipation because of your destination. Not caring a jot for judgement of your actions or any scandal that may ensue, single-minded in your mission.

As the carriage slows in front of a handsome red brick townhouse, you leap out before your footman can assist. So keen for a reunion. The front door sweeps open, and the valet requests your name. But before you can even give it, the very person you want to see materialises at the top of the staircase: so handsome it takes your breath away. His face is one of shock.

“Miss y/l/n?!?” Benedict’s baritone voice rings out in genial confusion.

“Mr Bridgerton!” your responding call an animated response, holding out your hand to him as he descends stairs quickly.

He reaches you and politely takes one of your hands, kissing your gloved knuckles, your blood flushing warm as he does.

“I have missed you!” Unable to hide the breathiness in your claim.

“I have missed you too!” He echoes, still seeming taken aback before shaking his head a fraction.“Gosh, where are my manners? Please come into the drawing room!” 

He leads you there, his hold on your gloved hand respectful but firm, a warmth that stirs your belly.

“Smith, some tea, please,” he requests over his shoulder as he sees you to a seat.

“It’s rather late. Do you have anything stronger?”

His eyebrow shoots up at your perhaps cheeky query, but it's not in judgment, more surprised admiration and respect. 

“Cancel that, Smith,” he calls out. “How about a brandy?” He adds quietly just for you, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You nod enthusiastically and remove your gloves as he pours two glasses from a decanter nearby.

“What brings you here so late?” 

His skin touches yours briefly as he hands you the glass, a tiny frisson running down your spine.

“I have something to tell you,” you offer, slightly enigmatic. “I hope you will indulge an old friend.”

“Less of the old, please,” he jests gently, raising his glass in a silent toast.

“To good friends,” you amend, mirroring his action, then taking a sip and enjoying the fruity burn of the cognac.

“Good friends,” he echoes after a swig, then smiles at you expectantly, waiting to hear your answer to his question.

“Well, I suppose what I have to say is more of a confession…“ you admit, after another fortifying gulp, eyes downcast upon your glass as you swirl it lightly in your hand—a nervous tic. “Prussia has been nice in some ways, but there was one thing I missed so very much…”

“London?” he guesses

“Yes, but that’s not it,” you smile, looking up again.

“Parties?” he suggests next with a wink.

“Well, yes, those too,” you giggle and blush at the thought of the bohemian parties you have snuck away to in the past, one such gathering being where you met him. “But not what I’m referring to.”

“Tell me then.”

Steeling yourself, you look at him squarely, 

“You, Benedict. My dearest friend. I have missed you. So very terribly,” you confess over a jagged exhale.

He looks abashed, so handsome in his modesty, a dot of colour high on his cheeks as he bows his head and looks at you through his lashes.

“And it made me realise something…” 

You place aside your now empty glass. Nerves have you spring to your feet, taking a pace tentatively towards him, hands wringing.

“What?” 

His question is delicate, almost gossamer, his face enrapt, looking up at you as you stand before him, ready to finally admit out loud what your heart has been screaming for many weeks now, perhaps always.

“Yours is the wise counsel that I have missed the most. My company has been sorely lacking your sparkling wit, and indeed, there are no talented wordsmiths such as yourself to be found. Especially not any with a countenance as pleasing as yours.” 

He blushes deeper, the pinkness staining his cheeks, but he is also staring intently at you now, his breathing a little uneven. So you decide to be brave, to throw all caution to the wind.

“I-I like you, Benedict. So very much. So ardently,” each word a slight stumble, your whole body flushing hot as you lay bare the truth. “I-I wish to call you something infinitely more dear than a friend if you will permit it. These past few weeks have made me realise just how much I have missed you. A-And I felt compelled to rush back to tell you. To see if perhaps y-you might return my affection?” You stumble, your heart pounding wildly and loudly in your ears as you finally stop to take a breath.

He stands up now, too, his lopsided smile tender as he advances slowly toward you.

“Y/n, did you ever stop to consider why I always referred to you as one of my best friends from the very first time we met?” He asks as he draws closer; you are unable to look away, trapped under his intense gaze. 

“N-No?”

“It is because yours is the company I wish for the most. Days without you were, and indeed are, so very bland. I have always wanted your wonderous spirit near me, even if it was only ever as a good friend,” his voice sounding so wistful. “You should know, however, that only scratches the surface of what I feel for you, indeed, what I have always felt for you…” 

You gasp as his fingers tilt up your chin tenderly, and you find yourself lost in his eyes as he speaks again. 

“You are my muse, my wonder. Your ethereal beauty has always haunted me. You fill my every thought. Being apart from you these last few weeks has been such torture.” 

Your entire being feels alight, each cell an inferno, almost in disbelief that his feelings are an apparent mirror of your own.

“Perhaps what I want to say is better expressed in poetry….”

He pauses and looks deep into your eyes as if piercing to your very soul, sonorous, velvet words beginning to tumble from his lips.

“What is it truly to admire a woman?” 

Already captivated by his rhetorical question, you feel yourself sway towards him.

“To look at her and feel inspiration?” 

He gestures to miniature portraits of you dotted around the room, each obviously painted by his talented hand. You are temporarily dumbfounded, not even noticing them until this very moment. 

A soft chuckle from him brings your focus unerringly back to his earnest, handsome face.

“To delight in her beauty?”

He touches your cheek tenderly. It feels like a searing brand mark; you cannot look anywhere but him, lips parted, breath ragged.

“So much so that all your defences crumble…” 

He laces his fingers with yours as you feel a tidal wave of emotion, a tightness in your chest that is your lungs feeling barely able to breathe.

“That you would willingly take on any pain, any burden… for her….” 

He brings your joined hands over his heart, trying to convey the sincerity behind his lyrical declaration as you feel your eyes mist.

“To honour her being… with your deeds and words….” 

His lips brush the back of your knuckles, a wet spike of heat, and then you gasp loudly as he falls to one knee before you, his hands still clutching both of yours.

“I have missed you more than any words can ever express, y/n. I never wish to be parted from you again. I do not yet have a ring for you, but please, will you do me the very greatest honour of being my wife?”

Your world tilts at his wondrous, heartfelt proposal, ebullient joy radiating through your every pore. You begin to nod, a tear welling in the corner of your eye. Knowing there is only one word that will ever be your elated response…

“YES!!”

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[maitejeannolin]

This speech was written for and read aloud at a protest in front of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission on April 10th, 2025, Seoul. The Protest was a joint movement from adoptee associations and human rights organizations : DKRG, FKRG, NLKRG, NKRG, CAFE, USKRG, AUSKRG, IbyangIN, KoRoot, ASF, SKAN.

ADOPTION ECHOES THROUGH GENERATIONS

I am here today, speaking in front of you as the daughter of a Korean adoptee. Many names can describe my position in this story: adult child of a Korean adoptee, 2Gen, or the one I currently like to use: a DoKAD (Descendant of a Korean adoptee).

I am part of the generation after—the one that inherits the gaps, silences, misinformation, lies, uncertainty, missing family members, unknown names, inaccessible past.

Most Koreans have heard of, or even met, adoptees looking for their families of origin; adoptees visiting the Motherland; adoptees connected to adoptee associations or even, as we witness today, adoptee activists advocating for their rights.

But in my view, these adoptees represent only a small fraction of Korean adoptees worldwide. The vast majority remains off the radar. Some have already passed away—some by taking their own lives. Others are grappling with severe mental health issues, carrying their trauma alone. Some have turned away from the past entirely, distancing themselves from the adoptee community. And some have simply blended in, built new families, and moved on.

My mother is one of them. She built a beautiful family with four daughters. She never searched for our Korean family of origin and, for most of her life, turned away from her Korean identity. At home, we rarely spoke about it openly—partly because it was such a sensitive, painful subject. But also, as I’ve come to understand, because it felt like there was simply nothing to say. Her adoption file states she was “abandoned,” with no details about where, when, or by whom she was found. From her perspective, that was all the information she could ever hope to have.

Therefore, she has put up with the idea that she was most likely abandoned by a poor family. Her story is a sad story— a story we better forget.

So did I, for most of my life, thinking that our past was buried somewhere, inaccessible.

But as I grew up, I had the chance to come into contact with adoptees who broadened my horizon. What if my mum's story, which oddly resembled so many other adoptee cases, was actually incomplete, inaccurate, or even completely fabricated?

In 2018, I went to Holt’s post-adoption services to ask about my mum’s file. But since I’m the daughter of an adoptee and not the adoptee herself, I wasn’t allowed to see anything. Talking to the social worker, I realized that the file my mum had always known might just be a fragment: the version sent to France was only a part of the Korean one. She said it was simple—adoptees just had to come to Korea and ask. I was in shock. Did they seriously think it was "simple" to look for something that was supposed not to exist?

Even then, we know that the agency would probably still keep some of it hidden. So wall after wall, lie after lie, it takes a lot of energy to engage in this type of journey. Not everyone wants to do it or has the resources to do so, whether psychologically, emotionally, or even financially. 

And yet, even when we’re aware of these barriers, some of us feel compelled to keep searching — perhaps not for ourselves directly, but for those who came before us, or those who come after.

That’s why I feel that, as the daughter of an adoptee, I stand at a very interesting crossroads. Even if I don’t have the same trauma from adoption and abandonment as my mother, I carry so many questions, a desire to understand my family’s story and a grief for what has been taken away from us. 

But legally, if my mum doesn’t want to take the steps to look into her past, it is currently impossible for me to find out more.

Although I respect my mum’s position, it strikes me that the Korean administration behaves as if it were only her story and her family. I think we, as children of adoptees, should have a legal right to access our information. And I insist—I say our because it’s strange to keep pretending it doesn’t concern us.

Think about it: in a "normal" family, if my mum were estranged from her own mother and didn’t want to be in contact with her, would I be deprived of the legal right to access my grandmother? No. In the end, it should come down to a personal choice: Will this damage my relationship with my KAD parent, or not? Will I take these steps, or not? 

That’s my choice to make—not the government’s.

Throughout the years, I’ve encountered other people like me—other DoKADs—who are asking themselves similar questions. Although we share common ground, our experiences are very singular and show how adoption has affected us in different ways.

Marrit, whose KAD mum died by suicide, has been looking for her Korean family of origin. It was only through her grandparents—her mum’s adoptive parents—that she managed to get some information from the adoption agency. She tried asking NCRC about DNA testing and entering the database for missing children, but her request was rejected.

Lovijah, another DoKAD, recently tried the same path through her grandparents as well, but she couldn’t get anything at all.

Tanya, whose KAD mum died from cancer, was diagnosed with cancer years later. At the doctor’s office, they asked her: “Does this run in your family?” But she had no answer. Not knowing her medical history meant she couldn’t anticipate a genetic illness. And the consequences are real—sometimes, it’s a matter of life and death.

These stories remind us that, for now, when a Korean adoptee dies, Korean law ensures that their past is made forever inaccessible—sealed away from us.

That’s why today, I, along with other fellow DoKADs who are concerned with these issues, would like to ask for a TRC3.

We need to make sure that more cases can be investigated by a new commission. And we would also like to ensure that the TRC3 makes it possible for Descendants of adoptees to submit the adoption case of their KAD parent for further investigation, whether they have passed or don't want to submit it themselves.

This would be a meaningful step towards acknowledging that the loss and trauma of adoption do not end with the adoptees — they echo through generations. We carry this story too, even though we never chose to be a part of it. We were born into it, and we deserve the right to understand it.

Thank you.

저는 오늘 한국 입양인의 딸로서 여러분 앞에서 이 자리에 섰습니다. 이 이야기 속 제 위치를 여러 가지 이름으로 표현할 수 있습니다. 한국 입양인의 성인 자녀, 2세대, 그리고 제가 현재 즐겨 사용하는 DoKAD(한국 입양인의 후손) 등 말입니다.

저는 한국 해외입양의 다음 세대에 속합니다. 공백, 침묵, 잘못된 정보, 거짓말, 불확실성, 실종된 가족, 알려지지 않은 이름, 닿을 수 없는 과거를 물려받은 세대입니다.

대부분의 한국인들은 친가족을 찾는 입양인, 모국을 방문하는 입양인, 입양인 협회와 연계된 입양인, 심지어 오늘날 우리가 목격하듯이 입양인의 권리를 옹호하는 활동가들의 이야기를 들어보거나 직접 만나본 적이 있습니다.

하지만 제 생각에 이러한 입양인들은 전 세계 한국 입양인 중 극히 일부에 불과합니다. 대다수는 여전히 주목받지 못하고 있습니다. 이미 세상을 떠난 입양인도 있고, 스스로 목숨을 끊은 입양인도 있습니다. 또 다른 입양인들은 심각한 정신 건강 문제로 홀로 고통받고 있습니다. 어떤 사람들은 과거로부터 완전히 등을 돌리고 입양 공동체와 거리를 두었습니다. 그리고 어떤 사람들은 그저 사회에 녹아들어 새로운 가정을 꾸리고 살아갔습니다.

제 어머니도 그중 한 분입니다. 네 딸과 함께 아름다운 가정을 이루셨습니다. 어머니는 원래 한국 가족을 찾지도 않으셨고, 평생 동안 자신의 한국인 정체성을 외면하셨습니다. 집에서는 그 이야기를 거의 꺼내지 않았습니다. 너무 민감하고 고통스러운 주제였기 때문이기도 했지만, 제가 이해하기로는, 그저 할 말이 없는 것처럼 느껴졌기 때문이기도 했습니다. 어머니의 입양 기록에는 어머니가 "버림받았다"고만 적혀 있을 뿐, 어디서, 언제, 누구에 의해 발견되었는지에 대한 자세한 정보는 없었습니다. 어머니의 관점에서는 그것이 어머니가 바랄 수 있는 전부였습니다.

그래서 어머니는 가난한 가정에 버림받았을 가능성이 높다는 생각을 참아왔습니다. 어머니의 이야기는 슬픈 이야기입니다. 우리는 그런 이야기를 잊어야 합니다.

저도 마찬가지로, 평생 동안 우리의 과거가 어딘가에 묻혀 접근할 수 없다고 생각했습니다.

하지만 자라면서 제 시야를 넓혀준 입양인들을 만날 기회가 생겼습니다. 다른 많은 입양인 사례들과 기묘하게 닮은 엄마의 이야기가 사실은 불완전하거나, 부정확하거나, 심지어 완전히 조작된 것이라면 어떨까요?

2018년, 저는 홀트 입양 사후관리 센터에 가서 엄마의 기록에 대해 문의했습니다. 하지만 저는 입양인의 딸이지, 입양인 본인이 아니었기에 아무것도 볼 수 없었습니다. 사회복지사와 이야기를 나누면서 엄마가 항상 알고 있던 기록은 일부에 불과할지도 모른다는 것을 깨달았습니다. 프랑스로 보낸 기록은 한국 기록의 일부일 뿐이었습니다. 엄마는 간단하다고, 입양인들이 한국에 와서 물어보기만 하면 된다고 말했습니다. 저는 충격을 받았습니다. 존재하지 않아야 할 것을 찾는 것이 "간단"하다고 생각하는 걸까요?

그렇더라도 기관은 아마도 그 기록의 일부를 숨길 것이라는 것을 알고 있습니다. 그래서 벽을 쌓고, 거짓말을 거듭하며 이런 여정을 시작하려면 엄청난 에너지가 필요합니다. 모든 사람이 심리적, 정서적, 심지어 재정적으로 그렇게 하고 싶어 하거나 그럴 자원이 있는 것은 아닙니다.

그런데도 이러한 장벽을 인지하고 있음에도 불구하고, 어떤 사람들은 계속해서 찾고 싶어 합니다. 어쩌면 자신을 위해서가 아니라, 우리보다 먼저 왔던 사람들이나 우리보다 나중에 올 사람들을 위해서일지도 모릅니다.

그래서 저는 입양인의 딸로서 매우 흥미로운 갈림길에 서 있다고 느낍니다. 비록 어머니처럼 입양과 유기의 트라우마를 겪지는 않았지만, 저는 수많은 질문과 가족의 이야기를 이해하고 싶은 열망, 그리고 우리에게서 빼앗긴 것에 대한 슬픔을 안고 있습니다.

하지만 법적으로, 어머니가 과거를 돌아보려는 조치를 취하지 않으신다면, 저는 현재 더 많은 것을 알아낼 수 없습니다.

저는 어머니의 입장을 존중하지만, 한국 정부가 마치 어머니와 그녀의 가족 이야기만 다루는 것처럼 행동하는 것 같습니다. 입양인의 자녀인 우리는 자신의 정보에 접근할 법적 권리가 있어야 한다고 생각합니다. 그리고 저는 우리와 상관없는 척하는 것이 이상하기 때문에, '우리'라고 말합니다.

생각해 보세요. "정상적인" 가정에서 만약 제 어머니가 친어머니와 떨어져 지내고 어머니와 연락하고 싶어하지 않는다면, 저는 할머니와 접촉할 법적 권리를 박탈당할까요? 아닙니다. 결국 이는 개인의 선택에 달려 있습니다.

이것이 KAD(한국입양인) 부모와의 관계에 악영향을 미칠까요, 아니면 안 미칠까요? 이러한 조치를 취할까요, 아니면 취하지 않을까요?

그것은 제 선택이지 정부의 선택이 아닙니다.

지난 몇 년 동안 저는 저와 비슷한 질문을 스스로에게 던지는 다른 DoKAD(입양인2세)들을 만났습니다. 우리는 공통점을 가지고 있지만, 우리의 경험은 매우 독특하며, 입양이 우리에게 각기 다른 방식으로 어떤 영향을 미쳤는지 보여줍니다.

KAD(한국입양인) 어머니를 자살로 잃은 Marrit은 한국 출신 가족을 찾고 있습니다. 그녀는 조부모님, 즉 어머니의 양부모님을 통해서야 입양 기관으로부터 정보를 얻을 수 있었습니다. 그녀는 NCRC(아동권리보장원)에 DNA 검사와 실종 아동 데이터베이스 입력에 대해 문의했지만 거절당했습니다.

또 다른 DoKAD인 로비야는 최근 조부모님을 통해 같은 방법을 시도했지만 실패했습니다.

KAD(한국입양인)으로 힘들어 하셨던 어머니를 암으로 잃은 로비야는 몇 년 후 로비아는 암 진단을 받았습니다. 병원에서 의사는 그녀에게 "가족력인가요?"라고 물었지만, 그녀는 아무런 대답도 하지 못했습니다. 자신의 병력을 알지 못했다는 것은 유전 질환을 예측할 수 없다는 것을 의미했습니다. 그리고 그 결과는 현실이며, 때로는 생사가 걸린 문제입니다.

이러한 이야기들은 현재 한국 입양인이 사망하면 한국 법이 그들의 과거를 영원히 접근할 수 없도록, 즉 우리가 알 수 없도록 봉인한다는 것을 우리에게 일깨워줍니다.

오늘 저는 이 문제에 관심을 가진 다른 DoKAD 회원들과 함께 제3기TRC(제3기진실화해위원회)를 요청하고자 합니다.

새로운 위원회가 더 많은 사건을 조사할 수 있도록 해야 합니다.

또한 제3기TRC를 통해 입양인의 후손들이 사망했든 직접 제출하고 싶지 않든 KAD 부모의 입양 사건을 추가 조사를 위해 제출할 수 있도록 해야 합니다.

이는 입양으로 인한 상실과 트라우마가 입양아에게만 국한되지 않고 세대를 거쳐 울려 퍼진다는 것을 인정하는 의미 있는 발걸음이 될 것입니다. 비록 우리가 선택하지 않았더라도, 우리 역시 이 이야기를 품고 있습니다. 우리는 이 이야기 속에서 태어났고, 이해할 권리가 있습니다.

Maïté Maeum JEANNOLIN

[miam0re]

I see that request post mia,

So I wanted a little angst/comfort so here's a little request: going to the grave to pay respects of their friends/family.

• Xiao with pervasis

• Kazuha with Tomo

• Diluc with his father

Ofc I send you a lot already so if you wanna scrap it go for it, as you know I have a lot of brainrot so this much is nothing XD

- ❄️

I really liked this idea and thought it was a good way to come back into writing uwu I may have also gone a bit astray with the prompt I hope you don't mind (the main idea is still there tho!)

(also this is not proofread eheheheheh)

Visiting A Beloved's Grave | Diluc, Xiao, Kazuha

warning: Um character death, talks of death, yeah that's it, it's kinda sad but not that much (SFW)

Here lies Crepus Ragnvindr...

“Diluc, what are you doing?” You groggily rubbed your eyes as you walked down the stairs to the lobby of the mansion. The clock ticked in the silent night, hands showing the time to be a little past one in the morning.

You just so happened to wake up and notice the emptiness in bed beside you. You thought that perhaps Diluc had gone downstairs to read for a while, as he had usually done when sleep avoided him, but you were surprised to see him putting on his overcoat.

He was going outside.

He looked up at you descending from the stairs, eyes wide in surprise at seeing you awake. “You should be asleep, Dearest.”

“Well so should you. Where are you going this late at night?” You wrapped your robe tighter around your body, shuffling against the wooden floor and closer to him.

He sighed, pushing his red bangs with his gloved hand while looking at you with a mixed expression. “I’m…going to visit father’s grave.” It looked like he was struggling to say that, not sure how you’d react to that.

But when you smiled delicately and reached out to hold his hand is yours, delicately rubbing his leather-clad knuckles, he felt a huge weight ease off his shoulders.

“Give me a moment to put on my coat and we’ll go together, alright?” You offered.

The gentle breeze ruffled your overcoat as you hugged it tight around yourself, making sure not to squeeze the flowers you picked on the way to Mondstad’s cathedral. Behind the great building was a small cemetery for heroic souls, Diluc’s father being one of them.

It was upon Varka’s insistence that Crepus Rangvindr’s tombstone was placed alongside those of the heroes, for he deserved a title no less than that.

The cobblestone looked recently cleaned, apart from the little specks of moss growing in the ridges and the grooves.

You stood beside Diluc, feeling him clutch your hand tightly as he tried processing his feeling, the wind stinging his eyes. You bumped your shoulder against his arm, making him look at you. His fiery red eyes were swirling, emotions threatening to spill out as his walls almost broke.

You handed him the bouquet, tilting your head in the direction of the grave. “Why don’t you say something to him. I’m sure wherever he is right now, he’d definitely hear you.”

Diluc swallowed a lump and nodded, shaky hands taking the flowers from you as he walked forward to kneel in front of the grave.

Tenderly, he placed the flowers in front of the stone, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts.

“Hello, father.” He started, clearing his throat. He needed encouragement, and you were more than happy to help, stepping up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

Diluc looked over his shoulder and smiled at you before bringing his attention back to the grave.

“I…I miss you dearly. You were my guiding light, and I aspired to become like you, hardworking and diligent. I…still do. I wish I could be a fraction of the hero you were. You were truly awe-inspiring and not a day goes by when I don’t think of you, of the person you helped me become.

There’s so much that I wish to share with you, so many things I still need your guidance in. I often find myself feeling lost, but… thinking of you, of what you would do… it brings me back on track.” Diluc chokes a breath.

You drape yourself over his shoulders, hugging him from behind. “You’re doing great, Diluc. I’m sure your father would be proud of the person you’ve become.” You gave him an understanding smile.

Diluc gave a half-hearted laugh to you, turning back to the grave. “I also wish I could introduce you to Y/N, the person I’ve found myself to fall in love with. The most wonderful person I’ve ever met. So compassionate, so hardworking, I’m sure you’d love them.”

You blushed at his words, not expecting him to talk of you.

“Y/N…thank you for coming here with me today, and encouraging me to express myself.” Diluc grasped your hand in his, placing a kiss on your palm.

And till the crack of dawn, Diluc recited his stories, the ones which he wished to share with his father…and with you.

Here lies Pervases...

“Xiao, do you have any plans for today?” You approached the Yaksha as he stood on the roof of the inn. The breeze blew, making his scarf flow behind him in the night. His arms were crossed against his chest, eyes closed in concentration.

He sighed, turning to face you while letting his arms fall to his side, opening himself and making himself vulnerable in front of you. His eyes slowly opened to take in the sight of you holding a basket in your hand.

“I suppose you are going to go visit the Shrine of Pervases.” He muttered out, breaking the silence.

You indeed were. It was his death anniversary that day, also a day that marked a year since you had seen his spirit roaming the mortal realms. He helped you prepare for the Dream Trawler ritual even though he knew in doing so he would break the spell that allowed his spirit to remain in the mortal realm.

You nodded, swinging the blanket that harboured Grilled Ticker Fish as an offering for him. It was one of his favourite dishes, so it only seemed suitable. What you kept secret was that is there was a serving of Sweet Almond Tofu that you packed in case Xiao decided to come with.

“Very well. I shall accompany you.” He stated, spinning on his heels to start walking down the stairs of the inn with you trailing behind him.

The walk to the shrine was silent, but not unpleasant. It was evident on Xiao’s face that he was thinking about Pervases. His usual stoic expression was much softer and distant as he strolled beside you, occasionally holding a hand out for you to tread through uneven parts of your journey.

Finally, when you reached the newly built shrine, your heart lifted at how the villagers had decorated it. Paper lanterns hung from the freshly painted wood and wind chime sings songs along with the wind.

You kneeled in front of the crane statue that represented the Adeptus form of Pervases. The stone looked smooth and polished, thanks to the villagers who had put in the effort to aid in the restoration of the shrine.

“Xiao, do you want to help me?” You asked, holding up a lit incense stick for him to take. Silently he nodded, taking a seat beside you and waving the incense stick in holy symbols. The fumes emitting from the stick floated up into the cerulean sky, taking with it your prayers.

“Pervases, wherever you are, I hope you’re doing well. Paimon and I miss you quite a lot. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come with me today but know that she gave strict instructions to offer you the best Ticker Fish I could make.” You giggle, placing the offering at the foot of the statue.

The yaksha beside remained silent, amber eyes following your movements until he caught your eyes gazing at him. He coughed and looked away from you, seeming unbothered.

“Xiao, do you want to say a few things?” You encouraged, reaching to wrapped hand around his. He stiffened slightly before exhaling audibly from his nose. His head bobbed in agreement, eyes darting to the statue.

“Pervases…you were a good warrior. I feel honoured to have fought beside you.” Xiao muttered expressionlessly. When you thought that that was all you could coax out of him, he continued.

“You were quite different from the other adepti. Much more compassionate. I know how much you worried about my karmic debt and I just wish for you to know…that I keep your concerns in mind. Be aware that I do not slack in my duties and I continue to protect the lands. Pervases…your absence is noticed by me. I hope wherever you are, you are living a content life.”

Xiao’s face reddened in embarrassment as he abruptly stopped. “That is all I have to say.”

“That was quite touching Xiao. I’m sure he heard your kind words.” You smiled at the yaksha.

“It felt nice to speak out my thoughts. I suppose I have you to thank for encouraging me to talk.” Xiao scooted closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder. You grinned and patted his head, kissing his hairline.

“Xiao, why don’t we share a meal with Pervases? You can tell me more about him.” You put forth, taking the almond tofu out of its packaging and placing it on a mat in the middle of your little circle of Pervases, Xiao and you.

He looked at the dish, a small serene smile hinting on his lips.

Here lies Tomo...

“I thought I’d find you here.” You sighed, walking to where Kazuha was kneeling in front of a katana thrust into the ground. Around the katana were a few strewn flower petals and sweets as offerings.

After all, today was the day when Inazumans paid their respects to the deceased souls. Candles decorated all the houses, a ritual that believed that the flame of a lit candle helped guide departed souls to heaven.

You finally reached next to Kazuha as he held a hand out for you to grab, helping you kneel down, a task so hard to do, given the festive kimono you had on. You both giggled as you struggled to sit, but finally seated yourself beside the blonde male.

“Done with the prayers?” Kazuha asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you straightened your skirt. You nodded at him, “It was quite a walk coming down from the shrine, but how could I give up spending a moment with you and Tomo?”

Kazuha wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side for a second to plant a kiss on the top of your head. “Well then, shall we go ahead with our own prayers?”

You closed your eyes and folded your hands, muttering holy words under your breath in hopes that your words would guide his spirit to a better place. As a part of your prayers, you uncovered a box of fruits and laid a few of them beside his grave.

“Tomo, you silly boy, I miss you so much.” You wipe the corner of your eye, trying to not cry and not mess up the make up that took you a while to do. Kazuha found your fingers hidden in the bell sleeves of your dress. He played with your fingertips, running his bandage clad fingers over your skin.

“Kazu, why don’t you say something to Tomo?” You gaze into his scarlet eyes as he hummed in agreement, lidding his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Tomo, you were a true warrior. Till your final breath, you fought for what you believed in, and that is a skill of yours I’ve always admired and tried to practice myself.” Kazuha paused when a bush rustled from the side.

A white cat peaked from behind the bushes, striding towards to blade and the fruit you had offered. The cat sniffed the lavender melons before sinking its fangs into the sweet flesh of the fruit, savouring the flavour.

Kazuha smiled at the feline, remembering of the white cat that Tomo was so fond of, carrying it around with him wherever he went.

“More than a warrior, you were a true friend to me. I still think of the times when we would duel together as practice and all the countless times when you had defeated me. But no matter what, you’d always give me your hand and pick me up, handing me my blade and challenging me to another round. You taught me how to keep challenging myself, and if I have to credit anyone for making me into the person I am today, it has to be you.”

Your fingers traced mindless patterns on the back of Kazuha’s hand as you felt tears brim in your eyes at the intensity of the attachment he had with Tomo.

“Of course, I also have to thank you for bringing Y/N into my life.” Kazuha lightened the mood, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “The two of you were…are my whole life. And I wouldn’t dare imagine a second any different from the way it has passed. I do wish you were here with us, the three of us enjoying together, but I suppose you’re here in your own way, aren’t you?”

Kazuha’s tranquil voice caught the attention of the white cat, who approached the two of you slowly, carefully seeing if you were a threat or not. When the cat was confident enough, it rubbed its body along your knees before moving to rest its chin on Kazuha’s thigh.

Kazuha laughed and scratched the cat behind the ear, hearing it purr in satisfaction as you leaned closer and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Do you remember that one time when Tomo decided it was a good idea to jump into the stream during the winter nights? Every single time we’d have to care for him only for him to do it again.”

You beamed, both of you relieving the fond memories of you and your friend.

[sweetsbfreex]

always my valentine.

happy belated valentine’s day guys! thank you for all the love, heres 3.7k words pure fluff.

Summary: on one chill valentine’s day evening you and Harry reminisce the valentine’s day that hold a special place in your hearts. But let’s start where it begins

warnings: fluff, slight angst

Pairing: Husband,Boyfriend!Harry x reader

                                                        xoxo

You were excited, walking down the hallway, your backpacking dragging you down with all the candy bundled in there, and the box of heart shaped cookies your dad volunteered for you to bring. 

Your auntie had picked out a specially themed outfit for this day. Valentine's Day! Dark pink overalls, a lighter pink t-shirt with your all time favorite love story (The Aristocats), and two pretty, sparkly heart shaped pins in your hair. 

“Good Morning Ms. Ash” you grinned up at your teacher by the door, raising the container of bakers cookies above your tiny figure.

“Good Morning!” she replied enthusiastically. “Are these for the party?”

You nodded in reply, descending your arms from how tired they were feeling already. 

“That’s great, why don’t you go ahead and place them on the table next to the whiteboard”

You smiled at her, making your way to the table, responding to an energetic hello from Johnny before making your way to the back of the room to place your coat and backpack on the low placed rack. 

When you had finally taken your place next to your best friend, Samantha. Cheering a hello to the other three students placed in your table. About to look down at the morning warm-up for the day. Fractions. They were easy, but gosh were they annoying. Why does the bottom–– denominator–– have to change so much.

But you caught sight of Harry walking into the classroom, a black and white polka dot jacket covering his outfit for the day, and a red hat covering his hair. 

He waved at you a pretty (but somewhat toothless) smile supporting his greeting. You waved back at him, turning again to the half sheet of paper. 

Once again were interrupted when you felt a gentle, not so gentle tap on your shoulder. 

“Do you want to see what I got Harry?” she asked.

“You got something for a boy?” you were shocked, you loved fairy tales, loved romances, loved when your dad told you old stories of him and your mom before you were born. Your favorite being when she was pregnant with you and he brought her out to the rain, a bouquet of flowers in his hand–– that he had picked up after work. And they had danced in the rain all night long, their songs blasting from his car. 

You guys were 8-9, why was this happening now? Feeling behind. Were we supposed to ask someone to be our valentines. Like in the movies.

“Yea” you were interested that was for sure.

She pulled out a piece of construction paper from inside her desk. It was heart shaped, glitter glued around the edges, a sucker taped to the paper , and the words happy valentine Harry! Also glittered and glued to the paper.

It looked a mess. But you couldn’t tell her that plus it’s the thought that always counts. 

“Wow! So are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend now?”you quiz meekly. 

“No but I hope so after this, we’ll be the second couple after Jolie and Zay” she giggles, pushing the card back in her desk.

Great, what a way to ruin a perfectly good day. But you still were extra excited for the movie, snacks, and candy to be passed around. 

A few moments Ms. Ash had walked in, her coffee cup in hand. 

“Okay guys! First we are going to finish up these warm ups...I’ll give you guys…five minutes, is that good?” she looked around for confirmation, not seeing any objections she continued. “Then thirty- forty minutes before school ends we’ll start the celebration!”. 

*

It was time! After Ms. Ash had read the class Happy Valentine’s Day Mouse! And Llama Llama I Love You (Your favorite) everyone was sent to grab whatever candy to be passed around. 

Now you were all scattered around the room, everyone making their rounds to all the kids passing around sweethearts, lollies, and so many other things. 

Dropping Anthony his ring pop into his brown paper bag while he gave you the pack of conversation hearts. There was a very gentle tap on your elbow, making you turn around to see Harry.

“Oh! Hi Harry!” you were all smiles looking at him, waving politely. 

“Hi, y/n, I have your goodie if you want it?”

“Yes please, here's yours” your head tilted down, digging around for ring pop attached with Harry’s name. 

“Here you go” extending your arms to Harry, gripping the other end of the ring pop packet. 

He extended his arm out to yours, moments later a pretty, store bought heart shaped card in his hand and a small, red box of chocolate Russell Stover chocolates were in your view. 

You grabbed the two items, looking at the card to see ‘Happy Valentines Day Y/N, written in his hand writing. A pretty saying to math the image of two cute kittens at the bottom. ‘You’re the purr-fect friend, Happy Valentine’s.

“I remember you said you liked Aristocats and my mum said you’d really like this one” He informed you. 

Two days before that day, Harry ate dinner with his mother and sister. There he had asked confidently, a fond smile on his face, if he could get a girl he thought was pretty a Valentine’s gift. Then ensued the non-stop teasing from his sister and mum.

“Harry’s first girlfriend” His sister had teased.

“Mum!” he complained back, his fork dropping to his plate.

“Stop it now” She playfully reprimanded His sister, who knew she didn't mean it but for Harry’s sake. Grabbing Harry’s chin soothingly “That’s fine Harry, we can go to the store. Who’s it for anyway?”

“Y/n”

“Mr. Y/l/n daughter?” she had asked, interest piqued. 

“Yep” he replied successively earning an ‘ooh’ from his sister. 

“Thank you so much Harry, it’s really pretty. I’m sorry I only got you that” you pointed to the ring pop, the inner corners of your eyebrows raising. 

“It’s okay! My name is on the little card, so it’s okay” he smiled, reassuring you as he showed you the tiny card attached to the ring pop. 

View solely on Harry you had missed the fuming girl standing perpendicular to the two of you. 

-

“I love that card!” you told Harry, squeezing the hand over your shoulder. 

You were both twenty-five, spending your Twelfth Valentine’s day as a couple, snuggled up on the couch. Unsurprisingly and inevitably you both had made it out–– with a few rocky roads in the way ––together.

“Oh yea? Should’ve seen how my sister kept embarrassing me while we picked it”

“Guess what” you hooked him quietly, looking up at his gaze. 

“What?”

“What if I told you I still have the card you got me” you muse. 

“Wouldn’t believe you, show me”

You raised from your spot on the sofa, grabbing Harry’s hand to follow you upstairs. He sat on the bed watching you rummage through the closet.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“No, I’m okay thank you” you chirped. 

From there you pulled a painted, wooden storage box. The words Do Not Open are very prominent at all sides of the box. You’ve had this box and two other boxes stacked to the far right of your closet. Everything you’ve ever loved, being stored in here all the way from birth, something your mother had started before you were even born. Harry had never gotten a glance at it, respecting your wishes of Do Not Open. 

You sat next to him, the box placed on your lap, lifting the lid. You looked up at Harry who had averted his gaze from inside the box quickly.

You laughed at the endearment, “It’s okay baby, you can look. Thank you though” leaning up to kiss his jaw.

Last time you checked this box you had left it at the bottom of the box, and that’s exactly where it was as you lifted it up. Fixing the crease of the corner of the stock paper.

“See! Told you” The heart between both of your hands, arms extended and placed so both of you could view it equally. 

When you haven't heard a witty remark from Harry, you look up confused only to have that expression shift in worry. Looking up to see his moss eyes were glazed over and his mouths scrunched and puckered up (his way to keep himself from crying.) 

You sit up on your knees quickly, placing the card in his lap, before bringing his head to your chest, the hand holding the side of his face closer, thumb brushing under his eyes. 

“Oh Harry! Why are you crying?” bringing your head down to level your eyes with his. He turned his head towards your chest even more embarrassed. “You’re so cute, don’t be embarrassed” you laugh kissing the top of his head. 

“Stop” he laughed, shaking his head slightly. “Just means a lot that you kept it for all this time”’ taking hold of the heart in his lap, fingers rubbing the paper softly as he reminisced. 

“Yeah...well after you gave it to me it hung on my dresser's mirror for years how couldn’t I” you assured him, kissing his head once again.

“Can I be honest, my favorite gift is the one I got you in middle school”

-

Freaking rational numbers and their stupid fractions. Stupid seventh grade teachers. What was the point of having all these different categories of numbers in the first place?? Natural, Rational, Real, Integers, or Irrational. What was the point?

You thought this, upset at your latest math grade, while you stuffed your math journal and book into your locker. Slamming the door–– as softly as you could, which wasn’t very soft, but you also didn’t catch the attention of most of the students in the hallway. 

You jumped at the sight of Harry, who had stood behind your locker door.

He reached his hand to your waist to settle you down, which did the opposite of that as you had shivered, goosebumps raising from the contact. Ever the flirt he was. Eyes widening as you took in his dimpled smile and the way on his arms hid behind his back. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?”  he asked, tilting his head to the scene from earlier. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine! Just math and Mr.Quimby’s teaching” you huff.

“I like your outfit, very festive” he complimented, dropping his hand from your waist so both his arms were behind his back. 

“Oh” you smiled meekly, looking down at the heart patterned dress you were sporting, a black cardigan enveloping you, and your red converse on your feet. “Thank you, it’s Valentine’s Day so had to dress accordingly”

“Yeah well you’ve been dressing accordingly since pre school” he joked.

“One of us has to” you laugh off the bad joke, closing your eyes in sheer agony. 

“Glad it’s you then...I actually have a surprise for you”

“Really?” shuffling your feet in anticipation. 

He retracted his arm, a red bag in hand. Sticking out proudly was a rose.

“Go ahead and open it” he urged, of course a confident smile on his face as he pushed his hands into his front pockets. 

The first thing you had pulled out was a box of candy. 

“Thank you” you mumbled, before pulling the last item. 

There was a white box and when you had pulled it from the light, you saw the black printed label of ‘Pandora’ at the top. You looked up at Harry, mouth open, watching his smile grow wider from your reaction. 

“H––”

“Wait before you go on and on, open it”

You were tempted to thrust this back in his hand, not even wanting to know the price of whatever was in the box. But surveying the look on his face you just had to.

Your fingers gripped the lid of the box, lifting it. The first thing you saw was a piece of paper that covered whatever he had gotten from the glamorous store.

‘Be Mine?’

Wow. 

You looked back up at him grinning from ear to ear, your stomach fluttering non-stop after reading those words. 

“Harry!” you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him into a bone crushing hug. You felt his hands fist into the back of your cardigan. “Really? How did you even afford this” you asked, pulling away first. 

“Yeah. A looot of saving up. I mean i would’ve asked a while ago, but today seemed like a good day”

“Then yeah” a close lipped smile on your face. 

“Open the box” he smiled back. 

You pushed yourself away from him, opening the box again and removing the paper from the top to see a silver bracelet and a charm to be put on the bracelet laying in black velvet fabric. 

The charm was the cat Marie from the Aristocats.  

“This is so cute H, thank you.”

“Flip it over” he instructed softly

On the back of her head engraved was ‘thx for being my better ½” and today's date. 

“Love the fraction” you commented sarcastically.

“Been complaining about them since elementary school had to put it in...plus i was running out of space.” He let you know, reaching a hand out to hold one of yours. 

“I’m sorry i didn’t get you anything. Do you want a lollipop?” you squinted, face scrunched up in embarrassment. 

“It’s alright. Yeah that’ll be fine” he smiled. 

-

He’s been adding charms and buying you new bracelets every Valentine’s Day ever since that day. The Aristocat charm is always on the newest bracelet. This year it had been a lady bug, claiming with it that you were his luck in life. 

“Really?” you asked surprised. 

“Yeah, it was basically when we made it official...and then got that write up for pda in the hallway”

“Oh my gosh, I hated Mrs. Ambrose” you groaned, your head hanging back dramatically for a slight second. 

“Yeah. Swear she had it out for me and you after that.”

The amount of write ups you and Harry had accumulated from mostly holding hands was unbelievable. He was a physical touch kind of lover, you couldn’t do much about it at that time. 

“Wanna know my favorite?” you asked him. He nodded which prompted you both to a trip down memory lane. 

-

Eleventh Grade.

Click. Click. Click. 

You turned your back away from the window.

Click.

“Y/n” was hollered out.

Ugh, You groaned raising yourself from your bed, stomping to your window.

“You’re late. I’m mad at you. My dad is mad at you.” you hissed your head.

“I know baby, but just come down so I can explain”

You looked down, a stupid puppy dog longing look on his face. God you hated him really bad right now, it wasn't fair. 

“I hate you. You’re lucky my dad is on a date tonight, like i’m supposed to be!” you seethed before retracting yourself from the window, making your way downstairs. 

He could only smile, that cocky son of a––

“Ow” you hissed out lowly, clutching your foot before walking down the stairs carefully.

You opened the door now face to face with your boyfriend, who used his dazzling face to adorn a guilty look on his face. His way to reel you in so you had no choice. His dumb faux pouty lips. 

He reached his hand out to touch your arm until you had pulled away quickly. Shaking your head. “Explanation first”

“Okay. I deserve that, but can we sit?” he asked, shuffling to the side so you could the blanket that lay on your lawn. Fake candles surrounding the perimeter. And on the blanket was a bouquet of roses, candy, your favorite meal, a bluetooth speaker, cupcakes, and a red gift bag (attached to that was a balloon of a puppy that held a heart between it’s paws.)

You tried really hard to suppress the smile that wanted to show your appreciation for the thoughtful gesture. And succeeded as you followed Harry who had taken his place on the blanket, before taking off his shoes, holding out his hand for you to help support yourself downwards. Which you had ignored, still a bit displeased.

You looked around a bit before looking up at Harry, eyebrow quirked.

“Well…”

From there he had let you know that he was up all last night finishing something for you and had let time get away from him before his mum walked in wondering why he was still here. Then he realized his phone died, so he had to wait for it to power up in his car while driving to the local store to get anything else he needed, since he had made the two of you miss the reservations for tonight. “Fucking left my phone in the car”. To which it died again causing him to be with what is now. 

“I’m really sorry y/n, ‘know I wouldn’t pull an asshole move like that on purpose”

“I know...Still it was embarrassing, you’re supposed to be the punctual one”

He laughed at that, testing the waters as he glided his hands towards your carefully. And when you hadn’t pulled back he carefully intertwined both of your hands together raising it up to kiss your knuckles. 

“Pajamas are cute, Sucks i missed your Valentine's Day outfit, was really looking forward to it” he let you know. 

You heated up as you looked over the set you were wearing. The pant and long sleeve set both were identical, red as the background and white hearts scattered all over the place. 

“Guess you’ll never know, hm?” you hummed.

His stare was intense, not letting the eye contact break for a moment. No. Your hand collided with his face softly as you stopped his face from leaning in. Your palm meeting his mouth, before pushing it away gently. 

“Nope” you reprimanded him. 

“C’mon” he groaned. “Not even a kiss, I thought you weren’t mad anymore” he asked, his hand reaching up to clasp your wrist, which he had brought down slowly. Letting it lay flat in his lap between his palms.The sound of your bracelet clinking together supporting the sound of the other night creatures. 

“I’m gonna go get your gift, then maybe we’ll see if you deserve a kiss” standing abruptly, as you made your way into your home quickly. Hearing the soft muttering of Harry’s complaint of “girls”.

In a moment whirl, you were now sitting a bit closer to Harry. His gift bag in your lap. 

“I want to go first, since you always go first” you extended your hand towards him and he grabbed it but not before quickly kissing your cheek, as a result–– just to mess with him–– you wiped your cheek, sticking your tongue playing it off as if it was disgusting.  

“You love it. Stop” he chuckled pinching your cheek.

“Just open it” you groaned.

“Am I ever this pushy with you?” he asked rhetorically. “Thought so”

He finally opened the bag, reading the sweet card you had written for him. You watched his smile grow as his eyes shifted from word to word. 

Then looked through it again, pulling out a small string back, pulling it apart to see a pink guitar pick engraved on one of the sides being, ‘thanks for being my significant ½ -y/initial“ and the date you both had made it official.

“Thank you teenie, I’ll use it every time I play” he pulled you in by his arms around your shoulder, kissing your cheek incessentantly. 

“That god awful nickname” you complained. “But i’m glad you liked it”

“Yours” he said, placing a bag in your lap. 

You opened it, seeing the very familiar box. Opening it eagerly you saw laying in the box, a charm with a bow at the top. He knew your new obsession with baking and of course he had nailed it yet again.

“The bottom” he answered the question that he knew was floating through your head. 

And there it was the engraving you were looking for. 

‘xoxo -h’ and today’s date. 

“There’s also one more thing he told you” twisting his body, you watched his shoulders and arms move and the sound of a zipper. 

His guitar was now clutched in his lap, using one hand to wrap the strap around his neck.

Then he started strumming a beautiful tune and sang a song you had never heard. It was beautiful and when you had realized the correlations within the 

“Harry...Oh my gosh” you squealed, launching yourself at him, feeling one of his arms wrap around your waist quickly. A deep chuckle emitting from his mouth. 

“You wrote this––” having to stop mid sentence, your throat feeling cramped as tears kept coming non stop. 

“I wrote it for you, yeah. It’s why i was so late, was putting finishing touches on it all day yesterday”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” you asked him, his dimpled cheeks between your palms. 

“Yeah...I guess so” he said nonchalantly, rolling his eyes, and shrugging one shoulder.

You giggled at his action, tilting his head up so you could kiss him lovingly. 

“Got my kiss” he teased. 

“Well you deserve it” you rolled your eyes kissing him once again.

-

As you both got older and started spending nights together, he had always sung you your song by your request. You loved it so much that he surprised you with it on your wedding night. Booking a private session at the best studio he recorded the song just for you, so you both were able to dance it as your first dance as husband and wife. Now you were able to listen to it whenever you wanted. 

He was always the best gift giver between the two of you. You still spent all these years trying to top him. 

“The song? Really?” he assented, eyes a bit wide. 

“Yeah” you chuckled softly, “It’s the sweetest anyone has done for me, how could I not?”

“Can’t argue that can i?” “Nope...Happy V-day H”

“Happy lover Day teenie, thanks for always being mine” he smiled up at you, his pupils and yours dilating a bit at the exaltation. The dopamine so overloaded, you wondered if it was even possible. He brought you to sit in his lap carefully. A passionate kiss to your lips, transferring the love he felt for you in that one kiss. Years and years of love that hadn’t and would never fizzle out. Not on his watch and especially not on yours.

– – – –

ahh i loved this soo much, if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[neverflownwithme]

“They didn’t tell you anything else?”

Hal struggles to hear the question over the mechanical whir of engines and the rattle of supplies in overhead bins, only realizes that the words are aimed at him because Ollie is sitting just two seats away from him. The shove of a foot against his leg makes him roll his eyes. He slides deeper into his own seat in initial response, head leaned back and eyes looking to the ceiling above him. The headrest of his seat is stiff against the back of his skull.

“I’ve already told you everything that I know,” Hal reminds, not the least bit surprised by the scowl that he sees Ollie give him out of the corner of his eye. Hal had worn a similar expression when the first message from the Night’s Watch had reached him. Specifics had been lacking during Hal’s own exchange with the Black Brothers of the Wall. His expression had remained more or less the same since.

“Leave it to a bunch of Northerners to skimp on needed details,” he mutters, shoving himself back into his own seat. There’s a loud thunk as his back connects with the backrest. “You’d think they’d have more respect for their Warden of the North.”

There is a jab laced in the man’s muttered words, one that Hal chooses to ignore. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a bit of truth to it.

Hal’s heard Ollie’s complaints since the moment the man arrived at Winterfell from the Arbor. He’d departed his plane muttering and grousing about having to journey so far North in the beginnings of winter at King Aegon’s order. When he had learned the --limited-- details surrounding what he had journeyed there for, his complaints had increased tenfold.

It’s strange to Hal how Ollie always claimed he was looking for adventure, but was now rebelling after he’d been presented with one. After all, how many Southron Lords could say that they had journeyed to the Wall? How many more could say that they had journeyed beyond the Wall and into the lands of the Far North? Hal thought the number to be few… if any at all.

Most Southron Lords saw little use in journeying past the Neck.

In the back of his mind, Hal knows that Ollie’s complaints are justified -- to a degree. Days before Ollie arrived at the Northern capital, Hal had been in contact once more with members of the Night’s Watch at the Wall, searching for answers or, at the very least, for clarification.

It had been members of a scouting garrison that had discovered something among the seaside ruins of Hardhome beyond the woods of the Haunted Forest.

Whatever the discovery was, the Lord Commander of the Watch had not disclosed. The man had seemed almost frightened to even discuss the vague details that he had given to Hal. Asking for specifics had been met with clipped, one word responses. Jeor Mormont had always been a prickly man, had become even more so since making the journey to the Wall to take over its command. His responses were extreme, though, even for him.

No matter the find, significant or not, it was important enough that Hal had thought it was in his best interest to investigate for himself. Anything that could still Mormont’s normal growling and snapping had to be investigated, Hal thought. The Lord Commander had never been one to rattle. Hal was curious to see what had actually managed to do so.

The order that had come from King’s Landing from the desk of King Aegon that same day had only sealed his fate even more.

When Ollie had contacted him the following day stating that King Aegon had requested he journey North to investigate some archeological discovery over the Wall, Hal had known that he’d been right in his belief.

Even if he wanted to, Hal couldn’t very well go against a direct order from the King.

“We’ll find out more when we get there,” Hal finally says. Again, he chooses to ignore the grumbling reply that Ollie gives back. Ollie will have some sort of reply no matter what Hal says. It’s better just to let him stew with his head up his own ass for a little while. He’ll come around. At some point.

The rest of their flight is uneventful. The closer they come to the Wall, the more intense turbulence becomes. The North has always been prone to severe winter storms. But, they are at their utmost worst, at times, when the seasons are beginning to shift from one to another. Now, so far north, the weather is all the more erratic. By the time their pilots announce their descent to land, both Hal and Ollie have been jostled for the last hour of the journey. 

Solid ground is a welcomed relief.

Hal has brought only what he thought to be necessary for the journey. Ollie, in contrast, had brought whatever could be needed for the discovery site beyond the Wall. When the rear cargo ramp is lowered, Hal finds Lord Commander Jeor Mormont waiting for them with a pair of Black Brothers at his back.

“Lord Commander,” Hal greets, his bag in hand and his pack slung over his shoulder. As he descends the ramp, the Black Brothers who have accompanied Mormont to the airstrip tromp up the cargo ramp to assist Ollie with his own supplies.

“Lord Stark,” the Lord Commander returns, his voice and his expression grim. “Welcome to the Wall.” The man looks over Hal’s shoulder after he speaks, watching the men he’d brought with him aboard the airplane. His hard gaze quickly travels from them to where Ollie is now coming down the cargo ramp. He snorts as he turns, motioning to two awaiting military humvees. They’re painted white with the chargeless black shield of the Night’s Watch emblazoned upon the front doors. “I hope your Southron friend brought something warmer than what he’s currently wearing.”

When Ollie’s supplies have been loaded into one of the waiting humvees, Hal climbs into the front seat of the one that Mormont motions him to. Ollie is in the second one with the pair of Black Brothers. It’s a five mile drive from the airstrip to the Wall. Normally, in ideal conditions, the Wall is visible from the airstrip. Snow has started to fall, though, and heavy clouds are hanging low in the sky. It makes for poor visibility.

Winding through the rough roads, Hal watches the flicker of the following humvee’s lights in his side view mirror. There’s nothing ahead of them but snow covered roads. And, beside them, Hal only sees the dark of the forest on either side. It’s Hal that breaks the silence in the cab.

“Has anything else been found since we last spoke, Lord Commander?” he asks. Much like his greeting back at the airstrip, Mormont’s response is short.

“Maester Aemon knows more of what’s been found,” the Lord Commander says. “He’ll tell you more when we arrive at Castle Black, my Lord.”

“You could have saved me a trip if you’d allowed him to speak with me to begin with,” Hal reminds.

Mormont grunts, his hands gripping tighter at the steering wheel. Up ahead, the first gate that leads from the forest into the first inner sanctum of the Wall is fast approaching. “Maester Aemon petitioned His Grace to have you come in person. The King was in agreement with his request. You didn’t expect me to go against the King’s command, did you?”

Hal mutters in concession, watching as the gates ahead of them begin to part.

As Mormont steers their humvee to a stop within the inner courtyard of Castle Black, Hal catches a glimpse of the Wall. It still looks like he remembered. The sheer height of it is dizzying. The top of it is not even visible, hidden among the low hanging clouds up above. Hal can tell, even then, that there will be a storm later in the night.

Mormont is barking orders when Hal pushes open the humvee door, the sheer force of the wind catching him by surprise. It looks as though his prediction is going to be correct. A storm is rising.

Black Brothers immediately move to the second humvee at the Commander’s orders, unloading the materials and supplies that Ollie has brought with him for their journey. As soon as the Lord of the Arbor is within earshot, Mormont barks for them to follow after him.

“Maester Aemon said to bring you to him when you arrived. He’ll be waiting,” Mormont calls over the howl of the wind, already starting across the courtyard. “Come with me,” he yells back to them.

“Charming guy,” Ollie mutters, falling into step beside Hal as they begin to walk.

Despite the cold out among the courtyard, the inner hallways of Castle Black are surprisingly warm. Mormont leads them through a number of doors and stairwells, taking turn after turn without so much as a pause. He never stops to allow for either Hal or Ollie to deposit their bags anywhere. When he finally does stop, it’s before a large pair of oak doors. The knock of his knuckles against the wood echoes heavily through the hallway.

Hal is barely able to make out a frail sounding call for them to enter.

When the doors are opened, Mormont’s frame blocks the view into the room. He pauses mid step, nearly making Ollie collide into his back in the process. Mormont’s stance seems to straighten a fraction as he stands in the doorway.

“I beg your pardon,” the Lord Commander says.

For once, Hal believes that his voice carries some sort of sincerity in it.

“I was unaware that you were in council with Maester Aemon, Your Grace,” Mormont continues.

Hal’s brows immediately wrinkle in confusion. ‘Your Grace?’ When he looks over at Ollie, he’s wearing a similar expression. 

“You owe me no apology, Lord Commander. Uncle Aemon was merely informing me of what has been discovered at Hardhome.” There is a pause and the slide of a chair across the stone floor. “Please, do not allow me to detract from your own needs. Uncle Aemon has already informed me that there would be visitors to join us.”

It feels as though something has bolted down the column of Hal’s spine at the first sound of the answering voice from within the office. His mouth goes dry for a moment and his hold tightens around the handle of his bag. Even though he cannot see beyond Mormont’s frame, he needn’t lay eyes on the other person to know who the voice belongs to. 

Even if a decade has passed since they’ve last spoken, he knows the voice practically as well as he knows his own. 

‘No. No. No.’ he thinks to himself. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

As Mormont’s frame moves from the doorway, everything around Hal seems to come to a grinding halt. Seated beside Maester Aemon next to the hearth, a woman is staring back at him. For a moment, Hal almost believes she seems just as shocked to see him as he does to see her.

“Your Grace,” Mormont begins, motioning to the men at his back, “Lord Harold Stark of Winterfell and Lord Oliver Redwyne of the Arbor.” When he looks back at the men, he motions to the woman with a nod of his head. “My Lords, Princess Laira Saito of Valyria.”

[ @mymothershumility @fullrangeofemotions @truetargaryen @thequeenmaker @ialwayswasthebest @xcoatlicuex @iveneverbeenagoodgirl @aladyofwinterfell @iwasahunter @fairytalesandstars @arisiarrxb ]

Notes: These are (typically) going to be pretty short little blurbs. Some might get longer. Liz and I are co-writing some together. This verse was influenced by the (2017) version of The Mummy and will weave in elements from the War for the Dawn into a modern setting. As always, the verse is available for threads and such.

[brandywine-tomatoes]

Hope was a Dangerous Game

Masterlist

Another oc fic

Characters: male!oc/Crosshair, the Batch

Prompt/Inspo: @keo-the-raptor was angsting with her oc and that gave me ideas

TW: depression, depressing thoughts, angst to loads of fluff, strong language

Word count: 1839

QUICK NOTE: Sinleo is my immortal cape maker/tailor.

Cross and him met on a peace treaty voyage with all the Naboo and Pantoran delegations since Sinleo is a long-time friend of the Naboo throne and besties with Riyo Chuchi. The Batch was stationed as part of the security detail.

They saw each other on and off over the years until Sinleo was encouraged to stay on the Havoc with Cross and the Batch (obvi without the Republic's knowledge).

--

Sinleo trudged through the busy streets of Coruscant, pushing and shoving his way through the gloomy crowd as everyone tried to get out of the pouring rain. He didn’t mind the intense downpour, it felt like a layer of grief was sliding down his shoulders, creating a thick sludge of sorrow being tugged along by his cheap boots.

He never wore his custom or expensive stuff anymore, not after the Empire took his trooper. He felt he lost a piece of himself, and without that piece, nothing else could fit. He had to pack away everything about himself into a mouldy storage locker. Crosshair had made his way into every part of him. He couldn’t think or look at those pieces without diving deeper into despair and isolation.

Force, he missed him. It hurt to even think sometimes. Everything everywhere reminded him that he wasn’t really in the galaxy, just a look-alike that tried to kill everyone close. Just a shell of something that used to love Sinleo. A shell of something that gave Sinleo something he never thought he’d get: Purpose. Hope. A future.

Hope was a dangerous game.

Sinleo dragged himself into the elevator, clicking the highest level and waited for the doors to slide open.

He tossed the drenched black windbreaker on the single wooden chair beside the door and made a beeline towards the mattress in the middle of the supposed living room. The ceiling fan was on full blast against the high ceilings, a sharp and cool wind blowing the dark greasy hair from his forehead. Cross used to do that. He used to hold Sinleo like he was his whole fucking world and brush the hair from his face.

He had to stop. Crosshair was gone. He wasn’t getting him back. Ever.

He’d survived for hundreds of years, he could survive hundreds more. But living them?

His depressing train of thought was cut off as an irritating beeping echoed off the bare walls from the windbreaker. Groaning, he stood and shuffled to the chair, taking out the comm device and flipping on the speaker and microphone.

“What?” He growled.

“You’ll want to hear this.”

“Hunter, I already told you, stop calling me.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

Sinleo paused and took a deep breath, defeated. “What do you want, bandana?”

“Are you sitting? You need to sit for this,” Hunter’s voice was growing more irritating by the second. Sinleo didn’t know if it was from pure annoyance of his past knocking on his comm device or how Hunter’s voice was filling with joy. Who the fuck could be joyful during this fucking time?

Sinleo pulled the wooden chair forward and sat. “I’m sitting.”

“Miss me, Sin?”

His heart jumped for a fraction of a second.

“Hunter,” he stood up in a rage. “I can’t fucking believe you. This is sadistic level shit. You really think I’m not in enough fucking pain without him? You think-”

“Alright alright, enough,” Hunter tuned back in. “Pack a bag for the next shuttle, I know you have senator-level security passes. Get to Alderaan’s National Spaceport, strip 3, by tonight. Private comm channels are unreliable for this kind of conversation.”

“Who the hell do take me for? A fucking fool? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sinleo. Please. For Cross. If you won’t believe it over comms, come see him yourself.”

Sinleo scoffed and practically snapped the comm device in half turning it off. The building in his eyes throughout the conversation spilt over. He let out a sob and crumbled to the ground. He shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the streaming of tears, only seeing a burst of crumbling light and a searing pain start to blossom.

He sat with his knees to the ground and let out sob after sob, grief-stricken memories of Crosshair giving one of his rare smiles or holding Sinleo’s face when everyone else was asleep making him sob even more. His muscles ached, his head pounded, he felt drained and empty and nowhere near better than before that conversation.

His heart leaped out of his chest when he heard his voice. It’d been almost a year since the love of his life used the nickname he gave him. His little sin.

He almost asked if it was really him, almost let himself believe he was alive and cut out of the puppet strings.

For just a second, he imagined seeing him again as Crosshair and not some Imperial mutt. His Crosshair. Hugging his Crosshair for hours so he wouldn’t slip away so easily again. Taking him to raid the upper-class district and leaving it in a flaming heap again like the first time they visited.

But then the ceiling fan pushed his hair from his forehead. The rainwater from the windbreaker was seeping through his clothes. His exhaustion from the last 10 months whittled its way back in.

He was gone.

But maybe he should pay his respects to his brothers. They were family after all. Maybe seeing them again, seeing the ship where him and Cross had their first kiss would offer a little closure. Offer a little piece of him back that Crosshair took. If he could get a piece of who he was, he might finally start working towards making someone new, someone whole again.

He made a few calls to senators and off-world shuttle security before he packed the few simple clothes he had and other necessities into a light duffle bag. The couple hours he had before the Coruscant guard came to escort him he curled up on the bare mattress and stared out the floor to ceiling windows numbly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, not after a breakdown like that, after what it uncovered.

Boy, would he pummel Hunter when he got there.

--

Sinleo fiddled nervously with the handle of the duffle bag on his lap as the shuttle gracefully touched down on the strip. The other passengers started undoing their safety harnesses as Sinleo sat there, paralyzed. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing. He only acted; he didn’t think of what would happen. What was waiting for him on strip 3? On that darkened and unused strip he passed seconds ago? Did his brothers fall to the Empire too? Was this all a trap for the Empire to finally nail him in jail for the shit he pulled in the past?

“Sir, we’ve landed,” a red-dressed bellhop gestured to the exit.

Sinleo fumbled with the safety harness and scurried towards the exit with the duffle in hand, accidentally ignoring the bellhop and descended the stairs. The passengers all left separate ways seemingly all over the tarmac towards groups of people or vehicles already waiting.

He walked in the direction of strip 3, pulling the same black windbreaker closer to him as a wind chill swept through the spaceport, ruffling his hair and lightly pushed him to the side. The tinted windows of the grand and beautifully historic spaceport building glistened softly against the pure black sky with Coruscant and Corellia on the other side of his view. The air was cleaner on Alderaan, it refreshed your lungs and brought a clear mind instead of the fogging effect the planet-wide city had.

As he neared the darkened strip 3, he spotted a group of moving figures, most likely the Bad Batch, and grimaced. This was a mistake; this was all a mistake. He should just turn back, save himself the embarrassing tears of seeing the crew again. He stopped dead in his tracks and seriously debating just getting a hotel and going back in the morning.

But one of the figures started walking towards him and he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t run away from them when they were right there.

He started his slow pace again, his heart beating quicker. That wasn’t one of the surviving Batch members. This was someone new. Or someone old.

“Sin!”

He stopped again, a heavy pressure resting on his chest. Oh my fucking god.

He dropped the duffle and started sprinting. “CROSS!”

His Cross kept the same pace as Sinleo closed the gap, already sobbing before they embraced. Crosshair spun Sinleo in a circle, a sputtering of a sob and a laugh escaping his choked-up throat. This wasn’t happening.

Sinleo buried his face in the crook of Cross’s neck, his arms impossibly tight around his waist as sobs racked his body.

It shredded the sniper’s heart that his absence had crumbled his love. But he was finally there with him. It wasn’t some dream in the back of his mind. It wasn’t some daydream that CT-9904 didn’t know how to explain. He was fucking there. This was all real. This was all he ever wanted.

A few tears leaked into Sinleo’s matted hair as Crosshair returned the death grip, whispering that he was there, and he wasn’t leaving. They wouldn’t let each other go again, not ever again. This was it. They were it. They were done with being alone, they were going to stay together for as long as they had. Sinleo muttered a few words before Cross lifted his head gently from his shoulder.

“Didn’t catch that, Sin.”

That sent another sob escaping Sinleo’s lips. They returned to their bone-crushing embrace for a few more moments before Sinleo lifted his head to try again at forming words.

Words failed him for a second as he finally got a look at the love of his entire life. “Don’t- don’t leave me again,” his voice came out desperate and hoarse.

Cross ran his thumbs over his cheeks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sinleo closed the space, desperate to make up for their lost 10 months. Sinleo’s soft lips against his finally convinced him that it was over. No chip, no orders to follow, no one to report to. There was only him and his Sin, his first and last of everything in the middle of an airstrip, trying to convey how much they needed each other through a sloppy and suffocating kiss. Cross cupped his face and kissed back with everything he had, everything he could give.

They separated and gasped for air softly, foreheads leaning against one another as neither of them wanted to open their eyes. They stayed, Crosshair holding Sinleo and Sinleo’s arms around his waist, keeping them together.

The sniper was the first to flutter open his eyes, feeling heart palpations at the sight of a tired but peaceful Sin.

He smirked. “This is getting sappy.”

Sinleo snapped his eyes open and tried to glare at him. “We can be sappy.”

“Hell naw, we aren’t sappy,” he pulled away, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

Sinleo pecked his lips. “We are now.”

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

“Oh no, we’re sappy now.”

Sinleo kept his arm around Cross’s waist, finally ready to approach the group far away at the edge of the tarmac. “I can live with that.”

--

A/N: I stayed up unit 5 in the morning writing this. It was an emotional ROLLERCOASTER, but I got it done in one day and I'm pretty happy with it!

please go easy on the critisism, this was the first time i wrote 2 characters sharing a kiss

If you want more of/about Sinleo or any other oc, just let me know! I love sharing my bbs!

[elmidol]

Error: Program Not Found - Fourteen (Kind of NSFW)

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

Chapters Warnings: some groping/dry humping

Side Note: At the end of this chapter, on AO3 there is a question regarding potential routes for the remainder of this fic. I am personally comfortable with any of the three options I present, but do appreciate people weighing in on this particular aspect. 

“Try to be a rainbow is someone else’s cloud.” - Maya Angelou

 Fourteen: Analyses

 Spending time with the senator had proven to be a surprisingly enjoyable experience due to your being equipped with the poem and the painting as topics of discussion. His mind appeared to have wandered away from the potential TR8-0R project. The budding camaraderie also instilled in you a sense of peace regarding the man; you believed that he would not be so inclined to speak ill of the First Order or overshare on any of the other projects he had helped to finance. This was not to say that you were not mentally taxed by playing nice. His adviser being present had dissuaded you from broaching certain lines of dialogue to include information about your other project. It remained an Ace for another day, possibly during the meeting itself.

 Massaging either side of your temple with two fingers, you willed away a small headache that had formed from the prolonged conversation. General Hux would have risen from bed an hour ago, you noted, debating whether you wanted to rest a little first or pursue interaction with him now. As the saying went, there was no time like the present. On top of that, there were less chances that you would be interrupted with the majority of the other officers still asleep or else only then rising for the day.

 He was, unsurprisingly, in the community area with a datapad in hand and two others on the table. You valued working for someone with nearly identical work ethics and habits as yourself. With a small smile, you slipped onto the seat next to him. General Hux did not object to your nosiness when you glanced at the datapad that was in his hand. This particular report required minimum clearance. Your interest in the document wavered within seconds. Reminding yourself why you were there, you cleared your throat while setting your hands in your lap, one atop the other.

 “Hm?” he grunted. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, not at his mediocre acknowledgment of your presence so much as the fact that you felt like a schoolgirl. You were an adult, you had had multiple conversations with the man. Maker, you had kissed him and sexted with him. Why were you nervous now?

 I feel like I need to make a choice between them once I know, you realized. You trailed your tongue along your lips and shoved that thought to the side. Regardless, it had to be done. “I think a bigger concern is not the individual themselves but the company they keep.” Only partially cryptic on the off chance that there was surveillance.

 General Hux turned his head. You mirrored his actions, locking gazes with him. Those eyes were so deep, you noted. You could not tell if they were more green or more blue. You reached up, setting a hand on his jaw to trace your thumb along his lips. You nearly jumped though you had been the one to initiate contact. His skin was warm beneath the pad of your thumb, his breath offering moisture. Your heart hammered in your chest, in your ears. The increase in contact you had with both him and Kylo Ren, it was scrambling your ability to think. All you could do was focus on them and how it felt to kiss and touch them. To be touched by them.

 This is not why I came here, you thought despite the fact that you were even then letting your eyelids descend as General Hux leaned in closer. His nose brushed along yours though he did not kiss you. Your thumb remained on those lips, running back and forth.

 “Would you like to come to my room?” You held your breath, your eyes snapping open. Searching his face for any sign that he was teasing or would reveal his full intention of extending the invitation, you quickly learned that he was leaving that up to you. Going into his room did not have to lead to sex. It would offer you more privacy to interact with him, to kiss him if you wanted...or, yes, to have sex with him. You were not quite ready for that step, not until you knew if he was Anonymous or Unknown.

 With a hesitant nod, you rose from the seat that you had taken and lowered your arms to your side. General Hux followed suit. He gathered up his various datapads while nodding his head in the direction of his room. You turned to walk in that direction with the awareness that he would follow. The entire time, your mind was racing. Kissing him was not out of the question; stars, you wanted to kiss him now that you would be in a setting where it was less likely to be caught. Bringing up the painting could work, although since you had spoken with the senator about the poem first, that would flow more naturally into a conversation. Mentally rehearsing what you would say to steer the conversation in that direction, you stepped to the side so that he could unlock the door to his room.

 Everything was in order; you could not tell if the bed had been made by the maids or by the man himself. It was tempting to ask, however you held your tongue. Your eyes swept about the area to note where he had placed four other datapads. He was, you realized, involved in more projects that you were. Which did make sense if you stopped to think about it. You dealt with droids and programming, whereas he had to hear of those matters alongside stormtrooper and officer training, ships and weaponry, and a multitude of other matters. Each of those required a keen eye to ensure that they fit perfectly into the largest project of all, the success of the First Order.

 “The durasteel walls tighten like a cage around you,” you murmured. It had not been intentional on your part to quote the poem in that moment, yet for some reason the words flowed over you as you stood there in the room. You were not thinking of these walls, but of the ones on the Finalizer and the other ships that you had lived on while in service to the First Order. A part of you did enjoy traveling, however now being on planet, you realized that you missed it.

 General Hux closed the door after entering the room and walked over to the pile of the other datapads to stack it higher with the ones in his hands. He looked over his shoulder to consider you. “You’re interested in poetry.” A statement. You shrugged while offering a noncommittal noise. His lips pursed forward for a moment. Inwardly, you were pleased with yourself for having gained an answer before you had consciously pursued it; he was familiar with the poem to know that it was a line of poetry you had recited.

 “Are you?” you countered, ensuring that your tone was playful. He now smirked at you, openly amused by your flirting. Stars. The realization dawned on you, how comfortable you were to slip so easily into flirting. To be conscious of it. This was happening. You ran your tongue along your lips. “Do you have any favorites?”

 The pair of you walked closer to one another. Your mind began to again race, working through what you wanted. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to know if he had sent the art or the poem. You wanted him to pin you down and fuck you. You wanted to wait, afraid of the repercussions. You placed your hands on his chest and tilted back your head, letting your eyes slip closed again. This time his mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that you happily returned. His hands roamed your upper arms before skimming along your chest. You cupped his face, as though doing so solidified that this was real. His tongue danced with yours, exploring you in a way that had you clenching. You shuddered, hands diving upwards and toying with his hair.

 General Hux grabbed hold of your hips then pulled you along with him further into the room. You let him push you onto the bed and climb atop you. Wrapped your legs around him, whining into the next kiss and whimpering as he bit gently on your bottom lip. “I enjoy the poems that help me win battles.” You wrinkled your nose at that, delighted that he had answered your question and enthused over the fact that he again sought your mouth with his.

 It would be so easy to lose yourself in the moment, however you were not going to allow that skilled tongue, those wonderful lips, to make you forget that you wanted answers. “Paintings?” you asked between kisses. He grunted above you. Pulling away a fraction, General Hux skimmed his nose along yours. His eyes were searching your face. You could not tell if this was confusion; did he not know why you were bringing up paintings, or was it that he was inwardly debating how much he would reveal? You reached up to brush aside strands of hair that had fallen out of place and onto his forehead.

 “I do have an appreciation of multiple forms of art.” He was cleverly evasive when it came to potentially handing you the information you sought. Not that this was in any way surprising; as a General of the First Order, he dabbled in politics more often than you did. You rolled your eyes at him in hopes that it would cause him to budge. Instead he only smirked and kissed you. His lips pressed to your mouth, next directly next to it, along your jawline. He made a trail up towards your ear, where he whispered, “I want to see you guess.”

 “That is rather frustrating, I must say,” you huffed out though you were grinning. It was comfortable to be under him like this, more than you had thought it would be. He grunted. “Can I call you by your first name when we are alone like this?” Another grunt, this one an affirmation. “Armitage,” you said, testing how it felt in this more intimate setting and his reaction to hearing it from you. He licked his lips, his pupils momentarily widening. You could feel his entire body responding to you; his hardening cock pressing into your thigh. “I am not...exactly rejecting you, however…”

 You trailed off in part because he was already nodding, his expression conveying that he understood. This was proceeding at a faster rate than you were ready to handle due to the amount of players. On top of that, to enter a relationship with him would have an impact on your career, as well as your daily life while you worked for the First Order.

 “I never realized how comfortable I was with the two of you.” Armitage did not react to the way that Kylo Ren was brought into the conversation. No insult was taken, for which you were glad. Fingers dancing along the collar of his shirt, you found that it was easy to picture yourself stripping him. “Being safe behind the screen, talking to both of you, not knowing which account belongs to you and which belongs to him…” You moved upwards and kissed him. His mouth was hungry against yours. Armitage’s hands wandered along your body. He was emboldened by each moan and whimper that escaped your. Simultaneous to kneading your breasts, he began to rock his hips into yours. You spread your legs wider then wrapped them around his waist.

 You could feel yourself growing wet with each thrust that you met. The way his body rocked into yours had electric heat spiraling through your veins. His breath was hot against your mouth, your throat, through your shirt as he mouthed your breast. You felt his teeth, felt yourself once more clench as your arousal grew. Tears of pleasure were gathering in your eyes, and they could have spilled for a much different reason as a hard knock on the door interrupted the moment.

 Armitage pulled away from you, rising and taking a moment to gather his bearings. You ran a hand down the length of your face. Were you disappointed or thankful for the interruption? You were conflicted, experiencing both as you rose from the bed as well. You smoothed out your clothes just as General Hux walked over to the door to answer it. On the other side was a stormtrooper alongside one of the individuals that had escorted your group to the building the day before. General Hux was being summoned to help lay out a timetable for the meeting so that all elements could be discussed without interfering with any other schedules. Neither of the other two seemed to notice you standing there, and General Hux did not wave towards you to draw attention. Instead he headed out of the room. This was not out of rudeness; you appreciated his discretion and internally counted up to a few minutes so that you could exit the room with the lowest possibility of being seen by others.

 None of the other officers were out in the community area and Kylo Ren was also absent. There was a pang of disappointment in the latter until you recognized that it would have been more awkward than anything. Approaching him after having just kissed--and groped--Armitage? Your eyebrows rose and you shook your head. It was important that you gathered yourself before speaking with Kylo Ren. With this in mind, you returned to the room that you were sharing with Aelin. He was finishing the breakfast that you’d had delivered for him as you entered the room.

 “I spoke with Eddard a few minutes ago,” he said, patting his mouth with the edge of a napkin to get rid of any food that may have clung to him. Aelin gestured to the other chair, which you took while waiting for him to continue. “The TIE for Millicent is fully functioning as a bed; its conversion from one form to the other can use some work. He showed holofeed during our conversation, and if the issue is what I believe it is, that should not take much time at all.” It was rewarding to know that the project was wrapping up. The one downside, in this case, would be less interaction with Millicent. You had grown so fond of her these past weeks.

 With a nod of acknowledgment so as not to be rude, you allowed yourself a moment to dwell on that more melancholy thought. As soon as your proposal went through--you were more and more certain that it would--your focus would need to be fully on the anti-procrastination and physical therapy droids. There was also the mouse droid that was awaiting your return in your quarters. Not that you would not find a way to squeeze in some time with Millicent if the opportunity presented itself. It was more that this could not and would not be a priority any longer. You scowled at that, the feelings of conflict refusing to subside. You knew that these were rooted more deeply than just the projects. It had to do with potential relationships.

 “I have been compiling notes on what may be best for the physical therapy droid’s body.” From another, you might have worried that the individual was attempting to take lead on the project. With Aelin, though, you knew differently. There was the added fact that his tone held a more inquisitive quality, the man seeking approval. You gave a nod for him to continue. “Obviously we will want to limit how many resources are pooled into it--at least for now, though that may change--however I think your aim is to have it capable of physically assisting the individual if need be.”

 “Oh, definitely.” That was an area that you had been toying with numerous routes and had been planning to discuss the matter with Aelin. You loved that he was on top of things. “I want to know if you think synthskin would be useful for their hands.” He hummed and you could tell that he was working through some mental calculations, weighing the pros and cons of this route. You reached forward to pluck up one of the extra rolls. Nibbling, you also started to make more notes in your head that you would later work into the file you had started. These would not be necessary for the proposal, which helped you to not feel so pressured to jot them down immediately.

 The pair of you spent the better part of an hour discussing what materials would best serve the physical therapy dorids before delving into differences between them and the anti-procrastination droids. For one, synthskin would not offer much for the latter and thus would be a waste of resources and credits. It was near lunch hour that you broke away with the intention of at last approaching Kylo Ren. Discussing work had helped you to calm, clearing your head in preparation of when you were alone with him.

 Though one of the officers and a stormtrooper were in the community room, Kylo Ren was not present. You walked to his room, knocked on the door, and were thankful that he responded, that he was there. The door started to swing open as you were beginning to identify yourself. Wasting no time, you stepped inside and did not feel any surprise as it closed behind you. Kylo Ren was seated on the very end of the bed with his legs crossed. He appeared much as he had in the training room when you had first kissed. The difference here was that he wore all but his outer robes and mask.

 “You met with the senator,” he stated, his voice deep as always. It was pleasant to hear, although that was partly due to the fact that he was not your enemy. How did those who opposed him feel when they heard him speak?

 Unsure if a response was necessary, you waited a beat before saying anything at all. “I did not have to reveal the other project. I did lie a little about patents… I should have addressed that with General Hux.” Kylo Ren at last looked your way as you said the name. His expression was unreadable, yet his hands were not in fists. “I was hoping to discuss something else.” A single, slow blink. “A painting.” No reaction other than his eyes searching your face.

 These men, you inwardly growled. You stepped nearer to him. With gazes locked, a sense of understanding dawned. He knew of the painting yet was on his guard. For what reason, you wondered; it had to be something more personal. Did that mean that he had sent it to you? Or had he simply observed General Hux doing so?

 “Part of me wants to come out and ask, to be blunt.” His mouth twitched, his eyes pinching in the corners as amusement visibly flowed through him. “There were moments I thought I could tell who was who. Then I wasn’t sure anymore.” You were walking towards him without having made a conscious decision to do so. You paused inches away from the bed. How easily you could touch him if you reached out. So you did, you set your hands on either of his knees. Kylo Ren did not shy away from your touch nor reject it. “You each picked something the other would know about. Like a blind reaction. No bias from me because I don’t know the sender.” You leaned forward, your face in his. “I really, really do not like being tested.”

 “They haunt you. The poem and the painting.” It was irksome, that he found so much humor in this. You fought off the childish pout that wanted to form. Of all the things that could have been sent, art felt the most intimate to you. To blatantly ask which he had sent, he could reject you. On the other hand, if he obliged, that was equally intimate. A willingness to bare more of himself to you without the guise of a datapad screen. You stroked his legs. Gaze dropping to where your hands touched, you let yourself sigh and relax into the moment. “We became more human to you this way.” He had managed to hit the nail on the head.

 It had not been difficult to be mad at them for their mistakes or to pull yourself out of the moment before. You had felt awkward yet not exactly guilty for having kissed both of them. Now? The idea that you would have to fully reject one or the other...or both.

 “I want to hear your guess.”

 It was a kind way for him to make a demand of you. There was the option to deny him the satisfaction, at least until you were again behind a datapad screen. Kylo Ren placed his hands on your hips in a loose hold. You could shrink away from him if you had wanted, except that was the opposite of what you wanted. With a sigh, you instead leaned closer and pressed your mouth to his. The kiss was softer than any that you had shared with General Hux. It was as though Kylo Ren recognized and acknowledged how the tables were being turned, that you were now the one in a more vulnerable position.

 “You can smirk, but don’t laugh at me if I am wrong.” It was simultaneously a request and a demand. Kylo Ren instigated the next kiss, this one more forceful, more hungry. You melted against him. One of his hands went to the back of your neck while the other groped your rear. You felt your body responding to him, to his touches, to his hot mouth. With a shudder, you climbed into his lap then let him roll you onto your back.

 “Tell me.” That deep voice dropping to a whisper. You nodded without immediately obeying. His mouth was at your throat. Teeth and lips and tongue all assaulting you. “Which one?”

 “From you?” you asked. A deep inhalation and widened eyes. He had slipped a hand up into your shirt to toy with your nipple, rolling it with two fingers. “Uhm… I had debated the poem because Force users were always said to study a lot, to read and write.” Another nip at your throat before he began to suck at the captured flesh. You curled your toes and swallowed thickly. “Er… The painting, though…” Trembling, you closed your eyes and licked your lips. Allowed yourself a second to drown in the sensation of his mouth claiming you. “The eyes stuck out to me as being something from you. The way you’re so closed off with what you wear like the woman in the painting. Trying to figure out if she is life or death. It reminds me of your role in the First Order.” A sigh from you as he paused in his kisses. “That’s when the poem felt like General Hux. The durasteel walls of the machines, the bases he’s on. Arkanis doesn’t necessarily have green like Naboo, but it’s different. And it felt more like something internal. Closing himself off to others. This sounds so stupid, Maker.” You placed both of your hands over your face, hiding it. “Are you going to tell me if I’m right or wrong?” you asked after a delay. Lowering your hands, you looked down at him and discovered that he was watching you. Once more his expression was unreadable, the man on his guard.

 Kriff...was I wrong? Worse still… If I got it wrong, is he insulted?

 You sucked your lips into your mouth and waited for him to say something, anything at all.

[amarabliss]

Oaths and Hearts - 21 (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11  Part 12  Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19 Part 20

“Now this bracelet…”

“It stays.” Ignis looked at the shock on the tailors face as he began to explain how it would simply clash, “I’m afraid everyone will have to adjust. I will not take it off under any circumstances.”

“Sir…as it will be your first…” He began again trying to explain.

“I understand what ramifications it holds, but seeing as this is my wife’s custom of marriage,” Ignis stepped off the podium undoing the clasp to the cape on his shoulder, “I will not be taking it off. This is a new world and new order, some things will change…I trust you understand that.”

The tailor agreed taking the cape from him and stepping away. Ignis let out a sigh as he took off the jacket setting gently against a couch as he heard a chuckle. His eyes looked over to Gladio leaning against the wall, “Never a dull moment with the royal tailor.”

“They used to be quite pleasant when I was just a Crownesguard.” Ignis huffed unbuttoning his shirt. He thanked Gladio as he handed him his own clothing, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to escort you to your meeting with Noctis.” Gladio raised his hands up in defense, “You know the protocols now, and we’re in a grey area on where everyone is supposed to be.”

Ignis felt his face burn as he pulled on his own shirt buttoning it quickly, “I’m not royalty yet…”

“And yet you are.” Gladio sighed a little, “I know this hasn’t been easy for you…but it was kinda in the cards all along…”

“What do you mean?” He reached for his jacket sliding it on in one motion before tugging down on it and buttoning it.

Gladio followed him out into the hall, “Noctis was the Chosen King…he was meant to eradicate the world of darkness by becoming a sacrifice…afterwards…it was supposed to be up to us…I didn’t forget that…”

“Nor did I…” Ignis looked at him curiously, “Are you saying you would have put my name forward to ascend the throne?”

“It was my thought, yes.” Gladio told him, “I’m not the only one who thinks this either.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Ignis looked forward as something began to swell inside his chest.

“So that you understand,” Gladio put a hand on his shoulder getting him to look at him, “that you have support. The only one who’s doubting your legitimacy is you.”

He wasn’t doubting…no…he knew who he was now all thanks to Regis…

“Your bloody right I have questions…” Ignis glared at him before he looked around seeing a void of darkness, “for starters you can tell me where I am? I’m needed at home…”

“For your son, yes…” Regis smiled a little, “I understand, and I assure you, you are still there and only but a fraction of a fraction of time will have passed when we’re done here. As to where we are, this is a realm for the kings. The place we reside to grant our power to our descendants and those you deem fit to bestow our gift to.”

Ignis turned to him again looking him over. His entire perception of the man before him had changed. He admired him once, and now he was bitterly angry at him, “…why?”

Regis took a deep breath in before letting it out, “My wife and I desperately wanted a child. We wanted a family together, but every time nothing come of it. As a husband I felt like a failure…and as a husband I could remain so, but as a king it was my duty to produce an heir.”

“Is that all I am then…a product of duty?” Ignis could feel the venom in his words and see that they hurt the man before him.

“For me…yes.” Regis frowned looking down, “It was easier to part from you, if I kept our relationship that way. You were…our kingdom’s future. Then a miracle happened…and Noctis came to be…that never erased who you are though, Ignis.”

“You’ll forgive me…I’m having a hard time accepting all of this.” Ignis shook his head, “Knowing now…it-it changes everything…all our conversations, all the instances you showed interest in me…”

Regis frowned looking away, “All times…that I cherished, but your father made it abundantly clear to me the day we found out about Noctis, that I would not be able to form a relationship with you. Not in the normal sense…”

Ignis looked at him as he went on, “Roderick, was such a good man. A true noble if there ever was one…He took the assignment with grace…but when we no longer had a need…he became a father, a true protective man who never wanted harm to come to his son. He looked me dead in the eyes and spoke with true conviction, ‘He is my son and if any harm befalls him because your royal politics…I will be there to swing the axe at your neck.’”

Ignis blinked surprised that his father would be so bold, “He threatened you?”

“Yes…you have to understand, at that point I was a threat to his family. Any man would do the same.” Regis smiled sadly hanging his head a little, “When he passed…there was this moment I had a chance claim you…raise you as mine, but it didn’t seem right…by that time you were a Scientia. Just as today, you are a Scientia.”

Ignis felt a spark inside him light up at those words, “Your majesty…”

Regis chuckled a little, “Ignis…I don’t expect you to recognize me as your father…but we’re far past formalities at least…”

“…I suppose we are…” Ignis swallowed, “I don’t know where to begin…”

“We have the time…” Regis stepped toward him placing his hands on his arms, “For now…begin with the power that has been inside you this entire time. You have always been exceptional, and I have no doubt with some guidance from Noctis that you will master it…”

He was a Scientia and that is how he would rule this country. He could feel the weight of the ring in his pocket. He hadn’t told anyone about it yet, not even you. How could he? What would he even say, your son showed up from the future wearing the Ring of Luci, I took it from him after he died in my arms?

Yes…that would go over like a lead balloon.

He thought about telling Noctis but decided against it. Noct still desired to rule but knew there could be no division. He was putting the safety of the nation above his wants and desires. For that Ignis respected him more than he had before.

“I appreciate that…I do.” Ignis let out a sigh, “I hope I can amount to everyone’s expectations.”

“You have already far succeeded them.” Gladio smiled at him giving him a pat on the back, “Master the power of kings and you’ll be perfect.”

“Ah yes…that one thing that seems to be in the way of it all.” Ignis turned down the hall leading to the training rooms, “…perhaps you should stay this time…”

“You saying our king is not a good teacher?” Gladio smirked crossing his arms.

“It’s not so much that as…he doesn’t know how to adapt his teaching style to my learning methods…” Ignis’ brow came together in frustration.

“Iggy…” Gladio sighed a little, “You’re not going to learn this from a book.”

“Then mastering it is…” He took in a deep heavy breath, “going to be harder than everyone wants it to be…”

And it was, simple things that should feel natural felt so far from it.

He growled slamming his hand in to the mat, “Ah!”

“Ignis…it’s okay.” Noctis frowned stepping over to him, “It took me a long time to master all of this.”

“I don’t have the luxury of time like you did.” Ignis moved to a sitting position.

Noct sat down next to him letting his arms hang off his knees, “It seems like you’re not…here.”

“What?” Ignis looked at him confused.

Noct chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before he looked at him, “When I first started my training…I didn’t want to do it. I had better things I wanted to do, like play outside or video games. So...I couldn’t get through my lessons here because I couldn’t complete the objective…and it seems like you’re going through the same thing.”

Ignis smiled a little before looking away, “You have become very wise this past year…”

“I’m right aren’t I?” Noct smiled a little at him, “What’s up?”

Ignis shook his head, “I…I’m not sure if I can talk about it…”

“Come on…” Ignis looked at him when he nudged him with his elbow, “I’m your baby brother…you can tell me anything.”

Ignis smiled at him. He’d always thought of Noctis like a brother. He was always there taking care of him, covering for him, taking him places, and Ignis appreciated that not much has changed since they both found out the truth. Taking a deep breath in he slowly reached into his pocket pulling out the ring.

Noctis blinked a few times before holding up his hand looking at the ring on his finger, “Uh…I’m not making the connection…”

“Then let me explain…” Ignis frowned a little and informed him of everything that had transpired a few weeks ago, “After all that…and talking with Regis…I made the decision that I had to take my position as king…”

“Wow…” Noctis frowned looking away for a moment, “damn…”

“I have to figure this out, Noct. I have to save my family…my son.” Ignis looked at him, “So whatever advice you have …I’m listening.”

Noctis sat there for a long time before standing up, “You need to focus on a moment…that means everything to you. Let that push you…let it anchor you to the crystal and then let the power flow through you…”

Ignis stood up brushing his pants off, “What’s your anchor?”

Noctis stared at him before he blushed a little scratching the back of his head, “Uh…well…I don’t remember what it used to be but now…now it’s…it’s you guys.”

“Us?” Ignis felt his eyes widened surprised.

“Yeah, when I think of you guys…I just…I don’t know.” Noctis smiled, “I just think of everything we’ve been through and how much I want to see all of you through it all.”

Ignis was touched. Noctis had truly become the king they needed. It started to get him thinking…

“Ignis?” He looked at Noct, “You got that look in your eye like you found a new recipe…what’s going on?”

He smiled placing a hand on his shoulder, “Nothing that’s important now…I need to think on it, but you’ve given me an idea…”

You looked over from the couch as the door opened late that night. You smiled seeing Ignis walking inside, “There you are.”

“I’m sorry…” He sighed setting his bag down and taking off his shoes, “I know I said I would be home early today…”

You stood up walking over to him helping him with his jacket, “It’s alright, I know you have a lot going on…”

He turned to you as you hung up his coat on the rack, “You’re far too understanding.”

“Well…I mean I’m not happy about it but…” You shrugged a little turning to back to him, “not much I can do either. So I will remain the supportive wife at home.”

He sighed taking your face into his hands before he kissed you, “I miss being home with you already…”

“Yeah…me too.” You leaned into the hand that began caressing your cheek, “I do know what it’s like though…which is why I’m trying very hard to be understanding…but it would be nice to see you at some point…”

“I’m here now.” He leaned his forehead against yours shutting his eyes.

“But you’re exhausted.” You smiled placing your hands over his, “And you need to be rested to preform your duties…you’re only going to get busier…”

“All the more reason…” He let his one arm slither down around your waist, “to used my time with you more wisely…”

“Your majesty…are you trying to seduce me?” You giggled watching his eyes snap open, “I’m sorry…I couldn’t resist…”

“Uh huh…” He smirked a little before drawing your face in for a kiss. Fire rushed through his veins as he scooped you up. The delightful noise of surprise only stroked the fire making it burn hotter.

He merely thought of bedroom and when he opened his eyes they were there. Falling deeper into the moment he gave it little thought sinking down onto the bed as your fingers raked through his hair. His hands moved your shirt up allowing his fingers the privilege to touch your delicate skin.

You helped him drawing it up and over your head, and while you were in the vulnerable position, he planted his face against your breast. First just taking a deep breath of your scent allowing it to wash over him sending him further down the hole of euphoria. Secondly, he wanted to feel your heartbeat.

He found peace shutting his eyes listening to the thrumming of your heart and the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. Soon he pulled away looking up to your darkening eyes. He knew that look and he smiled ready to give you everything you wanted.

It was the same look you gave him the first time. The same time you told him everything you needed was right in front you in him. For all the problems they were dealing with then…it seemed simpler then everything they were dealing with presently.

Later his hand clutched yours as he kissed tasty the salty sweetness of your back while his other hand dug tightly into your hip. You collapsed beneath him and he soon followed slowly lowering himself beside you. He swallowed taking in several deep breaths shutting his eyes, “I love you…”

You let out a laugh before he felt you roll over snuggling into his side. He opened his eyes looking down to your flushed face. Your eyes were bright and wild as you spoke, “I love you too.”

“You laughed…” He smirked a little as you shut your eyes exhaustion finally catching up to you.

“I just always find it humorous that you proclaim that every time we finish.” You wrapped around him.

“Would you rather I said nothing?” His arm came to rest around you as he pulled the blankets up around the both of you.

“Heavens no…” You shook your head, “It’s just my bad sense of humor catching up to me…I love that you say it. I especially love it when you rasp it out in the middle of things.”

He felt himself blush, “Well…you make me feel…worthy and I want you to now it…”

“Hm…” You gave him a squeeze shutting your eyes, “You make me feel the same…”

He smiled kissing the top of your head before he shifted a little to stand. You made a noise of protest, “I would like to kiss my son goodnight…I’ll be right back.”

Your eyes cracked open slightly as you smiled, “Give him a kiss for me.”

He leaned back kissing you long enough that he almost started things again. When he pulled away he was sure he head another pout, but he didn’t stop to investigate this time. Quietly he crept across the hall into Ulric’s room.

He looked down at him sleeping soundly in his bed. Reaching down he picked up kissing him before rocking him in a bouncing motion to keep him asleep, “There there…I just wanted to hold you a moment…”

He didn’t fuss much as he sat down in the rocker with him drifting back to sleep. Ignis smiled rocking gently, “I think I figured it out…and it’s all thanks to you.”

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 02: World Change

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,297

Tag List: @luxekook​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @stillcopingxx​, @taevkimchi​, @aroseforyoongi​, @vivpurple7​, @happilystrongthroughthedark​, @sw33tnight​, @nikkitane​,

AN: I hope everyone is enjoying the series so far. I know I’m getting these chapters out slowly, but I am also updating multiple fics at a time (as I’m sure you’re all aware). Please be patient with me. It will be worth the wait, I promise! If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” - Mahatma Gandhi

Yoon glanced over his shoulder, giving both Namgil and Bidam a look for them to remain in the hall with the other servants. They bowed their heads low as two attendants slid open the door to the King’s study, allowing the Crown Prince to enter. Once he crossed the threshold, the door slid closed and his eyes quickly adjusted to the various beams of light that slipped into the room. His father was seated at his dark oak wood desk, multi-colored scrolls and other documents stacked off to one side. He was in deep discussion with a man kneeling at his side. They didn’t appear to notice Yoon - at least not outwardly. But from all his training, the Crown Prince could sense how alert the stranger was despite his relaxed posture.

His eyes narrowed sharply at the man. He looks like a mountain brigand, but clearly he isn’t. Yoon pursed his lips together into a thin line. There is not a single vulnerable opening circling his entire person.

“Seja,” cut his father’s voice through his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the serious expression vacant from the King’s face as he motioned for Yoon to come forward. “Come, Crown Prince. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Bowing his head, he approached his father’s desk. He swiped the front of his robes to the side so he could sit properly. The other man shifted his position so that he was now facing Yoon, though still kneeling on the ground. Yoon trained his eyes on the stranger, denoting the scars on his arms and one near the jaw by his left ear. 

“This is my former bodyguard, Min Dojin,” explained the King as he rounded the desk to stand before Yoon, “and also a dear friend of mine. Dojin-ah, this is my son, Crown Prince Injong.”

Raising his brows, Yoon took another look at the man and everything made sense as to why his demeanor seemingly held no weaknesses. He’d heard stories about Dojin from his parents and even the Queen Dowager. There were servants that lived in the palace halls before his birth that also knew his name. The reasons circling his departure from the palace were surrounded in mystery. Bidam whispered tales of Dojin’s accomplishments, swearing that he would become as strong and well-known as the warrior upon his installment to becoming Yoon’s bodyguard. 

There were dozens of questions that flooded the Crown Prince’s mind, but he abstained from giving them a voice. Instead, he waited for Dojin to bow his head low to him and, out of general respect, Yoon gave a half bow to the warrior.

“It is an honor, Crown Prince Injong. I was there on the night of your birth and I’m pleased to see how well you have grown up.” Dojin’s voice was deep, rich, and full of sincerity. 

Yoon was immediately suspicious. “And I have heard many stories of your heroic exploits, Sir Min.” He smiled. “You will have to take a moment to share them with me while you are in the Capital.”

Dojin’s head remained lowered. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Abba Mama,” Yoon lifted his face up to peer into the King’s eyes, “you have never summoned me to your study. I can only surmise that the reason is urgent?”

The King chuckled, leaning down to place a hand on his shoulder. “Not so much urgent as it is personal.”

I guessed as much, Yoon thought, mentally restraining his smirk from forming into a sneer. He waited for his father to visually motion toward him before standing. “Is everything alright, Father?”

“Everything is fine, Seja. Fret not.” He unfurled one of the silk scrolls, his eyes roving the parchment, before handing it to Yoon. “It’s time for you to involve yourself with public relations. Are you alright with this, Crown Prince?”

Taking the scroll, he quickly read over the decree before lifting his gaze to meet his father’s eyes. “But Father, this is--”

“Indeed, my Prince, it is.” There was something dancing behind the King’s eyes and Yoon was unsure of what that something was. “You are to depart as soon as a caravan has been formed. I assume you will only need a couple of days to prepare?”

Yoon’s eyes lingered on the scroll for a moment longer before he rolled it up and held it at his side. He bowed his head low. “That is more than enough time, Your Majesty.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Seja,” his father responded. When Yoon lifted his head again, he saw a warm smile decorating his father’s visage. “I am counting on you to do well with this.”

This time, Yoon bowed deeply at the waist, his arm pressed gently against his stomach. “Your Majesty’s grace is immeasurable.”

He waited to be dismissed before pivoting on his heels just as the servants slid the doors open to allow him to enter the hall. Casting a sidelong glance to both his attendant and bodyguard, they lowered their heads. “Let’s go. We have much to prepare.”

They strode through the halls, exiting the main palace and traveling the stone path toward his own palace. Yoon pulled out the scroll and looked over it again, shifting only slightly as he felt Namgil and Bidam pressing against him on both sides. He grunted, speeding up his pace so they didn’t overcrowd him. It took them less than five seconds to do it all over again. Yoon gave up eventually.

“What is your assignment, Crown Prince?” Bidam peered over his shoulder. “And when do we leave?”

“We leave in two days and start preparations immediately.” Yoon rolled the scroll closed and stuffed it back into the confines of his sleeve. “We will depart between the hours of the Tiger and the Rabbit.”

Namgil grimaced. “Heavens above, that early?!”

Yoon was already mentally preparing himself for the journey. “The sooner we begin our journey, the sooner we can handle any obstacles that may impede our path.”

Bidam clutched the sheath of his sword. “Do you anticipate trouble, my Prince?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “I always anticipate a problem to arise, Bidam-ah.” 

While his bodyguard smirked with the idea of traveling and potential excitement being thrown their way, it was Namgil who issued a whine that caused Yoon to loft a brow. “What troubles you, Namgil-ah?”

“Nothing, Your Highness,” he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck; his dark green robes fluttering as they walked, “I simply worry of what an arduous journey this will be. I have never traveled this far from home.”

“Well, we shall have our fortunes read before we depart,” Yoon replied, pressing a hand to his attendant’s shoulder, “she’s never steered us wrong before.”

“A foreign sorceress only breeds unrest, Your Highness.” The eunuch frowned. “I worry that she will one day take advantage of your trust and kindness.”

Scoffing, Bidam shrugged as he folded his arms across his chest. “It’s almost harrowing how accurate she is.” He looked to Yoon as they entered the archway of the Crown Prince’s palace. “Foresight aside, is she as powerful as the rumors say she is?”

“My father has always followed her guidance and has never been wrong. She’s been sincere with me and her affections are genuine.” Yoon paused, staring into the lake where the koi fish swam beneath the lotus blossoms. His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Kalina would never betray me.”

There was a distinct tension in the air that placed all of his entourage into silence. Some of the servants in the back were afraid to even breathe. After what felt like a handful of minutes, Yoon moved toward the entrance of his palace, stepping out of his shoes as two servant girls slid open the doors for him immediately. Crossing the room, he flung his robes back before falling into a seated position on the silk cushion situated behind his desk.

“Have a messenger fetch Kalina immediately.” Yoon rested his hands on his knees. “I believe she is due back from her travels any day now.”

“Yes, Crown Prince. Right away!” Namgil motioned to another young eunuch who immediately departed to do as he was told.

Yoon placed the scroll on his desk, unfurling it so that he could see the assignment given to him by his father. He would be traveling to Ming to speak with the Emperor himself. As he surmised, tensions between Ming and Japan were escalating. His duty was to play the liaison, creating a compromise that would benefit Joseon in the midst of an impending crisis.

A dark smirk played on his lips. He would give him no quarter.

Pulling out one of the drawers in his desk, he picked up the handcrafted pearl hairpin that he commissioned to have made from one of the palace’s royal artisans. The end was carved to look like a lotus blossom, the iridescent shine to the ornament granting it an otherworldly glow. 

Kalina, he thought, curling his fingers over the rod of the hairpin, how I long to have you in my arms again…

“I wish you would cease your squirming, Young Master. You are only making this ordeal take longer than it should.”

Yoongi frowned as he felt Kali’s slender fingers combing through his hair. He waited for her to finish taking measurements, then watched her remove a set of shears from her bag. He glared back at his reflection in the mirror as she began cutting his hair. 

“I have to be the only man in all of Joseon whose hair is this short.” He saw Kali toss him a pointed look into the mirror as he gazed into it. “You know it to be true.”

She sighed and shook her head, part of her raven hair falling about her shoulders in waves while the rest remained pinned up to the side. “I am simply doing what I have been told, Young Master. You are only delaying the inevitable.”

Groaning, he could only watch as his hair fell in small clumps around his knees. Before Kali entered their lives, his own father would cut his hair - ensuring that it was short, around his ears, and never long enough to be pulled into any kind of braid or top knot. As if the scar on Yoongi’s face wasn’t jarring enough, his own hairstyle stood out among the crowds in even their small village.

“I wish you would stop calling me that.” Kali paused her motions, her malachite eyes gazing back at Yoongi’s reflection. “I am no noble. There’s no need to call me Young Master, Kali-ssi.”

For a moment, all she did was stare at him through the mirror’s reflection. Her green eyes were a stark contrast to his own darker brown tones, but that wasn’t the only thing entrancing about her. Kali’s skin was brown, like fresh earth kissed by the rays of morning, and her heart-shaped face was perfectly symmetrical. Yoongi studied face reading for a time and he knew that everything from the arch of her brows to the cupid’s bow lips needled at perfection. Kali was a foreigner from the West, her homeland spanning deserts and forests and wild animals. Nestled beneath her exotic perfection was a wealth of power that Yoongi could never hope to begin to understand.

Kali was a foreigner. She was also a sorceress. 

Yoongi loved every single square inch of her and beyond.

The troubling part was how he never had the heart to voice his feelings aloud. To himself or to her. Because he was a nobody and while Kali rarely spoke of her own personal affairs, he knew that he was far beneath her.

Suddenly, he felt Kali’s cheek press against his temple, her nails gently gliding along the back of his head and down the column of his neck. His heart thundered in his chest immediately.

“K-Kali-ssi,” he stammered, her hands gliding through his cropped hair to rid it of loose tendrils, “what’s wrong?” She was only ever this hands on when she felt she had to tell him something.

“Sweet Yoongi,” she gently framed his face with her hands, “sometimes I think you are too good for this world.”

Yoongi blinked into her green eyes, entranced by them. “What do you mean?”

“When I think about the road you will travel, it hurts my heart so terribly.” Kali’s brows furrowed and a soft sheen appeared in her eyes. “You are the shadow that deserves the light. It is your destiny and I wish that I could take you far away from it.”

He felt confusion swirling inside of his chest. Kali often spoke like this from time to time. But in all the years he’d known her, he could not remember a time when it sounded so ominous. Yoongi learned, however, never to press her too hard in her cryptic words. The response was almost always damaging, both to her and the area around her.

Feeling his body moving, he gasped when his cheek was pressed against her chest. Kali’s arms wrapped themselves around him, as if protecting him from some unknown force. He felt her chin fall atop the crown of his head and all he could do was cradle her elbow as the sound of her heartbeat reverberated in his ears.

Something is troubling her greatly, he thought, his fingers pressing into the silk sleeves of her robe, and there is nothing I can do to ease her mind.

Her arms pulled him just a little bit closer to her and Yoongi reminded himself to breathe.

“The tiger walks proudly in the sunlight. His ambition and arrogance will harm those whom he is meant to protect. But his unquenchable thirst will place him on the path to madness.” Kali’s voice sounded so far away. “When the tiger loses itself to madness is when you will step out from the shadows.” 

Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat. She was in that place she often went to. That place he didn’t understand. The Veil was what she called it. 

Her voice made his ears ring and he closed his eyes tightly. “Kali-ssi, I don’t understand what--”

“This tiger is you, but not you. You will face him and be forced to make a choice. Whichever choice you make will cause you great pain. You cannot avoid it.” She pulled back, once again framing his face in her palms and forcing him to look into her hypnotic eyes. “But you, Young Master, the one raised in the ditch, will soar from the earth as a grand dragon.”

His eyes widened as all moisture vacated his mouth. What she was insinuating was madness by itself. The tiger’s insanity was a minor thing compared to the heresy spilling from Kali’s lips. She may have been a foreigner and a sorceress, but if anyone else heard her utter such prophecies, she would be killed immediately.

“You mustn’t say such things,” desperation seeped from Yoongi’s throat. His hands trembled as he gripped onto her wrists. “Your words are outrageous and will get you beheaded!”

Kali’s eyes narrowed and she peered deep into his own umber tones. “I speak only the truth, Young Master. Those who fear the truth merely delude themselves into believing they can escape it. The paths of destiny were forged long before you or I were born into this world.”

Yoongi shook his head roughly back and forth. Tears leaked from his eyes as he all but threw himself into Kali’s arms. If what she spoke was, indeed, the truth, then he wanted to live a lie. He wanted to find a way to escape that truth and bask in the greatest lie that could ever be told. 

Again, the sorceress placed comforting arms around his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on his back. She hummed softly, a tune he was unfamiliar with but one that calmed his rattling nerves. He felt like a child being comforted by a mother, but also like a man who was receiving a lover’s caress to chase the darkness away.

“Have no fear, my gentle Young Master.” Kali smiled and petted the back of his head. “You will not have to face this mad tiger. Not yet. When the people cry tears of blood, when they wail to the heavens for salvation? That will be the time when you must face this tiger.”

He was confused. He didn’t understand why it had to be him. He was nothing. He was nobody. All Yoongi could do was pray that Kali was seeing a possible future. One that would never come to pass. 

“I will protect you. I, Shuri Kalina, will protect you with everything that I am.” She pressed a kiss to his temple and he breathed in her scent of nutmeg and jasmines. “I promise you, sweet dragon.”

Yoongi sobbed. It was a sob that he could no longer suppress. Because he understood the weight of her words; the true meaning behind them. Kali, the woman who seemingly never aged in all the years he’d known her, was making a declaration to him. A bold one, at that. One that he could not even pray to have been a lie. There was so much truth in her words that it hurt to listen to them. But he had no choice but to hear her proclamation to him. 

Not as a woman to a man. But as a servant to their master.

AN: For those who are curious, a couple of things to note. Crown Princes have the name they are born with and a "rank/title" name. This is considered a "disciple" name that is acknowledged and referenced by others in historical records. In this case, Lee Yoon's Crown Prince "name" is Injong. Also, it was also common for "time" to be labeled using the Zodiac Calendar or the Chinese Calendar. So each zodiac animal is used for the twelve hour marks - 2 hours for every hour.

[talesofsonicasura]

Keeper of Dreams

A story I written last year and can be considered a very weird brain child if I'm being honest. We've seen the ridiculous power that certain cute citizens of Dreamland can conjure up. Let's see how it goes involving a certain devil filled universe.

Children missing, wife slain and seriously injured, a dark knight treads to find the pieces of his now broken life. Funny thing is... Dreams come to those that least expect it and for Sparda, they can be his salvation, whether big or in case this particular case, cute and very small.

Long long ago, there existed a world of dreams. A place where innocent thoughts of every living creature manifested and brought to life. This world, Popstar, was the holder of the country of bliss known as Dreamland. It was very peaceful filled with all kinds of bright and wonderful characters in the shape of its citizens and wildlife. Dreamland was the core of the Dream World which existed between imagination and reality. Creatures of the dark, Nightmares threatened the balance to destroy Dreamland with the Dream World following.

However it had its own protectors, the Star Warriors and their leader, the Dream Keeper. The Star Warriors were fighters born from the hearts of the brave and kind, each powerful and unique in their own right. The Dream Keeper, their general, a being who possesses the essence of the God of Dreams himself capable of traveling from reality to Dreamland with ease.

Every Dream Keeper and their warriors were successful in driving back the nightmares while protecting Dreamland especially with the power of their strongest warrior. However all good things had to come to an end. Dreamland was under attack from the inside. Their strongest warrior had been taken over by a malevolent force that they had never seen before. The land was in a panic, especially since it was also the day that the child of their Dream Keeper had been born. A child who wouldn't be able to protect herself.

Whatever changed their comrade was devouring everything in darkness as it spread like a vile disease. Dreamland had to be abandoned, the sacred core and the Dream Keeper's child evacuated immediately. The Dream Keeper gathered all of his available warriors and his most trusted comrades. He turned to his main general but also closest friend and handed the warrior his child with a final task. "Protect her." The Dream Keeper was going to face his possessed warrior alone.

The Star Warriors tried to stop him but their most trusted general stood in their way. They realized their keeper's daughter and the core came first. With heavy hearts, the Star Warriors evacuated leaving behind their home empty of life except for their lost comrade and their Dream Keeper. One large flash of light was seen through the darkness that consumed Dreamland whole. A red butterfly fluttering towards them once the light had died.

Their keeper and most cherished friend were both forever gone. What was left of their fallen comrades was their two children. The Dream Keeper's daughter and the child of their fallen friend. Soon years had passed, the Star Warriors watched over the two children of that dark night, Rosa and Kirby. The young girl and the pink puffball were inseparable, never saw one without the other. The sacred core had crafted an item to house a brand new Dreamland, the Book of Dreams. They spent time looking for lost civilians and missing comrades but also a place where they could rest and recover.

Rosa and Kirby being trained to not only protect themselves but the Book of Dreams for it now laid on Rosa to protect it. The group had safely made it to their deceased generals home, the Planet Earth. The monsters of the past wouldn't be able to reach them in their previous general's realm. The rescue ship descended to the surface below, perfectly concealed within the woods of a place near a city called Redgrave. Kirby and Rosa, being as mischievous as young children were, ran off to explore the woods. An act that changed everything.

A little girl of around 7 years old was playing in the field of flowers within the forest. Her hair curly and pink like magenta roses, eyes a sparkling green and two yellow star shaped marks on her slightly rosy cheeks. Following her was a tiny strange creature. It was pink and reminded anyone of a puffball upon first glance, dark blue eyes, red shoe like feet, stubby little arms and absolutely adorable. Their names were Rosa Everglade and Kirby Kabai. Siblings in bond not blood.

"You have to be faster than that to catch me brother!" Rosa giggled. The little puffball Kirby giggled too before speeding up to catch up with his sibling. It didn't take long for Kirby to jump on the girl before they rolled and tumbled through the field laughing. Rosa however stopped when she spotted a growing puddle of red and a shadow covering her.

Her eyes looked up to meet the body of an injured male giant. His purple coat dyed in large blotches of red, white cravat stained crimson, white gloves though one was completely red holding a bleeding wound, skin deathly pale and ice blue eyes foggy under a monocle.

He eyed Rosa before his pale orbs landed on Kirby and those foggy blue widened greatly. The man wobbled then tilted before beginning to fall towards the ground. He would have hit it too, if two gloved hands didn't grab him. These hands belonged to a grey masked dark blue puffball with glowing yellow eyes, purple armored boots, dark blue shoulder pads marked by a yellow M and soft purple cape. "Papa Meta Knight. Is he going to be okay?" Rosa questioned looking at the dark blue puffball unperturbed.

"Don't worry little star. He'll be okay once Doctor Healmore treats his injuries but it'll take time for him to adjust upon seeing Kirby. For now let's return to the Halberd, everyone is worried sick about you both." The knight spoke, calm voice riddled heavily with a Spanish accent. Rosa merely scratched her head sheepishly while Kirby tilted his head clearly confused.

It had been a trap. An ambush to separate him from his mate and nestlings. Something Sparda foolishly ran into without thought. For a 2000 year old demon, he was such a fool. He was fortunate that he had survived but 1 cm to the right and the Legendary Dark Knight would've been slain for sure. Yet it was too late for his family.

Came back to a now burning home, missing nestlings nowhere to be seen or sensed and the still blood covered body of his human mate laying outside the park lifeless. His carelessness had cost him dearly but he couldn't lay there to die. His nestlings were out there somewhere, alive.

Thought about to rest up and regain some of his strength was interrupted when he had sensed it. A peculiar energy slightly demonic in nature but one he couldn't read the remainder of its whole. However it felt bright, similar to that of his nestlings. Very very close to the point it could be his two sons. Sparda pushed himself forward from there.

Dragging himself to that signature, his wounded body leaving a trail of red as he went. He couldn't stop… he had to find them… Then his eyes laid on magenta hair and green eyes… A little girl around his nestlings' age before falling on the source. A nestling of some sort...round and puffy but he could easily feel the ocean of power in its tiny form along with a shred of hope… Then everything went black.

A quiet beeping repeated in his head as he grumbled in pain. Bright blue eyes opened up to stare into dark blue and black cute orbs under glasses. These eyes belonging to a small blue puffball dressed as a doctor. What was the word to describe something like this creature? Cute...if he remembered correctly.

Sparda looked at what he guessed was the doctor who treated him with a bewildered look. "Good to see you are awake. You were quite beaten up when Meta Knight brought you in. Giving 7 year old kids scares like that isn't a smart thing to do." A soft adult male voice came from the puffball. Strange he would admit, but he would be a hypocrite to judge.

The puffball jumped off his chest as Sparda sat up on the hospital bed and now able to see his surroundings. He appeared to be in a 'medical bay' being the human's version of a healer though it appeared the room was mixed with things he'd seen in hospitals along with actual magic ingredients healers used from his memory used. A mix of past and modern being the term. "Where am I? May I ask thou name who healed me?" Sparda inquired, the puffball let out an amused chuckle.

"Thy name is Simon Healmore, chief doctor of the Halberd's medical bay. I asked my assistants to give you space since we didn't want to overwhelm you once you woke up. Would you like to speak with our captain? He was the one who brought you here himself after all." Healmore questioned, looking at the dark knight. He had a thoughtful look but nodded.

"You can come in Captain Meta Knight!" Healmore called as the armor knight walked in his cape coating his body almost like a count. Sparda was honestly surprised that the masked puffball was even able to carry him but he could feel the immense power in this Meta Knight's small body. Looks can be pure deception.

"I am glad you appear better now. My name is Meta Kishin or what my subordinates and my adoptive daughter Rosa calls me Meta Knight. I am the captain of the Halberd and it's crew." Meta Knight spoke before giving a respective bow. Sparda could smile at the irony of being rescued by a warrior like Meta. He was more humble than other devils who held the title of knight and even a fraction of the masked creature's power. "I thank you for saving my life. My name is Sparda, known to others as the Legendary Dark Knight." Sparda bowed back in honest gratitude.

"Can I ask why a devil general was attacked by his own kind? We already knew when I brought you in that you were a demon. Star Warriors can sense what is human and what is not. Your wounds reek purely of demon." Meta questioned taking the human disguised devil by surprise. He heard stories about the Star Warriors and their home, Dreamland. It was a fairytale for many demons since Dreamland holds the source of unimaginable power. Power that could rival every demon king that ever ruled.

"I betrayed my own kind by protecting humankind and had two children with my human mate… I was ambushed and led away from my family. Found my dear mate laying lifeless and both of my nestlings vanished." Sparda said softly in sorrow and regret.

Meta Knight's eyes turned light blue and Healmore had a saddened look on his face. "I am very sorry for your loss. Though if I may ask a question... how did you find Rosa and Kirby?" The knight questioned. No demon could lock onto the aura of a Living Dream. They can hide themselves from their supernatural senses unless injured or ill.

"I felt a faint signature of demonic energy similar to my nestlings. I followed it only to find the little girl and that small pink nestling instead." Sparda answered, Simon's eyes widening in response. "That explains it. The reason why Kirby has traces of demon energy… he must have been born of your children's dreams. The people of Dreamland are born from fragments of dreams, especially those of children. Kirby must have been made from fragments of your own children's dreams and in turn carry a signature similar to them." Simon explained as Sparda had a wistful look.

"Made from my nestlings' dreams? No wonder why I felt both Dante and Vergil's own energy from Kirby and the massive amount of power hidden deep inside. Can Kirby have the potential to seek out my sons?" Sparda questioned Meta Knight. "You are correct though Kirby isn't able to at the moment. He's too young to properly sense your children's energy but it doesn't mean your children aren't safe. On the night Kirby was created, a spell was cast." Meta Knight explained.

"Weaver's of this newborn dream. Granted protection under the Dream God's seam. Safe haven shall always be grant. Impenetrable from the force of any tyrant. Yet sanctuary shall isn't forever. If thy bond fell prey to hatred's endeavor. Death will truly flood. By the first crimson spray of thy own blood." Simon quoted. Sparda easily understood what it detailed.

"My children are safe...until they draw the blood of one another?" Sparda questioned. "Correct. If they purposely harmed the other with the intent to kill or with pure hatred, the spell preventing them from facing death will break. This spell is granted for each creator of a Star Warrior as a sort of blessing." Meta Knight explained. "Then it should give me time to find my sons." The former demon general picked himself off from the bed.

"I rather not rush off if I were you. It won't be easy finding your kids and you haven't fully recovered your strength yet. Fighting alone almost got you killed once and it wouldn't miss the opportunity to try again." Healmore spoke, Sparda looked back at the doctor. It was clear neither of them were going to back unless...

"I think an arrangement should be made. We'll help you recover and find your sons. In exchange, we wish for information about this world and a chance to find a safe haven to house the refugees on my ship." Meta Knight offered much to both occupants' surprise. Sparda went in thought for a moment upon those words.

The knight had raised very important points. He hadn't recovered his power and also had no resources that could help him find his nestlings. There's the fact he is alone and no safe place to recuperate or any leads. If he took Meta Knight's offer then not only could he get back his full power and find his sons but he will also have powerful allies to assist him and a place to go if things ever went to Hell. "Very well Meta Knight. I shall agree to your offer." Sparda said as Meta Knight bowed in agreement.

"Yay! Spar-Spar gets to stay!" Came a childish giggle for Rose and Kirby popped up from underneath a table to their surprise. "Great Kabu! Were you two hiding under there the whole time?!" Healmore asked, clearly taken off guard by the children's entrance. "Spar-Spar! Spar-Spar!" Kirby giggled while he nodded.

Sparda couldn't help but raise his eyebrow in amusement at the ridiculous name the two kids gave him. "Mischievous little imps aren't they?" Sparda asked, obviously amused watching the two children run around him. Out of everything he was called in his life, no one had ever called the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, Spar-Spar.

"Rosa and Kirby, if you have enough energy to run circles around our guest then you have energy to go to Susie and Magolor for your daily lessons. Or do I have to get Dedede to take you both there." Meta Knight asked as that got the sibling duo to stop in their tracks. "Ok! We're going meanie! Please don't get Pen-Pen on us! Come on Kirby!" Rosa exclaims, both kids ran out of the room leaving a trail of dust in their wake from how fast they went.

Healmore chuckled seeing how quick the little kids were to leave. "King Dedede sure left an impression on those two. Though considering his habit of taking their desserts as punishment and the sweet tooth both siblings have it's understandable. Now then Sparda, we did manage to find you a room to sleep in. However considering the large amounts of refugees, you'll be sharing a room with Taranza for now. Taranza is one of our best mages and highly skilled at our craft. He is also the best when it comes to showing the ins and outs of the ship to newcomers." Healmore explained.

"Very well. I thank you for your hospitality." Sparda answered, the small doctor escorted him out of the medical bay. The white haired man was greeted to an incredible sight that was held in this vast ship. It was a large plaza filled with so much life and energy. Trees, plants and all sorts of flora nestled comfortably amongst multiple stands, tents and businesses. Children of different forms and species were playing as the adults went through their normal lives. It looked more like a town than part of a ship. "Sparda, this is one of the numerous camps within the Airship Halberd. Welcome to Star Plaza." Healmore stated with a smile on his face.

First impressions were everything when it came to meeting new people or going to new places. And if Sparda was honest about something. It was that the Halberd wasn't any normal ship and neither were it's passengers. It was expected when a demon witnessed something only dreams held. And dreams can create the impossible and a bit of magic to bring it to life.

And that is it. Yes. I crossed Devil May Cry with Kirby. Sparda is alive in this because there is a huge lack of stories where he is alive. Not counting the ones that are misleading from inappropriate tagging. Hope you enjoyed it folks!

[hpoelzig]

Pondering GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS (2019)

Director Michael Dougherty amply demonstrates his credentials as a Godzilla fan in bringing to the screen a film that lovingly references myriad aspects of the various Toho series since 1954. This lavish and detailed homage to the legacy of Godzilla is full of nods that aficionados will find delicious and our favorite daikaiju have never looked more conscious and gloriously alive. It is crafted in an American summer blockbuster style in its breathless pacing so that one has to be quite sharp to spot all the goodies he’s woven into this third episode of Legendary’s MONSTERVERSE. While Gareth Edwards’ 2014 GODZILLA employed a Spielbergian touch, Dougherty offers the most Toho-esque installment so far in this franchise. 

Essence of Toho

In my review of the 2014 Edwards film, I had speculated that a MONARCH-centered approach would be best going forward, and indeed that has been the case with both KONG: SKULL ISLAND and this film. Dougherty has taken that Toho Showa series’ leap into “super science,” with defensive masers, secret bases around the globe enveloping recumbent daikaiju, and the ORCA device, meant to communicate with the Titans. This approach, sort of sci-fantasy, enlarges the sandbox in which he can play and recalls what has been part of so many prior Godzilla outings. MONARCH’s Argo, an immense flying wing, seems to echo the various “Super X” vehicles from the Heisei series, the Marvel Comics S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier Behemoth from their Godzilla: King of the Monsters series, as well as being a nod to both the flying wing from George Pal’s THE WAR OF THE WORLDS (the Northrop YB-49) and to the name of the ship from JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS, so well depicted by Ray Harryhausen. One particular delight for me was the Osprey’s arrival at the Castle Bravo facility, recalling the opening of DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, where a helicopter descended into a similar circular vertical tunnel to reach the hidden base on Monster Island. And, as Toho had done with its production design, these MONARCH scientific/military installations are full of gigantic screens surrounded by flashing lights from which “officially concerned” humans can monitor the global monster action at a safe distance.

Eggleton’s Impact

I was impressed by the painterly cinematography in this most Eggletonian-looking of Godzilla films—I actually expected to see Bob acknowledged in the credits as his visual style so permeates many scenes. Fans of his paintings cannot miss how much of the imagery is flavored by this extraordinary artist’s numerous works. That impressionistic sensibility Edwards had captured in the HALO descent to San Francisco scene infuses much of this movie. And his method for viewing the Titans from human perspectives to make their scale apparent was also deliberately maintained by Dougherty. Despite so much care having been lavished on the sweeping imagery, these sumptuous frames fly by in fractions of a second, which has sadly become the standard action film approach to editing and pacing. That for me is a disservice to those who clearly worked diligently to craft impressive and iconic visuals—such splendor should not be snatched away so swiftly from our hungry eyes. Lingering just a bit longer on some of these fantastic moments would have been so much more satisfying. When King Ghidorah seizes Rodan’s volcanic aerie and regenerates his missing head in a very bizarre, placental manner, his dominance over a foreground cross suggests his demonic power, much as FANTASIA’s Chernabog perched atop Mount Triglav—a gorgeous and potent symbol. He then sends out a call to rouse the world’s Titans to do his bidding as their “usurper king.” That pivotal moment passes far too quickly. Would that the two flanking heads have paused and then looked to the central dominant head, who would return their gazes, then look skyward and begin voicing “the call.” Then the other two would join-in, very deliberately, with some unearthly new sound reaching out to be that irresistible global conscription summons. That could have kicked the scene up significantly. The triple voiced sound used in the film was less of a command, rather a sort of keening, which quietly lingered in the following scenes of the other Titans awakening. For my tastes it should have had more of a dramatic emphasis—and have been audibly unique to the moment. Even somehow having King Ghidorah take note of his new troops as they each arise and perhaps respond audibly to his summons would have made his dominance much clearer and more exciting—perhaps cutting back to him as his heads express a knowledge of each new disciple’s activation?

Daikaiju Design

The designs of the quartet of classic Toho stars move to the top of my favorites, as each are detailed, expressive, and dynamic. Tweaking Godzilla’s look to enlarge his dorsal plates and having them flicker even when not powering up for a blast of nuclear plasma works well—he crackles with latent energy. While the 2014 look is an excellent, naturalistic one, changing the primary row of dorsal plates to repeat the 1954 design and then bumping up the secondary rows to Heisei-styled size makes him more in line with earlier Gozilla incarnations. I’d still like him to sport a proper tertiary row of plates that are clearly defined, which has been a common aspect of many incarnations of the King of the Monsters. Taking those sauropod-esque feet and enlarging the claws for more of a predatory aspect looks fearsome, and I like the shortening of the whip tail of the 2014 version to be more like the standard Godzilla profile. And having a new climactic revival of “Burning Godzilla” was a fine choice, reigniting that concept from GODZILLA VS. DESTOROYAH. King Ghidorah is masterfully realized, a proud successor to DRAGONSLAYER’s Vermithrax Pejorative, who can fly, stride or wing-walk with sinuous beauty. That aspects of his wings echo a William Blake image of the Red Dragon really makes for such resonance. The three heads being somewhat independent with unique personalities was also a superb concept. Ghidorah’s condescending curiosity regarding those nasty, puny humans he was seeing for the first time—even to licking their corpses to explore them—brought forth his diabolically sinister consciousness. His gravity beams and the neck-glow charge-up are splendid. Mothra in her bioluminescent glory is stunningly conceived, from impressively carapaced larva to majestic moth-mantis-wasp imago—magnificent, mysterious, and with a feminine puissance. Rodan as the fantasy firebird, a magma-veined pterosaur, fiendishly skeksis-esque in angry avian awareness, has such presence. Bowing like a courtier to both the usurper and finally to the true king, he exhibits a calculating, conscious persona. His thrilling barrel-roll to take out the pursuing jets was about the most spectacular image we’ve seen of him, ever.

As Toho had done in SHIN GOJIRA, Godzilla’s roars from the various series were employed, as well as his roars from the 2014 film. I was hoping for more of the very deep vocalizations from the 1954 original. Mothra sounded as she always has, with plaintive chirrups and screes. The cries for both Rodan and King Ghidorah were not the originals, and were for me a bit more “generic giant monster” voices. I would have loved to hear new recreations of those readily recognizable Rodan yawps and cackles, and much more forward versions of KG’s triple toned “bidi-bidi-bidi” voice—rather than the faint references buried in the raucous sound design. I rather expected more original Toho monster sounds than were used for both of them, since Daugherty was employing past iconic sounds for both Godzilla and Mothra and seemed to be teasing that during the film’s production. 

A Grim Setting

While there is some humor—not all of it apt— intended to break tension, the plot of this film builds upon the global revelation to the people of Earth that past super species were essentially their “gods,” knocking present day humans down a few notches on the dominance pyramid. The context is alarm and terror, though the MONSTERVERSE also offers awe and wonder as viewed through some of those studying the returning Titans. Serizawa remarks in a senate hearing that humanity should be viewed as Godzilla’s “pets”—and he means it. He respects “all forms of life” and sees our world as one that must have a balance which is inclusive of its natural organisms, regardless of where we might end up in Nature’s organic tapestry. Over the course of the film, much is learned about the fascinating past history of human societies who lived in harmony with the Titans. Toho implied some of this in their films—Mothra was regularly portrayed as an eternal goddess for the islanders she protected—but here it is made quite explicit and detailed. Godzilla’s temple lair in submerged Atlantis, with gigantic friezes and sculptures honoring him, is surely an enrichment of this ongoing saga. There is a dark side to this scenario wherein some see humans as being abusive to their world and thus in need of being forcibly “tamed,” and then there is the collective might of the military who want to subjugate these creatures and restore man’s preeminence—behavior that began in the original GOJIRA and sustained throughout most of the films. 

Dr. Emma Russell is an oddly polarized primary character. To begin, she seems a concerned mother who has rescued her daughter Madison from her husband’s descent into alcoholism, which had been incited by the death of their son Andrew during Godzilla’s San Francisco battle with the Muto’s. An aside: That plot aspect is reminiscent of a similar character motivation in the third of Kaneko’s Gamera trilogy, wherein a young girl’s commitment to invoking the destructive daikaiju Iris is sealed by her parents’ collateral death during a monster rampage in the first film where Gamera, an Earth defender, destroys his adversary Gyaos. That Emma is no “mother of the year” is quickly exposed when Allan Jonah’s eco-terrorists arrive to snatch she and her daughter (and her Titan controlling ORCA device) after they execute the innocent MONARCH crew studying Titanus Mosura. Emma has indoctrinated her daughter to comply with her pursuit of shattering mankind’s toxic presence by releasing the Titans as “antibodies” to the virus that is human kind. And Emma is in cahoots with these extremists, her obsession being the first cause setting in motion the slaughter of her MONARCH colleagues in China, Antarctica, and Mexico as well as the other locations wherein the Titans are roused to destroy their containment facilities. And countless others then perish around the globe as the revived Titans rage. The script makes her somewhat sympathetic as a mother—she is shown to love and be concerned with her daughter and mournful of her son—but one could not give her a pass for the oceans of blood on her hands. Nor should she be forgiven for making Madison a victim of Stockholm syndrome. Madison, comprehending the grievous practices kindled by her mother’s theories, does awaken to reject Emma’s deeds and then she strives at great risk to use the ORCA to solve the global catastrophe wrought by both Emma and Jonah’s fanaticism. There is a cut scene in the video release of Madison training with the eco-terrorists which would have underlined her submission to her situation—I would have included that for the parallel with Patty Hearst it presents. Madison ultimately is heroic, and her father Mark renews himself by stepping-up to guide MONARCH’s efforts to understand and control the Titans. He provides some crucial insights based on his knowledge of animal hierarchy and behavior. Ultimately, Emma seeks atonement through her sacrifice, which brings some justice to her character’s story, while Mark and Madison are reunited in a world reeling from cataclysmic destruction. A rather “heavy” arc to this family’s journey, and properly symbolic in dealing with present social concerns. I think that it seemed to be missed by many viewers who were more concerned with the pyrotechnics of the battling Titans, but for me it is a properly grounded human story which offers a grave context to the monster spectacles.

Homages A Plenty

There are so very many references in this film, both visually and via dialogue—“Easter eggs” abound! I’ll touch upon a very few, leaving exhaustingly listing them to other obsessive fans. I enjoyed the numbered MONARCH outposts having significance—the release year of the film in which the Toho daikaiju there contained was a delight and also the fun nod to THE THING in the Antarctica outpost numerical designation. Modernizing the Shobijin by having Doctors Chen and Ling, and generations of twins in their family, as “priestesses” of Mothra is an excellent touch. The new Titans are gleeful references to mythology and cryptozoology, demonstrating that many cultures have embraced daikaiju throughout history. Intriguing archaeological mysteries are touched upon such as 12,000 year old Göbekli Tepe, hinting at past humans dealings with Titans. Even an article in the jam-packed end titles is authored by Steve Martin, the character played by Raymond Burr in the American version of the 1954 film which was first to be titled GODZILLA, KING OF THE MONSTERS. 

MONARCH’s mission critical submarine is named USS Scorpion, after an American nuclear submarine which was lost under mysterious circumstances, and it has a Captain Crane, like The Seaview in VOYAGE TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA. Its conning tower likewise has Seaview-esque planes and shape. The skeleton of Anguirus has a cameo, briefly glimpsed outside of Godzilla’s temple lair, and if only we’d gotten a better look at more of the Atlantean art paying homage to Godzilla—there seem to be monumental figures with Godzilla heads atop humanoid bodies holding some sort of ceremonial weapons which Serizawa passes on his way to revive his “old friend.” A sculpture of Pazuzu is glimpsed atop a step pyramid in that lost city—such artifacts all sadly obliterated to revive Godzilla. Some more time to drink in this elaborately detailed majestic setting would have been appreciated.

Several key plot events here are reshufflings from past Godzilla films. The concept of one daikaiju sacrificing itself to revive another was pivotal in GODZILLA VS. MECHAGODZILLA 2. There, Godzilla is tortured to near death by electrodes from Mechagodzilla which pierced his body and fried his secondary enlarged ganglial areas. Fire Rodan, nearly expired from his conflict with Mechagodzilla, as a dying act drapes himself atop the fallen Godzilla, evaporating into a sparkling mist and then both healing and resurrecting Godzilla, who now has an even more powerful, red-tinged plasma beam. In GMK, Godzilla is the “heel” who fights the more positive trio of Baragon, Mothra and King Ghidorah. Godzilla seemingly kills King Ghidorah, so Mothra makes a direct, suicidal flight at Godzilla who evaporates her with his plasma breath—shared imagery with Daugherty’s film, though here King Ghidorah and Godzilla have reversed roles. In Kaneko’s film, Mothra’s energy descends upon King Ghidorah in a sparkling cloud, reviving him and enhancing his wings and gravity beams for the final combat with Godzilla. That Godzilla thrives on exposure to radiation has long been part of the basic lore of many of the films, and his revival and enhancement through extreme exposure was no surprise as being primary to the MONSTERVERSE’s mythology. And the scene wherein King Ghidorah “powers-up” via biting electrical cables in the Boston battle reminds me of Kong being electrically revived in the original KING KONG VS. GODZILLA. Godzilla’s expression as King Ghidorah takes that bite, and then the massive arcs of electricity that spread out from his wings to clear the attacking human’s jets are both such memorable moments—which could have been given just a bit more time to accommodate earned “oohs and aahs.” 

The novelization of GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS goes into detail about some of the Titans only glimpsed or simply listed in the film, and one hopes they’ll emerge in the next or further MONSTERVERSE installments—if any. There is a beautiful, brief passage in the book which is told from Godzilla’s point of view. We see through his eyes his responsibility as the lord and protector of this world—the globe is his domain and he is aware of the entire planet, sensing time passing through the shifts in Earth’s tectonic plates. He is aware of the much younger Kong, but unconcerned as Kong is only responsible for Skull Island. We know Kong is the last of his kind, and Godzilla also seems to be as well, though in the comic prequel to this film the story of the Godzilla-esque skeleton infested with the two Muto spores was explained as being Dagon—perhaps his elder “cousin”? The Muto which killed him was vanquished by Godzilla between the 2014 and 2019 films in that comic, which also serves to explain the change in his dorsal plates, which Dougherty has said are continually growing, like antlers. It would be a delight if the Kraken, snoozing as it embraces a sunken nuclear submarine, and Mokele-Mbembe, designed according to the legends as part serpent and elephant, had scenes in the films to come. If Godzilla at some point must sacrifice himself to save the world, discovering another younger member of his species in the Hollow Earth regions would not be surprising and would also embrace that “son of Godzilla” concept used in Toho’s series. The sunken Atlantis being part of the subterranean world evokes Verne’s JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH, and of course the 1959 film adaptation concludes with a gigantic lizard menacing the remains of the Lindenbrook party in its ruins. Perhaps there are other humans (humanoids) “down below” as well, in fascinating antediluvian cities, much as Toho posited with the Seatopians, or even like the subterranean Sumerians from THE MOLE PEOPLE? Possibilities abound!

The Score

We’ve been quite fortunate that the scores for Hollywood Godzilla films have been powerful, thematic, and thoughtfully composed works wrought by talented composers. Both Arnold and Desplat crafted magnificent music that expressively carried the action. McCreary’s is the first MONSTERVERSE score to incorporate iconic themes for both Godzilla and Mothra from the Toho scores, and these quotations were well-timed and heightened the drama. Additionally, his new themes are both strong and memorable. The thematic material for King Ghidorah constantly iterates the number three, and the general rising melodic line is even kin to that of Holst’s “Mars, The Bringer of War” from THE PLANETS. The chanting monks’ voices offer a mysterious sense of religious awe to support the diabolical “destroyer of worlds.” Rodan’s theme features whooping horns, as if to echo the “Samurai of the Skies” cries. Even the film’s opening quiet theme has that “Go-Ji-Ra” rhythm that was used in both the 1998 and 2014 films to craft memorable new musical signatures for the King of the Monsters. Most touching was the gorgeous choral music accompanying Serizawa’s Spock-esque sacrifice—which even visually rhymed the descent of the mini-sub with the photon torpedo casket sequence from THE WRATH OF KHAN. The MONSTERVERSE’s Serizawa is essentially a transmogrified Dr. Yamane from the 1954 GOJIRA, a man who studies and appreciates Godzilla as a living being. By having him sacrifice himself not to destroy Earth’s dominant Titan, but to revive him with a nuclear weapon and thus save humanity, works as a pragmatic inverse linking him to the original Dr. Seizawa, the self-immolating physicist who conceived of far too deadly a weapon in the Oxygen Destroyer. McCreary’s “requiem” suited that sequence to perfection. When Godzilla rises again and blasts forth his plasma beam into the sky, the Ifukube-based accompaniment was deeply moving, and the moment Godzilla looked to his human saviors was delightful. He seems to acknowledge their role, much as that of the people from a past civilization who had idolized him, and the soundtrack even has a fleeting phrase of Ifukube’s Godzilla theme much as it was scored for high woodwinds in the requiem from GODZILLA VS. DESTOROYAH—a very brief and subtle nod. McCreary’s triumphant symphonic apotheosis of his own opening Go-ji-ra theme over that concluding acknowledgment of the Earth’s true monarch brought me chills. Being followed immediately by McCreary’s magnificently over-the-top arrangement of B.O.C.’s song “Godzilla” to commence the end titles was fan service of the highest order. Its refrain, “History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man!” is of course the underlying theme of the Legendary MONSTERVERSE. “Bravo!” Maestro McCreary!

Could Be Bettered

Some minor cavils. I prefer to hear the word Ghidorah pronounced in the more euphonious Japanese manner, with the three syllables (ghi-do-rah) given equal emphasis and the first one slightly higher in pitch. One can hear it when watching Toho’s original Japanese prints with English subtitles. Americans emphasize the second syllable (Ghi-DOR-ah), and thus the middle one sounds like the English word door, while the Japanese put the R on the third syllable. I’d have dropped that weak gonorrhea joke, and the “very long fortune cookie” line was a tad clumsy, and a bit out of place for the dignified Serizawa. In this film he seems to take a bit of a back seat to Dr. Mark Russell, once he’s on the scene, which is a bit of a disservice to his character for me. And that his sidekick Dr. Graham is so quickly dispatched by King Ghidorah during his emergence seemed a bit too casual—her character was a fine one, and I’d have enjoyed more from her going forward.

The film brings back the Oxygen Destroyer, a wonderful nod to the original, and they hint at it being tested in the news crawl Madison and Emma have on in the background in their opening domestic scene at the China base. The news commentator’s reporting of “mass die-offs” must be from the military testing it. Rather than having it come as a surprise announcement when the incoming missile is announced by Admiral Stenz, I think that viewers should have been clued-in earlier, and rather easily. The audience primarily sees things from the point of view of the MONARCH characters. But if we go to that senate hearing scene, from which the MONARCH crew departs having been alerted to the eco-terrorist attack on their Mothra temple base—despite being warned that there will be consequences, that scene could have briefly continued. Admiral Stenz would reveal to the committee, once Serizawa and crew have departed, that the military now has a prototype weapon that they think could be used to exterminate the Titans. We’d cut from the blurred footage of the Mutos on the monitor to a graphic of the Oxygen Destroyer (what we saw later when Stenz alerts the Argo team), while Stenz declares this is their tested proposal for conquering the Titans. If one wanted to flesh it out, then perhaps running some brief footage of it killing fish or other forms of life with some dark accompanying music would be a strong punctuation. But even that wouldn’t be required, just that graphic and a Stenz voiceover would have done the trick. So, rather than ending on a weak joke about blurred Titan genitals, we’d have the Oxygen Destroyer’s revelation as added tension for its eventual use.

With such wonderfully detailed renditions of the Titans, particularly the four Toho guest stars, I think they went a bit too far in trying to fit them into their environments by surrounding them with clouds, mists, and fog. This gives the Titan scenes an overall soft and painterly feel, and I can enjoy that aesthetic choice, but seeing the creatures that were so very carefully designed, and whose movements are crafted in such a convincing manner, being obscured far too often I think was an error. Dialing that back somewhat would have been a wiser choice—show us what you’ve got! Particularly in the expert choreography of the battling Titans—which in some scenes appears to have been inspired by Matt Frank’s compositional style—being able to see how the tussles and tumbles progress with greater clarity would have enhanced the viewing experience.

Wishful Thinking

I would hope that there might eventually be a “director’s cut” in some future boxed-set home video release of the MONSTERVERSE films that would relax the pace of this film somewhat—taking time to linger on the beautifully crafted images so that we won’t have to freeze-frame to savor the glories on screen. And the storyboarded but unfilmed mid-credit scene of another Mothra egg being sung to by twin young girls in another hidden temple space beneath a modern city should be added-in or at least exist as part of the extras—possibly an animated version? If the box office returns from the next installment don’t justify further live action films, it would be fun to have a MONARCH-centered animated series exploring the numerous Titans and how humanity must deal with them. The cartoon series that followed the 1998 Emmerich GODZILLA film was quite an improvement over its progenitor, so I suspect something similar could happen with this franchise going forward once live action films are no longer produced.

The Coming Conflict

Daugherty has reportedly had some plot input towards Wingard’s upcoming GODZILLA VS. KONG, and so the end titles give us glimpses into what might be to come via various briefly shown illustrated articles. One explains that the newly emerged Titans were being drawn to Skull Island, so one has to wonder if that locale could at the conclusion become the “Monster Island” of the MONSTERVERSE? That it is a gateway to the Hollow Earth is an exciting prospect, for more mysteries abound there. Already the rumor that the APEX corporation, which funded Colonel Alan Jonah’s eco-terrorists, is now behind the construction of Mechagodzilla (the toys of this character have been leaked already), who will have an ORCA variant built-in to lure Titans to the slaughter. 

King Ghidorah can regenerate in an unearthly manner and the director has mentioned in interviews that his consciousness is spread through his body. Daugherty has said that whatever might have fed on the carcass head could perhaps become some sort of mutating “legion,” perpetuating King Ghidorah, from flies to any sea creatures that took a nibble, if the series goes on. The rumor mill suggests that materials from the brain of this dead head have been used to create a bio-tech controller to enhance Mechagodzilla. Now that we’ve gone to a Showa series sensibility, the film makers have a great deal of latitude for referencing some of the more fantastic concepts from earlier films. With the biggest blockbusters today being super hero fantasies, one need not try to pretend that MONSTERVERSE films are bounded by the laws of our Universe. The relatively more “realist” approach of Edwards’ 2014 GODZILLA has been evolved into a broadly fantastic approach, which reflects much of what Toho had done in all of its series.

Fan Reactions

It seems some Godzilla fans on message boards are now turning on Dougherty’s epic—everyone seems to want each new film to be their vision of the perfect Godzilla film and then disappointment sets in when it isn’t. Yet so many of the films throughout the ongoing saga of Godzilla have been silly, cheesy, daffy, and sometimes just dopey—yet many of we aficionados embrace them all for their charms, after all, we get to see more of Godzilla and his fellow daikaiju. They appeal to quite a wide range of viewers of all ages, and as one ages, different films might head a favorites list based on one’s evolving tastes. Better that more Godzilla tales are wrought and released, regardless of whatever flaws we might find. In GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS the incarnations of our old favorites and some intriguing new Titans are truly extraordinary, brought to vivid life with contemporary effects capabilities. Never before have these sorts of films been graced with such mammoth budgets and been seen by such large audiences around the globe—a golden age for Godzilla is upon us.

Huzzah Daugherty!

Despite its flaws, I find so much to love in this film, particularly that final scene. After Godzilla has vaporized his age-old rival and literally “smoked” his final head, the Titans summoned by Madison’s activation of the ORCA in Fenway Park arrive. Godzilla, battered and weary from his strivings has exhausted the energy gifted to him through his ally Mothra’s sacrifice—like Heracles after his many labors. This unbowed victor is at last confronted by the other awakened super-species. It looks like a further battle could ensue, as Rodan swoops down at last. But, that canny firebird knows his place and thus submits to the true king, with a nod and almost a courtsey-like gesture of his cape-like wings. The other Titans then “bend the knee” and Godzilla bellows his triumphant “skreeonk” as McCreary’s music superbly supports this coronation scene. I felt such a powerful frisson at that moment and do with each repeat viewing. The Titans demonstrate their consciousness, intelligence, and their sense of natural hierarchy in what is one of my favorite conclusions in the entire canon of Godzilla films.

So, I salute Daugherty and all the others involved in what for me is a grand outing for all of the Titans and a very fine addition to the roster of Godzilla’s adventures. I’ve watched it many times since I saw that first Thursday night preview screening, and I continue to enjoy it immensely. Like all of the earlier films, I don’t dwell on what I see as flaws, but I celebrate the unique wonders that have been wrought, and these abound in this Toho-redolent GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS. 

The bar has been raised. Batter-up, Adam Wingard—let the MONSTERVERSE continue!

—Peter H. Gilmore

[queenofcats17]

And They Were Schoolmates

@insane-control-room and I wrote a story about our Joey’s being little kids and going to school together. 

It also takes place in a universe where Johan was adopted by @startistdoodles Jekyll and Charlotte.

AO3 link is here.

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The young children were in school, as most children should be. Johan was one of those students that, if placed near a window, would never pay attention to the class, but he would certainly struggle and try to. He also was a nervous boy in class, especially because he was coming into the school year late, being that he had just been recently adopted into the Drew family. He was nervous about going into a new school, to a new class, in a new city. So he trembled a little bit as the teacher began to introduce him, and she paused, and he held his breath, anticipating the question.

“How do you pronounce your name, dear?” she asked him, and he sighed, “Jo-han or Yo-han, it doesn’t matter.”

“So, everyone, welcome….”

“Johan R-Ramirez. Um. Drew.”

From across the room, another young boy had his eyes glued to the new student. He was slumped over his desk in an attempt to get as far forward in his seat as he could so that he would be able to get a good look at the new boy. This young boy was also named Joey Drew, which was a point of pride for him. 

“I’m gonna be just like Mr. Drew when I’m older,” he would often proclaim. “We’ve got the same name and everything!” He could often be found in a corner, furiously drawing Bendy, Ivy, Alice, and Boris. He wanted to be an artist just like the older Joey Drew. He was not entirely sure if this new boy had a connection to the famous studio head, but he certainly hoped Johan was interested in art too. He did not have a lot of people to draw with.

“What’re you staring at the new kid so much for?” one of the boys in the desk next to him snickered. “You wanna marry him, Freckle?” The reason for this nickname was obvious.

“Fuck off!” Freckle snapped. 

“Joseph! We do not use that sort of language in school!” The teacher’s attention snapped to the freckled boy with the cloud of dark hair. However, Johan, still standing up front, lit up with a bright grin, eyes squinting with awe. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Freckle mumbled, his face going red as he sunk in his seat. Well, there went any chance of the new kid thinking he was cool. The boy who had antagonized him snickered and elbowed his friends, who all laughed as well. Freckle glared at them out of the corner of his eye. The joke was on them. Esther would totally beat them up later. Or maybe not. She was always so worried about getting in trouble lately.

The teacher sighed and shook her head. The only open desk was right next to Joey, and so she gestured to the desk. Johan, a little small for his age, climbed onto his seat, fiddling with his pencils. Freckle immediately forgot his irritation at the other boys, turning his attention instantly onto Johan. Johan smiled at him, winked, then turned sharply to face the boys who had made fun of Freckle with a look in his red eyes that spelled murder, still bearing that adorable small smile, but, his canine teeth seemed sharper than at first glance. Something about him flared danger, an apex predator in the midst of humans, but… was he not simply adorable? The boys shifted in their seats uncomfortably, some long-forgotten survival instinct sparking.

“Whoa,” Freckle whispered, his eyes shining. This boy was going to be his friend, he decided. Because not only had he just stood up for him, but he was also the prettiest person Freckle had ever seen in his life. Freckle thought a lot of boys were pretty, but not like Johan. Johan had eyes that looked like rubies and blue hair! Freckle had never met anyone with blue hair before!

Surreptitiously, Freckle took a piece of notebook paper out of his folder and scribbled a message before crumpling it up and sneakily passing it Johan when the teacher was not looking.

Johan rose an eyebrow, and picked it up, carefully unfolding it and squinting a little to read it.

Written inside, in rather messy handwriting, was:

Do you want to be my friend? 

Yes  No  Maybe

There was a little box beside each answer for Johan to mark.

Johan giggled, but seemed a little nervous. While he read, Freckle watched him intently, with absolutely no subtlety. Johan glanced at him, and blinked, then checked the maybe. He then made a small paper airplane out of it and blew on it to land precisely on Freckle’s desk, right in front of him.

Immediately, Freckle snatched up the paper, scanning the lines for his answer. The ‘maybe’ made butterflies flutter in his stomach. He would have to talk to Johan at lunch, he decided. He let out a small dreamy sigh.

“Joseph? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” the teacher asked, finally noticing that Freckle did not seem to be paying attention at all. Freckle froze, the paper still in his hands. 

“Joseph.” The teacher began to make her way through the desks. “What do you have?”

He could not let her see. Everyone would make fun of him even more! Freckle began to hyperventilate a bit. His first instinct was to shove it in his mouth. But she was almost there! He didn’t have time! Johan glanced at him again, snatched the note, and ate it, in the span of a fraction of a moment, far faster than any other child or person.

The look he gave the teacher was so innocent, with wide eyes and it seemed as though he did not move at all.

“Ma’am, I do believe you’re imagining things,” he said with full respect, his big eyes truthful. “He doesn’t have anything.”

“Well… alright.” She frowned and turned away, heading back to the board. She thought of making an appointment with her psychologist again. These children had an incredible ability to slowly grind away at her sanity with their antics. She picked up her marker and resumed teaching.

The rest of the day up until lunch was rather boring. It involved the usual lessons and worksheets. Freckle could hardly pay attention. Then again, he generally had a hard time paying attention. Johan seemed to do well, until it came to math, and the boy pushed aside his paperwork after looking at it for a few moments, making up in his mind to ask Charlotte for help. They were starting to get into long division and memorizing multiplication tables, which was all rather complicated, and for Johan, whose strong suit was never really mathematics, it was pure gibberish. Freckle was almost wriggling out of his seat by the time the teacher announced it was time for lunch. 

“Everyone form a single file line,” she said. “If you brought your lunch today, get your lunchboxes from your lockers.”

Freckle scrambled out of his desk to get his lunch box before getting over to Johan as fast as he could. 

“Do you wanna eat lunch with me?” he asked. “I wanna get to know you.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his cheeks pink with excitement. He too was small for his age, so he was not much bigger than Johan. He had a sickly and awkward air to him, as though he was not exactly sure of himself at any point. 

Johan gripped the little bag of lunch he held, and shrugged. In a quiet voice, he answered him, “sure.”

Freckle lit up. “Cool!” he said. He almost could barely contain himself. He really did not have a lot of friends, especially not after the stunt he had pulled last year where he had bitten another kid for saying mean things about Esther. And that other time he had thrown a dodgeball too hard at a kid and given them a nosebleed because they had called him a mean name. And the time he had punched a kid for throwing his sketchbook in the mud. There was a reason the teachers called him a ‘problem child’. His parents were trying to find ways he could channel his anger more effectively.

“So, why’re here?” Freckle asked as they started to walk out of the classroom. “I mean, why’d you transfer in the middle of the year?” He knew he asked too many questions sometimes, and he hoped that would not drive his new potential friend away.

“I… didn’t t-transfer,” Johan picked his words carefully. “I wasn’t in any school this year yet.”

“Oh.” Freckle kept walking, frowning a bit. He was not sure what that meant. 

“How, um, how are the classes h-here?” Johan asked politely, crunching and unclenching the end of his lunch bag. He was frightened by the entire school, especially since he worried that he might disappoint his new parents. “And are the teachers n-nice?”

“The classes are fine, I guess.” Freckle shrugged. “Y’know, music and math and history and stuff. The teachers...” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Most of ‘em are okay. Some of them are buttheads, though.”

Johan giggled. “You’re funny.”

“Good funny or weird funny?” Freckle asked, a frown descending over his features. “‘Cause sometimes people just say that when they think I’m weird.”

“I think all funny is good, but…” Johan shrugged. “Good? I guess?”

“Okay!” Freckle immediately brightened, swinging his lunchbox back and forth. “Thank you! I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met!”

Johan blinked with surprise. He had never been called pretty before. He blushed, looking at his shoes. “Um… thank you….”

“You’re welcome!” Freckle gave him a big grin, showcasing his missing front teeth. He and Johan then entered the lunchroom, and sat next to each other. Johan paused with something akin to nervousness before opening his lunch bag, letting out a bated breath in relief. Freckle leaned over his shoulder to peek. “Whatcha got?”

“Uh… a peanut butter and j-jelly sandwich, an apple, and chips,” Johan said, trying to keep the delight from his voice. He loved chips very much, and normally his father would never let him have them, but… Johan’s smile faltered as he recalled the very reason why he was there. He picked up his sandwich and tried to take a bite, not feeling very hungry. He tried to stir up conversation with Freckle, to detract from himself. “A-and what about you?”

“Mmmm...” Freckle opened his lunchbox to check. “Carrot sticks, kosher hotdog, and a cookie!” 

His mother had also included a little note telling him she hoped he had a good day and had drawn a clumsy Bendy in the corner. He giggled to himself at the note. He appreciated that his mother tried to draw Bendy, even if she wasn’t all that good at it.

Johan spotted the little demon, and he focused his gaze on his own apple, nibbling on it.

“So… do you like drawing?” Freckle asked as he started munching on his carrot sticks. “Or movies?”

“Um… my… um…” Johan tried to think of what to say, not able to use one word, not desiring to use another. “I was p-put into a lot of art classes.”

“Okay. But do you like it?” Freckle repeated. 

Johan shrugged. He did not really know what he liked any more. The social worker told him that it was the shock, and when it would wear off, he would start to feel better, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. “Maybe. I guess.”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell a bit. “Well, I like drawing. I kinda hoped I could make an art friend. But it’s okay if you don’t!” He quickly added. “I don’t wanna force you to like stuff or anything. That’s mean.”

“I’m just a little… um, t-tired,” Johan excused himself. “I’ve had some r-really busy days lately.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “That makes sense. My sister gets all vague when she’s tired too.”

Johan finished his apple, throwing the core away.

“I don’t have any siblings,” he said softly, opening his sandwich bag and eating it rather quickly. “I might get one later, but I don’t know.”

“Oh...” Freckle paused, carrot stick halfway to his mouth. “Um...Sorry?” He wasn’t really sure if he needed to apologize for Johan not having siblings, but Johan seemed really sad so he thought it would be good. 

Johan’s sandwich vanished as he ate the last bits. He would have to as Charl- his mother. Mother. For more food for the next time. 

Freckle ate another carrot stick. “Do you want some of my cookie?” he asked. It looked like Johan was almost done with his food, and his mother had always said sharing was good for making friends.

Johan shook his head, and pointed at his chips. 

“I still have some food left. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Freckle had finished his carrots now and was working on the hot dog.

Johan felt weird talking. He had not talked much since… it happened. He never even talked much before then. He quietly ate his chips, eating one at a time, almost mechanically.

Freckle watched him, kicking his feet back and forth. He felt like something was going on with Johan, something big and important. He wanted to know what it was. But he definitely did not want to push Johan, if only for fear of driving him away. 

The bell to go outside rang just as Johan finished the last of his food. Freckle sprang to his feet, scrambling to pack up the remains of his lunch. 

“I gotta show you the playground!” he said, bouncing up and down. Johan shrugged and followed after him. The playground was spacious, and Johan’s ears tilted back with the noise. Freckle was fully ready to charge ahead, until he noticed Johan hanging back. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“It’s just a little loud…” he smiled shakily.

“Oh...” Freckle looked around, face screwed up in concentration. “Well...There’s a tree that’s a little ways away. We can hang out there. It’s pretty quiet.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Johan assured him, moving on. “I’ll get used to it in a m-minute.”

“Okay.” Freckle kept frowning, bouncing on his heels. “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Johan did not know what to say, so he thought it wise to simply nod. 

Freckle kept bouncing on his heels, starting to hum to himself. Pretty soon he was just straight up dancing in place, completely caught up in the song he was remembering. Johan vibrated along. It was a minute or two before Freckle realized what he was doing. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, going bright red. “Kinda… kinda forgot I wasn’t alone.”

“That’s ok,” Johan assured him. “We all do, s-sometimes.”

“Okay...” Freckle smiled shyly. “So… Uh… wanna play on the swings?”

“Sure,” Johan felt like he was being very bland.

“Cool!” Freckle made a beeline for the swings. He was getting excited again.

“You wanna have a contest to see who can swing higher?” he asked. Johan just nodded, though he worried a little. His… He was told not to over exert himself. Would this count?

Freckle started to swing, pumping his legs back and forth in order to swing higher and higher. Once again, he did not notice Johan’s hesitation. He always seemed to get tunnel vision when he was excited about something. Johan slowly swung to and fro, trying very hard to keep up, but also trying very hard to enjoy it. Freckle was far more energetic than he, and caught in the wind, going faster and faster. Johan felt his back begin to throb, and his legs started to ache. He slowed down even more, letting the velocity and momentum carry him. He watched Freckle swing as he crawled to a stop. It took a bit for Freckle to notice that Johan was slowing down. Once he did, he slowed down as well. 

“You okay?” he asked. His heartbeat began to speed up as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t pegged Johan as the sickly type, but if he was… had Freckle been pushing him past his limit?

Johan smiled weakly, and coughed into his elbow, then spoke, his voice a little raspy, “Yeah. J-just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle frowned. “Are you sick?”

“I-I’m not sick!” Johan’s already vast eyes widened. “Just… just, um. Tired.”

“I get it if you are,” Freckle said. “I used to be really sick too. The doctors said it was a compromised immune system or something.” He was better now, mostly, but there had been a point when he had been really little when he had been sick all the time. 

“I’m n-not.” Johan repeated, on the defensive. He never liked talking about his health. Not even with him. And now, especially not, now that he was gone. “Just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle looked down at his feet, kicking a bit. “‘M sorry for pushing. Essie says I gotta stop doing that. She says I ask too many questions.” 

“Questions are g-good,” Johan mumbled. “They keep us th-thinking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.” Freckle smiled a bit. “Thanks!”

“No problem.” Johan answered quietly, wondering what on earth Freckle was thanking him for.

“I mean, uh, thanks for not saying I’m stupid or annoying.” Freckle blushed, looking quickly away. 

“But you’re not,” Johan seemed perplexed. “Why would I s-say that?”

“I dunno...” Freckle shrugged. “People just say I’m annoying or stupid. Like the teachers or the other kids.” He kicked the air. “‘Cause I don’t pay attention in class or I talk too loud or too much.”

“That’s not nice.” Johan firmly stated.

“My parents say that too. That it’s not nice. Doesn’t stop people from doing it.” Freckle’s expression had darkened as he watched the ground. “It’s not fair. But no one gives a shit.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to use that word, but he didn’t care.

“My… um. Someone I knew said that life doesn’t like being f-fair,” Johan offered. “I dunno what he meant by that, c-cause life isn't, you know, a-a person. Life is… well, life.”

“I mean, people believe in gods and stuff,” Freckle said. “They think gods control life. In, like, pagan religions and stuff. My family just believes in one god though. My dad says God’s a dick sometimes and that’s why life’s not fair.” Still he smiled at Johan’s attempt to make him feel better. Johan was really nice.

“...” Johan did not know what to say to that. He, personally, was conflicted, but always felt… safe. No matter what, it always felt, to him, that he was being watched over, no matter how bad it got or what happened.

“Sorry. I guess I got kind of dark,” Freckle laughed weakly. “I didn’t make you sad, did I?”

“No,” Johan looked away. “You didn’t.”

“Okay.” Freckle went back to kicking at the air. “Do you wanna talk about other stuff now?”

“Um… like what?” Johan’s ears tilted back. He felt out of place. 

“Like art?” Freckle suggested hopefully. “I like drawing stuff.”

“M… My new dad is an a-artist,” Johan quietly admitted. 

“That’s really cool. I think art is awesome. I wanna be an artist when I get older.” Freckle puffed out his chest proudly. “Like Joey Drew, the guy who runs the cartoon studio. ‘Cause my name’s Joey Drew too! So I’m gonna be like him and make cartoons!”

“Yeah…” Johan looked to his toes, his shoes polished and pristine, the way she made him clean them constantly. Not a single mar would be allowed on them. Charlotte hopefully would be different, but he did not want to risk finding out. He did not know if he should tell his new friend the identity of his adoptive father. What if they did not like him and he would have to go back to the orphanage? Why should he spark false hope?

Freckle looked over him, getting worried all over again. Johan just seemed really sad and he was not sure why. He did not know if it was his fault and he was starting to get worried. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem really sad. Just, like, in general.” 

“O-Oh… I’m fine,” Johan tried to assure him. He exhaled a little bit. “Just tired.”

“It’s not something I’m doing, is it?” Anxiety was painted all over Freckle’s features. “I mean, I get it if it is my fault. I’m sorry if I’m pushing you too hard or something. You just seem really cool and I really want to be your friend ‘cause I don’t have a lot of friends and I’m really sorry if I’m doing something wrong.” 

His breathing began to speed up as his anxious thoughts began to close in. He was driving away another potential friend. He always did this. He always drove everyone away. And then, he would drive his family away eventually too. Sure, they said they would always love him, but they would have to abandon him too, sooner or later. Esther was already starting to draw away. She did not have time to beat up his bullies anymore. She had high school stuff to worry about and a job and a boyfriend. 

“It’s not your fault,” Johan stated, his voice like the tolling of a death knell. “It’s just things happening at bad times. It’s not you.”

“Okay...” Freckle kept his gaze on his shoes. He’d drawn on the sides with Sharpie when he was bored, all the drawings crowded and overlapping each other. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“It’s okay,” Johan replied, not knowing what else to say. He wished he had some guidance, or at the very least, was not afraid to ask for it. 

“If you’ve got stuff going on, maybe you should go to a therapist or something,” Freckle said, although his voice wavered a bit. “My parents have been trying to get me to go to one.” He did not want to go to a therapist, but his parents kept gently bringing up the subject. They were worried about him. He knew that. But he felt like if he went it would be admitting that there was something wrong with him. The other kids would have a field day if they heard he was going to therapy. Especially some of the meaner ones. His parents seemed so sure it would help, though.

“I wanna figure this out on m-my own a little,” Johan quietly mumbled.

“It’s okay to ask for help, y’know.” Freckle glanced over at him. “We’re kids. We can’t really do everything on our own.” His expression was unsure, almost scared. He’d just felt a lot of feelings and was a little vulnerable. 

“I know,” Johan’s hands trembled a little, he feeling slightly overwhelmed. “If I n-need help I’ll ask for it.”

“Okay.” Freckle went silent for a bit, watching him. He was still worried about Johan. Johan still did not look okay.

The bell to go back inside rang.

“I guess we gotta go in.” Freckle hopped off the swing. He was a bit disappointed. He had hoped recess would be more fun. So far, all it seemed that he had managed to do was make his new friend sad.

“Hey…” Johan studied him closely. “Don’t worry a bit ‘bout me. I’ll be ok in a j-jiffy. Just n-need a little time and rest.”

“Well...Okay.” Freckle pouted a bit. “But I do wanna be your friend. If that’s okay.” He added the last part quickly at the end. “Like I said, I get if you don’t wanna be my friend. But, um, I think you’re really cool and I do wanna be friends.”

Then he ran back inside. Johan followed, slower, more deliberate, but nonetheless, followed him back into their classroom.

At the end of the day, Freckle approached him once more. 

“Um, I know this is kinda weird...” he said, playing with the straps of his backpack. “But do you wanna come over to my house? To like...work on homework or whatever?”

Johan shifted uncomfortably. He did! He really did! But, he knew he should go home. He did not want Charlotte or J- his parents to worry. So, he inhaled slowly, and then spoke.

“I don’t think it’s a g-good idea yet,” he answered quietly. He looked to his shoes. “I gotta go home for now, but m-maybe in a little bit from now? Like… a week or s-so?”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell briefly, but he quickly smiled again. “I’ll ask again later.” He was disappointed that Johan had said no, but Johan had also said he could ask again later! So he still had a chance to befriend this boy! Even though they already were more or less friends already… but him coming over would solidify their friendship.

Johan gave him a small smile, then turned to hurry home. Freckle turned away and did the same, grinning to himself. 

And so, Freckle dutifully waited, continuing to talk to Johan in school and share his interests with the other boy. He delightfully discovered that Johan did enjoy drawing, but it took the boy a few days for his spark to come back. Freckle was absolutely ecstatic when he discovered this, bringing in lots of colored pencils and markers for them to draw with. He felt comfortable chattering on excitedly to Johan about the Bendy cartoons. Which, for some reason, made Johan very quiet. Freckle was not sure whether to ask about it or not. He decided not to for the moment. He stopped talking about Bendy so much, talking about other things that did not make Johan sad. 

A few weeks later, Freckle asked again.

“Do you wanna come over to my house?”

“I can a-ask my mom for tomorrow,” Johan replied after a moment. “We t-talked a little and she said that I sh-should ask in advance.”

“Okay! Cool!” Freckle lit up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. This was going to be so much fun! He could show Johan his room, they could play games. Hopefully Esther wouldn’t be in one of her moods. She was always so cranky.

The next day, when Johan sat beside him waiting for class to start, he smiled at him.

“My mom said that it’s alright if I come to your place today.” he informed him. 

Freckle burst into a wide grin, replying with an exclamation of, “Great!” It was finally happening. He was finally bringing a friend home!

After school, the two lads walked with Freckle’s older sister. Esther always picked Freckle up so they could walk home after school. Their parents worried about Freckle getting distracted and getting lost. Mostly because it had happened more than once. Esther had initially been a bit suspicious of this new boy, but upon seeing him she had decided he was absolutely no threat at all. He was rather small and shy, letting Freckle take the reins, which was good concerning Freckle’s slightly overbearing tendencies.

“This is Johan!” Freckle announced, pointing excitedly to his new friend. “He’s coming over!” 

“Nice to meet you.” Esther gave him a gentle smile. “I’m Esther.” What had she been worried about? There was no way this kid was out to hurt Freckle. He was so cute. She kind of wanted to pinch his cheeks. But that would be weird. 

“H-Hello, señorita,” he said softly with a quiet trill in his voice. “Pleasure to meet you. Freckle is a very nice friend.”

“I’m glad he’s been behaving himself,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Freckle protested, stamping his foot and folding his arms.

“It means you’re a little terror sometimes.” Esther ruffled his hair.  Freckle whined and hunched his shoulders. He was not a little terror! 

Esther turned her attention to Johan. “Anyway, c’mon. Ma gets worried when we take too long getting home, and we’ve done enough dallying.”

“Mm.” Johan did not quite know if Ch- his mom would worry if he was late. He was a very punctual lad as was, but he felt pretty certain that she would worry. It made him happy, in an odd way, to know she would care about him like that.

And so they set off toward the Drew household. Specifically the Drew household of Freckle and Esther. Freckle chattered happily to Esther about what he had done that day and all the things he wanted to do with Johan at the house. Esther just nodded, listening to Freckle while keeping an eye on both of the boys. She did not want Johan to get accidentally left behind, though he curiously seemed to be one step ahead of the siblings.

When they reached the Drew house, Freckle and Esther’s mother Miriam was waiting for them. Freckle’s father Ethan was still at work. He worked in construction. Miriam was a tall and slender woman, who Esther took after in body type and chestnut brown hair color. Freckle had his father’s dark hair and short stature, although wasn’t nearly as solidly built. The freckles came from Miriam as well. Freckle thought she was the prettiest woman ever and was not at all shy about telling everyone.

“We’re back!” Esther yelled as she unlocked the door and walked in with her brother and Johan. 

“Welcome back!” Miriam appeared from the living room. She had an embroidery project in her hands. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Johan shyly waved, looking to the floor.

“Oh, hello there.” Miriam’s face lit up upon seeing Johan. “You must be Jojo’s new friend, Johan. It’s very nice to meet you, little one.” She was slightly relieved upon seeing Johan. She too had been rather worried about who this new friend of Freckle’s might be. But Johan seemed like a nice child.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Johan mumbled, not very certain about what he should say or do. The friends his madre used to have over, well, she made him bow to them and talk all proper, but he found out that that was not normal.

“Are you hungry?” Miriam asked. “I was just about to start fixing some snacks for Esther and Joey.”

“Oh, um, no thank you,” Johan replied. He never really did feel hungry, or maybe he always did, just not intensely? “I’m good.”

“Alright, well, tell me if you need anything,” Miriam said. “Or ask Jojo. I’ll be in the living room.” She gave him a smile and returned to where she had been working on her embroidery project. She just needed to do a few more stitches, and then she would finish the snacks. 

“My room’s upstairs!” Freckle tugged on Johan’s arm. He had already discarded his shoes and backpack and was bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect of showing his new friend his room. “C’mon!” 

Johan smiled slightly and followed the other youngster up to his room, and settled himself on the floor. He was not quite sure what they would be doing, and so allowed the other boy to pick for them.

Freckle’s room was covered in posters from various movies, as well as some promotional posters for the Bendy Show. There were books and paper everywhere. Most of the papers were drawings Freckle had done of cartoon characters, animals, and his family. Freckle himself was rummaging in a box that was marked, ‘art supplies’. Finally, he found what he was looking for. 

“This is for you!” He announced, holding out a pack of colored pencils. It was brand new and unopened. He had been saving these colored pencils for when he made a friend. They were really nice and he did not dare use them himself. 

Johan accepted them with a quiet thank you and large eyes. His deft fingers ran over the smooth cylindrical facets, and a spark grew in his eye, inspiration struck. Those years of training his… first father had put him through in the arts, all that skill he acquired, it all seemed to seep back into him. He looked up at Freckle, biting his lip nervously in a silent askance. 

Freckle smiled at him assuringly. “You can draw anything you want, Jo.”

Hesitantly, he began to sketch. Johan never quite liked anything permanent, and sketching - ‘twas something able to be done and done again. Freckle watched over his shoulder, at first with pure curiosity, but then it morphed into something more along the lines of awe. He had never known Johan knew how to draw so well.

There was a mansion of finecut masonry, vines trailing up the sides in nigh perfect symmetry. Horse stables were clearly just a few meters to the side, easily accessed. The mansion was vast, dominating, encompassing. Soon, the sounds of graphite etching on paper slowed and came to a stop, the drawing complete in the eyes of its maker. Freckle stared at it, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“That’s really good,” he told Johan, startling him out of his concentration. “Oh! Sorry I scared you, Mom says that sometimes I say things too quick.”

“It’s o-okay,” Johan replied, trying to smile, but his eyes kept landing on the picture. After a moment of silence, he shifted, and flipped the paper over. “Just… was thinkin’ about some stuff, I guess. I’m okay, n-now.”

“What were you thinking about?” Freckle tilted his head to the side. Something seemed like it was wrong, although he was not quite sure what it could be. He wondered if it was the drawing Johan had done. To draw something like that out of nowhere… it had to have been someplace important to Johan. Maybe it had been where Johan had lived before. Johan had just moved to this town, after all. He had to have been someplace else first. 

“Was that….” He began to ask, only to trail off unsure of whether to continue.

“That’s my old house.” Johan quietly said. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “I dunno why I drew it. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of good memories there.”

“Oh.” Freckle could only wonder at what he meant. Johan looked sad now and he was rather worried. He did not want Johan to be sad. He moved closer. 

“Can I hug you?” He asked. “When I’m sad, I like getting hugs.”

“S-sure,” Johan sighed, holding his hands tightly. Freckle smiled and wrapped his arms around Johan, giving him a big hug. He knew he couldn’t fix whatever was bothering Johan, but he hoped this would help.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “But I’m here if you wanna talk. Mom says talking helps sometimes. But you don’t have to.” 

He wanted to ask a dozen questions and was trying very hard not to. This was not a time for asking questions. This was a time for just being there and supporting his friend.

Johan sniffed, hugging him back. “I dunno what’s gotten into me….”

“It’s okay,” Freckle tried to reassure him. “Mom says sometimes people get sad sometimes. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it.” He bit his lip. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Other than, um, the hugging.”

Before Johan could answer, though, Miriam’s voice came from downstairs. 

“Snacks are ready if any of you are hungry!”

There was a collection of thumps and the sound of a door being wrenched open as Esther scrambled out of her room and down the stairs to get some of the snacks before Freckle could monopolize them.

“You want some food?” Freckle asked. “I dunno what Mom made, but it’s probably good.” 

It certainly smelled good. Judging from the sweet and tangy cinnamon scent, it was probably cinnamon raisin muffins or cinnamon buns. Freckle loved his mother’s cinnamon buns. Johan nodded, but then hesitated.

“I c-can’t have milk stuff, though,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed. “It makes me sick.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “I’ll go ask Mom.” He got up and went to go ask if they had anything that didn’t have milk in it so that Johan could have it. 

He returned a bit later with some crackers and fruit. He put the food on the floor between the two of them, looking expectantly at Johan. 

“We also have vegetables,” he added. 

Most of the fruit was gone very quickly. Johan paused, holding his sixth apple slice, mouth ajar. 

“Uh.” was all he could say. “I think I’m good.”

“Okay!” Freckle said brightly.

The boys continued playing upstairs, Freckle’s earth shattering laughter accompanied by Johan’s quieter giggles. They played for around two hours, pausing in the middle to work on their homework, until there was a knock on the door. 

Johan stopped first, ears perking up, listening as Miriam opened the door. He was a little nervous - he knew his dad was the one picking him up, they had agreed that he would come by after work, but he was nervous about Freckle’s reaction, though he knew he should not be. Anticipative. The word was whispered into his mind, and it fit like a key into a lock. That is what he was. Anticipative.

The adults spoke for a moment, and Johan could hear the surprise in Miriam’s voice, and then she called; “Johan, you’re father’s here.”

He breathed in, preparing himself, smiling as he went down the stairs, excited to see him. Running over, he hugged his tan pant leg, squishing his face against it. 

“Hullo Jo,” Jekyll chuckled, leaning down to pat his head. “How was your playdate?”

“Good,” he replied, but did not let go. He was too comfortable. And happy. “How was your day, da? Did Mr. Lawrence cause a ruckus again?”

Before he could respond, Freckle’s awestruck voice cut in. 

“Joey Drew is your dad!?”

“Jojo, inside voice,” Miriam said gently. But Freckle was not really listening. His eyes were as wide as they could go, his mouth hanging open. This was officially the best day of his life. His new friend’s dad was THE Joey Drew. 

But...Oh...He suddenly deflated a bit. What if Johan thought Freckle was being only friends with him to get to his dad? He did not want that. He really did like Johan a lot. 

He cleared his throat, doing his best to seem mature and act like he had not just been having a fanboy reaction. 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Miriam frowned slightly, giving Freckle a look as if asking he was alright.

Jekyll, who loved children, smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you too. Johan told me you’re also a Joey, and go by Freckle, and you like Bendy very much. I’m very glad to hear that.”

Freckle felt his face start to get warm and could not help but giggle. Johan had talked about him. Johan had talked about him to Joey Drew. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” he mumbled, his ‘mature’ act vanishing as he turned back into a mildly embarrassed and giddy child. 

Miriam stifled a giggle of her own. “It’s been a pleasure to have Johan here,” she said, turning to Jekyll. “He’s a very sweet child.”

Jekyll’s expression softened.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling gently. Having Johan around really changed things in their home, for the better. “He really is. And it is also nearing his bedtime, isn't it, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Johan smiled up at him, then at Freckle. “See you tomorrow?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Freckle nodded fervently. “It was really nice having you over! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Johan waved as he and Jekyll set off towards their home, neither talking much, but feeling comfortable in the quiet.

Jekyll really was glad that Johan had a friend.

[cannoli-reader]

A Thought or two on the race of the Wheel of Time casting.

So “The Wheel of Time” has cast a group of people to play the characters born to Two Rivers families, Nynaeve, Perrin, Egwene & Mat.  And there have been concerns.  And there have been people making knee-jerk assumptions that these concerns are entirely founded in racism. And hey, maybe there are some. But I don’t think all of them necessarily are. 

First of all, some personal context. I am not really a SJW or much concerned about race issues in general. I am white, of entirely European ancestry, but I haven’t the slightest bit of “white guilt”. “Get Out” did not make me the least bit uncomfortable because I had absolutely no comprehension of the white characters. I understand that “representation matters” in media, but it matters to white people as well, which is why ‘Hollywood’ which is not a monlithic entity, mostly casts white people.  I don’t care if there are not enough black people or too many white people in any given movie.  We can have Scotsmen playing Lithuanian-Russians or try to pass off their burr as a brogue. We can have Terry Molloy, Stanley Kowalski and Vito Corleone, members of immigrant communities from very different parts of Europe, played by the same man. 

That said, while I think adaptations have a degree of responsibility to be faithful to the original work or to the historical time period, I don’t care that Michael Jordan and Reg E Cathay and Jessica Alba were cast as members of a family that is white in the picture books in which the Fantastic Four originated or that black paratroopers were in “Overlord”. I would not approve of T’Challa being played by a white person, because that IS important to his character.  And insisting on casting a woman of color as Cleopatra in the name of historical accuracy instantly destroys my respect for you. 

What we know about the appearance of the Two Rivers people is that they seem to be about average height for their part of the world.  Nynaeve & Egwene are short by modern standards (for a white or black North American), while Perrin is tall and Mat above average. They have somewhat darker complexions than the very Nordic-looking Aiel and possibly Andorans, but on the other hand, no character ever uses Two Rivers folk as a touchstone for dark skins, the way they do the Sea Folk or Tairens.  Even Domani are often mentioned as having coppery colored skins, with Two Rivers people using the terminology the same as lighter-skinned people, suggesting that they too, are lighter-skinned than the Domani.  When Elaida points out that Rand’s natural skin tone is unusually light for a Two Rivers native, she pushes up his sleeve to show the untanned skin, which to me suggests that Two Rivers people are not much, if at all, darker than a very pale person tans. So people do have a point that the actors for Perrin and Nynaeve, at least, if not also Egwene, are darker than they are portrayed in the books.

To which I say, “So what?” The important thing is that Rand is clearly different from the others.  That is probably even easier to convey visually if they use actors from different races, so Rand clearly stands out.  It might have been more interesting to make Rand the person of color, but then you’ll turn all the stuff into racial issues, and we don’t need that in discussions of the show.  Seriously, that was one of the more tedious parts of reveling in all the on-line criticism of Season 8 of Game of Thrones, which I prefer to think of as HBO’s six-part documentary, alternatively titled “Cannoli Was Right All Along.”  They didn’t kill off the Dothraki because they are racists, they killed off the Dothraki, to the extent that they did, because they long ago jettisoned everything else in service to spectacle.  Which brings me to the point that TV writers can’t be trusted and there are lots of other concerns in what they are going to do, beyond letting some black folks get full of themselves because Nynaeve would make Captain Marvel, Wonder Woman and Rey hide under the bed when she’s annoyed at them. 

One of the problems in “Game of Thrones” was that a lot of adaptational choices were not thought through, long term, nor were the implications. Like how Daenerys crowd-surfing on her freed slaves would look, compared to her riding her horse through a cheering crowd.  Or how abandoning a lot of the world building meant some things made very little sense.  If you read the books, between the lines, you know that the Dance of the Dragons (a war in-universe, not the book title) pretty much put paid to the idea of a woman inheriting the Iron Throne. But on the show, all we heard about that is that Stannis thinks the name is stupid.  In the books, he has definite opinions, including that the losing female contender was a traitor for attempting to claim the crown over her younger half-brother. But this sort of world-building would justify the characters’ stated preference for Jon’s gender over Daenerys in Season 8.  Going by the show alone, that makes no sense, because most of the nobles left at this point are women, and very few of the male lords would have reason to favor Jon over Dany, or else they were opponents of Dany for other reasons, like their die-hard support of Sansa, who was pro-Jon. The show’s worldbuilding undercut their own point of conflict, but they tried to fall back on book worldbuilding they had never serviced and made deliberate choices to omit characters or storypoints that would have supported that detail.

At this point I can’t see how the particulars of the Two Rivers’ ethnicity would affect the story, but I also thought cutting fAegon from “Game of Thrones” was a good idea when Season 5 rolled around.  To the extent that it is an issue in the story, the Two Rivers district of western Andor was once the heartland of a legendary nation called Manetheren.  When the nation was betrayed by their allies, the army fought alone to hold the ford of one of those eponymous rivers for far longer than anyone had thought possible, with civilians taking up arms to join them in hopes of preserving some fraction of the population.  In the end they all died fighting, but the enemy force was wiped out as a result of their defense, and so the few survivors who had got out came back, rebuilt their homes and said “We’re only leaving this country feet first.” But they lacked the human capital or resources to rebuild the nation and have been reduced to a rural farming community centered around a trio of villages.  There is a fourth village, called Taren Ferry, at the river crossing that is the only known way in or out of the Two Rivers, but they don’t have much to do with the rest of the area, and are looked at askance by the proper Two Rivers folk.  

It is also established in the text that the Taren Ferry people are the only ones to interbreed with outsiders or to have much intercourse with them at all.  The people living deeper in the Two Rivers are an isolated culture and breeding population.  Itinerant enterainers, merchants buying their crops and peddlers selling goods they cannot make themselves are their only contact with the outside world, and at one point a character actually scoffs at the idea of marrying one of them.  Rand is physically unique because his father, nearly equally uniquely, left the Two Rivers as a young man and came home with a wife from somewhere else and their baby.  

Because the Two Rivers people have only been reproducing among themselves for two thousand years, certain characteristics are reinforced in their genetics.  This is revealed when one of them, in a moment of stress, facing the same enemy that destroyed Manetheren, starts shouting in the language Manetheren spoke, using phrases specific to Manetheren.  This is later diagnosed as a kind of racial memory emerging, and strongly suggests that the character is a descendant of strong geneological connections to the last king of Manetheren. A second character feels a sort of recognition, suggesting a lesser degree of this Old Blood as it is called in the books. The other two native Two Rivers people don’t feel it. 

Now here’s the two fold problem with the casting.  The problem is not Marcus Rutherford and Zoe Robins, it is Barney Harris. They should ALL be the same race.  They’re isolated and have had very very few reproductive encounters with outsiders. Mat Cauthon should not be played by a clearly white actor if the rest of the Two Rivers is something else. 

But the really funny bit comes with the implications of the casting with regard to the Old Blood. 

Because these are the two people who are not the purest royal-blooded Two Rivers folk:

and 

while this is the one with maybe a hint of the blood of the legendary hero-king:

and THIS is the pure-blooded descendant of ancient royalty:

Ooops.  Gonna be fun when the people whose major problem with Missandei’s death is that a black woman didn’t have get to be in the last two episodes, watch the scene where Rosamund Pike tells THAT GUY, up there, how special his bloodline is.

But maybe they just rolled with the casting choices because they are going to skip the Old Blood issue. Okay. But like I said above, you never know what’s going to bite you in the butt seven or eight seasons down the road.   But the cynical part of me is greatly amused at the implications of the apparent mixed race heritage of the Two River people, and what it suggests about who the nobles and who the commoners were in the glory days of Manetheren.  On the other hand, you get the suggestion that the barriers between lords and commoners came down as they fought side by side to save their land and then worked side by side to make their community survive and we got people intermarrying without regard to the old social divisions.

[crimsxnrebellion-blog]

Soul Mate

[After a long vacation, I finally got to my second entry for DantexLady Week (month)! And it’s Christmas themed! Hope you enjoy!]

Lady pushed the stepladder past the front door, her arms overflowing with garland and strings of multicolored lights. She hummed alone to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” as it played from her phone in her back pocket. She only had one more section of the office to cover with the garland before she could finally move on to her favorite part of decorating: the Christmas tree. She had a ton of ornaments (even after decorating her own in her apartment) from years of collecting them, and she loved hanging them from the pine branches and between the twinkling lights. Climbing up to place the star on top.

It had taken days to convince Dante to allow her to decorate the shop. Unlike Lady, who loved the holiday season despite her past, the half demon hated Christmas. Most holidays, she had come to find. They reminded him of the family he lost, and he just preferred to not celebrate them as much as he could. He would indulge Lady and Trish once in a while with dinner together and gift swapping, but this was the furthest he had ever allowed for the celebration. She didn’t know if it was the promise of lowering his debt a smidge, a week of pizza on her, and a few bottles of his favorite whiskey that finally convinced him, or if he just tired of her begging and constant nagging about how the festive decorations would bring in more clients had finally worn him down. Either way, she was happy with the outcome, even if it would cost her a bit of money. It would help Dante in the long run as well, make him a little bit less of a grump during the season.

“You know, Patty will really like this, too,” she said as she mounted the stepladder. Reaching all the way through her fingertips and shifting to her tiptoes, she hung the first bit of garland. She could feel Dante’s gaze on her back—most likely her backside—as she stretched on the rickety ladder, though she knew it was for more than simply appeasing his perverted nature; he was making sure she didn’t fall. She knew asking him to help was out of the question, and he hadn’t offered either. But, she knew he wouldn’t let her get hurt. “Christmas is her favorite, if I remember right.”

“As long as it ain’t pink and frilly shit like she pulled when she first came around, I’ll live with it,” Dante responded. Lady heard the squeak of rubber as he shifted on the couch, the rustle of the pages as he rifled through his magazine. “But don’t start thinking I’m thrilled with this. It’s all pointless to me.”

Lady rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You seemed to be into the season when you were chasing me around with mistletoe, jackass,” she shot back. She had had to hide it to keep him from trying anything funny with it. The threat of making him wear a Santa suit nipped that in the bud quick, at least. “Can’t you just enjoy it? A little? And not by getting shit faced so you don’t remember or really enjoy it anyway?”

When she received no more response than a grunt, Lady returned back to her work. As she twisted the lights into the perfect position around the garland, she was reminded of decorating their home when she was a kid. Her mother had loved the holiday season. From Thanksgiving to New Years, the house was full of the sounds and smells of the season and decorated from top to bottom, inside and out, with lights, garland, tinsel, fake snow and, her favorite, the giant evergreen that glowed in their dining room. She remembered baking all sorts of cakes and cookies with her mom, decorating them with candy and icing. She could feel the warmth of the fireplace as they read stories together, Kalina Ann doing voices for each of the holiday characters.  

Then her mind wandered to what she wished she had. Her own kids to bake and sing and read with in a cozy home. She wanted to decorate a tree with her kids, curl up on the couch with and watch as the children played with their new toys.  

She paused at the last thought, bicolored eyes drifting to the man sprawled across the couch. Though she had spent years trying to deny it, Lady could never squelch her feelings for her fellow devil hunter. They had discussed their feelings on relationships before (even though she refused to let him know it was him she pined for), and they both agreed that their lifestyle was far too dangerous for any serious relationships. Thus, they both kept things casual. Dante moreso than herself, much to her chagrin.  

Lady knew their connection was deeper. It had been fate that they met. They were meant for each other. But, she knew if she ever said anything, Dante would turn her down. She could respect how he felt; it was reasonable because he had a target on his back due to his heritage, and demons with a beef would use someone he loved to their advantage. That didn’t stop her heart burning with a desire to change his mind. To find out if he even felt the same about her.

Lady chewed her lip as she twisted a blue bulb between her fingers. The strand flickered on and off. “Hey, Dante?”

“Yeah?” She heard him sit up, leather crunching underneath him.  

“Do you believe in soul mates?”

She refused to look and kept busy, but she heard him chuckle. “What? You tellin’ me you got a crush on me?”

Lady’s cheeks heated up in a fierce blush. “No!” she asserted, a little too quickly. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a serious question.”

A long silence fell between them, one that made Lady squirm inwardly. Her fingers worked faster and fumbled with the hooks. She just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Now he knew exactly what she was getting at and their whole relationship, their whole dynamic, would suffer.

She hung the last bit of garland. “Sorry...” she muttered, descending her stepladder as fast as she could without toppling backward. It took everything in her not to sprint out the door without her things. Ditch before things got worse. “I’ll just leave the tree for you, or maybe Patty if she wants to--”

“Wait.”

Lady closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. He really couldn’t just let her leave? Pretend she had never asked?

She turned to face him. The amusement at her expense she expected to see in his eyes was absent. His expression was thoughtful. It slowed the beating of her heart a fraction, but her palms were still clammy with sweat.  

Dante stood and crossed the room to her, boots thudding on the wood floor. He stopped in front of her. Normally, his height didn’t bother her. But, now, as he towered over her, she felt like an ant that he was ready to step on. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Those beautiful, ice blue eyes she had gazed into many times, both in real life and in her dreams. In fact, a few of the steamier ones had started quite like this and...no, she couldn’t let her mind wander there. God, she was as bad as Dante!

“I dunno about soul mates. That all sounds like a fairy tale to me. And my life is the furthest thing from that.” Dante paused, and Lady could see him trying to work out the right words. He threaded his fingers through his white locks a muttered a few curses under his breath. Just when she wanted to shout at him to get on with him, he spoke again.  

“I do know that I don’t know where I'd be if I hadn’t met you.” A smile worked its way onto his lips and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was a mess before what happened with Verg, and if you hadn’t been here I may have just...you know.”

“Dante, don’t say that.” Lady grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She knew how hard it was. For both of them. It wasn’t that she didn’t get it; she felt much the same about him. Had he not been there to preoccupy her and keep her company when she needed it most, she might have ended it all herself. Even if they would never be more than business partners or friends as a suppressed part of her hoped, Dante had become something like family. She knew he would be there for her when she needed someone, and she would do the same for him.

“It’s the truth though,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I had no real direction back then. Yeah, I had sorta started the business, but you really helped me get it goin’. You’ve done a lot for me, Lady. I dunno if that means you’re my soul mate, but I know I don’t want to be without you in my life.”

A lump formed in Lady’s throat and tears stung her eyes. So, it wasn’t an admission of love but for Dante, she figured that was as close as she would get for now. She bit her lip and flung her arms around his neck, shifting onto her tiptoes to hug him. His chest rumbled as he chuckled and returned her embrace.

“I don’t want to be without you either, Dante. Couldn’t.”

Dante held her a bit longer, and just when his heat about put her to sleep in his arms, he pulled away. “And you won’t be. For as long as I can help it.” He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “Now, how about we get this tree put up? It’s your favorite part of all this, isn’t it?”

Lady nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Yeah. Just make sure you don’t mess it up, okay?”

[blurry-fics]

Collaboration

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2214

Request: Josh imagine where the reader is starting out her career and she wants to have Josh work on a song with her, but over the many months of them working together he falls for her? it comes out the day they are filming the video together and they have a scene together? sorry this is probably all over the place -Anon

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are all enjoying Trench! I’ve been listening to it nonstop since it released. Anyway, enjoy today’s post! 💕

“Good morning,” you called cheerily as you walked into the studio.

“Morning,” your producer smiled at you.

“I brought drinks for everyone,” you said, setting the drink carrier down on the table in front of you. The small crew descended upon it and grabbed their respective drinks, thanking you as they did so.

“Alright,” your producer said, clearing his throat. “What song are we working on today?”

“Well, I actually had something to talk to you about,” you smiled sweetly, knowing that he wouldn’t like where this was going.

He sighed, “Hit me with it.”

“I was listening to Twenty One Pilots last night, and I was absolutely blown away by Josh Dun’s talent. I want to try and get him to do drums on one of my singles.”

“Y/N, are you crazy? Your career is just starting and you’re extremely lucky that your last EP blew up the way it did. Are you really trying to collaborate with half of one of the biggest bands on the music scene?”

“Please? It’s worth a shot,” you said.

Your producer shook his head, “I will try, but I’m not promising anything.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky that I want to see you succeed. Now get in there, we have vocals to record.”

It had been a few weeks since you had talked to your producer about getting Josh Dun to drum for your next single. He had been silent on the subject, not even confirming whether or not he was able to contact his agent. You assumed that it had been a lost cause and he just didn’t want to let you down, but a small part of you was holding out hope.

You grabbed the drink carrier from your passenger seat and headed inside the studio. Your mind was so focused on running over lyrics and melodies that you almost didn’t notice the man standing just inside. You stopped dead in your tracks, looking up at the tall figure.

“Hey, you must be Y/N,” he smiled.

You looked between him and your producer, as if to confirm that he was actually there and going to presumably help with your song.

“Josh Dun,” you smiled. “Sorry I don’t have any coffee for you, I didn’t realize you would be here.”

“No worries, I have my own,” he said, holding up his own drink.

You smiled and tried to ignore the nerves. Sure, you had been the one who asked to work with him, but he was still so talented that you didn’t know how you would compare. Not to mention that he was much more attractive in person.

“In other news,” your producer smiled. “The first location for the music video didn’t work out, but it sounds like we were able to secure the second one.”

You nodded, “Ok, that’s fine.”

“And in addition to that, Josh here said he would be happy to be in the music video.”

You spun around to face Josh, who you had otherwise been avoiding eye contact with since your first introduction, “You would really do that?”

He smiled, “Of course. I really like your music, and your last music video was amazing.”

You stifled a nervous giggle and instead put on a confident smile, “Thank you so much.”

“Alright, enough chatting. Let’s get some music going.”

You nodded and followed Josh into the recording booth. His drums were already set up, and he looked so natural as he sat down behind them.

“Do you mind if I take a second to warm up?” he asked.

“Not at all, I need to do the same.”

“Sweet.”

You attempted to focus on your vocal warm ups as Josh drummed away beside you. Being with someone else in the studio was a weird experience, you were so used to just you and a couple crew members.

After about ten minutes of you and Josh making an ungodly amount of noise, his drumming finally calmed down and you felt ready to hit all your notes.

“Ready?” Josh asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you smiled.

“Then let’s do this.”

Being in the studio with Josh ended up being the most fun that you had had in awhile. Rather than feeling embarrassed every time your voice cracked or did something weird, Josh would laugh along with you. The same went for every time that he did something weird with his drums.

Josh stood up and wiped some sweat away from his forehead, “I’d call that a successful day.”

“Yeah, that went really well,” you smiled.

Josh followed you back out to where your producer was waiting, a large smile on his face.

“That was amazing, you two! Josh, you should join the band full time,” he laughed.

“I don’t think Tyler would be very happy with me if I left him.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Well, I think we just need a couple more days in the studio and then next week we can start the music video.”

“Perfect,” you smiled.

“And we got it!” the producer smiled from the other side of the glass.

“We did?” you asked.

“Yep. I think that’s going to be the one.”

You jumped up and down to show your excitement. Next to you, Josh was standing up from his drumset. In your happy state, you took off your headphones and pulled him into a hug. He hugged you back just as tightly, rocking you gently from side to side.

“I can’t tell you thankful I am that you were willing to work on this song with me.”

“It was my pleasure. Your music is amazing, Y/N.”

“Says the super successful musician,” you scoffed, lightly shoving his shoulder.

“Hey, what do you say we go out to lunch to celebrate?”

“I would love that,” you smiled. “Let me just talk to the guys real quick and then we can head out.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you outside.”

Sure enough, Josh was leaned against his car when you finally made your way out of the building. You tried your best to keep your smile looking normal, rather than the huge grin that you would normally be wearing on your face in a situation like this.

“Where to?” Josh asked, giving the keys around his finger a spin.

“Wherever,” you shrugged.

“You know the restaurant on third street?”

“I love that one,” you smiled.

“Meet you there,” Josh smirked before walking around the side of the car.

You suppressed a squeal before walking off to your own car. It was hard to believe that you and Josh were actually getting lunch together to celebrate, you had thought that even a musical collaboration was a long shot.

Josh pulled up along the curb right before you did, leaving just enough space for you to pull in your car behind him. You parked, took a deep breath, and joined him on the sidewalk.

“Good to see you made it ok,” he smiled.

“You say that like you expected me to get lost.”

“Your producer might have mentioned a time that it took you an extra hour to get to a music video set because you took one wrong turn.”

“It was one time!” you defended yourself. “And did he really tell you about that?”

“He did and it was fantastic,” he remarked as he held the door open for you.

“Thanks. And I can’t believe him. It had been a rough morning, in my defense.”

You and Josh walked up to the counter, ordered, and then promptly found a place to sit down. It was a table by the window, allowing you to direct your gaze to the occasional pedestrian rather than staring at Josh the entire time.

“So are you ready for the start of the music video next week?” Josh asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. What about you?” you answered, turning to look at him.

“Yeah, I think it’s going to end up amazing.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Y/N, I saw your last music video. The ideas that you and your team come with are amazing. There’s no doubt in my mind that this one is going to be just as good.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, you’re super talented. I admire you for it,” he smiled.

You reached up and pretended to scratch your cheek in a meek attempt to hide the fact that you were blushing. His words probably meant nothing, but they still caused butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re one to be talking.”

Josh smiled and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, “I guess.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

“Sorry, it’s still hard to believe,” he said.

“I know the feeling.”

As much as you wanted to stay and talk to Josh long past the time that you two had finished lunch, you had choreography rehearsals to get to that evening. You and Josh said your goodbyes and you got back in your car. It was hard not to smile like an idiot after the day that you had.

It was the last day of the music video shoot. You and Josh had been working hard for weeks, making sure that every shot was perfect. It was nice to have someone on set who had done a lot of music videos before, aside from the crew that is.

The two of you had grown even closer because of it. You were regularly joking around on set and causing minor inconveniences for the other. On your off days, you would usually go out and get lunch together and talk about how the video was going.

“Places!” the director called.

One of the makeup artists ran over to where you were standing and did a few touch-ups on your face. You were trying your best not to sweat it all off, but the choreography that they had made for you was a bit more intense than you were used to.

You looked to Josh right as they were about to start rolling. He flashed you a quick wink, causing you to smile.

The takes went relatively smoothly, although every time that you got within a few feet of Josh there was an undeniable energy between the two of you. It became hard to focus, often causing you to forget little bits of choreography or missing the mark by mere fractions of a second. With your director being the stickler that he was, this meant doing it over and over again until it was perfect.

“Let’s try that one more time!”

“Sorry,” you called, giving a small wave.

“No worries. Just get to the mark a little earlier.”

You nodded to show that you had heard him. One of the makeup artists came up and powdered part of your face. You closed your eyes while he did so and ran through the choreography. All you had to do was focus on that instead of Josh and you would be fine.

“Ok. Rolling in three, two…”

The music began to play and you ran through the choreography. It was going well, easily the best take yet. You were close to the end. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Josh stand up from his drum set so that he could take his own place, a part of the video that had only happened a few other times today due to your mess ups.

You took your place across from Josh and finished the last bit of the choreography, which meant getting very close to him. The music began to wind down, signaling the end of the song and, therefore, the video. It was difficult to hide your smile from the excitement of finally getting it right, but you refrained. Even a tiny mistake like smiling could ruin the take in the eyes of your director.

You and Josh stood a few inches apart, your chests heaving from the choreography and drumming. The two of you stood still, waiting for the director to call cut. Or maybe he had already called cut, you were too busy trying to ignore the obvious energy between the two of you.

"Can I kiss you?" Josh whispered, just loud enough for you to hear but not loud enough for the crew to.

"For the video or for real?"

"Who says it can't be both?"

"Then yes."

Josh placed a hand on your cheek and pulled you towards him so that your lips met. The director let out a loud hoot and the rest of the crew soon joined in with applause. You smiled against Josh's lips and you felt him do the same.

"And that's a wrap!" the director called. So maybe you hadn't missed it after all.

“How long have you waited to do that?” you asked.

“Remember the first day when I accidentally threw a drumstick across the room?”

“How could I forget?”

“My palms were sweaty because you were so gorgeous that it made me nervous.”

“We got it!” the director called happily. “The music video is done.”

You turned to face the crew, who were all clapping one another on the back and celebrating. Josh pulled you into a hug.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” he gave you another quick kiss.

“It’s all thanks to you.”