#I think the new Snow White has potential

[physics-of-one-piece]

Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 1

(AO3 link)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Murder, Mentions of Fratricide, Emotional Breakdown, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Celestial Dragon Traditions, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, New Tags Added with Each Chapter

A/N: It's finally here. The Red Suit Doffy fic I've been working on since... (checks dates of the first chapter) September 2024. Damn. I've only got the first two chapters written, everything else is vibes, but I want it to be 8-10 chapters. I also wanted to explore Doflamingo's way (or lack thereof) with showing/wanting/offering physical affection. This post is great analysing it and is the one that inspired me to even start thinking of writing it deeper and Doflamingo's lack of offering touch, and his use of touch when he does choose it/want it. It just confirmed to me back then that Doflamingo is INCREDIBLY touch-starved and very very not aware of it which has the potential to be very dangerous. Especially North Blue Doflamingo. (shudders) Also... I'm not sorry about the GIF. If I had to suffer making it, you have to reward my suffering by suffering while watching it. It's only fair 🥺

Word Count: 11.7k words

Chapter Navigation: 1 (you are here), 2

Chapter 1

The moment you and Rosinante moved into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, you had no disagreements over furniture placements and colour configurations. You both adored white and blue, and light colours, so there weren’t a lot of disagreements. The one thing you and Rosinante immediately agreed upon was the colour of your bedroom’s walls, both the ceiling and the surrounding four walls — sky blue.

To Rosinante, it was his favourite colour, and to you, it reminded you of the sky and the sea. It reminded you of the sky blue dress shirt Rosinante wears under his white waistcoat when wearing his marine uniform as a Navy commander — the uniform he wore when you met him.

It’s the sky blue ceiling you wake up to.

You’re laying in the bedroom you share with your husband, no weight of your clumsy blond husband on the other side, drooling away and snoring — silently thanks to his Devil Fruit — in his sleep.

That’s the first thing you notice.

It’s silent. Unnervingly so.

You roll over, half-asleep, glancing toward the alarm clock on your desk beside the marine transponder snail.

It’s way past the time Rosinante should have contacted you to tell you of successfully healing Law by making him eat the Op-Op Fruit.

Aren’t they back yet?

They should’ve been back by now.

Rosi would have called you that they’re on their way by now. You could heat up the dinner leftovers, or… No, you’d start on another dinner! Minion Island is cold this time of year, and although you’d bought Law the warmest cloak you could find in the town, he would probably still feel an unpleasant chill. You’d make them warm soup easy on the stomach.

Or... or...

A cake! A cake to celebrate Law beating his disease for good, and Rosi’s official last self-given assignment as Corazón. He could finally remove that mantle for good.

You were definitely going to convince him to keep his black feather coat, though.

The weather must be bad. The North Blue Sea was infamous for its waves during the winter months. Or maybe they're laying low on Minion now that the marines have arrested the Donquixote Pirates.

But Rosi would have called you if they were staying low; he’d promised to call you.

The yellow transponder snail with the white and blue shell rings.

You lunge across the bed to reach it, lifting the receiver by the time the second ring sounds out, your heart leaping in relief — Rosi must be calling to tell you they’re okay, that Law is healthy now, that they will come home soon —

The voice that said your name wasn’t Rosinante’s.

“Vice Admiral Tsuru,” you said, eyes wide. You cleared your throat. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Your husband, marine commander Donquixote Rosinante…”

Why does Tsuru-san sound in pain?

“...is dead.”

The world stopped, turning completely silent.

All you could do was stare blankly.

What?

The last two words repeated in your head like a broken record.

Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead.

Rosinante… is dead?

Those words didn’t belong with Rosinante’s name. Rosinante and the word dead didn’t belong in a sentence.

Shock left you mute, your head completely empty.

“We found him in the snow, with twenty bullet wounds. Sengoku confirmed his identity,” Tsuru’s voice sounded pained and hoarse. Then, the marine vice admiral abandoned her white coat, and said to you, woman to woman, “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears. It can’t be… it can’t be Rosi… not Rosi…

“He’s right here with me.” said Tsuru, while your hand around the receiver started to tremble. “We’re taking his body to Marineford. We’re sending a ship to escort you there tomorrow.”

Body. Body. Rosinante’s body.

Rosinante’s corpse. Your husband’s corpse.

“Understood.”

You put the receiver on the snail, its “Ga-chak.” filling the silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The sound of it echoes in your head. Your sight blurs, and you lose sense in your legs. The next moment, you’re sitting numbly on the floor in the bedroom which you and Rosinante painted together, surrounded by the sky blue walls, tears running down your cheeks.

What just happened? What…

Seconds ago, you were thinking about what food to warm up if Rosinante and Law managed to come back at this time late at night.

Seconds ago, Rosinante was alive.

You shuddered, crying more tears.

Now, you'd just gotten a call he’s... dead? That they’re transporting his body to Marineford?

Shock numbed you. That didn’t make sense. Just three days ago, Rosinante slept beside you, his large body wrapped around you, keeping you tucked into his chest, keeping you warm. He’d been beside you, breathing, talking, smiling and alive.

In the snow? Twenty bullets in him? Twenty? Rosinante never got that many bullet wounds.

You grab at your throbbing head.

This can’t be real. It doesn’t make sense. Rosinante had been right here, which only felt like hours ago. He'd been right here with you, in this very room, his warm, soft lips kissing yours, his face snuggling in your neck, his blond curly hair between your fingers, his long arms wrapped snugly around you, his angelic laugh tickling your ear.

It’s not real. It’s not real, this is a nightmare, it’s not real. You’re having a nightmare. This isn’t real. It can’t be, it can’t —

“Rosi…” you whisper shakily, trembling. You choke on a breath. Your chest hurts.

Your mind struggled to catch up to your body, which was shaking, panting, tears streaming down your shocked face and open, wide eyes.

You realise your lungs are hurting, your breathing rapid — alarmingly, so.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

You’re going to suffocate in the wave of your grief.

You rush outside. The air is cold. You inhale it greedily, foggy clouds sifting out of your mouth. Your chest felt painful while you gasped in the air. Your ribcage was squeezing in on itself. The cold air made you realise how warm the tears on your cheeks were.

You couldn’t stand anymore. You fell to your knees, and the sounds burst out of you; you started crying openly, loud, uncontrollable sobs leaving your mouth.

You screamed, howling into the sky, crying uncontrollably. The sounds your body produced, your lungs released, were heart-wrenching, full of agony.

You wept and wept, sobbed and screamed, hiccuped and choked, looking up at the starry night sky without really seeing it, tears streaming down your face as you howled in agony into the sky you used to watch together with Rosinante, crying toward the far-away stars.

All you could see was Rosinante, smiling brightly at you, his voice saying, “I love you!” filling your ears.

And your heart was wrenched open and killed.

Dead with your husband.

All you could do with the unbearable agony inside you was weep and howl like a dying, mourning animal.

***

How does betrayal feel like?

It feels like silence.

Silence of four years, a gap battled with taps on the den-den mushi and ink on paper.

It feels like the silence being broken by a voice. A voice not as deep as Doflamingo’s but sounding godly all the same, confident and calm, a softness Doflamingo’s didn’t possess.

His little brother’s voice, which Doflamingo mourned the loss of, not knowing he was mourning an empty lie. So many nights he spent thinking how Rosinante's voice would sound like as an adult, how his laugh would sound like, hoping maybe with time, he would hear it - one day, one day, one day — not knowing it was there all along and Rosinante had denied him all of it, had given it to the marines, to Law, to strangers Doflamingo didn't know.

Doflamingo hated them all.

Why did they get to have it and he didn’t?

Rosinante was his little brother, his family, his only equal, the only one who understood, the one who’d been through the same hell as he had... And yet, Doflamingo never got Rosinante back, never truly met his brother as an adult, not really. All Doflamingo got from Rosinante was a mask and silence, while they got everything.

All Doflamingo was given was a scrap, and lies.

So many lies.

Rosi — the one who gave his nickname to him because he couldn’t pronounce Doflamingo’s full name when he was two, shortening it into a harmless nickname full of fondness — didn’t even call him Doffy.

The first words Rosi said to him after four years of silence, after eighteen years of nothing, was his fucking marine code.

Rosi talked to him like they were strangers.

“You just had to go and screw everything up! Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazón?!”

What Doflamingo meant by those words was: Why? Why did you come back? You should’ve stayed away from me if you hated me. Then this wouldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stayed away from me!

The pain of betrayal is sharp and agonising.

Like a bullet.

Like red blood on white snow.

Doflamingo wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding in the same places Rosinante had, too.

Vergo’s words rang out in his head.

“Corazón has a wife.”

Doflamingo stared at the picture of you on the file Vergo sent him, staring down at your face.

At the one Rosinante gave everything to…

Finding out something like this...

It felt like... Like the first inhale of the fresh, clear sea morning, like the first bite into a feast after starving for a week, like the most pure, fresh water after a long trek in the desert.

Doflamingo thinks he understands now why Rosi didn’t stay away from him, why Rosi returned.

Because Rosi couldn’t stay away. If not for himself, then for his wife. Would Doflamingo be able to stay away, if he knew his brother was alive somewhere, with a wife, and hell, maybe planning to have a family? Would Doflamingo be the one considering a choice; stay away or meet? Cursed if you don’t, cursed if you do.

Would Doflamingo be able to do it?

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from Rosi, or from Rosi’s family. Because Doflamingo was family, too. Rosi’s family was Doflamingo’s family, too.

Just like now, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you. It was impossible. It felt like his own threads were pulling him toward you, urging themselves forth from his fingertips, reaching out to wrap around you, no matter how much he was sure you didn’t want them to.

Just like how Rosi couldn’t stay away from Doflamingo no matter how much he hated him, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he knew you hated him.

He just couldn’t. The thought was painful to bear, the mere image of staying away threatening to shred the last remaining piece of Doflamingo’s heart held together by strings.

“Doffy?” Vergo’s voice across the snail pulled Doflamingo out of his thoughts; he was still staring at your file, at the picture of you, at your name. “What do you want to do?”

Doflamingo got out of his chair, grabbing the pink feather coat that laid on it.

“I’m going to go get her,” he said, swinging the pink mantle over his shoulders. He grabbed a quill and parchment, writing down a note for Trebol and the others to find.

He looked outside. It was early in the morning; Vergo's call and documents he sent had woken him up. It was still dark out on the sea.

“Understood,” said Vergo without question. “Safe travels, Doffy.”

Doflamingo hummed in response, and put the receiver back down on the snail. He exited his cabin, walking to the balustrade of the ship, putting his right foot atop the rail. The wind was chilly, brushing at his face.

He still had a family. Rosinante had not only left Doflamingo behind.

He left a wife behind, too.

Doflamingo took to the sky.

***

Something burns on your skin. Your eyelids flutter open; the morning light sneaks in through the curtains, casting your eyes in the ray of gold. Your brows furrow in pain from the light hitting you.

You feel empty.

You woke in the puddle of your own misery. You've cried and howled yourself into sleep on the white carpet. You don’t know when you entered inside again after releasing the howl of agony into the night sky.

The house is empty.

Rosinante isn’t home yet.

That’s okay. You’ll wait. You’ve waited before. You can wait a bit more.

Rosi will come back.

He’ll come back.

It was just a bad dream.

You curl into yourself, tired.

Rosi always comes back, no matter what.

You’ll make pancakes… and you’ll wait for Rosi. You’ll make a lot of batter so you can make him and Law loads when they come back. They’ll be hungry after their trip.

Early dawn was outside, and the blue sky was painted with clouds.

A knock came at your door. You dragged yourself to it, and opened the doors.

A dark-skinned, handsome man dressed in marine uniform and coat towered above you, twice your height, nearly three meters tall. His dark, charcoal eyes were red-rimmed, revealing he’d been crying. His usually slicked-back, tidy white hair was rumpled and untidy, as though he’d wrestled with someone.

“Wulf,” you say, staring at the tall navy commander.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse and morbidly quiet. “Can I come in?”

You open the doors wider, letting him in. Wulf closes the doors behind himself, locking them with the key in the keyhole.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” you offered, hurrying to the light blue kitchen to place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag

“No,” he said. “I’m not here for…” He clenched his eyes shut. His large body shuddered.

“You can sit down while I —”

“I don’t want tea, dammit!” snapped Wulf.

His yell made you flinch, and you turned still.

“Fuck,” Wulf breathed, full of pain, tears glistening at his eyelashes. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quieting his voice. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Wulf’s large body slumped down, landing on the large white couch. He lowered his head to the floor. His large, dark hands lifted up to his hair, grabbing at the thick strands tight. He closed his eyes, a look of pain on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offered quietly.

There was no emotion in your dull, lifeless eyes, empty of any spark. You could see how tired Wulf was. He probably didn’t sleep a wink. He looked an absolute mess. You weren’t ready to look in the mirror to see how much of a mess you were.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Wulf spoke up. “We need to send a search party out for Law. He wasn’t the boy the Minion marine patrol took into custody.”

Search party? For Law? But that would mean… that would mean Wulf would have to explain to Sengoku who Law was.

“No,” you breathed.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you dare tell them about Law!”

Wulf’s eyes widened at the sudden surge of life in your dull eyes. You were tightly gripping the collar of his white dress shirt with both your hands, staring at him with a numerous amount of emotions filling your eyes, your face.

“If Law’s alive, they’ll go after him because he’s got the powers of the Op-Op Fruit!” you yelled at him. “Don’t you dare make Rosi’s death be for nothing!”

You froze.

Oh.

You said it.

Death.

That’s right.

Your fingers let go of Wulf’s collar.

Rosinante…

Died.

A chill swept through your body, making you shiver.

“Law,” you whisper, trying to keep yourself together, keeping your sanity stitched with the thoughts of the little boy. “We need to find Law.”

“Minion -”

“Why aren’t you and your team setting sail for it already?!” you asked desparately. What if Doflamingo sent his agents to scour the island? What if Law was...

“If I’m to ask for a marine ship, I need to give them a good reason!”

“You never did shit by the book, Wulf! That was Rosi!”

“Yeah, and I always got sent flying across Marineford by Sengoku for it, or did you forget that part?”

“I’ll call the patrol on Minion and tell them to look for Law.”

“No!” you yelled. “Doflamingo’s got a spy in the Navy! He’ll find out Law’s still there and find him before you!”

You could see Wulf’s thoughts racing in his head. “Then, I’ll send Hibou -”

“Hibou doesn’t fly fast enough! You can’t send him there alone! Law doesn’t trust marines!”

Wulf hesitated. “It took me and Rosi longer than a day to activate our Devil Fruits… Law might not be…”

“Law is a genius!” you yelled. “He’s going to be the best doctor in the world! Some stupid disease won’t kill him!”

Law was not dead. Your husband believed in Law, and you believed in Law, too. That kid was strong. Stronger than you were.

Law had fallen asleep reading on your lap. You put a blanket over him, but anytime you tried to remove yourself from him, the boy would murmur disagreeably, clutching onto your pants with his tiny fingers in his sleep. Rosinante cooed over him, snapping a few pictures of Law — and some of the two of you — with the camera snail because you two were the most adorable sight on the planet, according to the younger Donquixote. But you could see it in his brown eyes. Rosinante was worried sick for Law.

“Don’t worry, Rosi,” you said, reaching out with your free hand — the other one was running gently down Law’s dark hair — to take your husband’s much larger one, settling it over his scarred, pale palm.

“Our boy is too strong to die,” you said firmly.

The touch and words appeared to break Rosinante out of the pit of his thoughts, the blond man sitting beside you turning to look at you, wide-eyed.

“Our?” asked Rosinante in a whisper.

“What?” you asked, blinking.

Rosinante sniffled. His eyes glazed over, his lips trembling. Before you could see what was wrong with him, the blond turned away from you shyly.

“Rosi, are you crying?” you asked, worried.

“N-No!” squeaked the big, blond man, hiding his face in the pillow of the white couch of the home you shared, wiping at his teary eyes. “No, what are you talking about? I’m not crying!”

You smiled softly, a swell of affection blooming within you, overwhelmed by love you felt for him. Rosinante was so kind and gentle, with a truly bleeding heart. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him on first sight — his kindness and clumsiness won you over right away.

“Our, huh?” murmured Rosinante softly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, making sure there was no question about it. You were willing to die for the boy sleeping on your lap. You were willing to fight the entire world for this boy, were willing to die for him. “He’s our boy now.”

“Yeah.” The smile lit up Rosinante’s face, casting him in heavenly light; he looked like an angel, his soft brown eyes staring gently down at the sleeping boy. “He is.”

“Our treasure.” whispered Rosinante, reaching down to caress Law’s cheek with his fingers.

Wulf took a breath.

“Okay. If there is a spy, as you say, I’ll call Sengoku-san directly to lock down Rosi’s file.” Wulf shuddered. He looked down at you, full of worry. “If Doflamingo finds out about you, he’ll come to kill you. I’ll put Nietzche and Hibou on patrol around this island, and the rest of us will head to Minion -”

“No,” you said, something burning inside you. The next words came out of your mouth on instinct. “Use me as a lure.”

Wulf’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Use me as a lure,” you said, meeting Wulf’s gaze. “It’ll keep Doflamingo’s attention off of Minion Island long enough for you to get Law away. If Doflamingo comes, he comes. I know how to shoot a gun.”

Wulf frowned, disliking the idea entirely. “You don’t know what he’s -”

“Doflamingo killed him.”

The words are out. Because both of you knew. You and Wulf knew Rosinante wouldn’t get killed so easily. Nobody could kill Rosinante except Doflamingo, because Rosinante would have fought them tooth and nail, and there was no way anyone on Minion Island could have given Rosinante trouble — not even those top executives — except Doflamingo.

If it came down to having to directly hurt Doflamingo, you knew Rosinante wouldn’t be able to do it. You never faulted him for it. In fact, you loved him for it. You would never ask Rosinante to do such a thing, even if your own life was on the line. You’d rather die than force him to make such a choice, to even think about it.

Rosinante loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But it seemed Doflamingo loved power more than he loved Rosinante.

It sickened you. It infuriated you. Rosinante could never hurt Doflamingo, not for duty, not for revenge, not for anything. So how could Doflamingo hurt Rosinante?

“His only family… And Rosi told me enough to get a glimpse of what his brother is like. So if he finds out, he finds out. He’ll come here, and you all - all six of you, will go to Minion Island while he wastes time coming here, and you’ll take Law away from there.”

For a moment, Wulf said nothing, simply staring at you with his dark, black eyes, momentarily surprised by your words.

“You… aren’t trying to follow Rosi, are you? Because you know… you know he’d want you to stay alive, to take care of that kid.”

Chills rose on your spine, but they weren’t of fear. You didn’t raise your head. You simply lifted your eyes to Wulf’s, and let him see what was within them.

It wasn’t sadness, or a wish for death. It was determination, burning and fierce, mixed with burning fury.

Wulf sighed in defeat. He could tell by your eyes you weren’t going to back down from this.

“I’ll call in some favours for a ship. I’ll call you when I have everything ready.”

Wulf said your name.

“He killed my brother in arms.” said Wulf darkly. “It’s not just you or me who wants him dead.”

Wulf turned his head over his shoulder to gaze at you, his eyes full of bloodlust. “The crows are hungry for Doflamingo’s blood.”

“Shut the door after me,” Wulf said, then left.

You did just that. You walked back to the kitchen, breathing in and out. Your stomach felt empty. You needed to eat something.

Pancakes.

If it’s going to be your last meal, you want it to be a good one. Therefore, the pancakes with chocolate syrup is the best decision for the last meal. An easy, simple meal.

Your fingers tremble.

You can’t believe Rosinante is gone.

Simply… gone.

How are you supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing Rosinante will never be lying beside you again?

Tears well in your eyes. You take a breath, swallowing them down. You’re not allowed to cry again. Not yet. Not until you know Law is safe.

You head up the stairs to change from your night dress, heading back to yours and your husband’s bedroom. You survey your wardrobe.

Before you know it, you’re opening Rosinante’s part of the wardrobe, taking one of his blue shirts from the hanger, hugging it tight to your chest.

You kept holding on to the calm you got with him. You hold onto the scent of him you’ve come to know; coal and citrus, woody smells that he always wore that felt like a hug around your shoulders.

For a while, you sit on the bed, holding your husband’s shirt, trying to pretend he was there when you knew he wasn’t. Eventually, you returned back to the terrible reality, and put his dress shirt back on the hanger.

Light blue. You decide if you are going to get killed by your brother-in-law today, you want to die in light blue. It was Rosi’s favourite colour, and you grew a love for it over the years. You need somewhere to conceal a weapon. You grab black pants, put the light blue blouse over yourself, and get dressed.

You open the drawer in your night table, staring down at the small, black revolver. You pick it up, check the safety hammer is on, then check the cylinder holding six sea stone prism bullets. Loaded, ready to be fired.

You holster it under your blouse, making sure you can reach it quickly.

It’s silent. So silent.

You’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

You head to the kitchen to make the pancakes. You wished you’d made them before Wulf arrived; he needed something to eat.

The day is sunny, the birds are chirping in the trees. But there is a somber, mourning silence in your house. You gather the bowl to crack the eggs in and make the batter.

Rosi would already be stumbling out of your bedroom by now, dressed in his blue striped pyjamas, his blue sleeping hat atop his head, his sleepy face endearing in a handsome way, his blond waves of bed head swept in all directions, his hands rubbing the sleep off his eyes before he stretched his arms out and yawned to the point tears edged at his lower eyelashes.

Then, he’d see you and smile like the sun before greeting you with a happy, sweet, “Good morning!”

You look out of the window. The scenery in front of you is so vibrant, green forest and blue river. Doesn’t it know all your life has died? The most colourful painting is worthless to you.

You make the batter without having to think too much about it, so used to the movements they became second nature to you, just as fighting was second nature to Rosinante. You start the stove, listen to the clicking sound of the fire, adjust it, and set the frying pain on it, spreading butter along it. Then, you pour the batter in. The smell of the pancakes soothes you, and once the side is fried well, you flip it, and wait for the bubbles again.

They remind you of gunshot wounds.

Twenty gunshot wounds. Were they all from Doflamingo’s flintlock? Did the fucking bastard put twenty bullets in your husband, treating your husband like he was swiss cheese?

You set the first pancake on the plate, and make twenty more. You take the chocolate syrup and spread it over each one thoroughly with a butter knife, then roll the pancakes. You sprinkle sugar over them, and serve them at the center of the table.

“Look, Law! Pancakes!” cheered Rosinante happily to the little boy with the spotted hat trailing after his long legs like a baby penguin after its father; you held back a giggle at the two sleepyheads, smiling gently at them. 

Rosinante greeted you with a kiss, getting a “get a room!” from Law, and then he sat down at the table and inhaled the smell of the pancakes. 

“Ah, they smell so good, dear!” said Rosinante, smiling brightly at you.

“Come on, Law! Don’t be shy!” said Rosinante, patting the chair next to his. “This is my wife’s masterpiece! After you taste her pancakes, you’ll never want to eat anything else for the rest of your life! You can live on pancakes!”

“You can’t live on pancakes,” grumbled Law.

“Well, if you do end up liking them and want more, I’ve got more batter in the bowl, so I’ll make you more if you want, okay, Law?” you asked.

Law blushed. “Thank… you…”

You glanced at Rosinante questioningly, speaking with your eyes to him. Did Law not have pancakes with the Donquixote Pirates? Rosinante shook his head sadly, in a way that told you Law didn’t let himself be a kid, so he never ate ‘kid stuff’ like pancakes. 

Tentatively, Law took the rolled up pancake, and after glancing to Rosinante, who was eating his own with his hands — the pancake looked miniature in your husband’s fingers, almost like a toy — chomping down on the roll enthusiastically, Law did the same.

You nearly squealed from the cuteness as you watched the two eat.

Law’s eyes widened after the first bite, and then they lit up, filling with light. A small, tiny smile bloomed across his face, and he stared at the pancake with child-like joy.

There he was. A little boy, not a tough, pirate apprentice.

Law quickly devoured the pancake, the little smile on his face filling you with joy. You smiled happily.

Once Law realised he’d eaten the single pancake he took, he glanced from the plate, then toward you, and asked, “Can I have another?”

Rosinante cooed. “You can have my entire plate, you cute little pancake!”

To prove how much he meant it, Rosinante slid his plate of a pile of rolled-up pancakes to the little boy.

Law scowled, though to you it looked more like a cute, indignant pout with his cheeks puffed up that way.

“I’m not a pancake, Cora-san!” Law protested, for which he got a fond chuckle from Rosinante, who simply beamed down at him.

You giggled. They were so cute.

“Of course. You can have as much as you want, Law.” you said softly, smiling gently at the boy.

Law nodded, that little smile sneaking onto his face again.

You stared at the plate loaded with twenty rolled-up pancakes.

You made too much.

Tears started flowing down your eyes again, uncontrollable and wet. You wipe them from your cheeks, sniffling. But they keep coming out, so you let them cascade down your cheeks, letting them roll in silence as you sit down, murmur a sob-filled, “Thank you for the food.” and grab one pancake from the plate and force yourself to eat it.

The taste is great. But your taste buds can’t appreciate it. You start sobbing halfway, and your hands slide up to your face, covering your eyes. You rest your head on the dining room table and cry your eyes out into your forearms, hiccups and sobs shaking your body.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this. You can’t, you can’t...

It hurts too much. You're going to be sick —

Rosi... Rosi!

Your cries and sobs echo across the kitchen tiles, creating a tragic symphony.

After you’d cried yourself out to the point your chest hurts and your throat feels sore, you eat the pancake to the end.

Outside, the azure sky is impossibly clear. The cicadas are so loud. They make the loss of Rosinante’s silence more deafening. You’ve always had too sensitive and too precise of a hearing; you could hear droplets from a well ten meters away, and the slightest rustling of the leaves in the wind. You could pick up who was approaching you by the sound and weight of their footsteps — a thing that freaked some people out. It wasn’t any devil fruit; you stayed away from devil fruits because you had no need of them working as a translator for the marines, and you liked to swim.

Rosinante told you it could be a form of Observation Haki. Apparently, the advanced, one-in-a-million Observation Haki users are able to hear people’s inner voices. That sounded absolutely terrifying to you. How didn’t people go insane with that? It wasn’t an ability you wanted, and thankfully, your hearing didn’t seem to reach that crazy, abnormal level.

Rosinante was practically your sound therapy with his Devil Fruit. He made the world around you go silent, muted all the noises, be it the spinning of a washing machine, the shrieking of the birds, the insistent meowing of an alley cat, the barking dogs, the annoying cicadas that you thought about committing arson over by setting the entire forest on fire…

“Honey, that’s illegal. Also, I’m the one usually setting fire to stuff, it’s my whole thing!” Rosinante was genuinely distressed. He gave you a pleading look, pursing his lips, which started to quiver and tremble, his eyes filling with tears as he cried — his sad puppy look,which immediately melted your heart, making you coo internally. He was absolutely adorable. “You can’t do my thing!”

Rosinante snapped his fingers. “Silent!”

A purple sphere came alive, momentrily floating above his finger, and then enlarged, pulling the two of you into its space. All sound from outside vanished.

You launched yourself at him and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his wide waist. “I love you, Rosi! I love your Devil Fruit!”

Rosinante’s face grew deeper shades of red by the passing second, until, quite literally, the gathered temperature exploded in a burst of steam out of his ears, and your husband combusted into flames.

“I love you!” he yelled, peppering you with kisses, pulling you onto his lap, making you giggle and laugh. You squeezed your tall husband’s back as much as the length of your arms allowed you to.

“I love you more,” you said, staring up at him lovingly.

“Nuh-uh,” said Rosinante, his face turning serious. “I love you mo —”

You shut him up with a kiss, burying your fingers in his soft, silky golden hair, pulling him down to you.

Rosinante smiled into the kiss, admitted defeat, and enveloped your lips in a deep, long kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your head, his fingers warm and sweet on your cheek.

In the end, with how breathless and flushed Rosinante left you, you thought you were the defeated one in the end.

You can’t take it anymore. You want out. Out of this house that is full of memories of the happiness you two had, of so much potential, now silent like a grave.

You get your bag, grab some cash to buy groceries to make for lunch. Rosinante wouldn’t want you to wallow in misery, much less not eat. He was always fussy about making sure you ate, always insisting on serving you seconds, and you knew why. It broke your heart.

You reach the small port town, passing by people, your eyes unfocused, lost in memories. Your feet are leading you somewhere, a familiar path which you and Rosinante took many times.

You remembered when he surprised you the first time he managed to sneak away after completing his first mission for Doflamingo ahead of schedule, bearing you gifts, unaware his presence was the greatest gift to you of all.

In the early morning, your husband dragged you out of bed for a “surprise”. It would have been a normal, endearing, funny wake-up call if your husband’s arm wasn’t nearly the length of your entire body. Being dragged out of bed by Rosinante’s excited arm felt like being launched by a slingshot from one point to another.  And of course, the landing point ended up being Rosinante’s body, and because it was Donquixote Rosinante, he failed to consider his own pull strength — once again, slingshot fast — and that was how you ended up falling on his chest. He, of course, as the good marine he was, caught you so you don’t get hurt, and once more failed to take another of his natural skills into account.

His clumsiness. 

With a shriek as panicked as your own — albeit for different reasons — Rosinante moved to catch you, tripped midway and fell forward at the same time as you impacted him, and you ended up crashing into him midway on his fall, and he fell on his back rather than his front, you atop his chest. 

After you two looked at each other to check the other was okay, the two of you burst out into giggles on the floor.

Rosinante excitedly told you to get dressed (you chose a white summer dress), brought his backpack and led you through the island by the hand, still dressed in his pirate outfit of white trousers, pink shirt and black feather coat, smiling the entire way. You loved the feather coat, and you couldn’t help but comment how he and Doflamingo were now truly “bird brothers”. The look Rosinante gave you at that comment made you laugh for a minute straight, especially when he dramatically pulled off his purple sunglasses to blink at you repeatedly.

You two walked for a while. You told Rosinante about your days, how everyone was very helpful and welcoming, and let him know about the invitation for a barbeque party tomorrow, and Rosinante agreed — he did have to meet the other marines on the island, along with their families. 

Rosinante came to a stop in front of a steep hill. 

“It’s right up this way,” said Rosinante, smiling in that adorable way that made him even more handsome. “I’ll carry you up.”

You gulped.

“Are you sure you can trek this, Rosinante?” you asked, holding some doubts. You’d seen your husband fall down the entire fifty meter flight of stone stairs of Marineford like a bouncing ball many times when you met him, and this hill had plenty of rocky, dirt-covered terrain.

You could already imagine Rosinante rolling down it like a pancake covered in black feathers. Or... Like an ostrich.

This hill and forest looked like something for hikers, and no offense to Rosinante, but he and hiking don’t go hand in hand, so your hesitation was well-founded.

“Yup,” said Rosinante, beaming down at you. “Up you go, mi amor.”

Without much arguing from you — because you’d never refuse being carried bridal style by your favourite man in the world, falling to your death be damned — he perched down, bending his knees to be at your height, and picked you up carefully, one hand under your knees, the other on your back.

It’s comfortable. Rosinante is warm, his long, strong arms cradling you close to his chest like the most precious treasure, and you feel like a princess swathed in the black feathers of his feather coat and his embrace. You close your eyes, resting your head on his chest, on the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt scattered with hearts.

Rosinante started uphill, trekking upon the soil with the confidence of a man who braved deep snow, heavy rain and thick mud many times throughout his life. Large, lush pine trees towered around you, the forest rich with fresh air that mixed with the soft coal scent of your husband. You pass by moss-covered rocks, glimpse squirrels curiously looking down at the giant, lanky blond man from their branches high above, chipping away at pine cones and walnuts in their tiny fingers. Their big brown eyes reminded you of Rosinante’s. After five minutes of Rosinante climbing uphill, the terrain turns flat, and he walks through the thicketed vegetation, the leaves of high bushes and branches brushing across his waist. Sunlight sneaks through the canopy of the trees, touching you and him occasionally, dappling you two in warm light.

“Okay,” said Rosinante. “I’ll put you down now.”

After he puts you down to the ground, Rosinante takes your hand, twining his long fingers between the spaces of yours, and leads you through the maze of greenery, further and further, deeper into the forest, where it becomes more quiet with every step. His long fingers, tucked between yours, holding your hand tight, chase away any anxiety or insecurity you might feel in the new, unknown surrounding.

A high, towering wall of leaves and shrubs conceals your view to whatever lies ahead.

“Close your eyes.”

You chuckle, but do so.

“Wait here,” Rosinante told you. “Don’t open your eyes!”

You laugh. “I won’t.”

You put your free hand over your closed eyes to reassure him of it.

Rosinante’s long fingers — calloused from training, falling and scarred from all the battles he won and survived — slide out of the embrace of yours.

You wait for a few minutes, wondering what sort of surprise he must have for you. You couldn’t hear anything. Rosinante must have used his Devil Fruit so you can’t hear what he’s doing. All you can hope for is that your sweet husband’s ‘surprise’ doesn’t involve anything flammable.

“Okay!” Rosinante chirped behind you, making you shriek and leap at the sudden revelation of his presence, which made him chuckle. “Ready?”

You peek through your fingers to look at him. Rosinante’s smile and excitement is infectious, making you smile to the point your cheeks hurt.

“Yup,” you said.

“Hey!" your husband scolds when he notices your eyes between the tiny space of your fingertips. “No peeking!”

You huff, but relent, covering your eyes fully again.

Rosinante takes your hand, and leads you forward. You keep your eyes closed. Leaves brush over your face, and you feel the warmth of the sunlight on your skin again.

“Okay... Three... Two...”

“One.”

You opened your eyes, gasping at the sight. In front of you and Rosinante was a blooming field of blue forget-me-nots, forming a large circle around the pine forest.

There, among the blue flowers, was a picnic blanket, a picnic basket filled with food atop it.

A giddy smile on his face, pleased with your joy at his successful surprise, Rosinante led you by the hand toward the picnic blanket where all the food awaited.

You two sit down beside each other. You can’t speak; you’re completely speechless.

Rosinante had made you an entire feast; there were rice balls, black bean soup, chocolate cream cakes, muffins with chocolate chips, grilled toast with melted cheese that made your mouth water at the mere sight of it, blackberries and black risotto with chopped cuttlefish meat. 

Rosinante was by no means a lousy cook, in fact, he was quite good at cooking (you were surprised by it the first time, too, especially when he told you he spent a lot of time cooking with Sengoku when he was a kid) but he had to be monitored so he doesn’t set the entire house on fire.

When you opened the container holding the black risotto, hot steam surged out. The black risotto smelled absolutely heavenly. It tasted heavenly, too — it was the perfect amount of ingredients and flavours that you moaned aloud.

Dear gods, Rosinante’s black risotto was to die for. It was one of the meals both you and your husband enjoyed, eating it at a restaurant in Marineford every Friday on your lunch break together even before you’d started dating. The black colouring of the food was due to the squid ink used in the recipe. You both loved it so much that it became your go-to food to make.

Rosinante pulled out a champagne bottle from the basket, further impressing you.

“I snatched this one from Doffy’s liquor cabinet. 1480.” Rosinante smirked smugly, waving the bottle victoriously. “He should’ve drank it while he could.”

You laughed. Rosinante may not talk good things about his brother, but stealing liquor from his brother was a very sibling thing to do. It was clear Rosinante loved pulling pranks on Doflamingo.

While Rosinante said this, removing the golden foil, distractedly unwinding the cage, his eyes focused on you, he forgot to move the bottle away from himself.

The cork launched out of the seal with a loud pop. By some stroke of luck, the cork missed hitting Rosinante’s head, but the golden liquor bursting with bubbles did not. After you heard the satisfying pop, all you could do was stare in shock as champagne sprayed your husband in the face.

His golden waves of hair sogged like a wet dog’s, sparkling liquid running down his cheeks, trailing across his pale neck, sliding down his collarbone and over his chest, staining his wet shirt.

“Rosi!” you cried. “Are you okay?”

Rosinante laughed softly, rich and warm.

“I’m okay,” he replied, looking down at you in that tender, gentle way that filled your heart and made butterflies fly in your stomach.

His long tongue flicked out, licking along his lips, tasting the champagne he spilled. You feel your face flush when you realise you’d looked at his tongue attentively.

“Tastes good,” he said.

You chuckled fondly, watching champagne drip from his golden bangs. “I’m sure it does.”

“Does it smell good?” he asked as you reached for a towel in the basket. You sat between his sprawled, spread out, long legs, brushing off the liquid you could spot.

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling, continuing to pat his face and shirt. It smelled fresh. “It does.”

Rosinante smiled goofily. He gave you your glass, then poured the champagne, and next poured it to himself in his own.

“What do we toast to?” he asked.

“Love and health?” you suggested.

“Love and health!” agreed Rosinante. “Salud!”

“Salud!”

The two of you clinked your champagne glasses together, then drank a few sips of champagne. Rosinante took two large gulps of it instead of humble sips.

When the plastic plates were all cleaned up and the food was gone, stored away in your stomachs, you asked him the question you had since the start of this surprise date, “When did you cook all this?”

“After you fell asleep.” Rosinante’s long arms wrapped around you, a movement he started doing by instinct with how many times he’d done it. You leaned back into him, sinking into his embrace, comfortable between his legs. “The muffins and chocolate cakes are bought. I bought them first thing in the morning, while you were still sleeping.”

You smiled; your husband had always been sneaky, both literally and figuratively.

The blond hung his head sullenly, looking like a sad puppy. He puffed out smoke to the side, mindful not to blow it in your face. “Sorry, my love. I’m no good at baking…”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you said, leaning into his strong body and planting a kiss on his cheek, which made him perk up, a sweet blush painting his cheeks, soon followed by his goofy smile. “And what you did cook is delicious, as were the cakes and muffins you bought.”

“Thank you, Rosinante.” you said, full of joy. “This is beautiful.”

Rosinante chuckled, a charming, gentle, yet deep sound. It made your heart race in your chest. It still didn’t feel real that this wonderful man was yours. The knowledge of it rushed goosebumps up your spine.

To think you’d find a true prince charming in this world. He had come straight down from heaven and accidentally bumped right into you. He was straight out of a fairytale, brown eyes and golden locks of wavy hair tickling his earlobes.

Rosinante looks so pretty, like an angel.

“It’s nothing to thank me for.” Rosinante’s long fingers laced between the spaces of yours, his wedding ring pressing against yours. “You always take care of me. It's my job to take care of you, too, you know. It’s nice to be away from Marineford. I get you all to myself.”

Rosinante’s lips lifted into a sly, flirtatious smile, his eyes lowering to your lips, a hint of hunger flashing in his brown eyes. “And we’re all alone… this place is pretty well hidden.”

You picked up on his meaning and smiled brightly. Your hand slid up his chest, carefully tracing along the hearts on the pink fabric, along his strong, firm shoulder, brushing against his nape, sliding up into the blond, golden curls of his soft hair, running your fingers through it slowly. All the while, Rosinante’s body leaned closer and closer to yours like a magnet of north finding its south, his large hand settling on the middle of your back, pulling you flush to him, towering over you, until all you could see, smell and breathe was him.

“Is that so, commander…” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze with half-lidded eyes.

Rosinante cradled your chin between his thumb and index finger, brought your face up to his, his half-lidded eyes soft and hungry, a charming curve of his lips rendering you breathless. Your breath hitched, staring into his intense gaze — in that moment, you saw the heavenly, commanding intensity inside your husband’s seductive eyes, lighting a fire in your chest. You were being looked at by a real god.

Rosinante kissed you, soft and deep.

“I’m back,” you say to the empty field of blue flowers.

You lay down among the field of the blue forget-me-nots and close your eyes, hoping the flowers will swallow you. Hoping they will enter your lungs, suffocate you, and end you, give you your last, final, living breath. Your tears soak the blue petals of the flowers you and Rosinante used to lay among.

Rosinante used to lie right here beside you, the halo of his blond curly hair shining among the blue blossoms.

Now, there is only the gaping hole of sorrow, a void. An emptiness. You don’t feel anything.

You closed your eyes, clutching Rosinante’s picture tightly between your fingers. You lay there on your side, crying silently among the blue petals where you and your husband once laid together.

No one ever told you that grief feels like fear. You are not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same terrible sinking in the stomach, the same restlessness, the same yawning hole.

It sinks in.

Rosinante isn’t coming home to you.

***

“Excuse me?”

The owner of the flower shop jumped at the deep voice. She turned, and had to look up, and then had to look up more, and then some more, and stared at a handsome man with blond, spiked-up hair, dressed in a red suit with a red tie, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

“Do you know where the Donquixote residence is?” the man asked.

“If you’re looking for Commander Rosinante, he’s away on marine business.”

The stranged blinked - or at least, she assumed he did, by his expression.

“You don’t know?” the exceptionally tall man asked.

“Know what, sir?”

“Rosinante is dead,” the blond man in the red suit delivers the terrible news bluntly, calmly, without any deep emotion, as though he’s telling her about the weather; it reminds her of veteran marines who have seen too much death and have grown used to it. He is staring down at her, into her eyes, with a serious look.

“Oh goodness!” the florist cried, eyes wide. “That poor man... When did it happen?”

“Yesterday evening,” said the blond man blatantly, his voice still calm, his expression still serious. “The news coo hasn’t flown out yet, so only the marines and family know for now. He’ll be in the obituary today or tomorrow.”

“I see... So you’re looking for —”

“His wife,” said the man.

The florist pursed her lips. The man with the unnerving resemblance to Commander Rosinante, despite being devilishly handsome and appearing not to have a single evil bone in his body or hold any malicuious intent, was still a stranger to her.

“Please,” the man with the hair the colour of the yellow primroses says, a desperation in his face. “I’d like to surprise her. Cheer her up. We haven’t seen each other a long time. She shouldn’t be alone.”

The flower shop owner’s heart throbbed at the words and the look of raw pain on the tall man’s face. She had no idea Commander Rosinante had died… and yesterday evening, at that… That was why you’d been wandering around aimlessly, like you were a ghost not meant fo stay in the world. You must have gotten the news… you poor thing.

“Mrs Donquixote lives in a house near the river,” said the shop owner. She pointed to the right end of the cobblestone street. “You take a right there, then a left. It’s a bit farther in the richer district, but that’s the sort of accomodations a Commander and his wife deserve. I can’t believe he's gone… He was such a wonderful man. His son will be devastated.”

The tall man tensed up, flinching.

(In that moment, Donquixote Doflamingo experienced a small heart attack thinking he was an uncle and there was a baby with you — his brother’s baby.)

“...son?” he breathed; his entire tone of voice changing, he sounded shocked and hesitant.

“This little boy. Law, I think. ” The man’s body slumped, as though he was relieved. “He was the sweetest thing. Quiet, but what sick child wouldn’t be? He always clung to Commander Rosinante when I saw them in town. No doubt Commander took him from the battlefield. I suppose he took the boy to the marines to try to find his parents, or to ensign him into the force.”

The blond man’s lips twitched slightly. “I see… Thank you for the help.”

The man turned to leave.

“She likes primroses,” blurted the shop owner. She glanced to the man’s glazed-up hair, and then to the yellow primroses - Mrs Donquixote’s favourite flowers - and was struck dumb.

The sharply dressed man’s blond hair was the exact same colour as the flowers.

“Like your hair, sir.”

“My hair?” asked the man.

The florist nodded. “Yellow primroses.”

The man smiles, and once more, the woman is hit by how similar to Commander Rosinante he looks - so similar he could be his brother! What a strange resemblance!

“Then, a bouquet of yellow primroses, please,” says the man dressed in the merlot suit, handing over a bill of five thousand berri. “And keep the change.”

“Oh, no, no, dear.” she said with a shake of her head, arranging the bouquet of yellow flowers, not taking the offered bill. “You keep your money. Just get her these, all right?”

The man’s mouth opened in a slight ‘o’, and he stared at her in surprise. He looked goofy, and so similar to the same expression Commander Rosinante made when he was shocked or taken by surprise.

However, he nodded, accepting the flowers.

“And... stay by her side.” The florist said. “Don’t let her be alone.”

An emotion crossed the man’s tanned, handsome face; he looked like he was in pain.

The blond man pulls the bouquet of yellow flowers to his chest, his long, puppeteer-like fingers holding them protectively.

“I will,” he promised.

He turned and left in the direction of the Donquixote residence. The florist was unable to keep her eyes off of him. What a sharp-looking, well-dressed man…

And so handsome! Oh, if she was only thirty years younger, she would have definitely asked him for his transponder snail number, or whatever the youth use these days.

***

The moment he was out of the small town, Doflamingo used his strings and flew high into the air, using the same basic of given directions to locate your house.

It didn’t take him long to find the river, and as he approached the flatlands of the island, he saw many houses scattered around. Probably those of families of retired high-ranking marine officers and their families. likely from other high-ranked retired marines and their families.

Doflamingo landed in front of the wooden fence surrounding a garden. A white, two-story house stood down the garden.

Doflamingo saw rows of cabbages beside the dirt path, their green leaves shielding the plant’s head. There was a roofed porch leading to the entrance doors. The garden fence didn’t even reach to his knees. Doflamingo stepped over it.

It looked rather a lot like a farmhouse, but without the farm — Doflamingo would have heaved if there were farm animals around being used for sustenance — and with the garden and yard.

A crow gave a caw. Doflamingo turned to the sound, and nearly cut a human-like silhouette’s head off with his strings.

It was a scarecrow. Not any scarecrow. Doflamingo stood eye-level with it, staring at the shiny red sunglasses, white dress shirt and white capri pants with red flame patterns the scarecrow of hay wore.

Doflamingo’s lips twitched; he felt like laughing, and barely withheld it not to make any noise. It was certainly a likeness.

Corazón must have stolen one of his sunglasses for it.

Chuckling, Doflamingo prowled toward the porch, and stood in front of the entrance doors.

Should he knock?

Doflamingo smiled maliciously, full of menace.

No.

Donquixote Doflamingo, hands in the pockets of his merlot suit pants, kicked down the doors of his sister-in-law’s house.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called.

The only sound in the space lit by the windows letting the light in was the whoosh of the curtains.

“Huh…?”

She isn’t even home to be surprised!

Scoffing in annoyance at his entrance being ruined by not having you witness it, Doflamingo entered through the door frame into the living room lit by natural light coming from the curtains.

“Tch.”

Guess she’s still in town. Did she go to buy groceries for lunch?

“Hm?”

A large picture caught his attention.

Oh.

You’re beautiful.

It was a picture of you, Rosinante, and Law. All of you are smiling at the camera, showing the peace sign. Doflamingo stares at his little brother’s big smile, because it’s the first time he sees it on him, having never seen it on his brother as an adult.

Doflamingo’s mouth forms into a sneer.

Thinking you could have your cake and eat it too, huh, Corazón? You bastard. You liar. You traitor.

Doflamingo exhaled. It didn’t matter anymore. Your husband’s sins were not yours. His brother already paid for his betrayal, and Doflamingo had forgiven him for it. You were a Donquixote by marriage with his brother, therefore, you were under Doflamingo’s protection, and the only real family he had left. As the head of the Donquixote family, since your husband was gone, your care, happiness and health were Doflamingo’s responsibility now. In Mariejois, the head of the family is expected to care for the close family members such as this. Celestial Dragons leave no family behind. If you and Doflamingo were in Holy Land, he would do the same; do anything to provide for you, take you into his home, care for you.

By Celestial traditions and rules of the Holy Land, you belong to Doflamingo now.

Doflamingo frowns. It’s an entire life here, in these pictures. A life Doflamingo never knew about, never asked about. Because he’d trusted his little brother.

A life Doflamingo was completely left out of.

Reading about the Fleet Admiral adopting his brother was one thing, seeing his little brother, dressed in marine cadet garb, shyly looking at the camera with Sengoku’s hand on his shoulder was another. More people started appearing in the pictures as his brother grew, as he got leaner and stronger, as he cut his bangs not to cover his eyes anymore, and eventually, you were in the pictures with his brother, too — it was so unbearably obvious you two were going to be together by the way you two smiled, by the way you held each other, your body languages speaking with the way you leaned toward each other — that when he arrived to the single photo of the two of you in the living room in Water 7 (undoubtedly tyour honeymoon destination), it felt like you and his brother had been married way before he wore his wedding suit and you your wedding dress.

Doflamingo climbed up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He needed to know what sort of clothes you liked to wear.

The master bedroom was large, walls painted sky blue, with a large three meter long bed in the middle, and a large white wardrobe.

Doflamingo scoffed, unimpressed. What a dump of a master bedroom. Is this where the magic was supposed to happen? It wasn’t very magical to Doflamingo. It looked like any plain bedroom in the taverns he stayed in.

Doflamingo walked to the closet, and opened it. There was no walk-in closet here. What a disgrace. This isn't how their mother raised them to treat their spouses.

The clothes in your wardrobe were so ordinary... so plain...

Well, it didn’t matter. Doflamingo was going to buy proper clothes for a beautiful woman like you.

Curiousity got the better of him, and he opened his brother’s wardrobe.

Ten pristinely white marine coats hung from the clothing rack, paired with blue dress shirts.

That was a lot of coats.

Doflamingo let out a snort, shaking his head at his brother’s affliction to set his clothes on fire. Some things never change. Whoever thought giving his little brother a lighter was a good idea must have been a madman.

Donquixote Rosinante, commander of the most deadly assassination and spy unit of the marines, the Crow Corps. Doflamingo had heard about them, but never knew their identities - they were thought not to exist, really. For all his years in the underworld, Doflamingo never encountered them — or maybe he had, and was not aware of it.

The Crow Corps were a myth, a story to scare the sailors with, a marine legend pirates talked about when something went incredibly amiss in intelligence gathering and the underworld.

“Must’ve been the Crow Corps.”

“Beware the Crow Corps, they’re the marines’ eyes and ears; they can hear you through the thickest walls and see you in the darkest shadow.”

Doflamingo would have felt proud of his brother’s achievements if he didn’t see how dim-witted his baby brother really was, throwing all of his hard work away to save Law.

After checking your shirt, dress, skirts, pants and shoe sizes, he also pulled out a few bras to get an insight on your bra size — he needed to know it be able to buy you proper, nice undergarments, not this cotton, wire bullshit — he started scouring boxes in Rosinante’s wardrobe. Maybe he’d find some information on the marines there, a blueprint, a floor plan, sailing routes, anything really. Instead, all he found was Rosinante’s official documents, and the copy of the marriage contract. You two had even gotten a house in Marineford free of charge. He was surprised how well the marines took care of their families, but it wasn’t new. Better to encourage families and support them so they give you more little marines to train and send out to get killed in battle.

Doflamingo took your personal documents from your nightstand’s drawer. You’d need those with him. Registrating your identity again would be a risk — he didn’t plan on letting you off the ship the first two weeks, little less to risk taking you to a registration office for you to get your identity card again. Putting them into his pocket, he also folded the only single good file of clothing that fit his standards — a beautiful light blue silk dress — and put that into the pocket of his feather coat, too.

With that done, he left the master bedroom, and headed back downstairs into the open living room and kitchen, and started scouring through the drawers in the living room, too. He paused when he found a video snail, with writing on its shell.

Our Wedding

Footage. Of his little brother’s wedding.

Doflamingo took the snail from the shelf, pulled down the projector screen on the wall opposite of the large white couch, and set up the snail. He sat down on the couch and turned the snail on.

The first thing he saw was the man standing beside his brother as his brother’s best man.

That was the crazy zoan shithead that attacked him ten years ago.

Doflamingo clenched his teeth, his chest inflated as he inhaled in fury. The blood vessels on his forehead exposed themselves, throbbing along with his rage. He wanted to break something.

That one? That half-Lunarian scum was Rosi’s best man instead of Doflamingo?

It seemed Rosinante had abandoned him as a brother way before he tried to destroy his life.

But Doflamingo had never abandoned Rosinante. He’d trusted him. He’d loved him. Rosinante was his precious, sweet little brother, the one he trusted the most in the entire world, the one person nobody — nobody — was allowed to hurt. And what did Doflamingo get for trusting him, for protecting him, for loving him, because who else if not his brother by blood, who else if not his equal, his fellow god?

All his plans nearly ruined, Law fleeing after eating the Op-Op Fruit, and his little brother pointing a gun at him.

In the end, after all that, after screwing everything up, aware of what he’d done, how he’d betrayed him... Rosinante didn’t even have the guts to do it to the end and pull the fucking trigger.

Doflamingo returned his attention to the projection on the wall.

His brother was dressed in the usual wedding marine outfit; soft light blue suit, light blue waistcoat, white dress shirt and light blue tie with floral prints of small forget-me-not flowers.

However, Doflamingo found his eyes pasted to you, staring at you intensely, taking in your wedding dress. It complimented your figure, hugging your delicate curves, with an open back, off-shoulder, with flower-patterned lace sleeves. The off-shoulder dress revealed your delicate collarbone and shoulders, temptation in white lace.

What a beauty you were.

Doflamingo was impressed. His brother cleaned up well. No wonder you were all over him — his brother finally dressed as was proper for his godly status. If only his brother dressed like that all the time, and not like a clown…

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” the cheering of the guests filled the room.

Doflamingo could tell by the way your eyes looked at his brother. You loved his brother deeply.

Rosinante leaned down, and you met him half-way, hugging him around the waist happily — oh yes, you very much loved his brother, thought Doflamingo, amused — and the two of you shared another kiss as newlyweds.

Applause and cheers erupted. More confetti rained down on Corazón and you, a few scraps of it landing on your heads, strewn over his brother’s golden hair.

It didn’t escape Doflamingo’s notice how close Corazón held you to himself, and kissed you again, more passionate and deeper this time, making the crowd cheer and whistle.

Doflamingo chuckled. Who knew his quiet, sweet little brother was so passionate and possessive with his wife… he sure liked playing the good marine boy, but he was certainly a greedy, selfish man.

Just like Doflamingo.

Doflamingo heard a whistle from behind the video snail, “Leave some for the honeymoon, Rosi!”

“Oh, shut up, Wulf. Gimme that!”

His brother’s face entered the frame, his light brown eyes looking at the recorder snail, blinking. Doflamingo blinked back, staring at his brother who was without his make-up and beanie.

Rosi.

“Why’re you taking pictures?”

“It’s a video snail, Rosi.”

“Oh!��

“Hiiii!” said Rosinante, waving at the snail’s eyes, smiling wide and bright like the sun, golden and white, truly like a god. “We just got married!”

Doflamingo stared at the screen, watching his little brother smiling and waving at him.

You laughed, and Doflamingo felt his breath hitch at the sweet, gentle sound, staring at your smile; it was like an angel smiling.

“Well,” murmured Doflamingo, lounging back on the large white couch, staring at you; you looked beautiful in that wedding dress, like an angel. How on earth his brother held himself back from taking you and ripping your dress off your body was anyone’s guess. “You got something right.” The pirate smiled darkly. “What a pretty thing your wife is, fufufufu!”

“What are you doing, recording all the time? Hibou is stealing your ladies, you know.”

“Not that I mind!” came another man’s voice.

“I’m putting my flirty boy hat down for tonight!” announced Wulf determinantly. “I’m your best man, it’s my duty to record everything!”

“Isn’t that the photographer’s job?” asked Rosinante.

“Not when you promise the photographer a piece of this,” said Wulf with a grin, touching his body clad in the sky blue suit from the waist up to his white slicked-back hair, giving the snail a flirtatious wink, “in exchange for him giving you the video snail.”

“Wulf…”

“What? You two aren’t the only ones fucking at the end of the night!”

Rosinante’s face turned a deep pink, while you chuckled.

Doflamingo skipped forward, past the procession and the feast, and over the speeches. He stopped to watch the couple’s first dance.

Rosinante took you by the hand and led you onto the podium of leaves. The band started playing a slow, romantic song mainly focused on piano and violin. Rosinante pulled you close (with surprising elegance Doflamingo never thought him capable of, clumsy as his brother was) and pulled you into a slow waltz. For long minutes, you two danced, spinning and swaying, blue and white blending together perfectly, like the sky and the clouds.

The music continued, and Doflamingo watched you rest your head on his brother's shoulder when he bent down, resting his forehead against your temple, kissing your hair. You pulled your head up from his brother's shoulder, and that sweet look would have made Doflamingo bend down and kiss you. Instead of doing that, Rosinante laid his forehead against yours, and as you two swayed together to the slow music, staring into each other's eyes, your lips moved, forming words Doflamingo couldn't hear from the music. Rosinante smiled gently at you, his lips moving, making the same shape of words as yours did.

The music muted it, but Doflamingo could tell. He knew the shape Rosi’s lips formed, what words they whispered to you, pressed together with you as his brother was, the two of you like swans entangled in each other’s wings.

“I love you.”

Getting hungry — and wanting snacks to watch the show — Doflamingo headed to the kitchen to get some beer and chips.

Doflamingo paused in the dining room, his eyes catching onto the plate on the dinner table. It was a plate with a tower of pancakes, covered in chocolate syrup. Were you expecting someone? A marine guard to take you away from the island and to Marineford for the funeral?

Well…

Doflamingo grinned.

Finders keepers.

He snatched one and devoured it in one bite.

The chocolate syrup and chocolate filling inside created a wonderful flavour in his mouth.

Delicious.

Doflamingo grabbed the next pancake, feeling absolutely no shame in eating the pancakes you made for someone else.

As Doflamingo eats the full plate of pancakes, he walks around, surveying the pictures of you and his brother atop the fireplace. There is a large, binded book, and after cleaning his gloves from chocolate and sugar with a napkin, Doflamingo picks it up.

It’s a photo album. He grins. Bingo.

Doflamingo gets himself comfortable on the white couch, puts the flowers and the plate of pancakes on each thigh, opens up the photo album, grabs another pancake from the plate and looks through the pictures of you and his brother as he waits for you to come home.

***

Whenever you had nightmares, Rosinante used to say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words feel empty and meaningless now. Rosi is gone. He can’t protect you anymore, no matter how much you wish he would.

You open the doors of the house, enter, and close them behind you, locking them from the inside.

It takes you a moment, but you notice it.

There is something in the darkness.

A tall, shadowy figure of a man, hunched over, long spine bent, his long, lanky legs crossed over each other, and…

The darkness outlined the silhouette of dark feathers of a massive coat upon his broad shoulders, covering his back.

Hope blooms within you.

“Rosi?”

A sinister, deep, wicked laugh resounded in the darkness, breaking through the silence. The malice within it sunk your gut, shivering your bones with fear; you felt like you were going to be sick. It sounded like evil incarnate.

That isn’t Rosi’s voice. That isn’t Rosi’s laugh. Rosi never laughed like that – ever.

You didn’t know how you managed to flick the light switch on to see which madman it was, but you did.

The first thing you saw when light illuminated the living room was…

Red — merlot red.

For a moment, the colour blinds you. Your focus returns, and you make out what the merlot red is. It’s a tailored, merlot double-breasted suit jacket with golden buttons with a black dress shirt tucked underneath it, a crimson tie tucked neatly in the collar, all of it paired with merlot suit pants.

A man was here. It wasn’t Rosinante.

Golden rings dangled from his tanned earlobes, their shiny reflection lost in the dark shadows of your home, their glitter extinguished. He had a long neck, similar to a flamingo’s, thick and muscular. White-framed sunglasses obscured his eyes. Their tinted, reflective lenses coloured like a bloody sunset stared right back at you, coated crimson in the darkness.

A wide, crescent-shaped, demonic smile bloomed on his face, stretching ear-to-ear, baring all of his white teeth.

That smile froze the blood in your veins.

Your husband’s older brother, Donquixote Doflamingo lounged on the white couch, legs spread wide on each side, grinning at you.

****

Let's say Doflamingo fixed the doors he kicked down, bcs... He wanted that element of surprise. This fic (this chapter particularly) has been in the works for a long time, I just wanted to share it already. If there are any missing scenes connecting between paragraphs - no there aren't. Actually, I appreciate if you guys say to me if there are. There are so many times I can proof read 11.7k words before my brain explodes. Some notes for the chapter and references.

Reader howling to the sky in mourning after finding out about Rosinante's death - for imagination purposes, it's literally Luffy screaming after Ace dies. It was a direct reference to it, and that's how I imagined Reader looking - same expression as Luffy.

The "Rosinante is dead." Doflamingo delivered the news the same way Luffy said "Ace is dead." to Tama in Wano.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isebauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady

[sirenjose]

Hullabaloo (Manor Game) Timeline

(Theory based on the letters)

1. Most initially think Joker = Sergei

- Violetta and Margaretha at least initially do

- Mike seems to realize who "Sergei" really is based on Joker’s limping

2. “Rehearsal Schedule” left on the table

- Found by Violetta, who shares it with everyone

* Maybe the “rehearsal schedule” is the nursery rhyme referenced by Violetta and Joker?

3. Disagreements/Factions: Margaretha and Joker, Mike and Murro (with Violetta)

- Someone finds a phonograph/record and plays “Smiley Face Polka”

- Margaretha realizes Sergei = Joker

- Margaretha confronts Joker, sharing how she knows who he is and asks him to ally himself with her for protection against Mike, who she thinks will kill her

- Meet that night

4. (?) Joker gives Margaretha a music box - Joker notices Margaretha’s room has a strange smell - Joker notices a bottle with a strange marking (drug?)

5. (?) Margaretha gives Joker a letter + tells Joker about “the perfume”

6. Joker thinks the “play” is a “fight”

- Baits (“invites”) Violetta by using the excuse of “searching for ‘inspiration’”

- Removes Violetta’s mechanical leg, immobilizing her

- Throws her out of the manor and leaves her to die in the snow

* Joker may have somehow used “the perfume” on Violetta as part of his plan?

- Violetta also saw a nursery rhyme, likely the same one Joker referenced ("We will forget everything in the past and gain new life")

- "The perfume" may be Mnemosyne/Euphoria. Caused Violetta to forget?

7. Mike begins to discover the truth(?)

- "From the moment Violetta was assaulted, Mike had a vague answer to his questions.."

- "It took that incident to make me realize that this so-called family of ours is no better than a stinking sewer"

8. Margaretha fears Joker after what he does to Violetta - Joker seemingly tells Margaretha the "sacrifice" was potentially necessary for the next phase of the game to begin

(?). At some point, Margaretha loses the music box Joker gave her.

9. Game begins - "Guest performance" (planned by Mike and Murro to crush Margaretha and Joker's alliance)

* The "guest" may be Violetta (who may have forgotten quite a bit due to the perfume)

- Truth behind the Moon River Park tragedy is exposed

* Tragedy (or circumstances/situation?) in the circus "repeated itself" and Joker's "armor of lies" crumbled.

* Joker couldn't face his "bare" self (unmasked?), and he lost control of his emotions (mental breakdown)

* Regarding this “guest performance” and the truth of the Hullabaloo tragedy being revealed, Mike may have pretended to be Sergei or Joker or something (maybe Mike as Sergei was the “guest” rather than Violetta? Or maybe alongside her?), based on Mike saying “you didn’t expect white and cinnabar to trick all of you”. Cinnabar being a shade of red, along with white, are some of the colors we see on Joker/Weeping Clown’s face. And as we know Mike was figuring out the truth, it’s possible, based on his sarcastic mention of “Sergei” that he might’ve been trying to reveal who Joker was, as well as what he did, considering his previous letter mentions how, after Violetta was attacked, that Mike “had a vague answer to his questions” (aka the truth) and “light was shone on the numerous dark events of the past”. This could then explain Joker’s “lies” being torn away and the reference to his “bare self”. If Mike maybe understood some of who Joker was, maybe even slightly had an idea to Joker’s inferiority complex, maybe that would’ve contributed even more to why Joker would lose control of his emotions?

Joker's protectiveness for Margaretha "transforms into coercion"

Margaretha goes to extremes. "Lady luck didn't smile on her this time"

* "I-If he really does make me his next target, I will never give him the chance, and I won't let myself be fooled again!"

* If the circus tragedy "repeated itself", Margaretha originally escaped from Moonlit River Park during the tragedy via jumping into the river. If "lady luck didn't smile on her this time", she may not emerge from the river this time

Joker falls into a depression from losing Margaretha

Mike gives up on revenge (family is most important to him) and "remained on the stage he'd missed for so long"

Mike realizes "his stage of happiness only existed in that short peaceful memory. Once his core value collapsed, Mike couldn't face reality in a mature manner anymore.

Mike’s “Grand Performance”

* Mike seeks the truth, closure.

* "I've even prepared a grand performance for it — an explosive performance! Bernard was always against it due to safety concerns, but he failed to realize that burning up in a sea of flames is the best ending "Hullabaloo" could ever have!"

10. Ending

Hullabaloo burns? (Mike doesn't plan to escape/survive with Murro)

Joker "followed in Margaretha's footsteps"

* If Margaretha jumped into the river, maybe he attempts the same thing?

Murro is the sole survivor

As for the trailer for the Hullabaloo event/game, based on Mike being on stage and the main person shown, and him specifically addressing Sergei, no one else being seen, I assume this could be part of Mike's "Grand Performance"?

(If not, I imagine it's the "guest performance")

[bellaaldamas]

I promised no negativity regardless of the quality of the live action so I'm just going to speak in broad terms to sum up the issue.

Modern "feminism" apparently is:

A woman needing male stamp of approval and being the extension of her father and a plot device in his story who carries on his legacy and wants to live up to his expectations (try to guess whether I'm talking about the Snow White Remake or the TR Reboot).

A woman needing said male stamp of approval so much she allows her potential love interest talk her down and humiliate her by invalidating her experiences with abuse and being literally almost killed by her step mother and banished from her own home and imply she is but a spoiled rich brat with a "Princess Problem".

It is "unfeminist" and an example of "weakness" when a woman shows attraction to a man first; let alone when she dares to express it or act on said attraction instead of singing and dreaming of being "daddy's girl".

On the contrary, it is "empowering" and "progressive" when the heroine is being literally mansplained to by a Snowman or an anti-social ice seller from the mountains who only ever communicates with his reindeer and mountain trolls and/or by her future romantic partner.

Because a man "knows best" and has to force that shallow and inferior creature to understand how "real life works". Women don't know real life (how can we?!) and our experiences with abuse, inequality, oppression can never be as profound and meaningful as men's.

Women only get to be mistreated and demeaned until men, living or dead, inspire us to "act" and "prove we are more than" the stereotypes the society and media (and men) reduce us to.

In this new "feminist era" it is not a man who has to confront his own prejudices and learn to respect women. It is a woman who has to "convince him otherwise".

This set up is so "feminist" it is terrifying to even think what would happen if an unfairly slandered and misrepresented female character humiliated a beloved/popular male character and went on a tirade about his "superhero problems".

Ariel, who endured decades of misogynistic rage from far right and far left alike, was called all manner of slut shaming insults and bore the burnt for all women who dared to NOT want to be their daddy's girls and actually want to be their own persons ("bright young women, sick of swimming, ready to stand") - imagine HER sing to Eric about his "prince problems". She would be burnt at a proverbial stake even more than she is now.

Or, rather, imagine Freya explain to Kratos he has a "God's Problem" (which, funnily enough, he actually does and owns it) or Angrboda tell Atreus he has a "Champion Problem". People would call for their blood and/or immediate removal from the series even more loudly than they do already. Thrud is the only one who would get away with this kind of behavior because of her girlboss privilege (like she already got away with insulting both male leads, assaulting one of them - in between murder attempts - and victim blaming a major female character who had endured years of abuse from Thrud's grandfather whose patriarchy the latter aspired to uphold for her own convenience; but she has the "girlboss exception clause", a new feminist criteria for female characters to get away with legitimately problematic actions).

In summary: a man always "knows best" when he, by default, sees a woman for a shallow and spoiled nuisance and it is up to a woman to prove he is wrong about her.

It's year 2025 and this is "feminism".

[adamsprrlsh]

completely redid my jeremy playlist post-tgr and now it is so painstakingly curated it basically has a three act structure (I'm actually super proud of it I think it's neat)

↓ (vaguely justifying all my choices under the cut) ↓

act one

wonderland - taylor swift (high school, jeremy and leo)

➵ didn't it all seem new and exciting? / I felt your arms twisting around me / I should've slept with one eye open at night

brutal - olivia rodrigo (high school)

➵ they say these are the golden years / but I wish I could disappear / ego crush is so severe / god, it's brutal out here

perfect places - lorde (high school)

➵ all the nights spent off our faces / trying to find these perfect places / what the fuck are perfect places anyway?

gods & monsters - lana del rey (high school, pre-banquet USC)

➵ I was an angel, living in the garden of evil / screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed

white glove - dove cameron (high school, pre-banquet USC)

➵ snow on the floor, honey, I can't see straight / hands on the door, tryna break in, earthquake

fantastic - king princess (sex as a coping mechanism)

➵ you believe that I'm in pain, help me disassociate / I just wanna be a good passenger / I'm feeling fantastic, I'm fucking fantastic

i wanna be your slave - måneskin (hook-ups and guilt)

➵ and if you want to use me, I could be your puppet / 'cause I'm the devil who's searching for redemption

someone new - hozier (hook-ups)

➵ the art of scraping through / some like to imagine / the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

good old-fashioned lover boy - queen (hook-ups)

➵ ooh, love, ooh, loverboy / what you doing tonight? / hey, boy

kiss me again - pale waves (hook-ups)

➵ it's going nowhere / it's just for tonight, somehow I don't care / no, I don't mind

fainted love - conan gray (hook-ups)

➵ and you said / "you got it? we're nothing / I'm the worst if you want it"

bad idea right? - olivia rodrigo (jeremy and leo)

➵ yes I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? / I only see him as a friend / I just tripped and fell into his bed

bad child - tones and i (family dynamics)

➵ my family always said I was the bad child / throwing me away into the bad pile / all my life been putting on a fake smile

anti-hero - taylor swift (family dynamics, blame and guilt)

➵ it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me / at tea time, everybody agrees / I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

the family jewels - marina (family dynamics)

➵ typical of me to put us all to shame / welcome to the family jewels / coal to diamond, sold to fools

act two

this is me trying - taylor swift (guilt and shame, post-banquet)

➵ they told me all of my cages were mental / so I got wasted like all my potential

chemtrails - lizzy mcalpine (jeremy and noah)

➵ sometimes when I shout, it feels like no one hears it / and there are some days when I think that, somewhere, you're watching / as I grow up without you

mama - lø spirit (jeremy and mathilda, courtesy of nora)

➵ you took my voice like I owed it to you / buried the boy that I still hold on to / take the rest of me, why don't you?

the grudge - olivia rodrigo (family dynamics)

➵ yeah, I'm so tough when I'm alone, and I make you feel so guilty / and I fantasize about a time you're a little fucking sorry

love me now or lose me later - kygo, matt hansen (jeremy and mathilda, courtesy of nora)

➵ feels like I'm just gasping for air / looking for a sign that you care / if you don't love me now, love me now, you'll lose me later

i am - tom walker (fake smiles and repression, courtesy of nora)

➵ if I mask my demeanor, is it all just a lie? / oh, I've had some dark, dark days / but the face I wear exists in the light

i can do it with a broken heart - taylor swift (fake smiles and repression)

➵ 'cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit / they said "babe, you gotta fake it til you make it" and I did

don't judge me - janelle monáe (feeling unreal)

➵ even though you tell me you love me / I'm afraid that you just love my disguise

growing sideways - noah kahan (feeling unreal, depression)

➵ I'm terrified that I might never have met me / oh, if my engine works perfect on empty, I guess I'll drive

two - sleeping at last (care for others, self-neglect, jeremy and jean)

➵ I know exactly how the rule goes: put my mask on first / no, I don't want to talk about myself, tell me where it hurts

vienna - billy joel (acceptance and healing)

➵ slow down, you're doing fine / you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

you're on your own, kid - taylor swift (acceptance and healing)

➵ 'cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / everything you lose is a step you take

i wanna get better - bleachers (acceptance and healing)

➵ so now I'm standing on the overpass, screaming at the cars / "hey, I wanna get better"

act three

chosen family - rina sawayama (jeremy, cat, laila, and jean)

➵ we don't need to share genes or a surname / you are, you are my chosen family

true blue - boygenius (jeremy, cat, laila, and jean)

➵ and it feels good to be known so well / I can't hide from you like I hide from myself

count on me - bruno mars (jeremy and laila, courtesy of nora)

➵ you'll always have my shoulder when you cry / I'll never let go, never say goodbye

i'm only me when i'm with you - taylor swift (jeremy and laila)

➵ and I don't try to hide my tears / my secrets or my deepest fears / through it all, nobody gets me like you do

new romantics - taylor swift (the floozies)

➵ we are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet / baby, we're the new romantics / the best people in life are free

i know a place - muna (the floozies and jean)

➵ if you want to go out dancing / I know a place, I know a place we can go / where everyone gonna lay down their weapon

best day of my life - american authors (joy! finally, courtesy of nora)

➵ i'm never gonna give it up, no / please don't wake me now / this is gonna be the best day of my life

gorgeous - taylor swift (jeremy and jean's mutual attraction era)

➵ if you've got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her / but if you're single, it's honestly worse / 'cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts

solar power - lorde (happy beach days, jeremy and jean)

➵ my cheeks in high colour, overripe peaches / no shirt, no shoes, only my features / my boy behind me, he's taking pictures

inconsolable - katie gavin (jeremy and jean)

➵ we're from a long line of people we'd describe as inconsolable / we don't know how to be helped

stargazing - myles smith (jeremy and jean, courtesy of nora)

➵ looking in your eyes, I see my whole life / they say you know it when you know it, and I know

so american - olivia rodrigo (jeremy and jean)

➵ and he laughs at all my jokes / and he says I'm so american / oh, god it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much

carry you home - alex warren (jeremy and jean, courtesy of nora)

➵ we were california dreaming / our whole life fit in that car / didn't have a bed to sleep in / but we kept each other warm under a ceiling full of stars

new year's day - taylor swift (jeremy and jean)

➵ don't read the last page, but I stay / when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes / I want your midnights / but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day

fin! (until tsc3 comes out and I go crazy on it again ig (or I just listen to a new song while thinking about him too hard and have to add it))

[voidscape-o]

She lost. Lost everything. Again. Her precious treasures will never enjoy sunlight on their dough again.

A bird with ripped off wings can't escape a stone cage.

And Smoked Cheese is here. Oh what she wouldn't do to put him somewhere safe.

🐅What is your command?

🔥Hm… Grab the red one.

🐦‍🔥Don't touch him!

🔥Or what?! You are more resilient than I thought. Crumbling you will be my greatest pleasure! But first.

Burning Spice grabs Smoked Cheese and pulls him towards himself.

🔥I want to see him crumble first. I wonder what kind of pleas will you scream when I CRUSH HIM!

Golden Cheese shouts as she can't reach her last treasure in Burning Spice's grip, his hold getting tighter and tighter until-

CRACK!

The crumbs that were Smoked Cheese once fall to the ground, light as snow.

Her treasures. Nothing but dust in the wind that carries him away and away.

She can't lose them again. Not again. Not to him. Not to her.

With the remains of her strength, she finds power to make one last earth spear.

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie pales as she stares at her god.

🐅Burning… Spice Cookie?

He is silent, a crooked smile streches across his lips.

The Great Destroyer… Got destroyed. He almost looks relieved.

No one even saw when Golden Cheese escaped the cell, too preoccupied with Burning Spice's injury, until she reached to the Soul Jam, that more than willingly floated into her arms.

With no Soul Jam to power his, now crumbling body, Burning Spice fell onto the ground.

🐅Burning Spice Cookie!

🐦‍🔥I wouldn't worry for him if I were you. After all, you dared touch my treasures. Hm… Not perfect, but you should suffice for now.

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie didn't even had time to react as her body crumbled.

When Smoked Cheese opened his eyecings again, he was alive. He was sure he…

🐦‍🔥Good morning, Smoked Cheese Cookie.

🧀Golden Cheese Cookie?

Is it? She looks different. And what is that floating next to her?

When he looks at his hands, they are… redder?

🧀My Queen-

🐦‍🔥Let's go home. My treasures are waiting.

°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°

Reaper Cheese Cookie - Beast of Creation

☀️Reaper Cheese Cookie thinks that everything has at least some potential. Some things are already perfect, so she just takes them for herself, some require her skilled hands to mold them.

☀️After she defeated Burning Spice and took his Soul Jam for herself, she discovered an ability to mold anything into whatever she desires, with an exception of living creatures. They must crumble first.

☀️She made new bodies for her most loyal subjects with pieces of Burning Spice's army.

☀️Burning Spice himself was turned into a new pair of wings for the lustrous Reaper Cheese Cookie.

☀️Burning Spice is kept alive by her as a single eye, as a punishment for trying to take what is hers.

I am not waiting for the other two beasts to interact with their ancient, I already have an idea that is too far from canon.

♥️ Hollyberry Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie found common ground and instead of trying to kill each other they just became friends.

♥️ Eternal Sugar doesn't leave queen's side. Even when she goes to sleep.

♥️ Guess Hollyberry's passion was able to light a tiny flame in Eternal Sugar's heart.

⚜️ White Lily is just dead. She did have a beast and Dark Enchantress going after her.

⚫️ When Silent Salt got the Soul Jam and Dark Enchantress the body, she was struck by their sword.

⚫️ After dealing with both cookies wishing their Soul Jam, Silent Salt took course to Spire of Truth and Deceit.

⚫️ When they arrived Hollyberry and Eternal Sugar was already there, looking for Pure Vanilla, who hid in the spire.

🌕 Why is everyone coming here?! First Dark Cacao, now Hollyberry!

🌑 Don't forget Sugs!

🌕 Are you calling them here?!

A loud knock reverberates through the spire.

🌑Oh, Salty is here too!

🌕Shadow Milk Cookie! Why are they here?

🌑I am so glad you asked, Vanilly! Oh, but I need our friends to hear it too.

🌕Wait!

Silver Vanilla controlled by Shadow Milk, runs down the countless stairs and out of the door.

🌑 FRIENDS!

Hollyberry raises her shield, but Eternal Sugar places a gentle hand on her shoulder and she lowers it.

♥️ What is this all.

🌕 That's exactly what I asked.

♥️ Pure Vanilla Cookie! You there?!

🌕 As you can see.

🌑 Yeah, yeah, later! I see you made friends, Sugs!

♠️ Yeah… Good friends…

🌑 And I see my plan is all done then, Salty?!

They only nod.

🌕 What plan?

🌑 To crumble Dark Enchantress, of course!

♥️ So she is no more?

🌑 Nope!

🌕 White Lily is free…

Pure Vanilla's heart was overjoyed.

🌑 Nope.

What does he mean?

🌑 You see, Dark Enchantress would've betrayed us! Can you believe it?! So one by one, my friends, got new bodies and went after their missing parts to crumble her before she can crumble us, yet none successeded. Besides Salty, of course. It was their mission to regain their Soul Jam and ultimately crumble Dark Enchantress when she combined with White Lily's part.

So…

🌑 White Lily got crumbled alongside her.

His White Lily is gone? For good this time?

🌕 You…

🌑 What about me?

🌕 It's all your fault. You started this!

🌑 Oh no no no, Vanilly. Dark Enchantress started this, I finished this. Put an end to her plans! I deserve some praise and applause.

Silent Salt and Eternal Sugar applaud to which Shadow Milk bows.

🌑 Thank you, thank you.

🌕 Is this why you called them here?

♥️ I came by myself actually. I… Dark Cacao is looking for Dark Choco Cookie. And after he became Pale Cacao he is set on fighting. As we know the two didn't part on good terms, I thought… Maybe you could hide Dark Choco? You survived your encounter with Pale Cacao after all.

🌕 …

🌑 How about I send Salty to deal with him?

♥️ And kill more of our friends? No thank you.

🌑 Such low expectations. Shouldn't you two be grateful I got rid of Dark Enchantress Cookie?

🌕 You killed White Lily Cookie!

🌑 In war some sacrifices are to be made. Do you know what would happen if we didn't do this? Want a peek?

🌕 To trust deceit-

🌑 I say this as Knowledge. I swear on my dough.

Pure Vanilla doesn't say anything outloud, but Shadow Milk already knows his answer.

Fire and destruction all around him. Even Seas are set ablaze. A crown of five gems floats above Dark Enchantress's head. And all their friends are laying unmoving under her feet.

How is he supposed to believe something that Shadow Milk showed him? And the worst part is that he knows it's true.

Hollyberry is waiting for his answer about Dark Choco. He can grieve later, once he is alone.

🌕 I can hide him.

♥️ Thank you. You know, Golden Cheese has ability to bring back the dead. Maybe she will agree-

🌑 Don't give him false hope. Golden Cheese never forgave White Lily. Plus, her crumbs are those of Dark Enchantress, bring one, bring the other.

🌕 It's okay, Hollyberry Cookie. It indeed was for the best. Would you like to stay?

♥️ No, thank you, Pure Vanilla Cookie. We are currently traveling to Eternal Sugar's lands.

🌕 Okay. You are free to visit on you way back.

Hollyberry smiles, before Eternal Sugar grabs her hand and leads futher into Beast-Yeast.

🌑 Your friend trully changed Sugs. They wouldn't leave the confines of their room and now look at them, traveling so far.

🌕 …

🌑 Salty. I know Vanilly said we will hide Dark Choco, but could you take a look at Pale Cacao? Nothing physical, just do what you do best.

Silent Salt nods and heads towards Dark Cacao Kingdom. Silver Vanilla looks them in the back.

🌕 What are they best at?

🌑 Listening.

°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°

⚫️Everyone thinks Pale Cacao is looking for his son to kill him, when actually he is looking for him to give him back the Strawberry Jam Sword and to bring him back home.

⚫️Silent Salt helps him find his son, but Dark Choco refuses to use the cursed sword again.

⚫️Silent Salt and Pale Cacao do convince him to come back with them and forge him a new sword.

⚫️Dark Choco was willing to go, because his father apologized and offered him a hug for the first time in forever.

⚫️Both, father and son, blame themselves for their falling apart, so Silent Salt helps them overcome it and be a family they never were.

⚫️After finding his son, Pale Cacao Cookie relaxed a bit with the whole "fight even if you can't" mentality and more of his original Soul Jam colors started to shine through, but his body stayed the same.

°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°

⚜️White Lily Cookie knew of Shadow Milk's plan. Silent Salt told her.

⚜️She agreed to it, still feeling guilt for what she's done.

⚜️ Now she may finally rest free of all the blame.

°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°

Now to some design notes.

• Reaper Cheese Cookie is named after Carolina Reaper pepper, but I didn't want to name her Carolina, so I kept only Reaper, plus, it would be too long of a name.

• Her hair is fire, cuz she is spice and Sun.

• I combined a bit of Burning Spice's design with her epic and default costumes.

All the ancients/beasts have some celestial symbolism and I LOVE IT!

• Dark Cacao clearly has Eclipse symbolism

• Shadow Milk literally said he lives on the dark side of the Moon

• Golden Cheese was based off of Ra, so Sun.

• I noticed four-edged stars in Eternal Sugar's hair, which might be just me seeing things, but in Wind Archer's update, where there were Beasts carved into stone, they also had a star above their head, so they have Star symbolism.

Also, it is most likely that they will be a girl, but I think it is better to keep our minds open to them being a boy.

Remember Peach Blossom!!!!

• That leaves Silent Salt. I didn't notice any clear celestial symbolism in their design, besides eternal darkness, and you know what is eternal, dark and impenetrable? Void.

You might also notice, Silent Salt has horns, and I'll tell you what. Pre-corruption SS seems to have something on their head, that I interpreted as horns. From that one little peak we got at their sillouete, I see them as a forest spirit of sorts before their corruption.

Their design was the hardest to differentiate, since they are so dark, but here is a little chart of where I think their Soul Jam is.

Phew, it was a long post. If you got all the way here, you get a golden star :] ⭐

[tom-holland-stuff]

Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 3

My Masterlist

// Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 - mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he's got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: NSFW / SMUT SMUT SMUT / Swearing / Chocking (let me know if i have forgotten anything)

A/N: Hey Hey everyone, me again. So sorry it's been a minute! here is chapter 3 and as promised things get REAL heated (be warned). im so excited for you all the read this. it originally was going to be alot longer of a chapter but i decided that is probs way to much to hit you with in one sitting, so instead i have broken it into 2 parts (the next one being chapter 4) which means it's basically ready to go. Enjoy my loves.

Word Count: 4.09K

The gala was an event Coriolanus Snow would rather have avoided. 

Unfortunately duty calls in the most unpleasant ways - or at least he thought so. His presence was deemed necessary as per request, or more so demanded, by the ever-manipulative Dr. Gaul.

Don’t be mistaken, there are most definitely aspects of these festivities that Coryo enjoys. The potential for connecting and becoming well acquainted with the elites of the capital, the music isn’t too unbearable, and the endless amount of free posca is always a plus.

Coryo stands in the corner of the lavish party surrounded by some of his peers. He is barely paying attention as Clemensia and Festus argue over some social scandal. Instead he absentmindedly sips form his bubbling drink, letting his gaze trail off.

The opulent hall is one of the few buildings in the city that survived the war. The walls show its age, the once white walls now an ivory. The ceiling, he swore was as high as his own apartment is tall, held up by marvelous pillars carved from marble, the points in which they meet the floor and roof adorned in flecks of gold. 

Coriolanous marvels at the extravagant interior of the building, trying to distract himself from the feeling of dread that sits low in his stomach. The impending knowledge that he will have to spend the night in her company overpowers anything enjoyable about this occasion. 

The thought of having to be in her irritating presence and listen to her vexatious voice, which will undoubtedly taunt and argue with him, puts an extreme damper on his mood.

Tangled in his thoughts of loathing, he shifts his focus to the entrance of the hall. A grand staircase, made from a similar stone to the pillars, cascades down leading to the middle of the floor. He watches as guests continue to slowly pour in through the doors and down the opulent stairway, spilling out into the room to join their associates and friends. 

One person in particular catches his attention as they stand at the top of the staircase - y/n.

He almost chokes on his posca.

Coriolanous can’t help but be taken aback by her appearance. He notices her radiant smile, the way her red satin dress hugs her figure in the most delicious way, bringing his attention to things he has never thought to notice before. The front of her gown droops and pools elegantly at her bust, exposing the natural curves of her body. It hugs her waist and hips snugly, to then flow from the knee down, the silky fabric spilling on the floor around her. As she makes her way down the stairs he takes note of the subtle elegance in her movements, her grace captivating and mesmerizing.

He might have thought to describe her as a vision of beauty, but he is immediately reminded why he would never actually conjure such thoughts when her gaze meets his, her once illuminating smile transforms into a hard scowl.

He whips his head back in the direction of his friends and kicks himself mentally, embarrassed that he was not only caught blatantly staring, but also that he allowed himself to think such ludicrous things about such a vile creature.

Coriolanous tries desperately to pay attention to the conversation between his friends in an attempt to distract himself. However, his efforts are in vain as he feels a presence approach him from behind, and to his immense displeasure it’s her. 

He slowly turns his head again to acknowledge her approach, mimicking the feral scowl she odderend moments before. 

His stomach flutters in what he assumes is a physical reaction to his dislike for the girl, but he can’t help but admire the way she carries herself with such determination.

‘What is wrong with you?’ he thinks to himself.

“Ah, If it isn’t Coriolanous snow, what a pleasure” she says in the most taunting way, each word laced with sarcasm. 

Her expression couldn’t have been any more insincere.

“Mmm, the pleasure is mine” he retorts, pulling his mouth in a tight line as he copies her tone of insincerity.

“You haven't come with any more of those hideous reptiles have you?” he teases, taking a slow sip form his glass

“I didn’t need to, there are already one too many snakes at this party” she scoffs in amusement.

Coriolnaous hardens his glare in her direction, offended by her comment. In the back of his mind he can’t help but find her jabs and retorts amusing.

Despite his inner turmoil, Coriolanus maintained his facade of disdain, refusing to let y/n see the effect she is having on him. He squares his shoulders and plastered on his most arrogant expression, determined to keep his emotions in check.

Dr. Gaul however, had other plans.

Before either of them have the opportunity to grace eachother with more vulgar statements, their mentor appears beside them, as if she materialized from thin air. 

Dr. Gaul is many things, but she is not a fool, and only a fool would be blind enough to not notice the tension brewing between her two star pupils. 

“Well… my, my, you both scrub up nice” the professor taunts. 

Y/n and Coriolanous both offer her a smile in return for the unusual flattery.

“Now, i think it the most appropriate moment for me to take the time to display my studious protojays to our guests” she continues as she grabs both of their arms, leading them towards a large group of men which Coriolanous recognises to be politicions apart of president Ravinstills party.

After spending what felt like a great deal of time mingling with numerous elites of the capital, Dr. Gaul decides it to be a perfect opportunity to intervene in the interesting relationship blossoming between her students… and have some fun while she’s at it.

“Now my most special pets…” she begins, her smile turning wicked.

Coryo internally cringes at the nickname, uncertain of where this is going.

“...I think that now would be the most splendid time for you both to do me the honor of taking the floor for a dance.”

Silence follows her request.

Corionlanous and y/n both stare at her, eyes wide, trying to process what their teacher just said.

Surely this has to be a joke - he thinks. 

He quickly looks to the dance floor filled with men and women pressed against each other, gliding in unison as the move to the music echoing from the orchestral band.

He snaps his head back to Gaul, mouth opened ready to protest the horrid idea, but before he is able Dr. Gaul motions them away with her hand giving them both a pointed stare, emphasizing the fact that her demands are non negotiable. 

“I'll be watching from here” she says tauntingly. Coryo swears he hears her chuckle slightly.

Accepting his fate begrudgingly, he turns to y/n and offers his hand. She narrows her stare at him and his hand, scrunching her face in audacity. 

She rolls her eyes and huffs in annoyance, clearly realizing she has no way out of this and places her hand in his.

Her hand is soft and supple, much smaller than his own - he blinks hard trying to rid himself of these preposterous thoughts as he leads them to the center of the floor. 

They stand between the other pairs of men and women and turn to face one another, ensuring to keep some distance between themselves. 

With one of her palms still in his, y/n reaches slowly with her opposite hand, placing it softly on his strong shoulder. 

Coriolanus doesn't miss the look of distaste that flashes across her face before she glares at him. Taking that as a sign to reluctantly place his own free hand in the small of her back. 

Her clear effort to keep distance from him makes this position feel, and no doubt look, incredibly awkward. Annoyed and not wanting people to poke fun at them Coriolans pulls her closer to him, the force and speed of the action causing y/n to gasp in shock and stumble slightly against him. She snaps her head to face him, narrowing her eyes in anger as a melody begins to play.

If looks could kill… he is sure he would be dead

Despite their initial reluctance, they find themselves swaying to the music, their bodies moving in sync as they glide across the floor in a waltz of sorts.

Coriolanous looks away from her and into the direction of his mentor, who stands in the same spot with a few other guests, she seems to be smirking in their direction.

“Your not half bad” y/n states plainly, a hint of surprise behind her words. 

The comment brings his attention back to her and his confusion prompts her to continue.

“At this, I mean… dancing,” she affirms as they continue to move around the floor.

His mouth makes an O shape, understanding what she is regarding.

“My grandmam, used to make me practice with her- ” y/n stiffles as laugh at his confession.

“-but only to prepare for events like these” he tries to save himself from further embarrassment, far too aware of how that must sound.

“You're not as hopeless as I would have thought either” he smirks as he raises their clasped hands, spinning her around.

 She performs the step with ease, positioning herself back in front of him as his hand takes its previous position on her back

“I have been made to take lessons since i was young” she states matter of factly, mildly insulted by the remark.  

His smirk deepens in response.

“I'm not sure I can take your word for it” he challenges. Determined to taument her as she does to him.

“Well keep up then” she teases, matching his expression, accepting his challenge.

As the music's tempo quickens their dancing picks up pace. They move expertly across the floor, showcasing both their abilities. They match the moves and fluidity of the other couples, whilst also trying to one up each other, as it had become somewhat of a competition to them as things usually do.

There comes a point where Coriolanus has the urge to be bold, or maybe it's a surge of confidence. 

As if it was an involuntary reaction of his body’s natural doing, he sends y/n down into a dip. 

He has no time to regret his movement as It catches them both off guard as they still in the position.

Holding her tightly with his arm placed firmly around her waist, their faces mere inches apart. 

Time seemed to slow, the blood pounding in his ears. He can only focus on the way y/n’s chest heaves heavily in surprise so close to his own.

They lock eyes, and he swears the world has stopped. 

His crystal blue orbs bore into hers, he can’t think of anything else, drowning in her dazzling gaze. 

Coriolanus was acutely aware of y/n's rapid breaths, the heat radiating from her skin, and this odd feeling simmering between them.

And again, in a reaction not of his own conscious doing, their lips draw closer in an unspoken invitation. 

Y/n’s eyes flick down to his lips and then quickly back to his eyes. Her mouth parts open ever so slightly, letting out a short staggered breath.

It makes him forget where he is, who he is, who she is.

He is rudely brought back to reality. 

Before he acts on his impulses, they hastily pull away from each other. The spell broken as they retreated from the other's embrace, both flustered and embarrassed by the close encounter.

She stares at him, chest heaving. He can’t make out what emotions are swirling beneath her hard exterior. 

He clenches his fists at his side and takes in a deep breath, angered and embarrassed by his actions.

Y/n reciprocates his stance and then quickly turns on her heel, disappearing into the crowds of people.

Coriolance doesn't wait to see where she runs, he turns around in the opposite direction, marching god knows where.

Seeking solace from the chaos of the gala, Coriolanus, feeling overwhelmed, decides to take a walk to get some air.

 He walks through the halls of the building, his dress shoes click on the sleek marble floor, echoing in the extravagant passages.

He needed to clear his head. 

“What the fuck just happend” he whispers to himself, wiping his hand over his face.

He despises y/n- No, 

Loathes her.

So what in the name of Panem has come over him. 

Racking his brain to understand why he had felt that he wanted to- No…

Needed to close the gap between them back on the dance floor.

Lost in thought, he strode through the corridors with purpose, oblivious to his surroundings. 

In his haste, he collided with someone, almost knocking them over.

Y/n - It was y/n.

“Watch where you're going” he huffs at her, brushing off his tux as if she had dirtied him with her touch.

“That's rich coming from you” she retorts 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he questions, his voice laced with disgust, desperately trying to remind himself how he feels for her.

Their initial shock now gave way to heated exchanges.

She straightens herself, crossing her arms in front of her. 

He curses himself for how his eyes steal a glance at the way her movement accentuates her chest.

“This seems to be a regular occurrence for you” she points, referring to the past two times this has happened.

She’s not wrong, but of course he would not let her know that.

“I think you mean ‘we’ as it involves the both of us” he asserts, taking a step closer to her. He towers over her, his height allowing him to claim some form of dominance.

The begin to sling vulgar words at one another, with each one it becomes more heated, getting in each other faces

“ Is your ego really that big that it blinds you?” she spits at him.

He stares down at her, letting out a large breath he didn't know he was holding.

Y/n’s scowl fiercens as she steps closer to him and continues.

 “Maybe if it wasn’t so large you would be able to see where you're going.”

Infuriated by her audacity Coriolanus snaps,

“Is there a singular bone in your pathetic body that carries any regard or decency” he demands, chest heaving in anger.

“Is there any in yours” she immediately hurls back at him.

He takes a determined step closer to her, making them as near as they were when they were dancing moments ago. Their faces so close their noses almost brush together. 

“You are absolutely insufferable” he sneers at her.

“The feelings mutual” she heaves.

He watches her lips as she speaks, the deep shade of red that adorns them catches him in a trance. He focuses on her sharp labored breaths, much similar to his own. The heat from their interaction radiates, tangling together in the very slim space between them.

Suddenly, there is a shift in their dynamic.

He barely has time to register his actions before it’s in the midst of happening.

In a moment of reckless abandon, Coriolanus closed the distance between them, capturing y/n's lips in a fierce, possessive kiss.

The tension between them having reached a boiling point, fueling the fire of their mutual disdain and clearly an undeniable undercurrent of attraction, a raw desire that neither could ignore.

Again like the dip, he can’t seem to comprehend the motive behind his actions. However, he doesn't have time to or allow himself to regret it as things begin to move quickly.

Any initial hesitation melted away as the kiss deepened.

Hands roamed freely and ravishingly, grasping at fabric and flesh with desperate urgency. Hair was tugged, nails dug into skin, and breaths mingled in heated gasps as they surrendered to the intoxicating pull of lust.

The heat between them was palpable, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

His movements rough and demanding as he captured y/n's lips in a bruising kiss that left them both gasping for air.

There was no gentleness in their embrace, only raw, primal need as their mouths clashed in a battle for dominance.

Y/n responded with equal ferocity, her nails digging into Coriolanus's back as she pushed him against a wall. 

Taken aback by her fight for control, Coryo bites down on y/n’s lip and tugs, eliciting a moan from her plump lips.

God that might have been the most heavenly sound he has ever heard.

With a growl he grabs her firmly by her waist and flips them around, pinning her beneath him.

Tongues tangling in a desperate dance of need and desire. Coriolanus's hands roamed hungrily over y/n's body. Y/n responded with equal fervor, her grip tightens on him as she pulls him closer, her body arching against his in a silent plea for more.

With a shared urgency, they pushed through a nearby door, seeking refuge in the privacy of an empty room.

Eliciting a deep growl of need, Coriolanus lifted y/n into his arms, carrying her to the nearest surface—a table that stood invitingly in the center of the room. 

Without breaking their kiss, he hoists her up, placing her where he wanted.

Coriolanus trailed rough kisses along y/n's neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he left a trail of bruises in his wake. His hands were everywhere, gripping and pulling at her with a fierce possessiveness that spoke of his overwhelming desire for her.

With a groan of frustration, Coriolanus reached for the hem of y/n’s skirt, lifting it up, eager to feel her, to taste her, to claim her as his own.

Their tumultuous history forgotten in the heat of their newfound connection.

Coriolanus could not make this happen as fast as he wished-

as he needed.

He bunches y/n’s dress up around her waist. The silky red fabric pooling at her hips and on to the table. Y/n catches on quickly, replacing his hands with her own, allowing Coryo to be free to do as he desires.

In a flurry he taps her knee, silently asking her to let him in. She obliges, allowing him to stand between them. His hands rake up her thighs, he stills when he reaches between her legs, caressing the lace fabric that graces her most intimate parts. 

With trembling hands, y/n reached for the fastenings of Coriolanus's trousers, eager to feel him, to taste him, to lose herself in the depths of passion. 

She undoes his belt and fly, and manages to pull down his pants past his knees, but he stops her before she can grasp him through his boxers. His cock straining against the fabric. He holds her wrists tightly and presses them against the table.

Coriolanus trailed kisses along y/n's neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin as he makes his way down her body, worshiping every inch of exposed skin. His hands roamed freely, teasing and tantalizing as they explored the contours of her figure.  

He rubs her through her lacy underwear, feeling how slick she is through the delicate fabric. The friction eliciting soft moans and gasps of pleasure from y/n's lips.

He moves the delicate fabric to one side allowing himself full access. He slips one digit inside of her pussy, conjuring a high pitched gasp from y/n, which only spurred him on more.

He adds another finger, and curls them upwards, beginning to bump them in and out at a devilish pace. The sensation makes y/n break from their heated kiss and throw her head back in pleasure.

Coriolanous takes the opportunity to wrap his free hand firmly around her throat, pulling her closer. Y/n gasps, or tries to, as Coriolanus tightens his grip restricting her airway, which only turns her on more. Y/n’s mouth hangs open in pure bliss as Coryo picks up the pace with his fingers.

“You like that hmmm” he hums roughly in her ear.

She nods frantically, unable to offer him a verbal response. Her eyes screw shut as she feels a knot of pleasure form in her stomach.

But Corionlas is not having it. His grip tightens around her neck forcing y/n to open her eyes and look at him.

“Answer me” he demands, letting his grip loosen ever so slightly so y/n can form a response.

“Yes”  she respond breathless 

Coriolanus movements slow and y/n whines in protest 

“Yes, who?” he teases.

“Yes Coyro” y/n whines, her big doe eyes staring into his icy blue ones. 

In that moment, there were only the two of them, and Coriolanous was ready to take this one step further.

He retracts his fingers from y/n’s aching pussy and removes his grip from her neck. The new found emptiness causes her to whine softly, the sound drowned out by Coryo attacking her with his lips once more.

Coriolanus pulls his boxes and pants the rest of the way down, freeing his length from the confining fabric. 

Before y/n has a chance to whine, comment, or do anything of the matter, he pushes himself inside of her wet throbbing cunt. Y/n moans deeply as he stretches her, he growls possessively in response to how her tight walls squeeze him.

As Coriolanus thrusts into her passionately, the force of his desire driving him deeper with each powerful movement, y/n's breath caught in her throat. The intensity of his touch sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body, igniting a primal fire that burned hotter with each relentless thrust.

Her nails dug into Coriolanus's back, leaving angry red marks in their wake as she clung to him desperately,  

Every movement sent waves of ecstasy crashing over her, eliciting delicious noises from the both of them.

Coriolanus's grip on her tightened, his fingers leaving bruises on her skin as he claimed her with a possessive fervor that left her trembling with need. His primal moans of pleasure echoed in her ears.

With each thrust, y/n's world narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Coriolanus filling her completely, his touch sending her spiraling towards the edge of oblivion as she feels that familiar knott begin to form again.

Her cries of pleasure only spurred him on further. The sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the empty room as she was consumed by the fiery inferno of their passion.

Y/n’s fingers tangle in his blonde locks and tug, causing him to break their heated kiss with a hiss. He instinctively wraps his hand around y/n’s throat once more and squeezes.

He watches her face as he continues to thrust in and out of her core, the tension in y/n's body reaching a fever pitch, her senses overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of pleasure that coursed through her veins. 

And then, in a moment of sheer abandon, she felt it—a surge of liquid warmth that flooded from her depths, drenching Coriolanus in a torrent of her desire.

The feeling was unlike anything he had ever experienced, a release that seemed to leave her trembling with ecstasy as pleasure crashed over her in relentless waves. 

The sensation only brought him to his peak, thick ropes of white covering her thighs as he pulled out.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as they basked in the afterglow of their climaxes, their bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and desire. And as they stand there, spent and sated.

And then suddenly the reality of the situation hits.

As the shock of their passionate encounter lingered in the air, Coriolanus and y/n hastily dressed themselves, their movements stiff and awkward as they avoided each other's gaze, not uttering a word. Despite the intense connection they had shared, they couldn't bring themselves to acknowledge what had transpired between them. Croiolanus’s mind reeling with disbelief at the unexpected turn of events.

Silent and tense, they endured the remainder of the gala, stealing glances at each other from across the room.

Their stares  filled with a mix of confusion and desire. And when at last the night came to an end, they parted ways without a word, the weight of their shared secret hanging heavy between them.

A/N: What did we think yall?? shit really hit the fan (in the best way possible), or at least i think so. This was also my first time writing smut so please be kind. what are your guy's thoughts? please let me know if you have any suggestions ideas or ask me a question x you can do that here.

Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.

TAG LIST // Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

@secretsicanthideanymore @10ava01 @projectdreamwalker @aoi-targaryen @mrsawog

[rotten-machinery]

Thinking of Watcher DLC...

It's been 4 months and I am still thinking of Watcher DLC, so I am just gonna yap here- this is mostly my speculation. i need watcher dlc to come out auughhh i neeeed it i neeed it i need more rain world I NEEED MORE RAIN WORLD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE HYPERFIXATION IS HYPERFIXATING !!!!!!!!!!!!

Trailer details:

First, the trailer

I want to bring attention to 3 things: -poleplant -rot -void theme/watcher coming out of the shadows First I'll start with the pole plant as it will be easiest to explain. This most definitely takes place before saint's campaign, as I have not seen pole plants (I believe they went extinct?) in saint's campaign. Further details about the timeline are with the blue lizard's typical appearance (lizards look slightly different in saint's campaign), which too suggests that this is at least before saint. (Also lack of snow but I think that is too obvious) The rot is another thing I wanna focus on. We only see rot originate from two things: the iterators, and failed purposed organisms. The rot is also not specific to pebbles, as iterators have already known about the rot before pebbles got it. We can assume that we are either near an iterator district, or directly in it (judging by machinery and pipes in the background.). Now who is this potential new iterator? I am unsure, but I know it's definitely not pebbles' and moon's district both due to the screenshots on the steam page, and the fact that we've already explored all major plot points in pebbles' and moon's stories, adding more to their stories would be a rather bold move. Last thing, void themes and seemingly watcher's ability to come out of the shadow. I believe these two are connected. Although I have no clue what watcher's ability is, and what it has to do with void, but perhaps watcher can camouflage themselves in the shadows similar to how white lizards blend into their environment? Perhaps this ties into the void theme somehow? Although really I am unsure for this one.

Steam page, specifically the description:

"Rain World: The Watcher is a DLC expansion of Rain World. Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown?

The wilds that await will be unlike all that's come before.

Unknown creatures stalk and climb and dive and hunt. New breeds rip and pluck and burrow and hide. Predator and prey redefined. And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world."

"Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed." caught my attention first. This further proves that this will not be in pebbles' and moon's district. However the last part, only ever glimpsed, suggests we know about this new place at least by some extent. Perhaps we have heard about it in character dialogue? Perhaps it is one of the districts of iterators we already know (NSH, Suns, UI, CW, SoS, and all the miscellaneous broadcast ones)? I believe that the latter is the case, especially with UI (close to pebbles, justifies the rot? also I am coping because UI has no lore), NSH (unsure how rot will tie in to him, but we have definitely heard a lot from him) or Suns (once again unsure how the rot will tie in, but we have heard from them a lot too). "The wilds that await will be unlike all that's come before." too shows that we are definitely gonna be in a new place. Another thing, the "when the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles," this can either be a metaphor for a major change, or quite literally some kind of collapse or disaster. Honorable mention to warped world, also playing into the major change metaphor, or some kind of disaster.

"Unknown creatures stalk and climb and dive and hunt. New breeds rip and pluck and burrow and hide." I believe there will *definitely* be new creatures as well, some perhaps using the sand (and... salt... i think?) to burrow, and jump out at ya' like a dropwig or stalk ya' like a white lizard, or swoop down at ya' like a vulture! Except it's gonna be new variants or perhaps some new creatures altogether!

Screenshots:

I do not have much to say about this except for "this isn't pebbles' or moon's district", which has become more and more clear by now. I am very curious about this pink place however:

Why is it so pink? Is this iterator machinery or some kind of mast / tower / tall place ? Why can we not see any fellow iterators. I believe, the regions shown in the screenshots are still wips to some extent, so if this is the case, perhaps video cult and the dev team have yet to add iterators.... if not, I wonder where exactly this place is? Is it far far away from iterators? Is it facing somewhere an iterator cannot be built? WHY IS IT SO PINK!!! I unfortunately do not have much else to say about screenshots aside from they're very funky and I cannot wait to play Watcher DLC................................... I need watcher dlc omfg I need more rain world this hyperfixation is no joke......... I hope this ramble has been at least to some extent comprehensive, and that I did not make myself sound like a fool trying to seem too smart XD If ya'll have anything to add on, or speculate on other details, please please do in the notes or comments!!!

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Family Affair

Chapter 4

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Harlan's money ruled the world of your husband and in-laws. When Harlan cuts his family off the rift between siblings grows larger and you are somehow caught in the middle.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Slow Burn

Dark Ari x Reader, Dark Ransom x Reader (Pregnant reader)

❄️

Ransom's home

You sit at the kitchen table, staring at the white foam containers filled with takeout. The mingling aromas of greasy takeout—soy sauce, fried onions, and something faintly sweet—turn your stomach. The nausea creeps in, not entirely from the smell but from everything weighing on you.

Twins. The news should have been joyous. You wanted to be happy—really, you did—but the thought of becoming a mother was quickly overshadowed by the fear that, with Ari constantly abroad, you’d be doing it alone.

“What’s wrong?” Ransom asks, popping a piece of fried calamari into his mouth. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say to the man who wore your husband’s face—but that’s where the similarities ended.

Ransom didn’t care about you, you knew it. Why he brought you here to his extravagant abode, you weren’t entirely sure. More than likely, it was just another way to spite Ari, in a game you weren’t privy to.

“I’ve eaten. Now can you take me home.” You say ignoring his question. Looking up from your plate to meet his gaze.

“Why? We need to celebrate. Twins!” His tone turns almost playful as he strides into the open kitchen. You watch as he pours two glasses of wine, the liquid catching the light as it swirls into the glasses. “Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, all things considered.”

You frown as he approaches, one glass extended toward you. Your eyes linger on it before meeting his again. He chuckles softly at your silent refusal and, with a shrug, pulls it back. Taking a lazy sip before switching to the other glass as Ransom settles into the chair across from you.

It was already snowing when he brought you here, and the thought of braving the icy roads with him at the wheel drunk—sent a cold wave of apprehension through you. But you needed to go home and come to terms with what your life will be now.

You sigh heavily, breaking the tense silence as you rise from the table. Carefully maneuvering your belly to avoid the edge, you steady yourself, ignoring his low snicker. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you meet his unbothered gaze as he takes another sip.

“If you won’t take me home, I’ll just catch the bus.”

"So still not my brother?" Ransom leans back, a smirk curling his lips, his tone laced with mockery.

The question leaves you silent, anger simmering beneath the surface. But you swallow it down. He wants a reaction, but you refuse.

“Calm down and come sit back down. You’re not going anywhere,” he calls after you. Mindlessly, you rub your stomach—a thoughtless act to soothe your fraying nerves—while your other hand inches toward the door. “There’s ten inches of snow out there now. You’ll freeze to death… think of the babies.”

You stop, his words rooting you to the spot. He’s right, and you hate it. The storm has trapped you here, at least until morning.

“If you’d just told me what you wanted to eat, you’d be home by now. But no—you had to be a stubborn brat. I can see why Ari can’t stand to be around you.”

His words land like a slap. Your thoughts drift to the photos that had landed on your doorstep as your hand lingers on the doorknob. Sure, partying on a boat with models and drugs didn’t prove infidelity, but it was hard to ignore what they implied.

And now, all the unanswered calls sting even more with him back in the same time zone. He’s spent more nights at Harlan’s than at home. Hell, you’ve seen Ransom more than your own husband. Despite being heavily pregnant, you feel like an afterthought—if you’re even a thought at all. Did Ari truly hate being around you? Could everyone see it but you? And yet, if he despised you so much, why had he fought so hard against the divorce?

❄️

Harlan's home

The bay window cast a golden glow across the room, silhouetting Harlan’s back. The grand oak desk between Ari and Harlan a chaos of scattered notes and loose papers, no doubt seeds of inspiration for his next novel. The towering shelves of books wallpapered the room, their leather-bound spines exuding a faint, earthy scent that mingled with the smoky aroma of pipe tobacco—an indulgence Harlan wasn’t supposed to have given his last doctor’s opinion.

Harlan leans forward, his fingers laced, his sharp gaze fixed on Ari. The conversation followed the same pattern as the others before him—reasoning one day, negotiations the next, and, when all else failed pleases. Each attempt a new strategy to sway the old man from closing his wallet to the family.

When Harlan tossed the folder onto the desk, the room seemed to fill the air with a heavy tension. Ari hesitated before reaching for it, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper as if it might bite.

Unlike the others, whose greed clung to them like smoke, Ari had seemed above it, his pursuits noble. Every check had a purpose for either clean water initiatives, school funds, relief efforts. But now, the folder’s contents lay between them like a knife, its blade gleaming with betrayal.

“I don’t know where you got this information from, but it’s not true,” Ari says, his voice calm but tight. He scans the pages, his unease deepening with every highlighted discrepancy. The accusations damning.

“I want to believe you, Ari, but unless you can prove otherwise, I won’t reverse my decision,” Harlan states firmly, leaning back with an air of boredom. His gaze drifts to his pipe, as though it holds more interest than the conversation.

"I'm tired of this. Day after day of the same old topic. money. Let’s talk about something else. How’s your wife? She mentioned waiting to find out the baby’s sex when you got back. So, do you know?”

“She’s there now. I’ll call her later and ask,” Ari murmurs distractedly, not looking up.

“So you’re staying here again tonight? That’s a shame. Your first child, and you’ve barely left this house since you got back into the country”

“She understands,” Ari responds flatly , flipping another page.

Harlan nodded slowly, lighting his pipe with a flick of the match. The flame lit his face for a moment before vanishing into a curl of smoke.

“She understands, does she? That’s interesting. Quite surprising, actually, given her reaction after our last conversation. I’d have thought that would’ve been the first thing you mentioned—not money.”

Ari’s hand stills on the paper, his brow arching in suspicion. “You talked to her? About what?”

“I’ve requested paternity of the child.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the pipe. Ari’s gaze lifted slowly, disbelief hardening into something colder, sharper.

“What?”

Harlan leaned back, the creak of the old leather chair breaking the tense silence. “You’re overseas more than half the year. Are you certain the timeline adds up?”

Ari’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the folder. It took him a moment to steady his voice. “You're crossing a line old man. She’s my wife,” he said firmly, his tone edged with anger.

“That may be so,” Harlan says, exhaling another plume of smoke, “but unless proven, is that your child?”

❄️

Ransom's home

You stare out the guest room window as your breath fogs the pane. Beyond the frosted glass, the world is muted in white, the snow showed no sign of stopping, its relentless fall thickening with each passing hour.

Your hand drifts to your belly, tracing slow, soothing circles over the taut skin. The takeout food not sitting well with the twins as they kick inside protesting your poor choice. You close your eyes and exhale, the stress of the day lingering in the air, clinging to you like smoke.

"You can sleep in this," Ransom offers, tossing a garment on top of the bed beside you. "Or not," he adds with a shrug, already halfway out the door. You glance at the offering and grimace. It’s his sweater and a pair of socks—but in your current state you doubt you could fit much else of his.

You turn to face him, your hands still trying to calm the chaos in your belly. He leans against the doorway, the hall light casting shadows over his face. Even in the dimness, you can feel his gaze trailing over you.

“Thank you.”

The words come out tired, weak. Any fight you had left is long gone. You’re stuck here.

“Are you still hungry? Are the twins okay?” he asks, pushing off the doorway. There’s concern in his voice, and it’s… odd. It feels like a trap, the setup for an elaborate rug pull, and you can’t help but tense at it.

“I’m okay. Just tired,” you reply, taking the sweater and folding it over your arm. You wish he’d leave, give you some space. Since his unexpected appearance at your doctor’s appointment, you hadn’t managed more than a minute or two alone.

“Alright, fine. " Ransom says, seemingly backing off. "There are fresh towels in the guest bathroom—help yourself to anything in there. But don’t get any bright ideas about wandering around. I’d hate to have to start taking inventory.”

You give a tired nod, barely acknowledging yet another dig. He says nothing else, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving the room without another word. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him. With a sigh, you wobble over, your feet aching with each step, and nudge it shut. The game Ransom was playing you hope will end by the morning.

You don’t take him up on his offer. Instead, you start changing out of your clothes. Your bra comes off first, folded neatly alongside your shirt—but the pants are another story.

Tugging at the waistband, your belly turns it into a stubborn battle. Frustration bubbles up, and with a sigh, you fall backwards onto the mattress. The soft surface cradles you like a cloud. Its hold almost making you give up in defeat.

With a few more wriggles attempts, the pants finally give in, sliding free. The ease of pressure a relief to your aching belly. You indulge in the feel of the duvet a bit longer on your bare skin. You’d never felt anything so soft and a part of you wanted it to swallow you whole and take you away from it all.

The stress of your marriage and the babies lingers at the edge of your thoughts. If you divorced Ari, would anything really change? You’ve managed on your own before, but with the responsibility of the babies… could you handle it?

The biting chill of cold pulls you from your thoughts. With a huff you push up and pull over the sweater. It feels softer than anything you’ve ever felt. Its fibers cling around your belly like a soft hug, far more comfy than the itchy ones you have in your closet. It should be a sin to feel this good.

Your eyes close as you savor the feel of the sweater and duvet, their softness easing the weight of stress pressing down on you. The foreign room begins to lose its strangeness as sleep starts to take hold.

The sudden creak of the door jolts you awake, your heart leaping as your brother-in-law strides in without warning.

Scrambling, you clutch the duvet, yanking it awkwardly over your lower half in a haze of half-sleep. He scoffs as he approaches. The sharp scent of something sweet drifts toward you, carried by the steam rising from the mug in his hands.

“Don’t stretch out my sweater,” he quips, the smirk tugging at his lips making the jab feel sharper. “I doubt you have the funds to replace it.”

You watch wordlessly as he sets a coaster on the nightstand and then places the mug down. The smell grows more enticing the closer it gets. You peer over at the sight of melting marshmallows floating in the rich, chocolatey liquid calls to you. You should feel full after the amount of food you eventually devoured, but now you find yourself wanting more.

“Thought this might help settle the terror twins in your belly,” he suggests nonchalantly, flopping down on the mattress beside you. “Ma said it always worked for her when she was carrying me and Ari.”

You look between him and the drink, still a bit suspicious. He’s never been this nice to you—it wasn’t in his nature.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone wary as his eyes linger on you. The warmth from the mug seeps into your hands as you cup it, inhaling the sweet scent.

As you lean over to grab the mug, the duvet slips slightly, exposing your feet to the cool air. You glance at him and catch his gaze drifting down, his eyes lingering briefly on your feet. Slowly, you pull them back under the covers.

Your eyes widen as his hand shoots out, catching one before you can retreat. The heat of embarrassment floods your body as you try to tug your foot back, but his grip holds firm.

“Stop moving, or you’ll spill it,” he chides, nodding toward the mug in your hands. You glance down, realizing how precariously it sways with your movements, and you freeze.

You wince as his thumb presses into the ball of your foot, but the sting is fleeting. The ache subsides with the pressure, and you feel yourself sinking back into the pillow, your resistance waning as he kneads the swell of your foot with both hands.

It feels surreal, like you’ve stumbled into the twilight zone. This was everything you’d wished Ari would do for you—be there, show care.

“Can you at least tell me why?” you finally ask still very suspicious. “You’ve tormented me all day, and for what? It’s not to make Ari jealous. I doubt he even knows—or cares—where I am right now.”

He chuckles softly at your conclusion, the sound low and almost teasing. “Do you remember the old man’s wedding?”

Your brow arches at the sudden change in topic. “Yeah, why?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Do you remember how much fun we had, though?”

You scoff still gripping the mug its warmth steadying you. “You barely said two words to me that day. What are you talking about?”

He nods, his hands still kneading your foot with surprising tenderness. “I bet if you think long and hard, you’ll remember we had a pretty fun time.”

A chill creeps over you as fragments of that day resurface in your mind. Your body tenses, and your blood runs cold. You blink at him, trying to read his expression, but his back remains turned. The taut fabric of his shirt strains against his muscles as he shifts slightly.

He’s joking. Teasing. He wants you to react just so he can pull the rug out from under you—but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t feel like a joke.

❄️

[andkisses]

♡ roman holiday | sunghoon ♡

will this bucket list trip be the thing that finally forces you to face your feelings? or will it be the thing that tears the two of you apart for good?

♡ sunghoon x gn!reader | wc. 9.4k ♡ genres/tropes: childhood friends to lovers and the fluff and angst that comes with it, college!au (not obvious but implied), road trips ♡ mentions of/warnings: arguments, references to a toxic family environment, allusions to drowning, i think that’s all but lmk if there’s smth else that needs added! ♡ a/n: this has been a wip for SOO long we’re talking YEARS and has changed muses several times but i finally sat down to finish this and im so proud of what i managed <3 truly some of my favorite things ive ever written ! inspired by roman holiday by halsey! this is also the longest thing i think i have ever written <3

♡ masterlist ♡

The coffee ring on the counter stares back at you, warm brown against a stark egg white. You can’t tell if it’s old or new, and part of you doesn’t care. Another part wants to know, though, when the coffee stain was made and why it was never cleaned. The motel is practically empty, the older lady behind the front desk and a tired-looking family in the corner of the dining room are the only other inhabitants.

Through the windows, dressed quaintly with homesewn drapes, you see the tall mountain trees, dark green and prickly, stretching up to the crystal blue sky. The television across the room is set to the weather station, and the anchor talks about how a cold front could potentially lead to an early snow. 

A tray with various breakfast items clunks against the table, and the boy you’ve been traveling with settles in across from you, faux leather chair seat squeaking beneath in subtle “I’m hardly ever used” protest. His dark hair falls into his eyes messily, as if he only just now got up and rolled out of bed. The red flannel and vest he wears matches the surroundings, but looks absurd on your best friend.

“Sunghoon,” you start, interlacing your fingers and resting your chin on the bridge they form. Your eyes scan the tray, accounting each and every tiny portion of food. Eggs, both scrambled and hard boiled, some toast with an assortment of little jam containers, a little bowl of butter, two pancakes, half a waffle, and a few strips of bacon. “Thank you for getting everything,” you continue, leveling a stare over the top of your nose, “but you forgot the syrup.”

The boy in front of you blinks, bites his lips, and nods his head. A soft yeah, I forgot the syrup escapes his lips as he slides out of his chair, the pleather squeaking once again. “Give me like two minutes,” he says, “the breakfast bar is crazy to navigate. Do you see the things I do for you?” His smile is teasing.

“It’s no problem, Hoon—” Your voice trails off as he jogs off into the distance. You shake your head, feeling lethargic and sleepy beneath the slow-turning ceiling fan. Your gaze follows its metallic clink, and the fan seems as if it’s never been replaced in the 50-something years this establishment has operated.

You’re brought back down by a small tug on your sleeve, and when you look, it’s the little girl from the tired family across the room. She blinks up at you, not much unlike Sunghoon, innocent and full of curiosity. You nod your head, encouraging her to talk. The little girl takes a big gulp of air, dual pigtails bobbing, before, “I think your boyfriend is very nice and I like how he gets you your breakfast.”

The laugh that leaves you is easy, the statement hardly shocking at all. You’re used to it, strangers and acquaintances alike assuming the relationship status between the two of you. It’s nothing new. The little girl’s face is confused, her head listing to one side. You nod again, swallowing any additional laughter. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, and you see a little bit of the light in her eyes diminish. “We’re just really good friends. He’s my best friend, actually.”

The girl’s brows furrowed together, a small pout forming on her lips. Obviously not the answer she was expecting. Then she nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, okay,” she mutters, seeming confused. Before she turns to walk back to her family, she looks back up and adds, “He’s a good friend. I would keep him as my friend for a long time.”

“That’s what I intend on doing, kiddo.” Your voice is quiet as the little girl skips back across the old, faded carpet towards her family. You see Sunghoon emerge from the breakfast bar, where everyone else at this motel must be. He waves small packets of syrup in the air. The smile that flits across your face is fleeting. You try to ignore, again, this feeling in your chest. Your voice is small, talking to yourself. “For as long as possible.”

***

The candy-colored Valentine stared back at you, practically mocking you. Third grade and only one Valentine. You tried to fight back the tears, attempted to sniff them back inside, but nothing worked. They fell, one by one, onto the homemade card, soaking through the pink construction paper and leaving roundly-shaped wet splotches across your only card.

You read the simple message, “Happy Valentine’s! – Sunghoon”, over and over and over again. You racked your brain, trying to figure out why, why, why no one else gave you a card. You were nice, you offered to help them when they needed it. It seemed like everyone liked you. They even let you sit by them at lunch.

So why?

The hand on your shoulder startled you, your head whipping up to face the figure standing beside the desk. It was Sunghoon, the boy who gave you the only Valentine in your possession. The edges of his dark hair curled around his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes. His brow scrunched with worry, and he ducked down to see your face.

“Are you okay?”

You shook your head, a bitter pout filling out your lips. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

Sunghoon shrugged, removing his hand to pull out the seat beside you. “I guess not.” He pursed his lips, hands clasped in his lap, before looking back at you. “What’s the matter?”

You flung the single Valentine—his own Valentine—back at him. The construction paper flew through the air before catching, floating down to land on the table by Sunghoon, who deftly picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

“It’s the only one you got?”

You nodded, crossing your arms on your desk and sinking into them. A heavy sigh left your chest and you sniffled, trying to keep the angry tears from falling again. You wished the day would end; that the bell would ring and release you so you could go home and cry somewhere comfier instead.

There was silence, then, “Does it matter if you only got one?”

You scoffed, still hidden in your arms. “Uh, duh? It means no one in this class likes me.”

“Then… why does it matter if everyone else doesn’t like you? Shouldn’t one person liking you be okay?”

You bit your lip. You can’t tell if you like his thinking or not. You decided not to respond.

You heard the chair scrape against the wood floor beside you, and you figured it was Sunghoon leaving to return to the other students. That was fine, you figured. It’s what you should expect, anyway. Even if he was the only one who gave you a Valentine, it was probably only because he gave the whole class Valentine’s. What a guy.

Then the chair was drug against the floor again, much closer this time. You popped your head up, a scowl still on your face, to see what was happening. Sunghoon had scooted it closer, and in his hands was another Valentine. You watched as he flipped the card over to the decorated side and skillfully pulled off the foam heart-shaped sticker, as if he’d had to do this thousands of times before.

His question is one you didn’t expect. “Where do you want to go?”

You look up at him, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t have many friends here, you must want to be somewhere else?” Sunghoon shrugged, as if the thought made perfect sense to him. “Right?”

You pursed your lips, mimicking his shrug. “I guess you’re right...”

“Then,” Sunghoon began again, “where do you want to go?”

“Uhm, my house?” you answered. Crying on your fluffy bed would be much more comfortable than crying on this hard desk. Your arms were sore from resting on the edge and your back was stiff from the awkward angle.

Sunghoon shook his head. “No, think bigger. Like, vacation places and stuff.”

“Hmm... then, maybe, the big cities? The ones you always see in TV shows. And... the beach, because the ocean is really nice.”

Sunghoon nodded, diligently taking note of every place you suggested. His handwriting is a little crooked, but it fit on the now vacant front of a Valentine’s card. He looked up at you, eyes wide with question. “Anywhere else?”

You frowned, deep in thought. Then, as if someone tapped you on the shoulder and whispered it in your ear, an idea sprung to mind. “A really tall mountain, where it’s snowy all the time. No matter the season”

The pencil lead pulled across the paper, leaving information behind. Sunghoon returned to the top of the page, tapping the pencil’s eraser on the side of his cheek before scribbling a final note down. “There! It’s finished!” He slid it over in front of you.

You read the title of the list aloud: “The Wanderlist? But that isn’t even a word.”

Sunghoon shook his head. “It is now.” He leaned over, pointing at all the places you had stated. “And that’s everywhere we’re gonna go, because I’m your best friend now. We won’t be lonely, because we have each other. And we’re gonna travel all over.”

You sat up, leveling him a stare. “Well, this is gonna be expensive, you know. Trips aren’t free. They cost a lot.”

Sunghoon smiled, the kind that, even for a tin moment, makes everything seem like it’s possible. “Then we better start saving now!”

 ***

The pink paper stares up at you from its place on the dashboard, stuck with a random sticker right next to the air vent. The edges had aged, curling and warping, and your tear stains from 3rd grade are still faintly visible. You read over the list—your wanderlist, as Sunghoon had named it all those years ago.

1. Big cities (because TV) x2!!

2. The beach (because cool ocean)

3. Tall mountain (because always snow)

The big city had been marked off in 6th grade, when the class had a trip to the modern art museum, and again in 8th grade for a series of school-wide competitions, from writing and art to band to mathematics and science. Sunghoon had excelled at creative writing while you swept the math category for your region.

The beach was crossed off the day before the two of you left for college. How bitter it was that you had to be separated, together for ten years only to be settled in two different places. Yes, you weren’t that far away. A half day’s drive. But you both knew, deep down, how likely seeing each other was.

So you did something about it. The day before, you woke up before the sun. You loaded his car up with everything you would need for a daytrip, and you took off for the coast. You spent the whole day, afternoon, and evening parked at a spot on the beach. If you think about it now, you can still smell the seabreeze, imagine it in your hair. You can hear Sunghoon’s laugh, about what, you can’t remember. You do remember how happy you both were.

You remember sitting side by side, sharing a blanket over your shoulders as the seabreeze grew colder, watching the sun disappear on the horizon. You remember the thoughts you had–the ones you normally stamped down and annoyed. You should tell him. You’d been so close before. You wouldn’t even say the word to yourself, but you knew.

You didn’t say anything

“Can you believe these clouds?” Sunghoon says, slipping into the driver's seat and shutting the door. He places his keys into the ignition and turns like he always had. You watch the keychain you got him freshman year of high school swing from momentum. When you look back up, Sunghoon is watching you, leaning one elbow on the center console, hair in his eyes. “I suppose even the weather believes my sunny disposition is more than enough.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, smacking his shoulder. You turn to look out the window, biting your lip. You’ve got to get it together. You blame that little girl from breakfast. You’d been doing just fine not thinking about Sunghoon in That Way. Now here you were, all these stupid feelings drummed up.

It doesn’t help that Sunghoon pulls out a cassette–MT-PSH-5–and pops it into the player. His smile grows wide as he turns out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading further up the mountain. “Nothing like some classic tunes.”

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

Sneaking out late, hot summer heat still sticky and oppressing. You could feel the waves rise up from the concrete as it finally felt relief in the moonlight. You’d felt like dressing up, sneaking into your mother’s room and applying her fancy department store perfume to the nape of your neck. Your fingers gracefully found her pearls in the glass bowl on the dresser as you left, and you pulled them over your head, letting them rest against your collar bone. They’re still cool against your hot skin.

You escaped through the back patio, walking past the fist-sized hole in the drywall you wished you could forget about. The dusty edges kept raining down debris if someone walked too close to it. You let yourself out the gate in the fence, pulling it shut behind you. You felt for the keys to the front door in your pocket, and they jingled in response. You clasped your hand around the cool metal, the cuts sharp and edgy beneath your palm.

He met you at the corner of his street and yours, his dark hair swallowing up the soft moonlight. It made his features seem younger, softer. It felt like you were kids again.

You fell in line beside each other, walking the empty streets without fear. Who was to stop some teenagers walking the street at midnight? Random cars passed by, people finally returning home from the late shift but paying no mind to you two. And that was fine; you didn’t want them to care.

The black gates around the community pool glinted in the yellow streetlights, reaching out to you like a beacon. The closer you drew, the more the overwhelming scent of chlorine filled the air. You walked forward, hands in your jacket pockets, one wrapped tightly around your house keys. You took a deep, steadying breath. This was fine. You had this.

“Hey, [Y/N], do we really have to do this?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hands from your pockets and grabbing the top of the fence. You’d have to pull yourself up, and be extra careful of the metal pickets at the top. It’d be tough, but you could make it. “What?” you snapped back lightly, voice echoing amongst the night. “Scared of hopping the fence?”

“No, that’d be ridiculous,” Sunghoon replied, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to rest on one foot. “Jumping fences is nothing for me. Jumping fences into property that—” he pointed to a white and red sign just beside your knees. “—considers jumping fences into property after hours as illegal and trespassing? That sets me on edge.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. “It’s not like they’ve got police roaming around or anything, and the owner’s too cheap for security cameras. I’m sure if we tried hard enough, we could just pull the fence down instead of having to jump it.” For emphasis, you grabbed hold of the rods and shook. A loud metallic echo escaped into the night, and before you could pull back and shake a third time, Sunghoon had dashed to your side, placing his hands on yours to stop you.

His brown eyes caught the light as he shook his head back and forth and hissed, “If you’re going to do something illegal, do it quietly! Especially when I’m here.”

You leaned forward, head inching towards his, with a scowl on your face. “Then shut up and hop the fence.” You drew back, replacing your hands at the top and pulled yourself up and over with ease. Maybe mandatory PE did have benefits.. Your sneakers landed on the pavement, and when you stood upright from the landing, you stared at Sunghoon through the bars. “You can either join me,” you began, a smirk on your face, chin tilted up, “or you could just wait while I go and find my car keys.”

You turned on your heels, walking towards the lifeguard’s shack. You could have sworn the sigh you heard was strong enough to blow the fence down altogether

Your shoes scuffed against the concrete, and you felt the humid air of the pool spill over and try to reach out to you. Its arms clung and bit at your ankles as the water inside sloshed around with the teasing wind. You shook them off, changing course from the pool’s edge to the guard’s shack. The padlock on the door seemed old—really old—and you crossed your fingers before giving a giant tug and having it pop open in your hands.

The wooden door swung open and you stepped inside the dingy shack. Various lost pool toys littered the floor, and a box of deflated tricolor beach balls appeared to have seen better days. But you weren’t interested in any of that: you needed your car keys. Above you, nestled nearly at the top of the peaked roof was a loft filled with white plastic bins. One of them, you noted, was closer to the edge than the others, as if someone had lazily swung it up there.

You crossed your fingers again, reaching up to pull the basket down to you. “Please be there, please be there, please be there,” you chanted under your breath. You peered into the basket. On top, someone’s embroidered handkerchief. You pinched the soft material between your finger and thumb before tossing it aside in the basket. Someone’s crazy straw, two Rubik’s Cubes, a school ID lanyard, and—yes!

You fished your car keys out with one hand and swung the basket back up into the loft with the other. You turned to leave, ready to find Sunghoon, reunite with your car, and drive home, but before you can even take a single step back out you’ve run into something.

Or someone.

Your scream’s instantly shushed by your best friend, a single finger coming up against your lips. Sunghoon was so close, and you felt the pool humidity roll off his shoulders as he looked at you with confusion. “Are you done?” he asked. “And why are you screaming?”

You shook your head, holding up your keys. “Yes. Also, you scared me. How did you get in here? I didn’t think you’d hop the fence.”

“Didn’t have to.” Sunghoon held up a matching padlock to the one you’d pulled off outside. “Looks like the owner’s too cheap to buy actual locks for his gates. I simply walked in.”

You left the lifeguard’s shack, replacing the lock and headed for the entrance, where Sunghoon easily swung open the wrought iron gate. You walked towards your car as Sunghoon redid the lock, simply looping it through and clicking it shut.

You kissed your car keys and unlocked the doors, swinging down into the driver’s seat. Sunghoon slid into the passenger seat beside you, and as soon as his door shut, the engine was starting and you were pulling out of the parking spot.

“Let a guy put on his seatbelt first?” Sunghoon joked as he clicked his into place. “I don’t see you wearing yours, [Y/N].”

“Then you’re not looking close enough,” you replied, taking one hand off the wheel to pull at your own seatbelt. “Seems as if someone isn’t paying attention.”

“Forgive me, I was busy making sure no one saw our illegal activity. I would like to graduate high school next year with a clean record.”

You laughed something similar to a scoff as you flicked on your turn signal and made your way down his street. “You say that as if we robbed a bank. Is it really trespassing if the locks don’t even work? The wind could have undone them.” You turned to catch a glance at your friend, and what you caught was a judgmental glare in the green glow of the dashboard.

With a simple curve of the steering wheel, you pulled in front of his house. You shifted the car in park and rotated towards the passenger seat. “Thanks for breaking the law with me, Sunghoon. It means a lot. I’m touched.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned towards the door, making as if to pull the handle and open it, when he reached inside his pocket. His eyes lit up and he turned back towards you. “Oh, yeah!”

You shook your head, confused. You hold a single hand up. “Oh, yeah, what?”

“Here’s that mixtape you wanted,” Sunghoon answers, placing a cassette tape in your unintentionally outstretched hand. You scowled. You didn’t know how he had the technology to make a cassette in this day and age, but then again, you were the one with a car so old it still had a cassette player. You two were a pair, you supposed.

“When did you finish it?” you asked, spinning it around in your hands. The clear, Sharpie handwriting read MT-PSH-5 on the short white label.

“This morning,” he replied, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you give it to me earlier, then?” You turn to look at him. The yellow glow of the streetlights blend in with the green of the dashboard lights. His eyes remained that entrancing brown color, though. Romantic and homey all at once, untouchable by any other shade.

Sunghoon shrugged. “Perhaps it was because you didn’t have a car to play it in when I finished it? It was unavailable to you, shall we say.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You kept turning the cassette in your hands, as if you’d find something new and exciting on each turn.

“Oh, and—” Sunghoon leaned across the center console, reaching to take the tape from your hands, like he had something to say or show you. But he stopped. His brows furrowed together, and he turned to you, face mere inches from your own. “Are you wearing perfume?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My mom’s, and I got mad at her since she got mad at me about the car so I...”

An eyebrow quirked up. “You’re showing your mom up by stealing some of her perfume?”

“It’s expensive,” you muttered, sliding down into your seat. “She’ll have to pay for it later. Literally.”

And with that, he laughed. Nice and hearty and his eyes turned into tiny crescent moons and you felt your heart flutter—something that had happened a lot as of late, and you’re not entirely sure why. Yes, Sunghoon was a good friend. A best friend. But that’s all he was. He—

“Hey.” Your attention snapped from a distance spot on the road over to him, and he felt even closer now for some reason. Your heart registered how soft he’d spoken and proceeded to beat faster because of it. His eyes searched yours, but for what you don’t know. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Make sure you get home safe, okay? Wouldn’t want anything happening to the city’s greatest delinquent.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, but it was short and stilted. You barely heard what he said over the thumping of your own blood in your ears. You felt the red flush creep up your neck, dusting your cheeks and turning your ears a cherry color. When you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, all you could think about was how loud it seemed. Your grip on the mixtape tightened, it seemingly the only thing tethering you to the real world.

You couldn’t tell if the radio was one or not or whether you’d turned car off and left the keys in the ignition. All you could tell was Sunghoon, so close and so real he almost seemed unreal. And then it happened. He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut before placing a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, right next to your lips. It happened too fast and it was the slowest moment of your life all at once. Your heart was practically screaming now, hands rattling around the mixtape.

When he pulled back, he kept going, opening the car door and stepping out. Before closing it, he leaned in and nodded. “I meant what I said about getting back safely. Promise?”

You nodded. “I promise.” You were surprised your voice worked at all. That you were able to form a coherent, albeit a simplistic, sentence. That you could think at all. The door swung shut and you shifted the car into drive.

The whole way home felt automatic, limbs working separate from your internal instructions. When you returned home, you pulled up beside your mailbox and turned the car off, pulling the keys and letting them rest in your hand. You sat motionless, seatbelt still in place, as you stared, eyes fixated at someone mindless spot on the dashboard. The pearls were cool against your heated skin.

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

You flip the mixtape over in your hands, reading the slightly-faded yet still legible handwriting. MT-HVC-5. You’d run through the songs already, and Sunghoon had switched to some CD mixes he had brought. Why he didn’t get a car with Bluetooth, something you’d done a while ago, you’d never know. Maybe that was part of his charm. 

You’d managed to learn to forget about that kiss, or at least ignore it. But Sunghoon pulling out the mixtape he’d given you that night pulls it back up to the surface. You aren’t even sure how it even got into his possession. The longer you recall the memory, the more you can feel the burn on your cheek from where his warm lips touched your skin. The rest of the flush comes back from how you wish so badly it would happen again.

  “What’s up?”

“Huh?” You turn towards his voice, away from the window.

“I asked what’s up,” Sunghoon repeats, looking over at you for a split second before returning to the road. “You seem like we’re on another planet.”

“Just thinking about when we were younger, you know...” Did he? What did you want him to think about? The day you’ve been obsessing over? And then what would he do about it? Pull over and confess? Kiss you, but mean it this time?

Sunghoon laughs, breaking your thoughts. He spares another quick glance in your direction. “Younger like what? Like third grade or two days ago?”

You reach across the center console to smack his shoulder. “Why would it be two days ago?”

“We were younger then. Wild, foolish.” Sunghoon takes one hand off the wheel and places his knuckles on his forehead. “The way we were is actually unimaginable now.”

“I’m done with you.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Sure you are.” A quick beat, a hum to the music. “Anyway, what were you thinking about?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you think we'll change?”

“We have changed.”

“Really?” He said it so simply, it takes you off guard. You turn to look at him, even though you know he’ll keep his eyes glued safely to the road.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We’ve totally changed. We don't like the same kinds of music as the old us used to. We don't eat mac and cheese for every conceivable meal—except for the day after that one chem exam.”

“That final was hard!” You reach across the center console to shove at his shoulder–oh, god, why do you keep finding ways to put your hands on him?–earning a smug grin. “None of it was covered in class and you know it!”

“See what I mean?” Sunghoon asks. “We're different, but like, a good different. We’ve adapted.”

The silence that fills the car after isn’t weighty or overbearing. It’s comfortable and common, safe like a child-loved security blanket. Yet, somehow, your stomach fills with stones of dread, and all you want to do is sleep off any bad feelings.

You keep your eyes trained ahead, the curving mountain road, when you ask, “Do you ever think we'll be bad different?

Sunghoon spares a confused glance at you, brows knit together as he switches focus between you and the road. He shakes his head. “No, not us. Never us.”

“Is that a promise?”

The hand closest to you leaves the steering wheel and drifts over the center console, pinky out. “Always.”

You wrap your pinky around his, and try to ignore the heated flush you feel creeping up your neck and the backs of your ears. You focus, instead, on how real Sunghoon feels. How solid the mixtape is in your hands. How, here out in what feels like the middle of nowhere surrounded by evergreens and roadside snow piles that have started to pop up and tall mountain views, time doesn’t feel like it can get you.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe, out here, there’s only good different.

Maybe, that’s all you need.

The clouds from the morning have turned darker, more potent. You can smell rain in the air, hear it as the wind rushes through the trees. It’s so cold though, you wonder if it will snow instead. The mountain weather you’d been looking forward to for so long.

Sunghoon knocks his shoulder into yours, cheeks pink from the cold. He swings your duffle bag towards you, letting go of the strap before you’ve gotten a good grip on it. “Your luggage,” he declares, before marching towards the hotel entrance.

You’d both decided, with your combined measly college student incomes, that wherever the last hotel would be, it needed to be the best you could afford. Standing in front of it now, styled like a fancy chateau with white walls and a red roof, you think the two of you made the right choice.

You had forgot what made such a nice place so affordable, until Sunghoon swipes the key, opens the door for you, gesturing for you to walk in first. The room is cute and delicate, with pretty yet aged wainscotting, petite floral wallpaper, a nice view of the surrounding mountains and–

And one bed.

You freeze. You can’t help it. Maybe the you from this morning, before that girl talked to you, could handle this. The you of right now? The lady at the front desk calling you a cute couple, and Sunghoon going along with it and not correcting her, didn’t help. You aren’t sure if you’re strong enough to keep everything the same.

“Rats,” Sunghoon says, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not cool with this either, you think. He turns toward you with a coy smile. “I’m gonna go back downstairs and ask for more pillows. Three simply won’t cut it. Want me to ask for some fancy water?”

You shake your head, voice gone, and you don’t move until you hear the door shut behind Sunghoon.

And that’s when it starts, as you drag your feet in circles trying to think your way through this. Your hands clench and unclench, fists forming so tightly you leave half-moons from your nails in the fleshy part of your palm. Your breath comes ragged and shallow, and you feel like drowning, except from too much instead of not enough. Too many memories reminding you of too many things. Too many emotions leading to too many feelings you neither want to recognize or acknowledge.

But one keeps pushing its way to the forefront, demanding attention and definition. The one that’s been bothering you all day. It makes you dizzy, to the point you feel you need to lay down and clutch at your stomach. Maybe that’s it, you think as you sit on the edge of the one bed. You’re just sick. Breakfast was bad. But you know it’s not. It makes you angry, because how dare you feel this way about him. It makes you flustered, since you shouldn't look at your best friend's face and have your gaze wander to his lips and wonder what they'd feel like against yours.

It makes you happy, so undeniably happy that you feel like crying, because it feels so right. When you allow yourself to think more about it, and imagine what life would be like if you were able to confirm and agree with all the strangers who already think you’re dating. Lovers. It fills you up with breaths of fresh air to the point it's like floating on cotton clouds.

It makes you fearful. Its dark side claws at your heart, threatening to tear at the tender seams and leave you bloody and raw, so intensely damaged you're afraid of doing anything along the same lines. You had asked about a bad different, and Sunghoon said it wasn’t possible. Right now, you feel like you have to disagree–confessing this? Altering the relationship you’ve carefully crafted for so long?

That would be a bad different.

That’s why, when Sunghoon comes back, three more pillows and a bottle of sparkling water, you don’t answer. You roll over on the bed, curling up away from him, hiding with a pillow on your head. You hear Sunghoon say something about it being a long drive, and he gets it, you should rest. You hear him open the closet door, then feel the spare blanket get draped over you.

And, as you lay here, hot silent tears threatening to spill over and run down your cheeks, you let yourself think about it. You're in love with your best friend. Your nail-bitten palms come to swipe at your eyes, you make the mistake of sniffing aloud. Sunghoon calls your name, and you hate how much you savor the worry in his voice.

But, it’s also too much. He can’t know, you decide. Not now, not ever. That is what would be best, you decide, for the two of you. To be able to get through the rest of this trip.

“[Y/N], what is it?” he calls again. Sunghoon’s voice is laced with care, something tender and soft and so distinctly him it pulls at the tears in your eyes. How can he make this so unfair? “What's wrong?”

“You wouldn't understand,” you snap, pulling yourself to sit up, the pillow falling off. You don’t look at him, but instead at your hands, fists in your lap. Sunghoon easily notes your posture, and confusion floods his features. You hate how quickly he can figure out something’s wrong, that something is bothering you.

“Can I try to understand, at least?” You look up at him, lips pursed, tears smarting your eyes. You take him in–turned towards you in the chair, sitting on the edge, like he can jump to your rescue at any time. The confused look in his eyes hurts—you've always been straightforward with one another. But you know you can’t about this. “I can’t try to fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

     You shake your head, wiping one of your cheeks with your fingers, a half laugh falling from your lips. “No, Hoon it's—”

   “No.”

The force of the single word hits you, and it hurts more than the angry look in his eye.

   He stands, takes a step toward you, then sits hesitantly on the edge of the bed. He's close, and he's been closer, but it's still too much. The rushing sound is back in your ears and your heart pounds against your ribs, telling you to do something, anything, but you stay still.

   “Hoon—”

   “I said no, [Y/N].” Sunghoon’s words are ice, colder than the breeze outside and sharper than butcher knives. His eyes, once warm and homey, that romantic shade of brown you love, are now dark and piercing. “You don't get to call me special names when you aren't telling me what's wrong. When you aren't acting like the [Y/N] I've known since third grade.” His hands come up to run through his hair, and it flips slowly back into place. His voice drops, the softer, confused Sunghoon returning. “You've been acting weird this whole trip, and especially since this morning. It's driving me insane that I can't figure it out and fix it. I know you better than this.”

   He's so close, so, so close. Much too close. Somehow he’s scooted towards you on the bed. You can smell his cologne—when did he start doing that? Why hadn’t you noticed earlier? His eyes are back to the romantic brown, the warm and homey color, the ones that remind you of so many good memories—his eyes are so pretty. Your gaze follows its past patterns and drops to his lips, redder from being gnawed on with worry. A kiss would—

   A shaky breath leaves you, and you're talking before you realize, voice so small it's hard to hear. But Sunghoon is listening. He always does.

   You blink. “Do you want to know what's wrong?”

   “Of course. I need to know if I can do anything or—”

   “It's you.”

You want to be upset, angry. How dare it come to this. But you can’t, you realize. You can’t be angry at him. Whatever energy you had coursing through your veins leaves after your pseudo confession, and you turn away, resting your weight on the headboard, hoping he’ll go away. 

This, for certain, was bad different. You can feel it, weighing you down. Here, in a chilly, single bed hotel room, you’d ruined everything. Your brain told you to shut up, to be quiet, to try and save anything you could manage from this shattering relationship. But your mouth—or maybe your heart—kept going, and going, and going.

“It’s you,” you repeat, turning back towards him. He’s still there, frozen in place, face filled with concern. “It’s everything you do. The way you... you tell me bad jokes when I’m upset over a grade or make me mixtapes because you want to share your music with me. It’s–I’m–I’m sick of it. I hate it. I hate you”

Sunghoon recoils, eyes wide. He looks around the room, as if the answers to what to say are hidden around. He stands, backing up without turning away, like you’re something he has to keep his eyes on or he’ll get hurt again.

Again.

Sunghoon’s voice is flat when he speaks, like he’s out of breath. Shaky, like he’s about to cry, too. What have you done? “I’m… I’ll go downstairs and ask about if there’s anything nice around for dinner. I’ll–I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Whenever you’re ready, you know.”

Even now, after the nasty things–after I hate you left your lips–he’s still trying to make peace with you.

What did you do to ever deserve him?

And would he even stay with you once you return home?

The door falling shut is what starts your tears again. You slump down off the bed, between it and the window. You pull your knees up to your chest, put your head in your hands, and you cry.

***

It still isn’t over.

You’re breathing heavy, tears still stinging your eyes, but you aren’t sure if you’ve actually cried yet or not. Your fists are balled at your sides. Years of friendship are stuck in your throat, enough to make you want to scream or cry or vomit from the nauseous feeling it induces. The pouring rain, those clouds finally opening up, doesn’t help.

Dinner had been awful, awkward. The only person either of you talked to had been the waiter. You can’t remember what the food tasted like. You can’t remember what, if any, songs played on the radio on the way back. Sunghoon hadn’t bothered to pick anything out. All you could remember, or hear, or see in your head–I hate you. The look in his eyes. How he has barely looked at you since.

You aren’t sure what you have to do to get away, but you’d be willing to make a deal.

Anything to get away from this moment.

Anything to get away from your best friend.

Sunghoon stares at you like he’s only just now met you, and maybe he has. He’d stopped you halfway between the car and the hotel’s entrance, despite the rain. He’d called your name in such a way you froze. Your angered confession from earlier hangs in the air, untouched or acknowledged. A single parking lot light illuminates you two, dim yellow casting shadows through the rain.

“Do you mean that? What you said?” he asks, daring to step forward. You don’t move, anchored in place. By fear or something else, you aren’t sure. He takes another, then a third. The gap between you has been halved. “I know you don’t mean it. I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. You don’t mean it.”

“What makes you so sure?” you spit, taking a step closer in your upset. You level Sunghoon with a stare you hope is intimidating, bitter. You hope he sees the duress. You have to push him away. “I said what I said. I hate you, Park Sunghoon.”

The boy shakes his head, hair stuck to his forehead from the rain. He seems almost incredulous, and it angers you even more. Why doesn’t he get it? There’s a small smirk at the corners of his lips, but you’ve known him long enough to recognize it as mock confidence. “You didn’t mean what you said.”

“I did!” Another step, and now you’re nose to nose with him, staring into the eyes you’ve had memorized for so long, that romantic brown even in the rain and yellow streetlight. Your gaze betrays you and you drink in the slope of his nose, see how his eyes examine you as well. Note the downturn of his lips, almost unnoticeable. Your voice is weaker when you speak again. “I did mean it, Sunghoon.”

He leans in, closer and closer until he stops–a breath away from your lips. He freezes, closes his eyes, and waits.

And you cave, despite your best interests. You find yourself tilting your head and wishing he’d do something more. This can’t be how your first kiss with Sunghoon goes? When he pulls back, and you nearly stumble forward. You look up at him, and the smile on his face is no longer mock. You know what his question will be before he says it, and you know he’s caught you in your lie. “You hate me so much–why did you kiss me back?”

You want to spit back, I didn’t! You want to argue. But the truth is, ever since you’d remembered that day in high school, you’d been imagining what it would be like to actually kiss him, and again, and again. You wanted to know what kissing Sunghoon would be like, even if it meant redefining the relationship you worked so hard to keep as is. The one you said you hated him to protect.

Sunghoon gently cups the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him, and you see worry and concern etched into the space between his brows, spilt in the color of his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispers, voice almost breaking, “what’s wrong. Let me try to fix it.”

You shake your head, trying to form words to explain everything, but all you do is shiver drastically beneath his touch. You watch as Sunghoon’s eyes grow wide, and he leads you inside, arm over your shoulder. The woman at the front desks awards you a quirked eyebrow, but that’s all you get before she returns to her clipboard.

The room is icy cold when you return, but Sunghoon adjusts the temperature in silence. “You get dry first,” he says, pointing at the bathroom. “Take a shower and get warm.”

“But about you?” You want to point out the subtle shake in his hands, and the way his breath catches. “There’s not enough towels to share.”

“I’ll ask for more at the front desk. I’ll be fine. Go.”

The shower water never feels hot enough, but you do stop shivering. You do your best to towel dry your hair. When you peek the door open to see if he’s back, and if you could get your things, you see that Sunghoon has already done it for you. Everything you could need taken from your bag, folded and placed nicely right outside the door. You have no idea when he did it–you’re thankful he did.

When he comes back with extra towels–which, surely, did not take this long–you’re curled up on the bed, similar to before. You rest your weight on the headboard, looking out the window at how the rain patters against the glass. You wish you could see the stars.

Sunghoon is fast, but who’s to say? You aren’t exactly keeping track of time. You know he’s back because you feel the mattress shift. His voice is almost silent when he speaks. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” you ask, turning towards him. You haven’t seen Sunghoon look this tired in a while. And you know it’s your fault. “How I was mean to you?”

Sunghoon smiles, looking down at his clasped hands. He takes a moment to determine what he actually wants to say. “Let’s start with…what it is about me that made you say that?”

His eyes are pleading in the dark. The room is barely lit, the overhead light off. There’s just a lamp on the desk and the streetlight from outside. The rain sound is almost overwhelming in the silence. “If there’s something I’ve done that hurt you–”

“It’s not that. It’s–” You pause, trying to find the right thing to say. You decide to start with the obvious. “There’s a reason I kissed you outside.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because I’m charming and irresistible.”

“This is serious!” You do what you always do when he makes some kind of quip–you reach out to push his shoulder, scooting closer, but Sunghoon catches you by your wrist.

“I am serious. Do you know how much you hurt me when you said you hated me?” He levels you a stare, one that makes you want to shrink away, but you can’t. “When I left, I didn’t ask the front desk about restaurants. I went to my car and sat down and cried because the person I love just said they hated me.”

“You love me?”

“Not like that,” he corrects, and now you have to know what he means.

“Tell me how then.” You take your free hand and grab his other wrist, a mirror of what he’s done to you. “When you say you love me, what do you mean?”

“It’s not like you think, not like what it has been.” Sunghoon looks down, takes a deep breath, then carries on.  “Not like friends, or like siblings, but like–”

“Lovers?” you offer.

Sunghoon swallows, sets his jaw. Then, “Yes. Like that. And I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if it was overnight or gradual or all at once. I do know that I woke up one morning and I realized that I didn’t want to imagine my future with anyone else. And I didn’t want to see you with anyone else, either.”

“Kinda selfish,” you say.

Sunghoon laughs. “Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

Somehow, you’ve both moved closer to each other. The knees of your crossed legs knock into each other. You still have a hold on the other’s wrist. Sunghoon levels you another stare. “Will you tell me why?”

“Why I said I hated you?” He nods, and you take a deep sigh. “Do you remember the night we snuck into the pool to get my car keys back?”

He nods again, a small smile on his face. “You mean the first night I got enough courage to kiss you? You looked so pretty, with the pearls and the perfume.”

You blush, hearing Sunghoon talk about you like that. “That night. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. And you know how all these people always say we look like a couple or whatever. And it all just stuck together and made me realize that I haven’t seen you like a friend in a long time. I’ve seen you like–”

“A lover?” Sunghoon offers, copying you from earlier.

You smile. “I said I hated you because I was afraid and overwhelmed, and I need you away from me. I thought that if you hated me, I could get over you and just move on. We could make up, and I wouldn’t have these feelings anymore, and we could go back to being friends.

“But if I’m being honest,” you add, moving even closer. Your shoulders knock into one other. “Even though it wasn’t even that long, those hours over dinner just now were some of the worst things I have ever had to do. I was ugly to you, Sunghoon, and you’re the last person on earth who would ever deserve to be talked to that way. But if you could forgive me, I…”

You try to look down again, but Sunghoon lets go of your wrist to place a finger under your chin, tipping your head up to his gaze. “You what?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you. I love you, Park Sunghoon.” You take a deep breath, just as lightning strikes somewhere far away and the thunder rumbles through the room. 

Sunghoon reaches out for you, his hands reach cupping your face again. It’s the most reverent you’ve ever seen him. His eyes roam over your every feature, as if you’ll break if he breathes too hard. It’s thrilling. “Genuinely?” he asks, voice fragile. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. It feels wrong to be too loud right now, like someone else could join in this moment between the two of you. “And if you would have me, I’d like to love you for a long time after this.”

Sunghoon pulls you to him, resting your forehead against his. He takes a deep breath. Then, “We’ve both just been really, really stupid about it, haven’t we?”

You laugh, savoring his touch and his warm and his smile. You stare into his eyes, those romantic brown ones you love so much. “I guess so.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and your heart jumps. “I know we did outside, but that’s a terrible story for a first kiss.”

“And the one from so long ago doesn’t count, because you just gave me a kiss then,” you say, not sure why you’re rambling when you have the opportunity to just kiss him already.

So, you shut up, and you do.

This kiss is reverent, unlike any that came before. You probably shouldn’t even bother comparing them. Maybe it’s the intentions behind the kiss—that you both want to be here, doing this, for the sake of just being, not proving. Maybe it’s because it hasn’t followed any dramatic late night outings or arguments. Maybe, it’s how you shiver closer to his frame, hands on his shoulders, and his own find the small of your back. You feel his smile against your lips, and the butterflies against your ribs.

Maybe, you should have said something a while ago. You could have avoided the whole I hate you stint, but then would anything else have been dramatic? Some couples are like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting together with no stress. And maybe you two are a puzzle, one that fits together with ease, but you both intentionally hid pieces from the other, making it difficult to complete. Maybe airing grievances is the only way to get all the pieces back on the table.

You sigh as Sunghoon’s lips travel from your own down the line of your jaw, tickling in a delightful way. You feel safe in his arms, a safe you’ve always felt, but now it feels like something more, something even greater. Your heart jumps, and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close. Sunghoon instinctively holds you tighter, his hands against your shoulder blades.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shake your head, finding any words to be incredibly difficult. “I’m just—I’m glad.”

Sunghoon pulls back gently, quirking his head to one side as he looks at you. He uses the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away a stray tear. “Glad for what?” he asks, still cupping your cheek.

You lean into his touch, feeling dizzy with excitement and relief. “Glad that it’s you,” you say, your voice quiet. You lean in, placing a chaste kiss against his lips and, for once, he’s the one to shiver. “I’m glad you’re the one I love. Glad we’re here now, finally.”

Sunghoon pauses. His eyes dart between yours, your lips, and back. He rests his forehead on yours again, and you can already imagine getting used to this, and craving it when you can’t have it. “I waited so long, and I didn’t even know if...” There’s a catch in his voice, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. When he opens his eyes, there’s an honesty to them, a gaze you’ve only seen in Sunghoon’s eyes a handful of times. He smiles, his eyes going soft once more, like you are the most beautiful thing he has ever beheld. And to him, you are. “I always knew we were meant to be.”

***

The lady behind the desk did, in fact, look at you two like you were crazy. The night before you were acting like you were gonna tear each other to pieces. But now you’re walking out in each other’s arms? His around your shoulder, yours around his waist?

The sun is out, and there’s hardly any evidence of the downpour from last night. Maybe the earth needed to be just as dramatic as the two of you.

With the luggage in back, you two climb into the front seats. Sunghoon leans over the center console to press a kiss to your temple, just like he did when you woke up in each other’s arms and just like he did when he insisted on getting you whatever you wanted for breakfast.

“That’s not something new though?” you laugh, as he brings you small portions of everything the hotel had to offer. “You did this before.”

“Well, it’s obviously different now,” he replies. “I didn’t get to kiss you before.”

Now, Sunghoon taps at the Valentine heart on the dash–your wanderlist. What started this all. “We need a new one,” he says. “It took us a while, but we did everything on here. Should the new one be full of cringey couple things?”

“Only if you’d like to go back to being single.”

Sunghoon fakes shock as he shifts the car into gear. “You wouldn’t.”

This time, you lean over to give him a kiss, and you relish how quickly he blushes. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” You sit back down, still turned towards him, hand atop his. “Maybe, we make the list up as we go. I mean, we’ve never been here before.”

“Didn’t stop third grade us,” he says. “Honestly, they seemed like they had everything together. We should think more like third grade us.”

“You mean complaining about how much things cost? Because I can think of so many things we could do together that would put major dents in our wallets.”

Sunghoon turns to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and you know you’ve got this right, even if it took a while to get here. He reaches over, poking your cheek, before turning out of the parking lot. “Then let’s go find it, together.”

[starboltz]

My thoughts of the new Minecraft wolf variants!

With the recent announcement of the new wolf variants, I wanted to give my two bits about what real life animal each of the variants are based on! (I study animal ecology so I get excited when animals are depicted in anywhere)

The Pale Wolf, Black Wolf, Snowy Wolf, Ashen Wolf, and Woods Wolf

All of these wolf variants are based on the Grey Wolf (Canis lupus), whether it be the typical Plains Wolf (Canis lupus nubilus), or a different subspecies. The Grey Wolf is the most common wolf species found on the world, typically lives in packs of 4-9 members, and typically has 5 accepted subspecies in the science community - but in total has over 30 subspecies (determining subspecies can be tricky).

The Pale Wolf is specifically meant to represent a Plains Wolf, as this design has been representing the Grey Wolf in Minecraft for at least 12 years. The Taiga biome is one of the biomes where Grey Wolves can be found, making it a great place to find Pale Wolves in Minecraft.

The Black Wolf is not a subspecies, but rather a color variant of the Gray Wolf. The black coloring of their coats is not typically caused by melanism, but rather is a normal gene found in Grey Wolves. One of the causes of wolves having a black coat is due to the black gene being linked to higher immunity to canine distemper, meaning the black wolves that survive the virus are able to reproduce and pass on their black genes. Does this mean distemper exists in Minecraft? Probably not, but that's up to your interpretation.

The Snowy Wolf is based on the Arctic Wolf (Canis lupus arctos). Artic wolves' white coats help them blend into the snow to help them hunt prey, and to hide them from potential predators.

The Ashen Wolf is likely based on the Eurasian Wolf (Canis lupus lupus). The Eurasian wolf can have similar coloring to the plains wolf, but has also been found with greyer coloring along its back, tail, and upper legs and face, and with white on its cheeks, underbelly and lower legs.

I think that the Woods Wolf is based on the Tibetan/Himalayan Wolf (Canis lupus chanco). It was a challenge to find what subspecies the woods wolf was based on because most wolves don't have the deep brown-orange coloring seen on the woods wolf, but the Tibetan/Himalayan wolf can often be seen with these colorings in the wild.

The Rusty Wolf

The Rusty Wolf is based on the Dhole (Cuon alpinus), also known as the Asiatic Wild Dog. Dholes have a rich tawny coat with a rich chocolatey tail. Unlike another popular red canine (the dingo), Dholes live in tropic forests, rainforests, and other habitats, making it an appropriate fit to be the jungle dwelling rusty wolf.

The Spotted Wolf

The Spotted Wolf is based on the African Wild Dog (Lycaon pictus), also known as the Painted Dog or the Cape Hunting Dog. This is variant is my favorite of the variants, and is one of my favorite canines of all time. African wild dogs live in savannah and grasslands biomes irl, and have beautiful coats ranging in different patterns of tawny, black, and white. I don't know if this is possible for Minecraft mechanics, but hopefully the spotted wolves will have different coat variants like their irl counterparts.

The Striped Wolf

The Striped Wolf is based on the Aardwolf (Proteles cristata), which is a species of hyena, making them felids instead of canids! (Yes, hyenas are more closely related to cats than dogs). Aardwolves can be found in semi-arid and open plains, making the badlands a good place to find them in-game. Fun fact! Aardwolves mainly eat termites/ants. Hopefully the striped wolf won't starve in a "bugless" game (rip fireflies).

The Chestnut Wolf

This one frustrates me. I couldn't find a canine or canine adjacent animal that had even a similar coat pattern. This is not a wolf. It is a dog. Probably a Norwegian Elkhound.

[kajilychnis]

Skrael and Mythology and Legends inspirations

Yeesss I did it for Bellroc, I'm going to do it for Skrael now! Well... we all know who Skrael is, he is a primordial demigod of cold, snow and icy winds and storms. He is sadistic and ruthless, he is a great manipulator, cunning and observant and strangely patient. He has the ideal qualities of a final antagonist, but in the series he comes across more as Bellroc's right-hand than anything else. There are several mythologies that may have influenced the creation of the character.

Of course, I'm going to talk about his Wendigo influence first because it's the most obvious and observed one. There are several similarities to the Wendigos and Skrael, firstly his black cloak which appears to be torn at the end of his cloak and with a long horned animal skull worn on his hooded head. The typical Wendigo appearance we all know, except Skrael has more of a humanoid appearance, the skull could be a wendigo he killed (potentially). But the animalized appearance of the wendigo is a creation of Algernod Blackwood in the 70s (thanks Until Dawn for this information). The true legend of the wendigos comes from the legends of the Anishinàbemiwin tribe, in these legends they were much more humanoid, skeletal with grey skin, bald, sharp teeth, terrifying and bloodthirsty/anthropophagous creatures. Which could explain Skrael's appearance under his cape and without his hood and his animal skull. However this is only physical, what could approach Skrael that is outside of physical appearance would be the fact that wendigos are associated with the sins of gluttony, greed or excess of any kind. They are never satisfied after killing a person to devour them, and they are constantly looking for new victims. You see where I'm going with this? Skrael is also power hungry, he wants more and more, he wants the world all to himself. He is also very sadistic and he likes to torment and torture mortals especially humans. So the wendigos fits him well. Aside from the fact that he seems to be a more civilized version of what a wendigo is… probably because Skrael is not just inspired by the legend of the wendigos...

This is where we come to the second part, the legend of Jack Frost. Another one that seems obvious, but I decided to start with the most obvious to the least obvious. Jack Frost is another legend that may recall Skrael, although his interpretation varies greatly between cultures and eras. In European and Anglo-Saxon legends, Jack Frost embodies the spirit of winter and frost, a mischievous being, capable of transforming landscapes into icy expanses and drawing frost patterns on windows. However, Jack Frost is not as jovial as some modern versions portray him, he is often a mysterious character, a capricious and sometimes cruel spirit, indifferent to the effects of his frost on human beings. Jack Frost is often depicted as a small elf, fast, mischievous yet innocent with a childlike character. He can also become dangerous and freeze people on the spot, if they anger him. His physique can have winter aspects: white hair, his eyes of the color blue, ice on his clothes. The two characters are very similar, much more in personality than physically. Physically we find the gel on the clothes, the blue icy eyes, the young appearance (most of the time Jack Frost is young in representations), the pale blue skin (yes Jack Frost has pale skin that looks almost blue) and the albino side that Skrael has but only on his eyelashes which are white. In terms of personality, they both are mischievous, they don't care how others might feel and they think ice/snow is better than anything. In folk tales, Jack Frost is a spirit who acts according to his own desires, without respect for humans. This indifference to the suffering of others is also found in Skrael, who sees cold as a means of purifying the world.

For the third part, I placed it here randomly, but I wanted to talk about Ymir even though there is very little to say. As we all know, Ymir is a primordial frost giant from Norse mythology. Ymir is described as one of the first beings in the universe, born from the meeting of the fire of Muspellheim and the ice of Niflheim, and he is the ancestor of all frost giants. This ancient and primordial nature is reflected in Skrael, a guardian who embodies an ancient and immutable force of winter, a power that seems to have been there since the beginning of the world. Norse mythology tells us that the gods killed Ymir and used his body to create the world: his flesh became the earth, his blood the oceans, his bones the mountains, and his skull the sky. I see this as some sort of proof that Skrael's titan is his true form and his first form, his separation from his original body makes him less strong. The giant that is Ymir must have been a potential inspiration for Skrael's titan, the fact that he is a primordial giant like Skrael is a primordial demigod titan. And the fact that they were both separated from their bodies as well, shows some resemblance between them.

Finally, I didn't think to add it in my "analysis" but… I will finally talk about Khione. Why Khione and not Boreas, the god of the north wind? Because apart from their title, their cruelty and their power I found nothing else to say about this charlatan who definitely does not know consent. To make the rest of my analysis more meaningful, I would like to warn you that I am talking about Khion from Rick Riordan's books. Like Skrael, Khione is a snow goddess, she masters snow, cold and ice. She is able to create storms, freeze objects and manipulate temperature, and she also likes to turn people into ice statues… like Skrael. Both share this feeling of indifference to human and other creatures, they are devoid of empathy, they are implacable deities, detached from human emotions and indifferent to the suffering or destruction they inflict. This lack of pity or empathy reinforces their merciless nature, each imposing cold without a soul. In Riordan's works, Khione aspires to power and the reign of winter. She is ambitious, seeking to dominate or make winter a supreme force. In a similar way, Skrael embodies this vision of eternal winter. Both want the cold to reign supreme and do not want a natural cycle where spring would return, but rather a world frozen forever under their icy control. Khione and Skrael are both beings of solitude. Khione, like a goddess of the icy heights, is distant from the world of humans and rarely interacts with them, preferring her solitude. Skrael, is a spirit isolated from any attachment and emotional warmth, he shares the same thoughts as Khione, he does not want to interact and mingle with other creatures and even less humans. There is also the connection between Khione and Gaia in Rick Riordan's universe and between Skrael and Nari which can present interesting parallels. In Heroes of Olympus, Khione allies with Gaia, the Earth Goddess, for her own ambitions of power and to bring about eternal winter. Khione sees Gaia as a primordial force that can help her impose her rule. Similarly, Skrael allies with Nari to wipe humanity from Earth and bring about eternal winter (although this is not explicitly stated in the series). Khione, though independent and ambitious, knows that Gaia is a greater power than she is, a primordial entity that surpasses other natural forces. She acts to serve Gaia's interests, even if she hopes to profit from them. Skrael and Nari are equals compared to them, but what does not change is that Skrael takes advantage of Nari, in order to achieve his goal.

The name of "Skrael" comes from Norse culture. The Vikings used the term "Skræling" to refer to the indigenous peoples they encountered in North America, including the Inuit and other indigenous groups of Greenland and "Newfoundland". In Old Norse, Skræling means "weak" or "barbarian" or "foreigner", with a connotation of "skin" or "bark", which could indicate a pejorative view. The term was often used to mark the perceived difference between the Vikings and the peoples they encountered. It is also possible that in "Skrael" there are cold or icy sounds. For example, "sk-" at the beginning of the name (like "skeleton" and "skull") may have a visual sound associated with something hard, bony, or cold.

Finally, to conclude, Skrael is an interesting antagonist even if we don't know much about him. He is ruthless, reckless, observant, sadistic and patient, the perfect antagonist inspired by legends and myths.

[magnificentbirb]

i've been tagged by the lovely @landinrris, thank you thank you~!

rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share an excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter. i've been given the word LAUGH

these snippets will be from a few different things i'm working on~ (it was so hard to find a "u" oh my god)

tagging any writer who sees this bc i believe the writers i know have already been tagged - if you see this, your word is SNOW ✨

L (carlando football au, future chapter)

Lando barely registers that he’s on his feet. His pulse is deafening in his ears. All of the blood drains from his face and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can only stare at Carlos, crumpled motionless on the field, his teammates flocking to his side.  A hush falls over the crowd. The cameras have panned away. The announcer’s voice is tight. (“Sainz is still down as the officials wave over the medical staff. We will give you updates as soon as we have them—”)

A (carlos x oscar (potentially platonic??) the-last-of-us au)

Alex is quiet for a moment, and then he asks, terribly soft, “How bad is he?” Oscar’s fingers tighten painfully around the phone. “Bad.” “Is he infected?” “No.” Oscar pauses, something hysterical bubbling in his throat. “Well. Not with the fungus.”  “Is he awake?” Oscar closes his eyes. Carlos’s rasping breaths scrape across his skin like a dull razor blade. “No.”

U (charlos post-teammate era, from leo's pov - idk either but it was fun to play with)

Uncle isn’t there anymore. Leo trots into the big red garage, tugging against his leash. For the first time in his life, he can’t smell Uncle here. Something must be wrong. Uncle is always here when Papa is here. Leo tugs at his leash, because he has to find him, surely he must be here somewhere, but Papa keeps a tight hold on him, and they never get near the little room that used to belong to Uncle and now smells different. New. Clean and crisp and unfamiliar.

G (carlos x oscar (potentially platonic??) the-last-of-us au)

“Good. More pressure.” Oscar covers Carlos’s bloodstained hands with his own and presses down hard. Carlos gives a ragged cry that makes Oscar’s stomach clench, but he doesn’t relent. The stab wound above Carlos’s left hip is still sluggishly oozing blood, leaking from between Carlos’s fingers, but it’s not as bad as it was. Oscar curses under his breath. “Not to be the brother of three sisters,” he mutters, “but where the fuck is a tampon when you need one?” Carlos lets out a broken laugh, followed immediately by a groan. “Fuck, do not make me laugh,” he gasps.

H (charlos, newly post-teammate era angst)

He’s smiling. Charles stares at his phone screen, paused mid-scroll. The post is from the official Williams account, and it’s Alex and Carlos together, Carlos clearly making a joke, Alex beaming up at him, both of them caught mid-laugh.  Charles feels like he just plunged feet first into an ice bath. He clicks on the Williams icon, opening their account. He scrolls. The feed is awash with blue and white, so different from the scarlet glare he’s used to. He scrolls again, passing posts about official helmets, posts about schedules, posts about— He pauses again. Clicks on another photo. This one is also Carlos, with Alex and James, each of them smiling at the camera against the black background of a filming set, showing off their new multimillion dollar sponsor, emblazoned in azure on their chests. Charles stares at the photo. At Carlos.  He’s smiling.

[atthedugouts]

Shameless and Princesses

I don't know about you all, but when I'm feeling down I turn to Disney movies. This week definitely calls for some comfort so I made a list of the official Disney Princesses (plus Anna and Elsa) and assigned a Shameless Character to each one.

Snow White - Carl.  Like the OG princess, Carl is a friend to the animals, he had a hard time with the vet job he had. Also Carl has some natural gentlemanly qualities to him much like Snow White’s instinct for household chores. He looks out for his siblings and takes care of them in his own way. Also Snow White, White Boy Carl? There’s something there right?

Cinderella - Fiona. Frank is her ugly alcoholic father. She works hard to take care of her siblings taking on the burden of managing the household and at the end she leaves her abusive home. Cinderella is often characterized through her kindness and even though Fiona is far from perfect, she has a big heart. She sacrificed so much for her family and definitely should have had a fairy godmother to help her out.

Aurora -  Liam. Aurora has the least amount of lines out of any princess and Liam wasn’t doing much for the first part of the show. Also like our Sleeping Beauty, Liam has his own good fairies. His older siblings protect him and take care of him. 

Ariel - Debbie.I think it’s easy to put the redhead as Ariel but I actually think they have a lot in common. Ariel longs to see the human world and fights with her dad about it much like Debbie coming at odds with Fiona about growing up too fast and becoming a mom. I can just see Debbie in her room sing/yelling “Bet'cha on land they understand /Bet they don't reprimand their daughters!” Even as an adult that line is very cathartic.

Belle - Mickey. Belle is seen as an outcast because she loves to read (what a nerd) and Mickey is judged because of who his family is. My favorite part of the movie is when Belle returns home to her father because to everyone else he’s crazy old Maurice but she loves him and has to protect him. Mickey has run to protect Ian more than once.

Jasmine - Svetlana. Jasmine is not a prize to be won and neither is Svetlana. Jasmine is trapped behind walls forced to marry a suitor (not to say arrange marriage and prostitution are the same). Svetlana is also longing for freedom and I believe Yevgeny is her own magic carpet that lets her see a whole new world. 

Pocahontas - Jimmysteve. He swan dives right into Fiona’s life. They are from different worlds and find love even if just for a brief moment. In the movie Pocahontas iconically throws herself in front of John Smith before her father tries to kill him, but honestly that was a stupid move, she could have died. And Jimmysteve has made many stupid decisions that leave him almost dead.  

Mulan - Ian. Both joined the Army under false identities. Mulan also doesn’t let anyone define her and proves that she is not one to be underestimated. To me this is season 6 Ian. He works hard to be seen more as just his bipolar and though he doesn’t save all of China as an EMT he gets to be a hero to many in Chicago.

Tiana - Kevin. OK, so he’s no way near as smart as Tiana but they both come from disadvantaged backgrounds and end up owning their own businesses. Kevin is not good with the numbers or the spelling but he is a great bartender just like Tiana is a great cook. Plus you know Tiana’s restaurant will have some wacky regulars just like The Alibi Room.

Rapunzel - Mandy. They are both trapped in a home by an abusive parent. Terry and Mother Gothel manipulate their children and use the idea of love for their own gain. They both are also fine with violence, Rapunzel with her frying pan and Mandy with her car. Though I wish the circumstances were different, Mandy does get to leave her tower and start to live her life on her own terms.

Merida - Veronica. Both are not afraid to speak their mind. Merida enters the archery competition against her potential suitors and that baller move is something I can see Veronica do. At the heart of it, Brave is about a mother daughter relationship and I love the dynamic between V and her mom. 

Moana - Ethel. Girl went beyond that line and crossed that line right out of the southside. 

Raya - Franny. I saw Raya and the Last Dragon but I honestly don’t remember it (I think I remember her having a hot dad?). I’m going to put Franny here because I’m sure Franny thinks dragons are cool.

Anna - Karen. Anna totally has abandonment issues and Karen is a perfect case study of it. Because of that they both have an unhealthy view of love and relationships, Anna is infatuated by the first boy she meets and Karen’s love life is extremely messy. I can also see Mandy whispering “Oh Karen, if only there was someone who loves you” before she hits her with her car.

Elsa - Lip. So for the comparison this is actually Frozen 2 Elsa. She wasn’t shown to be a bad queen or anything, her heart just wasn’t in it. Lip is often criticized for not living up to his potential but he just wasn't built for academic life and couldn’t handle the pressure. Like Elsa he steps away and does something else.

[fantasygerard2000]

Reworking Wish

I know this was already said, but the main gripe people have towards Wish is that the potential was there, it just didn't put on the right amount of effort. A criticism that took me long to agree with after sifting through Starboy simping, Magnifico sandals smooching and parasocial hatred towards the house of mouse.

So, after rewatching Wish for like the tenth time or something, I dunno I lost count, I decided to write down some things in the film that needed improvement. This is going to be taking the film as it is and giving it that little push it needed, more time in the oven to bake.

Also, a side tangent I wanna bring up before we move on. I don't like to use the word "fix" especially since it's associated with some people taking a work and reworking it to suit THEIR tastes and preferences, often without permission and out of spite.

Okay, let's proceed.

The film starts with the shot of the book opening and a narrator explaining the story. A classic Disney staple. The narrator "reads" us the creation of Rosas by Magnifico. However, the opening narration emphasizes too much on Magnifico. I get the intent that this is a form of propaganda he made to get parents to tell stories to their kids about him, but this comes with a caveat regarding his backstory that I will explain later.

So, either you have a different person narrating the opening scene like how in the classic Disney movies do instead of Asha. Or have Asha narrating to Sabino told through hand drawn illustrations she drew about how he and his family came to the kingdom of Rosas, visually through hand drawn animation.

Have the rest of the scene play out but major difference here. Instead of Asha applying to become Magnifico's apprentice, she was recommended the job by Amaya. An issue of show-don't-tell is present as Amaya explains how kind and generous Asha is, but is never shown. Have Asha welcome the tourists but the child is too scared to leave the boat, so Asha sing to them about how wonderful the kingdom is to make the child feel better while also helping the townsfolk on the way in her unique way, reminiscent of Mulan during Honor to Us All. Have Amaya watch Asha guide the tourists on a balcony through a window like the Evil Queen if you like to add a nod to Snow White as well subverting the trope to show that she's a good queen.

A detail I like in the film is that instead of having a servant inform Asha that she's ready for the interview, Amaya herself came to the kitchen to inform her herself.

As for the apprenticeship thing, I like to spice things up by having Tomas, Asha's father once worked for Magnifico who he considers a close friend before retiring once Sakina was pregnant with Asha. Amaya, being more close to her people than Magnifico, knew that Asha is Tomas' daughter and seeing how she's takes after him, recommended her husband to have Asha work as an apprentice.

So, Asha, nervous about becoming an apprentice to her father's former boss/friend/like-a-brother cuz why not make an evil uncle figure. The scene plays the same but little emphasis on Tomas. As well as a "he betrayed me" rant from Magnifico later on.

The At All Costs sequence remains the same and the argument afterwards also kept intact. Additional dialogue has Asha mentioning how her father would have told Magnifico the same but he quickly dismisses her.

The argument scene be tweaked with Sabino still hopeful about his wish being granted next year, making the news that Magnifico will never grant his more hurtful for Asha.

The filmmakers' intent for the animals is that they know much about the universe than humans but considering they can't talk, humans just think they're dumb. I'm a Star plays out the same but additional dialogue is given before the song plays, with the animals explaining to Asha that Star can't speak to answer her questions but they can in song form.

The scenes afterwards remains up to This is the Thanks I Get!? I like to add in minor details earlier like Magnifico checking his reflection during the interview as he "listens" to Asha, subtly showing his narcissism and his ties to mirrors.

Also in the interview scene, he mentions about his old home being destroyed by greedy thieves. This was the caveat I mentioned earlier and how his backstory despite being offhandedly mentioned a few times made him too sympathetic for the simps to defend his nonexistent lack of honor. Either we cut out the "tragic" his backstory and simply have him studying magic and the masses praise him so much that he has enough influence to make his own kingdom.

Once Asha returns Sabino's wish to him, have the unused scene above be kept. An issue with the film is that despite Sabino being the main drive for the plot, he barely appears in it enough for viewers to care. So the scene where he can finally be able to play his lute serves as this.

Magnifico arriving at the cottage to arrest Asha plays the same. Additional dialogue has Magnifico informing Asha and the viewer someone close to her who knows of Star ratted her out. After escaping Magnifico, have him burn the cottage if you like more villainy.

The scene after play out the same with some minor tweaks. The teens have a secret hideout, a cave with the entrance be under a tree, a nod the dwarfs and the lost boys. Asha doesn't know the hideout initially but Dahlia has left a clue for her in a form of a hardened cookie, a nod to Esmerelda leaving Quasimodo a clue to find where the Romani are hiding from Frollo. Amaya discovers the hideout by following Asha.

Instead of just books, Star uses the furniture the lift the teens up to the pulleys. Another scene has Amaya and Dahlia destroy the book in hopes of no one using it again. A major change is to have the book inform the reader that the more the person uses dark magic, the corrupt they become instead of committing once they commit to eternity, which I understand sounds like a lazy excuse to not redeem Magnifico.

Have most of the guards go after Asha who thought they were being led by Magnifico but was actually Simon. Have the animals attack the guards and Simon like in Tarzan and Beauty and the Beast.

When Magnifico blasts Amaya, she gets knocked out and drops her crown. To show his people he was the real traitor and make the crowd and remaining guards turn on him before he quickly overpowers them.

Have the climax be given additional dialogue and show Magnifico treating the wishes badly once he had Star.

Give a few moments to the scene where Asha remembers the "we are stars" message. Have her look at the her and her father's wishing tree and a moment of reflection before she starts singing.

After Magnifico's defeat, have the scene play out the same but with additional dialogue from Amaya towards Magnifico. Additional dialogue from Sakina reveal Asha her wish.

Once she takes after Magnifico's place as ruler, Amaya wears a more colorful dress, particularly a red colored tone down version of her original dress, showing she's a more competent ruler than Magnifico as well being tied to the rose, the symbol of Rosas.

After the brief timeskip, Asha wears a different dress than her previous one that gets sparkly once Star made her a fairy godmother, justifying the Cinderella reference without too being on the nose.

As for other stuff like the songs, they're fine. Just need a few lines change to sound less awkward.

The animation is fine too, though a lower frame rate like in the clip below would've suffice. And yeah, people will accused Disney for copying Spider-verse, but honestly I don't care since they'll accuse Disney of anything bad, even if they included the stuff they wanted.

And that's all what I can think of to "improve" Wish.

As much as I like this movie, I do understand why most people don't to the point of "fixing" it. However, fixing it isn't to add a love interest or a villain couple, it's to figure out what works and doesn't. Which is why as much as I have my own version of Star that is very loosely based after the Starboy concept, I didn't added them in it because it'd be unnecessary and distracting.

Wish's flaws are the intentions that were there and obvious, but the way they were executed was lacking. Hence why some of the "improvements" are what the filmmakers intended but given a tweak. Even stuff I added like Tomas being Magnifico's former best friend and apprentice are things the can be better if executed properly or not.

My general thoughts on the rewrite fandom is that some do have the right idea but just have the wrong priorities.

And as much as I wrote down changes to Wish that could may have and have not improved it, I don't want to be praised for it because they general attitude of "this is better than X" has left a sour mark on my thoughts towards the vocal minority in animation fandom or any fandoms.

[werothegreat]

More cards have been revealed! Let's talk about them!

Now this seems a neat Chip 'n' Dale payoff. Kinda similar to Snow White - Well Wisher, except already the chipmunks have better shift targets, and the one Dale mills you to give you targets. If you're playing Amber/Sapphire, you can potentially get multiple cards back in a turn.

She ain't bad! I like that you get use out of her the turn you play her (unlike Bernard). Will be very useful with high-lore questers or characters with important abilities, like Disguised Peddler.

This seems nutty. Rafiki has multiple playable shift targets, including a 1-drop. All I can imagine is shifting this in then singing Friend Like Me. Notably this is thus far the most expensive (inkwise) Amethyst character to be printed.

Amethyst gets its own version of Maui's Fish Hook. That's a really powerful effect it hands out, but being uninkable and costing 4 (essentially meaning you have to pay 6 the first time you use this) makes me think this will probably not see any actual play.

Card draw is always nice. We'll have to see how pervasive Pirates are in the new meta for the first ability to be relevant. The main drawback I see here is having 1 strength means he dies to Sisu and Brawl.

I've been waiting for this! A character that enters play exerted! 4 strength means he can't be Brawl'd or Medusa'd, and 6 willpower means he'll usually survive at least one challenge. I'd love to run him in an Emerald/Steel or Emerald/Amber deck to hide him behind bodyguards, maybe Amber for preference because you could cheat him out earlier.

Holy hell. A 2/2 2 lore with evasive for 2 is insane stats. Granted, you can only really play her in a Pirate deck, but I think Wendy alone makes a Pirate deck worth it.

So. If he survives to quest, you can get out Lucky Dime on turn 5. I mean, Sapphire is the ramp color, so there are builds that could do that anyway, but this does so without sacrificing tempo. I think he'll see play, and he might make other expensive items see more play, like Eye of the Fates. Even just getting to reuse Pawpsicles is pretty sweet.

Okay an inkable 3/2 1 lore 1 drop is kind of insane. There are multiple support characters at 1 and 2 ink. Hell you could run him as a 1 drop into Chicha, and do all your ramping and drawing shenanigans. This will see play.

Forgot this song existed. The main effect is a bit too kindred-niche (unless Inventors as a kind actually come together as a deck), but I would love to see more actions that ink themselves after play.

I see they've reprinted that one Jafar. Mr. Smee floodborn incoming?

[psychedelic-ink]

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part VII

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: you were a fool to think everything would return to normal.

word count: 2.2k

chapter warnings: arguing, angst

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

You hate being back. 

To make it clear, you love your job but absolutely hate cons. You have to stand around all day, prying the crowds to see if any fan was crazy enough to try and rip away from the lines to get to their favorite celebrity. It’s madness at its finest. And after spending time in winter wonderland everything just feels a bit. . . bla. 

But of course, Dieter has to do this con. He’s a hero in a big franchise now. With that comes an even larger fanbase and more potential threats. 

With the corner of your eye, you gaze upon the stage. He’s in the middle, a bottle of water untouched in front of him and a small plate clarifying who he is. He looks good with his white suit and thick-framed glasses. You recognize all of the other actors as well. They’re talking amongst themselves, Dieter included. He hasn’t talked much with you since you arrived back at the hotel. 

A small puff of air escapes your lips and you resume your position. Shoulders squared and chest puffed up. You notice the wary glances thrown your way. Must be about the video, you think. Your stomach still knots up whenever you think about it. That poor fan. You had apologized but still, it wasn’t the best look. 

You notice a line of fans starting to form, a sole microphone standing tall. Some of them stare at you, some looking curious and some anxious. You don’t know what to make of it all. The moderator starts to introduce the actors, a short trailer plays. There’s a faint hum in your ears, the sounds reminding you of bells. 

That can't be good, the last time you heard bells you ended up fainting. 

You somewhat block out the conversations, the series of questions that are stuttered out from the fans' lips. You keep skimming the crowd, waiting for something to go wrong. 

The moderator addresses one of the girls to come forward, and she excitedly grabs the microphone.

"Hi, Dieter! First of all, I love you so much! My question is for you and your bodyguard—” You freeze. Blood rushing to your ears. “Why haven't you fired the bodyguard who assaulted that poor fan? I mean, isn't it your responsibility to keep your fans safe?"

The room falls silent, all eyes shifting between you and Dieter. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to maintain your composure. Everyone here has seen the pictures, the video. The atmosphere tightens as the question hangs in the air. Dieter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding direct eye contact with you.

"Well, you know," he says, forcing some humor into his tone, "having me to look after can't be easy considering my track record, but we have apologized to Rose, and we're working to ensure it doesn't happen again."

A ripple of discomfort passes through the audience. The fan who asked the question seems doubtful of his answer.

Another fan jeers, their tone more accusatory. "And what about the rumors that you and your bodyguard are more than just friends? The ski resort pictures were pretty convincing," 

Dieter fidgets with the hem of his jacket, a small little thing only you can notice. "Oh, those pictures? Nah, it was just a family trip, you know. My bodyguard and I are strictly professional. No workplace romance here."

You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, and the jingle bells in your ears amplify. The questions sting but for some reason, Dieter dismissing the entire trip stings even more—which is ridiculous. He’s doing the best for both of you right now. A con isn’t a place for the truth to be blurted out, you’re also grateful that he’s composed. Calm. The room seems to spin, and you struggle to maintain a neutral expression. The fans are growing more hostile, their questions pointed and relentless.

"Why should we believe that? I mean, she practically assaulted a fan, and you're keeping her around?" a voice from the crowd shouts, and the tension escalates. “If it was anyone else they would’ve been fired!”

Dieter attempts to diffuse the situation with a weak smile but before he can say anything else the moderator steps in, “Alright, folks, let's keep things respectful here. We're here to discuss the movie and hear from our talented cast. Any more questions about the movie?"

Dieter takes a grateful breath, and you feel a slight relief as the attention veers away from the uncomfortable questions. The moderator continues steering the conversation back to safer ground, skillfully guiding the panel away from the personal inquiries that threatened to overshadow the event.

Internally, you're on the verge of a panic attack. Your hands tremble, and you can't shake the feeling of eyes boring into you. The jingle bells in your ears become an incessant ringing, drowning out the words around you. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself and maintain a facade of composure, but the weight of the accusations bears down on you.

All you can do is bare the looks and the hushed whispers. You can’t run. 

So you stand tall instead. 

The car glides through the city, the post-con atmosphere palpable in the air. You, Dieter, and the other actress, Emma, sit in the backseat, each lost in your thoughts. The tension from the panel still lingers, casting a shadow over the celebratory mood.

Emma breaks the silence, her voice a hushed whisper, "That was tense back there. I can't believe some of those questions. Are you guys okay?"

You and Dieter exchange a brief glance, avoiding direct eye contact. Dieter takes a moment before responding, "Yeah, it was a bit much, but we'll get through it. These things happen."

"Is it true, though? Did you really attack a fan?" her gaze lingers on you. You’re surprised she hasn’t seen the viral video of you by now, but you guess that’s normal. She has other things to worry about. 

Before either of you can answer, the car pulls up to The Skylark, a chic rooftop lounge with panoramic views of the city. You all step out of the car, the sounds of the city blending with the distant hum of the afterparty.

The Skylark's entrance is marked by a stylish marquee, and a doorman ushers you into the elevator that ascends to the rooftop. The doors open to reveal a glamorous space, with a sleek bar, comfortable seating areas, and an outdoor terrace with a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

The party is in full swing as the cast mingles with fellow actors, producers, and industry insiders. A subtle buzz of conversation fills the air, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and laughter. 

As soon as you arrive at the party, you grab a glass of champagne and discreetly slip away, leaving Dieter and Emma engaged in conversation. The rooftop's expanse opens up before you, and you find a secluded spot away from the crowd.

The New York skyline sprawls beneath, a mesmerizing tapestry of lights that twinkle like stars on the canvas of the night. Skyscrapers stand tall, their silhouettes etched against the darkening sky.

The horizon, painted in hues of indigo and amber, casts a dreamlike glow over the city. The buildings, illuminated in a myriad of colors, create a breathtaking panorama that stretches to the edges of your vision. A cool breeze carries the scent of the night, and the distant sounds of laughter and clinking glasses mingle with the soft melodies playing in the background.

You desperately wish you could be enjoying yourself right now. But all you feel his disappointment towards yourself. 

You feel a shudder behind you, and when you turn, Dieter is there. He leans over the railing, mirroring your gaze at the horizon, and hesitates before finally speaking, "Can we talk?"

You take a big gulp of the champagne, then eat the strawberry thoughtfully. The sweetness of the fruit does little to evaporate the sourness on your tongue, "Oh, now you want to talk to me," you say barely above a whisper, keeping your eyes fixed on the cityscape. “How thoughtful of you.” 

Dieter takes a deep breath, his gaze still locked on the distant lights. 

"I’m trying to do my best Amina. You know I am." You nod and he continues. “I just want to see if you’re doing alright.” 

“I’m fine really,” you finally turn, gesturing towards the crowd behind you. “Go linger. Have fun. Don’t think about me—You. . . Just do what you want to do.” 

“I am doing what I want to do,” he rasps. Warmth gathers at the base of your spine as he cups your cheek. “What I want to do is be with you.” 

The night air feels cool against your skin. Despite the comfort he provides, you pull back, regret flooding your system as his warmth fades away. “Stop it,” you blurt out. “Stop. I told you we can’t. If before wasn’t enough proof, today surely has to be.” 

“Fans have always been nosey. If I let them decide what I should do then I wouldn’t be living. I’d be in a gilded prison.” 

When you press your lips tightly together instead of answering, Dieter takes the flute glass out of your hand and places it on the rail. Before you can get a word out he’s pulling you towards one of the private rooms, away from the vibrant crowd. The door closes behind you, muffling the distant sounds of the party. The room is dimly lit, adorned with plush furniture and a low, ambient hum that adds an air of intimacy.

Dieter releases your hand, and you both stand in the subdued lighting, facing each other. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze searching yours for a response. 

All you can think is how good he looks with those glasses.

"I can't just ignore everything, Amina," he begins, his voice full of gravel. "I know the panel was rough, but I need you to understand that I'm not letting go. Not of you."

You exhale slowly, "Dieter, we can't keep doing this. It's not just about nosy fans; it's about us, about how this affects everything. Our friendship. We can't pretend like there aren't consequences."

He steps closer, a pained expression on his face. "I can't pretend I don't care about you, Amina. I can't just push you away. We’re more than friends. We’ve been like that for a while now."

You look away, the conflict evident in your eyes. He brings your hands to his chest, forcing you to spread your fingers over the smooth fabric. You feel the harsh pulse of his heart beat. He stares directly into your eyes, eating you up. 

“When I have a shit day who do I want to call?” You don’t answer. You can’t. He continues. “Who do you call when you’re cramping and can’t get up? Who do you send endless animal reels to thinking I’ll enjoy them? Who do I text when I find a random fucking bookstore in the middle of nowhere? When I’m overwhelmed Amina, who do I call? Fucking answer me.” 

You don’t. Your lips are parted as if you might but nothing comes out. You feel the sting of tears in the corner of your eyes. 

Dieter lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair again. "I hate this. I hate that look you’re giving me as if this is all news to you."

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the weight of the unspoken hangs between you. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a mix of frustration and sadness.

"You know I can't stop being your bodyguard. I just can't," you say, your voice firm, though a tremor of vulnerability seeps through.

"Fine,” he lets go of your hands and your arms limply drops to your sides. “You're fired." 

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mouth goes dry, your stomach churning as your pulse races.

"Excuse me?" 

"You're fired. I can't have you around me, especially if I can't do anything about it," he explains, his tone strained. “All I can think about is you. And since you’re so cutthroat about protecting my career you’ll understand why.” 

"Dieter," you plead, hoping for a different resolution, knowing deep down that it might not come. But he doesn’t allow you to say anything else. He doesn’t let you say the words that might convince him to do otherwise. 

"It's not healthy, Amina. I'm a grown-ass man. I don't need someone to protect me all the time," he says, and you can't help but scoff at his statement. It’s an involuntary reaction. One that you regret immediately. Crimson rises to his cheeks, his brows knitting tightly together. "Is that how you see me? Really? And here I am trying to talk about love. Just leave. Go home. Think stuff through. I can live on my own," he continues, his words cutting through the air. You want to protest, to make him understand, but the weight of the situation holds your words hostage.

"You can't just kick me out; there's a premiere tomorrow," you argue, though the fear of losing him is already settling in. “Dieter please.” 

"You're not the only bodyguard out there. As you can see, I can take care of my own. I can live without my bodyguard," he states, a challenging look in his eyes. It feels like the ground beneath you is shifting, and you desperately seek something to cling to.  

He pauses briefly, and the intensity of his gaze shifts. Softens. His voice cracks as he asks; 

"But can you live without being one?"