#I want to learn to stand up for myself in a quiet yet assertive way

[neverendingford]

.

[theliterarymonster]

I think my self-assertiveness is off-putting, specifically to men that label themselves “alpha males.”  What is self assertiveness? It is the willingness to stand up for myself, to be who I am openly, and to treat myself with respect in all human encounters. Lots of men are taught that self-assertiveness is a threat to femininity.  Women are trained to be good girls and dutiful daughters. It is often frowned upon and deemed undesirable for women to loudly voice our opinions.. All while men and boys are given platforms to do so freely. I just wasn’t raised that way.  My father always taught me to use my voice and make myself heard. He would always say to me “closed mouths don’t get fed” and “speak up for yourself.”  I was not quieted as a child and though I was never disrespectful, my opinions were always listened to even if they were considered dispensable.  I was raised to believe that I counted and that what I had to say mattered and that I should also respect the right of others to voice their own opinions even if I did not agree. The whole notion of submission to men/husbands was not something that I ever gave much thought to until I became an adult. I viewed marriage and relationships as a team effort where both parties got to lead depending on who had the best skills for the particular situation. I saw two people that trusted each other and didn’t let ego determine what was best for them. I didn’t see extreme feminine submission.  I saw two people working together for the common good of their relationship and lives. My dad didn’t have to throw his weight around to be respected by my mother and I.  The way he carried himself, and acted on his love for us showed us everything we needed to know. He didn’t have to talk about submission or being “the man” as our family naturally trusted him to do what was right in every situation even if that meant my mom having to take over the driver’s seat sometimes. Through my father I learned that a true leader knows when to follow.  And that ANYONE  who cannot communicate cannot lead. Period. These are difficult lessons to take forth into a world where people want to control every aspect of every narrative they are involved in yet they cannot communicate thoughts and feelings effectively enough to ever garner any type of understanding.  I have found that a person like me is often seen through a lens of frustration. No matter how careful I am with my words they are often deemed as starting an argument all because the people I have chosen to deal with cannot communicate. .. and people who cannot communicate see EVERYTHING as an argument.  It is just now at the age of 44, that I have come to the realization that if you can’t communicate and actively resolve problems with a person then it is impossible to have a relationship with them.  You are fighting a losing battle. I’ve taken two very painful losses.  The third time, for me, will be a charm because I am more cognizant of the signs of lack and much better equipped to walk away from situations that don’t serve me.

[sourholland]

A Royal Convenience || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part Two

AN → You might all be wondering where I’ve been, I honestly just needed a bit of a break for my mental health! I’m sorry, I’ve missed taking to you all <3

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → None

Word Count → 2.0k

“Could one of you run off and find out if my son is planning on gracing us all with his attendance.” Nicola’s voice was assertive, dripping with irritation at the Prince’s tardiness.

A man holding a closed box with an assortment of rings stood off to the side of the drawing-room. He was stiff, awkward even, in the presence of not only the Queen, but the Princess and future Queen of England. His eyes were trained on the freshly polished floors, clutching the velvet.

Behind you stood your newly introduced ladies in waiting, there were three: Lady Eloise, Lady Charlotte, and Lady Andrea. They were very young, pretty, and had very clearly come from aristocratic backgrounds. Each of them held a title, meaning they’d soon enough marry. You’d planned on meeting them for tea, but Queen Nicola figured it would be better to bring them in before you chose an engagement ring.

“Apologies, mum,” Tom came through the double doors, his hair skewed and his shirt disheveled. He bowed, taking a spot beside his mother and averting his eyes from you.

“Thomas, wonderful of you to join us,” she drawled. “Do begin, sir,” she said, motioning towards the man.

He opened the box a bit shakily, dozens of diamonds gleaming. They ranged from color to carrots of gold, each holding a different and more interesting background. You couldn’t help but to reach out and pick up one with a deep sapphire.

“That was once worn by the late Queen Elizabeth l,” he droned on, continuing to tell you about the long history of where the ring had come from and what it signified.

“What do you think, Thomas,” Nicola asked. She was practically beaming at each ring you slid onto your finger. Like no matter which one you chose, none would be the wrong choice.

“It is not I that will have to wear the dreadful thing,” he replied shortly. “Therefore, I should not be the person deciding which one she chooses, though I wish you’d quicken the pace a bit.”

“Since you’ve made it clear that you have no intention on weighing in on the decision, I ask you kindly, Prince Tom, to please refrain from commenting,” you quipped. He took a step back irritably, pulling at the collar of his undershirt.

You reached into the box once more, pulling out a large European cut diamond ring. The several diamonds displayed at the golden band left you lifting your hand, staring at your ring finger absentmindedly. It was classic, yet had too many diamonds to be considered simple. A royal staple, much like the tiara you’d eventually choose to wear on your wedding day.

“This one,” you said. “This is the one.”

The Queen drifted towards you, biting back excitement as she assessed the ring. It was clearly too large and would need to be sized, yet still had the same effect. She held it up as you had done, clutching your hand and motioning towards your ladies to come and look.

“That’s absolutely darling,” Charlotte mused.

“It’s stunning,” Andrea agreed.

The Prince soon enough took his leave, slipping out of the room before Nicola could notice his absence. She looked disappointed when she looked over and was met with an empty space where he’d just stood.

“He’ll come around soon enough,” she said, this was less reassuring to you and seemed more comforting for herself.

-

“Do tell me about yourself, Andrea,” you murmured on, arm in arm as you both perused the large gardens.

“Well there’s not much to know, miss,” she replied swiftly.

“Please, I wish you’d call me Y/N in private company,” you laughed a bit. “I’ve never had much of a thing for titles.”

“Her Majesty would simply chastise me.”

There were blooming flowers and the grass was slowly becoming more and more green. The air was a bit brisk, the cloak draped along your shoulders thinner than you’d like. The soft breeze felt nice, though. Andrea was simple looking, pulled back brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She explained that she was one of three girls, the third daughter of an earl.

“I must admit, I do wish we’d have met under different circumstances,” you mused, plucking a lily from the shrubs.

“I’m not sure what you mean, miss,” she looked over at you a bit sideways.

“I just mean—well under the circumstance that I wasn’t being pawned off on the Prince.”

You fumbled at your skirts for a moment, pressing at the fabrics of your afternoon dress. It was ivory, beautiful, really. Though, much different from anything you’d have worn in France.

“I’m sure His Royal Highness will be as pleased as everyone else once you are both wed.”

“That’s hard to believe,” you chuckled. “He has hardly said a word to me since I arrived in London.”

She looked nervous, like she was afraid to say the wrong thing. Her cheeks flushed lightly, the glint in her eyes a bit brighter. Andrea just looked over to you and gave a soft smile, as if to say everything would be alright.

“Do you think that Prince Thomas is handsome?” You asked, curious of her opinion. You watched her cheeks redden, an awkward laugh escaping her lips.

“That is not for me to judge, miss,” she answered almost immediately.

“No—but, I just want your opinion, do you think he is handsome?” You asked once again.

She hesitated for a moment, “yes, I think the Prince is certainly very handsome.”

You thought for a moment, of his brown hair that had been swept back and so carelessly skewed about earlier in the morning. The way his freckles scattered lightly across his nose like a constellation, you’d only known this from when he’d pulled you in so closely the night before. He wore his signet ring proudly, this amongst what looked like another ring with a crest on it.

“Yes, I suppose he is quite handsome. Though, if I’ve learned anything, it is that looks count for almost nothing when you’re forced to spend everyday with a person.”

-

The quiet clattering of silverware sounded throughout the large room, beside you sat Prince Tom. Down the table were the two older princes, assuming the youngest, Prince Patrick, was still too young. At the head of the table was King Dominic, at his right was Queen Nicola. Occupying the rest of the table was an assortment of dukes and duchesses, earls and ladies.

It had been too late to join everyone for dinner the night before, so tonight was the first time you’d been in everyone’s company. The room was large, grand even, gold trim and deep royal red walls filled with paintings dating back centuries. Candles burned while you ate, attempting to steal a glance at the Prince while he spoke with his brother Harry.

It had taken you weeks studying the British monarchy to completely grasp their political and traditional protocol. You had to learn who to curtsy to and who not to, and then in what order, how to determine the sovereign and whether or not to address someone with a title or not to.

“Tell us, Y/N, how are you finding England?” The Queen chimed, staring at you from her seat across the table.

“Well, ma’am—I haven’t seen much of it, I do hope to see more. It is far different from France, though.”

A quiet murmur spread across the table, “I’ve always found the French quite curious,” a duchess, whom you could not recall the name of, said lowly.

“Curiously dreadful,” Tom laughed to himself in a whisper you were sure only you could hear.

“I’m sorry?” You turned towards him, the sound of your cutlery against the plate louder than you’d liked. “I thought you said something, sir.”

The King looked up at you, the scornful way in which you looked at Tom, seething at his teasing words. You felt the heat in your face spread when you noticed an almost surprised look from a majority of the long and stretching table.

The rest of dinner you kept quiet, avoiding the looks from the prince at your side. He seemed quite bothered, you put your head down and braced yourself once the King stood. Once the King finished his meal, everyone else was finished as well. He stood soundly, the paleness of his skin off-putting, the deep purple crescents underneath his eyes prominent in the candlelight.

You stood with everyone else, retiring to your chambers in a fleeting moment once it was appropriate to get away. The long, narrow halls were ages older than you, the artwork clearly showing that. You recognized past monarchs, the kings and queens of the years earlier. The twists and turns reminded you of a labyrinth, easy to get lost in.

Once you reached the double doors to your chambers, you pulled at them quickly, shutting them behind you soundly and sinking against the wall. The room was still filled with burning candles, the servant at your vanity looking at you curiously.

She curtsied quickly, motioning you off of the floor in a maternal way. You said nothing, letting her help you slip out of the evening gown and undo the tight lacing of your corset. You breathed deeply as she slipped the white nightgown over your head and took down the silver pins from your hair.

“Are you alright, miss?” She asked, the look on her face a bit concerned.

“Yes, just tired,” you excused. “I can put myself to sleep, thank you.”

“Are you sure, miss? I really do not mind,” she trailed off as you waved her away laughing stiffly.

“I am sure, thank you, Anne.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, brushing through your hair as you sat. Anne had long left, the doors shut tightly and the guards posted at them for the night, however, you turned quickly at the sound of them creeping open.

“How thick in the head must you be?”

Prince Thomas.

“You should not be in here,” you warned. “It’s bad enough to be caught alone in the daytime without a chaperone, but at night—in my bedroom!” Your tone was sharp, your arms wrapping around yourself. His eyes scanned your bare ankles, the curve of your legs underneath the thin material.

“You need not be concerned about your virtue, not after what you decided to pull at dinner tonight, before mother and father! I mean seriously, it’s like you enjoy humiliating yourself in front of the whole family!”

His cheeks were flushed in anger, his eyes fixed on you. You hair was undone, your eyes stuck on him. The silence was deafening, the space between the both of you closing when you stood up and marched over to him.

“I have been here a day. A day! And you cannot allow me the luxury of my own chambers, parading in here like you were not the one who provoked me!” You rammed a finger into his chest, gaze not faltering as you looked up at him.

“I told mother, I told father. You are nothing but a child, a little girl with no clue what she’s getting herself into,” you flinched at his voice.

“I will be your wife—”

“You will be the Queen of England!” He shouted, “the way you acted tonight was not that of a queen, but an eighteen year old girl in way over her head.”

He grabbed the hand that had jabbed into his chest, skewing it to the side. “Do not forget yourself, Y/N. I can promise you this, if you cannot at least act like you have any idea what you’re doing, this engagement is off. I will not tarnish the name of my country, nor title or reputation for a French princess that I had no desire to wed in the first place.”

taglist- @justapurrcat @witchyartemis @keithseabrook27 @clara-licht @dummiesshort @username2002 @imaginationisgrowth @nova-sup3r @jeyramarie @the-avengers-assembling @veryholland

[p---ink]

Teach Me.

Author’s Note: So. I finally made a Peter Parker Fiction. And I know the gif is Arvin Russell, but that is for a reason, and maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't, BUT TELL ME IF YOU DO. So this is an unnamed OC fiction, but its mostly reader insert, aside from the fact that she’s black (surprise, surprise) and she has brown eyes. I made her an “OC” because of that fact. Also, get ready for some fluffy head cannons of Peter P. In the not-so-distant future though. 

Summary: Maybe Peter Parker, isn't as innocent as he seems. 

Warnings: Smut. Smut. and more Smut. Car-smut. Dark-ish Peter (Not really, but he’s not his usual wholesome self) 

Song: Star-gazing by The Neighborhood. I literally based this entire fiction on this one song. Even if you don’t read the fic, you should listen to it. 

Word Count: 5.5k

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She started, pausing a bit to give him time to look up at her, “ who brings a textbook to a frat party?”

His heart stopped for a moment when he realized who was speaking to him. But then he matched her grin shyly and replied, “It’s more of a conversation starter than anything.” 

“Would you say its been working well?”

“I did somehow manage to get someone as pretty as you to speak to me.” 

The smile that was already plastered on her face, grew wider along with her eyes and brows. “Wow Parker: Who knew you could be so bold after a few drinks?

“I’ve only had one, so the rest is all me.” He closed his book and readjusted his leg inviting her to sit. Then as if just realizing, he asked, “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. We went to Midtown together.” She said, getting comfortable on the couch. 

“Yeah I know. But we barely spoke to each other. Sometimes I wondered if you even knew I existed.”

“I always kept tabs on cuties like you. Especially you, actually.” She declared. 

“And you call me bold.” He muttered under his breath, a small blush creeping up.

“I’m always like this. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that. But anyone who knows you, would say the opposite. You were always so good.” 

“Good?”

“Yes! Good. Innocent. Nice. Whatever floats your boat.”

“And I remember you being, bossy, assertive, and intimidating.”

She threw her head back in laughter before stating,“You say that like its a bad thing.” Coming down from her fits of giggles she adds, “You noticed me, too? Never thought I was on your radar.”

“How could anyone not notice you.” He asked. “We had English together our freshman year. First day of class, you challenged Mr. Frechowsky, for inflicting his political views on the rest of the class. He got so red in the face, after yelling at you for three minutes straight, but everyone was more shocked at you for being unfazed.”

“I forgot abou-”

“Sophomore year, you “accidentally” tripped Amy Shuemacker,  after she made a rude comment about Ned’s weight. Junior year, you announced that you wanted to be not only the first female president, but the first who was black too. I remember telling myself you’d have my vote. Senior year, you almost had a mental breakdown when it looked like Michelle Obama was gonna run.” Peter finished, with not a hint that he was out of breath. 

“I-” She was more than taken aback. “I’m embarrassed that you remember all of that. Its been like four years since we graduated. Frankly any other person would have forgotten.”

“I think its impossible for anyone who’s met you, to forget the day they did.” He admitted to her. 

She just stared at him in awe for a moment. Mouth slightly agape from surprise. A shadow of a smile ever so present. 

Even though he was the one to say it, it was his face that turned a tinge pinker than before when he realized the weight behind his words. He swallowed thickly, averting his attention to the patterns that lined the carpet, fearing that he made her uncomfortable. In all honesty, he used to have a proper crush on the girl, rivaled by even Romeo’s adoration for Juliet.

This was the same girl he once described as ethereal. He once told Ned that fairies wove the strands of her hair, and butterflies still lived there, claiming that he saw them playing beneath her braids. The sun literally lived under her skin, and it was the secret as to why it would glow, and why her smile was so bright. He would swear to anyone that listened, that the harp was made with her voice in mind, and that it, her voice, played a better melody. He used to be lovestruck. Guess those feelings still lingered. 

If you asked him, two minutes ago had he gotten over it, his answer would’ve been yes. Would’ve been. 

His sudden fluster—which she found adorable by the way, broke her from her trance as she grinned and said “Don’t act bashful now!” playfully shoving his arm as she uttered the words. 

Quickly recovering from his earlier hiccup, he slowly returned her grin and tried to retaliate but before he could, “We have to go. Now.”

They looked up to see an irritated looking preppy girl impatiently scowling down at them. She couldn’t have been much older than 21, but no one told that to her clothes and aura. Her olive skin couldn’t hide the frown lines that had been assigned to her, nor the bags that would put a raccoon to shame. Besides the current circumstances that she would tell them in the next minute, Peter could tell on his own that the girl needed a date with sleep. 

“What’s the matter Li? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, aside from the fact that Angie locked herself out of the apartment again.” She said sarcastically, muttering this last part under her breath “I swear I’ve had it with that girl.”

“Ah I see. Well then we better get going.” The girl affirmed, standing from her seat, making Peter rise from his. “Peter it was so nice seeing you. I hate to leave, I would’ve enjoyed catching up a bit more.” She said, turning to grab her coat. 

“Well then we should catch up soon.”

She turned to nod her head, seemingly interested in his suggestion. “I’d love that. When did you have in mind?”

“How about now? if its a ride you’re looking for, I can drive you home.” Peter’s inner sixteen year old self, screamed at this opportunity. Time alone, with his four-year crush? He couldn’t not take advantage of the moment. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s all the way on the other side of town.” She informed him. 

“But you’re not asking me to do it. I’m offering, because, ‘ya know; I haven’t seen you in a while and I’d like to catch up, too.” He said, second-guessing himself and praying that he didn’t come on too strong. “Ya know. Only if you want to.” He added just in case. 

Taking too much time debating whether or not she should say yes, the girl’s friend did it for her.  “Sounds great! I’ll see you at home.” Spinning on her heels,  and walking out of the door.

“Well.” The girl started, smiling at her old schoolmate. “I guess that settles it.”

“Shit!” He cursed, killing the engine completely, and slamming his head back on the headrest. After a couple minutes of trying to get it to start, the boy gave up like his car did.

It had been a full three hours since  Alisha left the party. The time was spent competing about who could find out more about the other. He learned that she still had a thirst for changing the world and community around her. She learned that the boy had been bitten by a radioactive spider and was now New York’s most friendly vigilante. She never knew that Peter could be so hilarious. 

They were stranded on some back road, miles away from civilization, with rain coming down on the roof of the car like they owed it money.

“Peter, what did you expect?” She began to question, giggling as she spoke. “This car is so old, Fred Flintstone has a newer model.”

“Hey!” He cried, “Don’t badmouth Karen. She just needs a little work.”

“You mean a lot of work. Karen is ancient.”

“She’s been good to me.”

“Should I call Triple A?” She asked, ignoring his dramatics. “The rain will probably let up by the time they get here.”

“I’ve got this.” He sighed, readying himself to leave the car. “Besides, triple A doesn’t know Karen like I do. They won’t be able to give her the love and patience she deserves” He explained, the car’s rickety door sounding as he disappeared into the rain. 

She heard that same distinct sound not ten seconds later, as he reappeared, soaking wet from the rain’s onslaught. His white t-shirt clung to his body, while beads of water raced down his skin. His messy locks, traded their dark brown hue for a jet black one, and his dirty converses shone a little brighter than they did before he left the car. 

“Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” He admitted, the leather making a squelching noise as he glued himself back to his previous seat. 

“The offer for triple A still stands.”

“No. I’ll let this play out. But maybe I can call you an Uber.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you out here all alone. We’ll let this play out.”

“But this may take a while.”

“I’m the reason you’re out here in the first place. And I like your company, so i’ll stay.”

Peter knew he couldn’t argue with that one, so he let silence befall the two of them. It stayed like that for a moment. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was definitely palpable. 

She thought to say something, he did the same, but neither could quite let their words come to life. It was unlike the girl he knew before, who said the first thing that came to mind. Unlike himself, who did the same, but in a less graceful way. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of deafening quiet, Peter begins with, “How long have you and Brad been a thing?” The question fresh on his mind, since her phone rang yet again, with his ugly mug lighting up the screen. It was the fourth time she ignored the notification. 

It was rare for Peter to hate a person. In fact he didn’t hate many at all. But there was something about Brad that always made his stomach clench. Didn’t help that he was sniffing around his girl. 

“Hmm.” She pondered, tapping her chin with her index finger. Acting as if she was carefully thinking about it.“For about for-never and a day” She finally answered.

“Oh I thought, that since—“ Peter stammered, growing embarrassed by his assumption, and the disdain that coated his words.

“Anyone would have, with him blowing my phone up.” She sighed. “But alas, nothing will ever come of us. No matter how much he wants it to. Wish he’d take a hint.”

Back to silence. But this time it didn’t consume Peter. It gave him a bit of hope, enough hope to ask her his next question. 

“Back at the party,” he started before pausing, which prompted her to question, yes, before he could properly collect his nerve to ask her what he wanted. 

“Back at the party, you mentioned you always kept tabs on me. Especially me. What did you mean by that?”

“I may have had a small crush on you.” She answered without missing a beat. This of course took him by surprise, but not for long. 

“Why did you never act on it?”

“Because I quickly realized you weren’t my type.” She said as if it was nothing in the world.

“Ouch. What did I do to make you realize that?” Peter asked. Though his tone was light-hearted, he tried not to let on that he was hurt. 

“Nothing.” She replied. “You were just yourself. Peter Parker, the innocent good boy who would never harm a fly.”

Peter thought to himself for a moment. He thought long and hard before he decided to bring up the word she had uttered more than once tonight. “There goes that word again: innocent. What makes you think I’m innocent?”

“Come on Parker. Ned told me you once donated a one hundred dollar bill you found lying on the sidewalk to the local homeless shelter. And that was after you couldn’t find its original owner. That’s got innocence written all over it.”

“Does that make me innocent or a good person?”

“They’re one and the same.”

“There is a big difference between the two.”

“I disagree. The two are definitely interchangeable. Good people are the ones who haven’t been corrupted yet.”

“So does that mean you aren’t a good person?”

“I think I’m a neutral person. Not exactly good, not exactly bad. Just walking the tightrope. I probably would have taken the money, and felt bad about it later.”

They both chuckled at her statement, letting it end that segment of the conversation. Though Peter was done fighting with her about her type’s moral compass, he wasn’t done with the subject all together.

“So,” He paused, and she braced herself, taking notice of how every time he did that, a question she was reluctant to answer followed. “what exactly is your type?”

An uncomfortable breathy laugh passed through her lips as she answered. “I didn’t exactly know it at the time, but I’m able to put it into words now.” She admitted, taking her time as she explained. 

“I guess ideally you were my type. Nice. Harmless. Smart. But I was also looking for someone who knew how to take control. I’m in control of everything in my life, so it feels good to meet a person who lets me relinquish that. Or in more crude terms, a person who has the ability to fuck my brains out.” She declared as she leered in his direction with a small smirk playing her lips. 

She was only teasing. But she could feel that the air had grown thick on the side of the car that Peter had resided in. For a split second, she could have sworn that she saw something snap in him. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, making her feel as though she had imagined the entire thing. 

But she knew that couldn’t have been right. Known for many things, her vivid imagination wasn’t one of them. His breath hitched. His shoulders tensed. She hadn’t imagined that. What he said next, after what felt like an hour of silence told her that she didn’t imagine anything at all. 

“Did teaching me, ever cross your mind?” He asked. His grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. She saw his Adam’s apple bob after he spoke, and his chestnut eyes focused on the rain that splattered against the windshield. 

“U-um I-,” She stammered, Peter catching her by surprise. She had to really think about his question. “I suppose it never did.”

“You still want me?” He asked her, turning his attention back on her. 

“Huh?”

“Am I still your type? Aside from the fact that I can’t take control?” 

She just swallows, before nodding.

Noting her surprise, but not relenting he says, “Then teach me.”

“What?” She questions, fearing she misheard him. 

“Teach me.” He repeated, only elaborating when she scrutinized his face. “Show me exactly how you want to be touched. Kissed. Fucked.”

The way he said the word, fuck, was so filthy. It almost made her lose the rest of her composure. Not like she had much left. He had already rendered her speechless, now he was ruining her panties.

No. She wouldn’t let it play out like this. She had a reputation to uphold.

She peered over her shoulder, then back to him trying to assess whether or not he was serious. When his face showed no sign of amusement, she swung her door open, to trade her passenger’s seat for the back one. 

The rain’s onslaught was still vicious, so her previously dry form was borderline drenched. July’s summer heat, did no favors in keeping her warm, and she had no idea if she was shivering from the rain or her nerves. “Are you gonna come keep me warm or what?” She challenged, trying to find her confidence again.  

It was only seconds before Peter joined her, but it was no question that his body was shaking with anticipation. He looked at her expectantly, surveying her every move. From the way her eyes flitted to the ground, to the way her hands busied themselves by rubbing at her thighs. She was nervous. 

It must have been a snowy day in hell.

“What should we do first?” She asked. 

“Does the instructor usually ask the pupil what lessons they should start with?”

“Kiss me?” She suggested, half-ignoring his comment. 

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Peter remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. 

Annoyance overtaking her tone now, she demands this time, “Kiss me.” 

“Say please.” He teased. 

“Damn it Peter, fucking kiss m—”

And then he glued his lips to hers. They were sweet and gentle, like him, but still managed to convey his longing. He hoped the kiss would capture all the times he imagined doing it when she would flash those pretty brown eyes his way. When she would speak in a way that put an angel’s timbre to shame. Even when she would fucking breathe, he imagined kissing her until his lips fell off. He hoped the kiss would make up for all of the ones he was dying to share with her over the years.

The pads of his fingers roamed over her silky smooth skin, starting at her cheeks, ending at her neckline. He tasted the flavor of her strawberry chapstick, the same one that made her lips feel and look as smooth as butter. When he inhaled and tasted the faint scent of minty watermelon on her breath, he decided he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to kiss her until he committed to memory every bump on her tongue. Then he would be satisfied. 

“Like this?” He whispered, pulling back to inhale the same air as her, almost turning feral at the sight of her swollen lips and blown pupils. “Or,” he started, leaning back in to go again, searching her eyes, “like this?”

Whereas kiss one was innocent and sweet, the way that Peter portrays himself, kiss two was the definition of what he could be…or maybe what he already was, she couldn’t tell. He was filthy with the way his tongue glided against hers. The hot wet muscle played hers like an instrument, before locking the two together. One of his hands planted itself on the nape of her neck, forcing her to feel every measure against her mouth. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, not that she wanted to. Just like him she wanted to relish the taste of him. 

With his nose pressed against her cheek, and hers against his, they kissed like they wanted to touch the other’s souls. They began breathing in the rest of the other’s air, like they wanted to swap lungs. Exploring the other’s bodies, like they would die if they didn’t study the exact texture of the other’s skin. 

It took everything in Peter to restrain himself. To keep his thumbs from traveling beneath her shirt. He nipped at his tongue to keep from nipping at her lips and skin. He tried shifting in his seat to distract himself from the shifting going on in his jeans. 

It certainly didn’t help the growing tent in his pants when the girl planted her thighs on either side of his, rocking and rolling her hips to alleviate some of the tension in her panties. 

She took over the kiss, setting the pace and overcoming the surprise from Peter earlier.

Her fingers, that were previously glued to his face, began fumbling with the hem of his shirt, peeling the wet material off and over his head. She marveled at his sculpted chest for a moment, before Peter followed suit, pulling her dampened top over her arms and flinging it over the seat. 

A throaty groan passed his lips when she resumed her measures against his hips. Grinding herself down on his hardening member. 

Her breathy whimpers intensified when his surprisingly warm hands traveled along her skin, caressing her soft flesh. She was getting more worked up the more Peter mimicked the movement of her hips, grinding upwards while simultaneously pinning her waist down. 

She tugged harshly on the patch of hair that lived on the back of his neck, eliciting one of the sexiest groans she had ever heard. His heavily lidded eyes that held the same fire as hers, both scared and excited her. 

As she leaned in closely, preparing her words carefully she ordered him to, “Kiss me here,” before planting her lips on his neck. Flattening her tongue to lick a stripe up the exposed skin, she began swirling the appendage before nipping, licking, and sucking until his skin had a reddish purple hue. 

She got lost in the feel of him, succumbing to the sound of his hisses and moans only to yelp a moment later, when Peter mimicked her earlier actions.

With a fistful of her hair, and her exposed neck jutting out towards his lips he licked a stripe against the skin, just as she did earlier, only his measures were steady and calculated, taking note of every flinch and hitch of her breath. He found her sweet spot in seconds, focusing all of his attention there. 

With her nails digging into his flesh, and her hips stuttering, Peter knew he had her where he wanted her. “Like that?” He rasped, pulling away to admire the strings of purple and blue that littered her skin. 

“Fuck yea Parker; you learn fast.” She gasped, attempting at a laugh, as she peeled her chest off of him.  She took a hand of his into hers, grasping two of his fingers as she bought them to her lips. 

Hollowing her cheeks as she sensually sucked and lubricated his digits, she bought his other hand down to her shorts, beckoning him to unbutton them. “Touch me here.” She murmured, eyes taking in the wide curious ones staring back at her. 

With the newly slick fingers, Peter did as she told him, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and finding her nub instantaneously. “Right here?” He enquired, when her breathing turned shaky. 

“Mmm, god yes!” She praised, as he worked his fingers over her. 

Setting a consistent pace, Peter lightly grazed her clit, every time he ran his fingers up and down her folds. “Am I doing this right?” He questioned, flicking and teasing her core. 

“Mhm” She mewled, “fuck y-your fingers feel so good” Her speech was now becoming slightly incoherent.

“Yeah?” He groaned, “What about my mouth?” He asked, just before unclasping her bra a little too effortlessly with one hand. Latching his lips against her perky chest, he massaged the other mound with his free hand.  

Words were lost on her, as she became a wanton mess. She couldn’t fathom how he could be so skillful with both hands. How a person could multitask the way that he did was indescribable. His hand on her clit didn’t let up, but neither did the one that tweaked and pulled on her nipple. Not to mention the hot tongue that darted and sucked meticulously at her other. She couldn’t stifle her cries if she tried. 

Riding his fingers, she pressed his head further into her chest,  becoming greedy with his touch, as she sprinted towards her orgasm. She thought that this feeling couldn’t get any better. 

Of course, Peter was full of nothing but surprises tonight, and needed to prove her wrong. He let two of his fingers slip inside of her, while a thumb replaced the ones that were glued to her clit. Rubbing circles against her sex, he pumped the two fingers furiously in and out of her hole. 

“Does that feel good, baby?”

But the girl didn’t answer, Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to, but the words were jumbled somewhere in her throat. Her face twisted into pleasure, and she couldn’t do anything but succumb to his measures against her body.

It wasn’t long before she felt her stomach spasming, the heat pooling to her core, her already sensitive flower growing even more sensitive, as she came into his palm. 

Her juices coated his digits, her walls fluttered around them, and her skin was now hot to the touch, as Peter forced her climax out of her. 

Tears flooded her eyes, as she took in as much air as she could. When had she stopped breathing? Maybe sometime during the earth-shattering orgasm her old classmate was giving her. 

Once the ringing in her ears subsided, and her lower region began to cool again, she thanked the boy and praised him as she said, “You did so well,” before planting hot wet kisses on his shoulder and neck.

She stopped when she felt his body shaking. Coming back up to eye him, she asked what he found so funny. 

Peter tried to hide the smirk that plastered his lips but he couldn’t hold his act any longer. “You just don’t get it do you?” He asks as he casually licks and sucks at his fingers, just as she did earlier, relishing in the taste of her essence. 

The confusion on her face and brain was evident. “Get wha—” He had her pinned on her back, before she could utter the last syllable.

The tight space was cramped, but the boy had more than enough room to stalk his prey. He hovered above her, ridding her of the rest of her clothes in one fell swoop, before delivering his monologue. 

“I don’t know what it is about girls like you, but I swear you drive me crazy.” He admitted, before removing his jeans in a quick motion. “You always assume that just because I’m a nice guy, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out.” He informed, before revealing a hidden condom and rolling it on before lining himself up at her entrance. “But I hope that if tonight proves anything to you,” He starts, eyes finally darting up to land on her horror-filled ones, “it will be that your mindset can land you in a whole heap of trouble.”

And with that, he grasps the door above her head, before sinking himself into her.

Groaning at the feel of her, Peter’s facade dropped completely. Her tight little cunt feels even better than he imagined, and he hopes that he feels better than she ever imagined. 

He starts slow, with the intent of her feeling every ridge of his cock, as it threatens to invade her stomach. Her soft tits bouncing with every thrust, send a jolt through his body every time her nipples graze his chest. The way his name falls off her sweet tongue, has him in shambles, as he picks up his pace, throwing slow and steady out of the window. 

Her cries are loud in his ear, as he ruts against her sex. He’s so thick, its hard for her to think straight. He can feel the indents of her nails as they dig into his lower back; she tries to press his ass closer to her, never wanting him to leave.

Maybe if it were any other guy fucking her, she would have felt the seat buckle digging into her back. Maybe she would have felt her sticky sweaty skin on the leather of his back seat. Maybe the awkward position her head was in would have spoiled her experience. But with Peter, she could only focus on the pleasure. 

His thrusts were relentless now. His hot breath was fanning the side of her cheeks. His previously damp hair, stuck to her neck, as he drove himself further into her skin. Nothing could distract him away from her in this moment.

Nothing but the faint glow of her phone, that is. It’s buzzing, and vibrations immediately catching his eye, as he held his head up. That same dangerous smirk that she saw earlier returning. 

“Look who’s calling, baby.” He purred, overcoming the stutter of his hips. When he held her phone up for her to see, her heart sank at the mischief behind his words. Brad. “Should we answer it?”

“No, Pete!” She cried. 

“Oh come on, that would be rude wouldn’t it?” He dared, before delivering a particularly hard thrust, that sent her mind into a haze. “We can stop so you can take this—”

“No! D-don’t stop” She begged, prying the phone from his fingers, and fumbling with the answer button. 

“Babe? Hello?” Brad’s irritating voice answered flooding, her phone’s speaker. But the girl didn’t answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to stifle her whimpers. 

“Hey Brad!” She finally choked out, sounding somewhat normal. How she managed to do it, she couldn’t say. 

“Wow! Finally. This is like my eighth time trying you. I almost can’t believe you answered. What are you up to?”

“Should you tell him what you’re up to, babe?” Peter devilishly whispered against her skin.

“Nothing!” She whined into the phone. 

“Whoa. Are you okay? You sound a little off?”

“You should tell him you sound like this because I’m making you feel so good.” Peter suggested, driving her body up and down the seats. “I bet he’d wish he were me right now.”

“I-I’m just a feeling a l-li-little sick is all.” She breathlessly stuttered.

“Should I come over?”

“Ah yes Peter!” She wailed, when the boy starts circling his fingers against her clit, while simultaneously grinding slowly but roughly into her. She’s no longer paying attention to the man on the other end. His curses don’t faze her, nor does Peter’s actions as he releases the phone from her grip. 

“Hey Brad. Remember me.” He casually asks, ignoring Brad’s threats. “Yeah no man, don’t worry about her: I’ll make sure she’s real good and taken care of.” He promises, before ending the call, and tossing the device into the passenger’s seat. “Think he finally got the hint?”

Peter then takes the girl’s hips into his hands, lifting her inches off the seat, before pulling her body onto his dick at an ungodly speed.

Crying. She’s literally crying, with tears streaming down her face. Her voice is becoming hoarse with moans. She had never experienced such intense sex in her life. 

Peter brings the hand that was previously plastered on the glass down to the girl’s face. “would this be the definition of fucking your brains out, baby?” He grunts, in reference to the girl’s constant repetition of his name. It’s the only word she can remember, as he fucks her into the chair. 

His movements shook the car. The heat that their bodies radiated, fogging up the glass. The scent of their sex now embedded in the fabric of his seats. The boy was completely untamed. 

Her screams were one among the things that set him off. The way her body writhed against his was another. The stutter in her speech another. But the unbridled lust that her eyes held, was the literal icing on the cake. 

Thank fuck she came before him. Her tight little hole constricting and clenching his dick. And when he started slipping in and out, her eyes glued shut, and her chest started to rise and fall, he knew that she had came. 

A sweaty fucked out mess before him, she needed Peter to finish her off before she was satisfied. “Drown me in your cum” She begged, and it was like he knew exactly what she wanted. 

Unsheathing himself from her, he ridded himself of the condom, and started tugging violently at his cock. Fucking his hand, not unlike the way he fucked her earlier, he spurted his milky white seed all over her supple brown canvas, a husky groan roaring from his chest as he threw his head back in pleasure. His seed extinguished the heat that resided in her skin, and she closed her eyes shut, letting her head fall back down on the seat. 

The image of his white paint, all over her stomach, chest, and tits, bleeding into his memory, as he came back down from his high. 

Once back down to earth, reality began to sink back in. Immediately recomposing himself, Peter blurted, “Fuck are you okay? Was I too rough?”

His sudden outburst almost made her jump out of her skin, but she quickly recovered. “Oh god no Parker! I loved every minute of that.” She lazily smiled reassuringly.  “Do you always fuck like that?”

Peter returned the smirk, blushing before saying, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you like that.” 

After planting a final kiss on her lips, he reached into the center console, to scavenge a few wet wipes, cleaning her skin before discarding them. 

Moments later, they reunited with their lost articles of clothes, pulling the fabrics over their limbs before crawling back into the front seat.

When Peter put his seatbelt back on, and cranked the car up with no effort, he felt the heat of the girl’s eyes on his skin. 

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded by her glare. 

“Was there ever anything wrong with the car?”

And then as if just realizing Peter mouthes oh, before telling her simply “No.” Adding on that he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her. 

“Well how the fuck did you know I wasn’t gonna just take your offer for an Uber?”  She asked, more impressed than pissed.

“Because you’re a neutral person, and a neutral person would feel too bad about doing that.”

“There’s a lot of things I still have to learn about you Parker.” She admits, sinking down into her seat. Heat rising to her cheeks, as a new crush began to develop. 

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to teach you.” 

 A/N: So like...don’t be afraid to tell me what you think. I swear I dont bite...unless you're into that. also this was edited it, but probably not well, so tell me if you see an error. 

[starconsumer444]

Anniversary (18+)

Kenma x Male!Reader

A/N: Turns out that hiatus isn't permanent, so I'm back with my really shitty writing! I'll start taking requests again too (but I'm going to be slow at doing them and I probably won't get to all of them lol) <3

(CW/TW: Top!Reader, Dom!Reader, Sadist!Reader, Kidnapper!Reader, The reader is literally evil personified ;P, Kidnapping, Spit, RAPE/NONCON, FORCED FEMINIZATION [Kenma gets referred to as princess and his asshole is referred to as a cunt, needless to say... he doesn't like it], Blood [it's a nosebleed], hitting, crying, a lot of bad things??? disassociation??? this is... yeah... I tried...)

“I don’t want to hurt you.” That’s what you say, but Kenma can still feel the dull ache in his nose. “You’re too beautiful to hurt, you know?” You coo, lifting his chin with your index, forcing his eyes to meet yours. They’re puffy, red, and filled with hate. You smile and Kenmas stomach is in knots. His mind is telling him to run, but there’s nowhere to go, is there?

Trying to run is the reason blood is flowing so freely from his nose, down his chin, and on to the white dress you forced him into this morning. The bow around the dress— it’s pulled too tight. He’s undone the knot three times today, but every time you come and pull it back around his waist somehow tighter than the last time every...single...fucking...time.

Tears start to well up in his eyes again and when the first one starts to fall you let him drop his head. He’ll be past all this crying soon, he just has to get used to it or you’ll beat it out of him; whichever comes first.

He curls into himself, smearing blood and tears all into the skirt of the dress that surrounds him.

Beautiful, you think.

“I hate you.” It’s small, it’s quiet, it’s weak, it’s not worthy of a response— not yet— at least. You ignore it. You’ll let him have that one.

You're merciful enough to let him cry  on the floor between your legs as you flip through channels on the couch. You’re looking for something specific, something that will really help commemorate this as your one month anniversary.

Needless to say, you find it, right on time.

He lifts up suddenly, as if controlled by strings like a puppet, wiping tears from his eyes and turning to face the tv. He hears her voice and tears won't stop falling. They can’t stop falling when he sees his distraught mother on television crying about her son who’s been missing for a month. They can’t stop falling when he sees all his fans with candles holding prayer circles and praying for his safe return. They can’t stop falling when he sees his old friend, Kuroo, holding his shattered mother in a tight hug.

None of the words from the news broadcast register. He just sees people crying and holding each other. He sees candles lit for him. He sees flyers of his missing face being handed out. Then it’s over as quickly as it started, with the reporter coming back into frame and passing it off to one of her coworkers.

He turns to you with a new type of rage boiling inside of him and surfacing on his face. He’s up on his knees, perfectly manicured hands grasping at the fabric covering your thighs, brows furrowed, and finally looking you in the eye of his own volition. It’s the first time in a while it looks like he’s really seeing you.

What is he going to do?, You wonder.

“You know better than to hit me, don’t you?”

Surely he knows what will happen, he’s tried it several times since you’ve had him and not once has it ended positively for him.

His hands are gripping the fabric of your sweats, twisting at it with a certain fury that tells you he wants to hurt you. He does this a lot— it’s as if he has to muster up the courage to carry out such a fruitless action.

His body feels like he’s in a burning house. He can’t take this mocking. He can’t take this abuse. He can’t do it anymore. You’re watching him burn and not letting him leave or even trying to put the fire out. He wants to go home. He wants to hug his mom and tell her he’s alright. He’s tired of this.

“Please, let me call her.” He talks with a tight jaw, anger seething through clenched teeth. His head falls with his tears wetting his hands and your sweatpants. “Please let me call her. I want to go home so bad. Please.”

“No.”

And that’s all it takes.

“I fucking hate you!” and before he can even think to hurt you, he’s already down. All it takes is one good slap to the face and he’s back to his senses. His hands free the fabric he was holding on to for dear life.

He knows where he’s at. He knows he can’t win.

He lays arms crossed in your lap, sobbing. His body is wracked with shivers periodically as you stroke his hair.

“Pretty girls don’t act like this, you know.”

I’m not a girl, He thinks to himself. He’s far too gone to assert himself in any way right now.

“It’s okay to hate me. I still love you even if you do hate me.”

Kenma can’t stand that softness in your voice. You’re too good at playing the good guy. Anyone who wasn’t in his position would be inclined to fall for your fake prince charming bullshit. Is that how a psychopath like you gets by? You pretend to be soft spoken and harmless then hurt people when no one else can see you.

“You’re sick.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

You let him cry like that for ten minutes. You let him curse you under his breath (where he should keep it if he doesn’t like getting hurt), you let him get it all out. He even quietly begs for his mom and you can’t help but to think about how cute he is.

You pull him up by the back of his hair. Kenmas only got more beautiful since he’s been with you; you didn’t think it was possible. With drying blood and tears everywhere he’s mesmerizing. Even with your hands locked in his hair, this feels too good to be real.

He’s not looking at you, his eyes are unfocused, it’s more like he’s looking through you. Despite that, you pull him in for a kiss, blood and tears still fresh on his face. Of course, he doesn’t kiss back, but for once he doesn’t resist. It’s a small victory.

Now there's a growing tent under the surface of your sweats.

You let him go and pat the wide space on the couch beside you, “Get up here.”

Kenma shakes his head and backs away from you.

“Please let me go.” He pushes his body further away the moment you stand to tower over him. Then he’s turning and slipping on the skirt of the dress in his panicked rush to get away from you. He knows what’s going to happen and he wants no part in it.

You lift him with ease and slam him down onto the couch. Not once does he stop fighting you. He’s yelling for help and for you to stop. He’s kicking and screaming, begging like you’re going to kill him. Doesn’t he know that no one can hear him? It’s been a month and he hasn't figured out that much? If he’s that dumb, maybe he does really need you...

Still, it’s annoying and leaves you with no choice but to wrap your hand around his small throat. He kicks you in the stomach and your only response is to squeeze harder.

The fear sets in right then and there for Kenma. He stops his flailing and looks up to you with apologetic eyes. He doesn’t want to pass out, you choked him like this when he first got here. He can’t do it again— he doesn’t want to.

His hands come up to gently hold your wrists and his eyes become more apologetic with the increased pressure.

“Are you gonna calm down or do I have to calm you down myself?”

Kenmas body goes rigid for a second, but then he realizes he has to respond. He nods. His heart feels like it might beat out of his ribcage, but he has no choice but to force himself to stay calm.

Slowly, you release your grasp on his neck and flip up his dress to reveal his clean shaven legs and white lace panties (that do little to cover his private area). Your hand strokes down the soft skin of his thigh and you can feel him tense up, “Calm down princess. You wanna make me feel good, right?”

Kenma shakes his head and recoils expecting to be hit for his honesty.

You just chuckle as he slowly realizes you’re not going to hurt him for that and settles into himself. “Cute.” You say.

“Please…” The blonde mutters out.

“Please what?”

His throat hurts and his voice is shaky, “Don’t make me do this. I can’t do this again.” It sounds like he’s about to start crying again.

It’s been a month since you did this the first time and it’s been six days since the last time.

Kenma sees that you’re lost in thought and takes it upon himself to sit up as carefully as possible so that you don’t hit him. “Let me…” He trails off slipping his soft hand under the waistbands of both your sweatpants and underwear.

His strokes are graceless. He’s shaky, unsure, and clearly has no idea how to go about this. He only feels you getting harder in his hand as he looks you in the eye’s trying to find any sign of mercy.

You smile, “You’re such a good girl, huh?”

Kenma forces himself to smile back, but his fear is more obvious. “Yeah, Imma good girl.” He nods aggressively. If it means he has any chance of getting out of this, he’ll comply without a second thought. Dignity doesn’t matter when he’s here, he’s come to understand.

He plants soft kisses up your neck and across your jaw, and still his hand never stops. He’s so precious when he’s absolutely terrified.

“Use your spit.”

Immediately he pulls his hand away from you, spits in it, and goes right back to jerking your length. He’s so bad at it, it hardly feels good.

You titter at how anxious he seems and he jumps at the sound.

“Princess…” You start, and he hums in response. “I’m still going to fuck you, you know that, right?”

His hand withdraws straight away, “Please, no.” His head rests against your chest as he pleads for mercy. “I can’t take it. I don’t like it.”

“It’s okay, you’ll learn to like it.” You feel him shake his head. “Now, lay down.” He goes without protest.

Kenma’s far away from this by now. In his head, he’s anywhere but here. Still, he feels everything happening to him and hears everything going on around him. He doesn’t miss the sensation of you sliding off those lace panties or miss your hands on his hips turning him over to lay on his stomach. He can feel your tongue gliding over his hole, but he can’t react to it. He doesn’t squirm like he usually would— just takes whatever you’re doing to him.

The first noise Kenma makes is when you slide a single spit soaked finger into him. He’ll never get used to that sensation, and it grounds him every time. You can hear him sniffle and whine just as you thought he had run out of tears or at least had given up crying for the night.

Your finger drags against the special bundle of nerves and his body convulses and he lets out a yelp, that’s when you think it’s time to put in two fingers.

Your assault on his prostate continues and he cums, but he doesn’t seem to register it all that much. His senses are clearly a bit dulled by some sort of trauma defense mechanism his brain has. It doesn’t matter to you, though. You pull your fingers out of him and lube up your length with spit before pressing into his hole.

That gets a reaction, an intense one. He’s yelling, his words are slurred, and he’s pushing back at your waist, using his hand to try to get you to get out of him. His face looks mortified, like he didn’t know this was going to happen.

You simply grab his arm and pin it behind his back. No matter how hard he fights against you, he’ll never win and will always give up.

He’s so tight, and he’s spasming around you trying to adjust.

“Ahhh- your cunt’s so perfect, just for me, huh?” You moan out.

“No! No! No!” His voice is hoarse, he’s yelling and kicking his legs. You just press your weight onto him more.

When you start to thrust, he starts to say sorry and calm down. He’s sure he did something wrong but he just doesn’t know what. He’s sure that if he apologizes this will all be over, like some horrific nightmare.

His complaints are drowned out by your moans; it's been that way every time you’ve done this.

“Fuck, baby,” You moan breathily into his ear. “You’re so tight. You were made for this.” Kenmas head falls into the wet couch cushion. “I love you so much.”

Kenma cums again, and he must feel it this time judging by the pained moan he lets out. His body jerks with the harshness of your thrusts. There’s a mixture of sounds but the most apparent are moans and the sound of skin meeting skin.

You let go of his arm opting to pull him up by his hair, when you do, he’s back to his dazed apologizing. He seems so broken, it's exhilarating. Your “I love you.” is only met with another bland “I’m sorry.” it's clear he won't remember most of this.

When you cum inside him, there’s no reaction from him. You get up, leave him limp on the couch and go take a shower. When you come back, he’s just like you left him, still breathing, but generally unresponsive. He’s a great wife.

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 5

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13. Family

“Yes, Maman, Adrien and I arrived safely. Now please go to bed.”

“I just wanted to check up on you,” her maman said from the other side of the phone. “It’s your first time out of the country, so you’ll have to excuse me if I worry about you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Marinette assured, glancing over at Adrien as he snatched one of their luggage bags off the carousel. “And tell that to Papa, too. I know he’s more worried than you are.”

“Why do you think I’m the one making the call and not him.”

Marinette laughed. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“All right. Thank you, sweetie. Enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you, Maman. Love you. Tell Papa I love him.”

“Will do. Love you, too.”

With that, Marinette ended the call.

“Got our bags,” Adrien said, pulling the two suitcases behind him. “How’d the call go?”

“Fine,” Marinette said, putting her phone in her purse. “My parents are just worried about me, so it was me doing what I could to settle them.”

“You have a close family, so I understand that.”

Marinette took her suitcase from him. “So where to, now?”

“Taxi to the hotel, drop of our suitcases, find a place for dinner, maybe walk around the city a bit if we’re up for it, and then crash out for the night.”

“Doesn’t sound like too bad a plan.”

“Then let’s go, milady.”

Once they’d secured a taxi, Marinette looked out the window to take in the sights.

“Have you been here before, Adrien?” she eventually asked.

“Couple times for modeling jobs and once for fashion week,” he confirmed.

“Do you like New York City?”

Adrien shrugged. “It’s novel. It’s kinda like Paris, being a bustling city, but it’s just so modern and feels like people just don’t appreciate the history behind their city, you know? And the natives here are like a whole different breed of human. But they feel the same about us, so feeling’s mutual.”

Marinette nodded, turning back to the window to marvel at the sights.

When they got to the hotel, Adrien checked them in. Marinette only knew basic, school-grade level English, but Adrien seemed comfortable with the language. He did promise to be her translator for everything.

“Here’s your room key,” he said, handing her a room key once he’d finished at the front desk. “I got two rooms right next to each other.”

“I still can’t believe you paid for all this,” she said, taking the keycard. “This is so much, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged. “I wanted to,” he brushed off. “And it’s not like I’m going to go broke from this trip or anything. It’s fine.”

Marinette still wasn’t fully comfortable with all of it, and she still knew that one day, she’d have to pay him back somehow. But for now, she’d smile and thank him for the millionth time.

Once they dumped their suitcases, they started to wander around town until they happened across a food shop that smelled amazing. They wondered inside the bustling shop and found the line was conveniently long enough for Adrien to read off most of the menu for her. Once Marinette told him what she wanted, he was kind enough to order for her. But before Adrien could pay, Marinette quickly held out her own card.

“I can get it, really,” she said with a grin.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please,” she said with a pout.

The cashier laughed and made some comment about her that got Adrien to smile and put away his card.

“He said that you sure know how to guilt trip a guy,” Adrien translated as they walked back to their hotel, bag of take-out food in hand. “And I couldn’t help but agree.”

Marinette grinned at that. “I’ve had good practice manipulating you. It’s almost like you just let me do it at this point.”

Adrien snorted a laugh. “Yeah, you’d think I’d have learned by now that you’re a little minx.”

“But you love me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

She meant it as an offhand comment. One that could easily be brushed off, but that wasn’t its intent. She was probing, like the ‘little minx’ she was.

And she liked the hesitant response she got, his pause followed by a soft smile and gentle shake of the head. “Yeah, I do.”

 14. New York

He forgot just how much he hated New York Fashion Week.

I’m doing this for Marinette.

That was what kept him going. That, and her smiles. She was happy and enjoying herself, which made this whole trip worthwhile.

The last thing that made this easier to bear was the fact he was strictly a spectator. While he’d debated using what contacts he had to see if they could have special access, he ultimately decided not to. When his father kicked him out, it wasn’t something that was just kept quiet. Back when he still was in contact with Chloe, she told him he was the buzz of the fashion world. Even recently back in Paris, he had been spotted by cameras and had come across an article written about him. Whatever contacts Adrien had would likely be unwilling to work with him, and he wasn’t willing to take those chances to find out for certain. Not even for Marinette. If she decided no after this, Adrien would still feel confident that he did everything her could to help her make her decision.

“You look tired. No, more like completely drained.”

Adrien looked down at the lovely lady standing beside him and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Marinette paused. “I am,” she answered.

“That’s all that matters, then.”

“Adrien?!”

Both he and Marinette turned their attention towards the voice.

And Adrien’s heart dropped. “Chloe.”

The woman rushed over to him, heels clacking on the pavement. The fiery look in her eye was one he was all too familiar with: she was on a mission. “Adrien, I have so many questions for you, but let’s start with what the hell you’re doing here with her.”

Adrien gave Chloe a flat look. “I thought I told you I no longer want to be in contact.”

“Yeah! What’s that about?” Chloe screeched. “You text me out of the blue and tell me we’re done?”

Adrien nodded. “Yup. Because if all our interactions after my dad kicked me out weren’t enough to convince me, Marinette here told me everything. I was already fed up with your lies and how cruelly you treated people, but telling people we slept together when we never did takes the cake.”

Chloe froze, her eyes wide with horror, and Adrien knew why. Was he being an ass on purpose? Absolutely. He knew full well what he was doing talking in his best English loudly enough for anyone and everyone around to hear.

In the blink of an eye, camera flashes started up, and Adrien knew that meant paparazzi were here, ready to cash in on this drama. He pulled Marinette close, knowing it was likely too late but still trying to hide her face against his shoulder.

“Adrien,” Chloe began, voice dripping with fake honey. “What are you talking about?”

“Our friendship is over, Chloe. Don’t try to lie your way out by saying I just used you for sexual favors, either. Because that never happened. We never happened. Just leave me alone, and don’t bother contacting me ever again.” He hoped he didn’t butcher the English in that, but even if he did, he didn’t particularly care. His point got across, Chloe was redder than a tomato, and security was doing their best to shoo the paparazzi away.

Now, it was time for him to leave, if for no other reason than getting Marinette out of here. “Head down, cover your face,” he whispered to her.

She already had her hand over her face, but she still nodded in understanding.

“You think this is over, Adrien? Just like that?” Chloe yelled in French.

“Completely,” Adrien asserted.

How Chloe’s face turned redder, he didn’t know, but it did. “And you never answered my question of what you were doing with her!”

Adrien was going to leave it, but Marinette turned around and snapped. “I’m treating him with more respect than you ever did, entitled bitch!”

His heart went thud in his chest, and he quickly slapped his hand over the grin that couldn’t be suppressed. As he ushered Marinette away as quickly as he could, he snuck a glance behind him at an absolutely enraged Chloe, her security coming to her aid and trying to get her in the car. He hated to say it, but served her right.

 15. Dreams

“I’m not doing this.”

“Hmm?”

Marinette looked over at Adrien. Currently, they were resting in Adrien’s room while eating pizza from a little place close to the hotel. “I’m not going into this industry. At least, not this section of it.”

Adrien’s expression fell. “Was it because of Chloe?”

Half of Marinette’s lips pulled up in a twisted, bitter way. “Yes and no,” she said. “Chloe wasn’t the only reason I came to this decision, but she’s a good reminder that people like that will always be a part of it. People who would gladly manipulate you to advance themselves exist here, and you will always have to be careful about who you can and can’t trust in this industry. Who can you trust to give your designs to, who do you have to hide from, when do you let go of your designs even though they won’t be under your name, and when do you cling to them in the hopes that one day you’ll be able to use it? I just…”

She shrugged, giving Adrien a pitiful smile. “I don’t have the energy to gamble on this trust game,” she finally managed. “And I don’t trust easily in the first place. Which, in a profession that requires you to be social and stretch yourself out into, that would take so much out of me. And in the end, I just don’t want to. Maybe things would have been different had I not been walked over by Chloe. Had things not gone in such a way where teachers and students automatically began to assume the worst out of me just because of my reputation that I didn’t even get to shape myself. I don’t want to go in an industry that demands those parts of me that I’ve learned not to give out. I can’t.”

The pain on Adrien’s face physically hurt her. He’d given so much to encourage her, and here she was, practically throwing it back in his face.

Yet, despite that, he smiled sympathetically. “If that’s your decision and your reason, I won’t challenge you on it anymore.”

At the sight of his forced smile, her heart hurt, and the guilt soon became so much to bear. She wouldn’t cry, though, not even as she felt the pinprick of tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed. “What for?”

“I feel bad for making this decision, because you brought me here to New York Fashion week. You spent time and money planning this trip just to encourage me, and here I am throwing it back in your face. I’m really appreciative of what you’ve done for me. Really, I mean it. So, I’m so sorry that I can’t… I can’t move forward and prove your efforts weren’t in vain.”

She hadn’t been expecting the shock on his face at her words, like they’d caught him off guard. But soon, that faded away into a soft, sympathetic smile. A real one that she liked so much, that could ease her worries and calm her down.

He stood from the bed and started walking over to her, his arms open. At this point, she gladly took the invitation, standing from the chair she’d been curled up in and meeting him half-way. When he wrapped her up tightly, she clung back, relishing in the warm comfort that being cocooned in his arms, protected from the world, provided.

“I’m not disappointed,” he spoke softly. “Not at all. It’s clear you thought long and hard about your decision, and so, if you decided you didn’t want to go into this field, then that’s perfectly fine. I just didn’t want you to give up on your dreams just because you saw only the negative. And I know I was part of that, telling you my own horror stories. That’s why we came, as one last encouragement to feed your dreams before you decided on your future.”

By now, Marinette could feel the tears well up in her eyes. She sniffed, hoping to bite them back.

At that sound, Adrien squeezed her tighter with one arm and rubbed her back with the other. “Oh, Marinette,” he whispered soothingly.

That was all it took to break her. The tears spilled over down her cheeks, and there was no stopping them. She buried her face against his chest, clenching his shirt tighter as she hiccupped out choked sobs. “Thank you,” she managed to squeak out in the midst of her tears. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome, Marinette,” he whispered.

Still, he never let go, continuing to hold her as he gently swayed back and forth. And Marinette gladly stayed in that warm embrace, unwilling to leave the comfort he so willingly provided, even after her tears had stopped falling.

[kayr0ss]

Hands that Remember Chapter 2 [AO3]

[Horizon Zero Dawn, Elisabet Sobeck Lives, Found Family, Mother-Daughter Feelings, GAIA is recovering, Ereloy]

Summary: Aloy saw the recordings, felt their grief over the death of their culture - the loss of their identity. Ted Faro had blown away the light meant to guide humanity through darkness - but she was willing to risk it all to take it back. To bring APOLLO back.  It wasn't the first time that the world asked her for a miracle, but it bargained with a miracle of its own: This time - she didn't have to do it alone.

[Wherein Elisabet Sobeck returns, GAIA is recovering, Erend is done waiting around, and Aloy discovers a family she's never had before to help lift the weight of the world off her shoulders.]

Chapter 2: Re-Calibration

CHAPTER 2

--

It was such an odd thing to feel dirt again.

When was the last time she felt sediment and rock between her fingertips? A thousand years ago—quite literally. She’d forgotten the feel of it squeezing underneath the overhang of her nails, the discomfort of a pebble pressing on her heel within her shoe.

Little things. Living things.

GAIA Prime and all the other bunkers she had to oversee were exactly that: bunkers. Giant boxes of metal sealed from the world and its mounds of dust, dirt, and rock. But this disconnection wasn’t new: it’s been around since before she was locked away and working on Zero Dawn. It was there even back in Miriam, in FAS—even as far back as Stanford. So much time spent rushing towards the next breakthrough that she never had the time to stop and smell the flowers before they all burned away.

It was hard to wrap her head around the idea that flowers were back—blooming again somewhere out there. But for now she’d settle for the desert sand, riddled with weeds and other small signs of life.

She wondered what Erend might be thinking, seeing her run her fingers along the ground like a toddler. Eager to feel—to learn, no, relearn about a world she was only getting her bearings on. She caught a small blade of grass between her fingers. It’s alive, it’s all… alive again, she stared in wonder at the small miracle of live in her hand. Her return to consciousness was a violent experience. This was a nice change of pace.

The rest of the vanguard gave her and Erend privacy to talk, running errands in the nearby encampment and leaving them in the shade of an open tent. God knows she needed the space. She had questions—so many questions and while Erend tried his best to get her up to speed it seemed like there was always more. His rushed explanation was a disaster. Machines, cultists—whatever the fuck else was out there—and Aloy.

He said he’d try again and break it down slowly this time, sticking to what he knew and leaving the rest ‘to Aloy.’

‘Aloy’ sounded like a big shot. Someone important. Erend spoke about her with both familiarity and fondness—like how the other Alphas sounded when talking about one another. Whatever tangent he flew into—about what they had to fight off and how he believed it was related to herself and the other ‘Old Ones’—it always came back to Aloy. There was an unwavering faith he had in her that she could recognize: the feeling that they’ve fought together, bled together.

Endured something terrible together.

She remembered how he looked a little hurt earlier. “You’re Aloy’s mother, aren’t you?” He said it almost reverently, but unfortunately the answer was a very strong “no.” It must have been a misunderstanding—why would he think that?

“Got some boar roasting in camp.” Erend’s voice carried above the sound of his heavy footsteps. He walked closer, seating himself on a rock across her. “You feelin’ better?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “Alive. Which is better than the alternative when it comes to emerging from cryosleep if you ask me.”

“Good, good.” He crossed his arms. “Not hungry?”

Elisabet shook her head. “I don’t think I can taste anything yet.” She really hoped this side-effect was temporary.

“Well, let’s get you some soup. That’ll help.”

How she was feeling was a can of worms she didn’t want to open quite yet. Her body was on edge, the hairs along her arms standing in attention while she could feel the pace of her heart jog above average. It almost made her wince, the self-awareness of expecting a panic attack at any moment, but if her system had decided to be useful before shutting off completely later on, she was going to make the goddamn most of it.

Deep breaths.

She needed to take deep, long breaths. This was nothing but a jacked-up sympathetic nervous system stress response—there was no real danger. Just hypothetical fear. She needed to relax. She needed to think.

Orientation would be a good start—what, when, and where. And then she needed a plan. Something. Anything to do other than wander aimlessly like a fucking relic out of time. “You okay?”

It almost made her snap. He was asking if she was okay? She looked up, a smart quip loaded at the tip of her tongue but then—he looked so earnest, so concerned. An expression like that didn’t belong on a soldier.

“Not really, no.” She admitted.

“Huh.” Erend sat hunched over with his chin on one hand, looking comically close to that old statue of a thinking man if not for the wider breadth of his knees. He cleared his throat. “So…”

Despite the situation, she chuckled. “I’m glad to see that the most awkward of conversation starters evolved itself back into common use.”

The reference likely flew over his head, but he smiled while rubbing at the back of his neck almost shyly. He seemed… kinder than a hundred pounds of armor and a warhammer would seem like.

“I mean what am I even supposed to say?” He shrugged. “I uh, hit things with my hammer. You—and this predicament—are not things I’m gonna hit with my hammer.”

“That’s reassuring,” Elisabet deadpanned.

“You sure you aren’t Aloy’s mother?” Erend cracked her a lopsided grin.

Elisabet rubbed at her temple. “I think I’d know if I was. Is it wishful thinking to hope you guys have any ibuprofen?”

She had been pointedly ignoring his assertions that she was anyone’s mother. There were more pressing concerns to address, foremost of which was the distinct lack of technology. She’s only been up and about for a few hours but it was enough to notice the rudimentary tools and structures, along with the fact that Erend seemed to be the only other person with access to technology similar to hers.

“I’d check if we do, if I had any idea of what that is.”

“Where are we?”

“The furthest west I’ve ever been, honestly.” Erend shrugged. “I’m not familiar with these lands. We generally call it The Forbidden West—but there isn’t much else we know. Just more… sand, and dust. I’ve heard stories of trees that grew on sand, at the border of an endless lake. Never been there to see it myself.” He paused thoughtfully. “I uh, made a short trek back east from where I found you. About an hour or a little more.”

Elisabet stayed quiet, willing herself not to ask the question prickling at the tip of her tongue.

“Was that your home?” Erend asked quietly. “Where I found you. With the tall, pointed trees and the old stone structure.”

“Pines,” she supplied. “The trees, I meant. I thought you would know this by now.”

He grunted. “I’m a captain. Pretty good darned captain too, but no tree expert.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I meant you as in people, in general. The kinds of trees and animals, our history and technology—we tried to pass that on.”

Something wasn’t right—a feeling that’s been weighing on her since her awakening.

Erend and the vanguard were outfitted with plate armor and looked to have no means of transportation other than by foot. They had waterskins instead of thermal containers and their basic camping supplies were made of fibers and tanned leather. Nevermind real-time mapping and wireless communication. ‘Battle-ready’ wasn’t exactly what came to mind, and she’d have paid to hear Herres’ take on 31st century military technology. She might have even chuckled, had the implication not been so dire. Something had definitely gone wrong.

“Is the nearby encampment allied with you?”

“It was established by the Carja military as a way station, under the Sundom’s jurisdiction.” Erend beckoned her nearer, shuffling towards the side to leave space on the large, slated rock he was sitting on. “Ever since the Battle at the Spire, the Sun King’s been allowing expeditions towards the west—Aloy’s got a hunch that something is going on over there and you could guess that most of everyone listens to her these days. Whether she likes it or not.”

Carja. Sundom. Factions and nations, most likely?

“Just a minute.” He fumbled a little with his focus, looking up and awkwardly moving his hands in thin air. His frustration was noticeable in the deep set of his brows. “Aloy’s done this before—a map, on scrolls of light. She could share it with me while it, uh, did its floaty thing.”

“Do you have the map open?” Elisabet tapped her focus, hearing the small digital beam alert her of its activity. Technology was a familiar comfort—something to ground her. She whistled lowly while running a system check on the piece of hardware, trying not to wince at the fact that the date read January 14, 3041. The 31st fucking century. Safe to say it’s still working way past warranty declarations. “I think I got it.”

“How did you—its telling me that an external device accessed my display?”

“Hacking it,” she smiled. “This is more or less my area of expertise.”

“Right,” Erend nodded. “So we’re right over here.” He pointed towards a small glowing indicator.

“Outskirts of Carson City.” She had said it so softly it surprised her. She never pegged herself as particularly sentimental but being so close to home… after everything.

“And this,” he moved to the east. “Is the Sundom, and to its eastern border is the Nora’s Sacred Lands.”

Elisabet let herself have a moment of evaluation, eyes moving around the map to absorb as much information as she could. The satellite image let her know that the area’s topography reverted to pre-Faro Plague days: desert and canyons. Forested mountains covered the range to the east, but the northern range where she recalled Yellowstone was seemed erratically cold and glacial.

Information was a valuable resource she was lacking in.

“I need to get to the most developed settlement,” she muttered to herself. “Acclimate to customs and culture before finding a means to find and access ZD bunkers.”

“Bunkers?” Erend blinked.

“I assume that camps similar to this one are interspersed between the border of the Sundom and our location? At distances accessible by foot?”

“Yes, but—”

“I have to account for hostility along the road.” She crossed her arms. “And resources for supplies. What currency do you trade with?”

“Look,” Erend’s tone was firm. “We are going to take care of hostility and resources, because we’re going with you.”

“I—”

“You need to slow down,” Erend rose to his feet. “We don’t even know for sure if you’re okay after getting thawed out a thousand years later.”

“I need to figure out what happened to Zero Dawn. Find GAIA, and then—”

“Elisabet,” his voice was softer again, big and heavy hands settling on her shoulders. “We have time.”

Time? Of course they didn’t! There were a million things left to do and only two weeks until—

“The world isn’t ending anymore.”

--

He’d finally convinced her to sit down and get something to eat and it wasn’t damn easy. Elisabet was back to the makeshift planning table even before swallowing down her last bite and by the forge it was driving Erend just a little bit crazy.

“This is where we’re headed.”

Erend marked his own map, one that was tangible and inked on parchment instead of light. More reliable, if you asked him. Didn’t flicker in and out of sight—and didn’t make him look like a total jackass in front of his vanguard, waving his fingers around something they couldn’t see.

It was nearing sundown. The vanguard packed up ahead of time; they were leaving at the break of dawn. Erend split the party in two—one was to continue the expedition towards the Western Threshold, and the other, with Erend, was to hurry back to Meridian discreetly. It was a plan forged into metal: Erend needed to talk to Avad, while Elisabet seemed particularly interested in the Spire once he mentioned it.

“Utah and Colorado,” Elisabet whispered in wonder, tapping her focus on likely projecting a light-based rendering of them map on top of his own. “The staging areas for Zero Dawn.”

Erend looked at her with curiosity. “S’that what they used to be called? Before… before the whole thing—”

“Ended?” She punctuated, sensing his discomfort. But then she gave him a slight smile—it was different from Aloy’s. Wiser and wearier. “Though that’d be wrong. We’re still here, somehow.”

He smirked. “Don’t look so surprised. Didn’t you have somethin’ to do with that?”

“I’m just one of many,” she looked back towards the map. Didn’t look ready to talk about that, it seemed. “So what have we got?”

“We’re not in a hurry. We can take the traders’ path on the way back.” He pointed along a red, snaking line etched on the surface of the parchment. It was well-lit, well-guarded, and easy to traverse with enough camps in-between to restock and rest. He tapped twice on a marker at the end of route: it was a black, soaring tower. The good ‘ol Spire.

“That’d take us too long.” Elisabet shook her head. “We could go through these passes through the ridges. Cut straight through and save both time and resources.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And time—”

“—is something you have now.” Erend stood his ground, arms crossed. “As I keep reiterating to you.”

“I’ve noticed.” Elisabet set her jaw. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to—” she waved a hand over the map “—this.”

“You mean not being the one in charge?” Erend grinned.

“I didn’t really ask for that,” she smiled back kindly. “But old habits die hard.”

“The long way to Meridian it is, then.”

--

Sobeck Journal, 1-14-41

We did it.

Even this barren desert looks beautiful. Can’t shake the feeling that I don’t deserve to see it all though.

Not without the rest of ZD. Without the rest of you.

I’m going to forego writing about how I feel because I don’t even know where to begin digging up that can of shit. Exhaustion was always an effective sleeping pill back in the day: now that I’ve got time to think when I lay down everything is so loud. Given the state of things I doubt they’d invented melatonin pills yet either, but who am I to complain? Alive is still better than dead.

Off to sleep now. Something’s wrong with APOLLO. More things to figure out tomorrow.

After all these years, I still don’t get to rest.

--

[“—someone— … —back to see—“]

“Great timing as usual.” Aloy hissed under her breath. The strider she was on was nearly worn down. She was an hour’s ride away from the forest’s edge—right where the sands of the Barrens began. That’s what she was going to call them anyway: “the Barrens.” Those prissy cartographers up in the mesa have no idea just how large the West was. It wasn’t all sand and tumbleweed: there were forests so different from the Jewel and the Sacred Lands that she didn’t know how to begin describing them! And the lake… the biggest she’s ever seen. A body of water so large it must have cloaked the world’s entirety. She’s seen it on the spherical maps stored in her focus—a depth of blue so imposing she couldn’t even wrap her head around it. The air was different along the lake’s edge—salty and crisp. Both beautiful and foreign and so very unforgiving.

She gently stroked the side of the strider’s neck. She didn’t want to wear him down completely—best to leave enough so that he could carry on and survive another day. Herds of broadheads often wandered around the Barrens anyway, although not found as often as in Meridian and to the East.

She’s been getting scrambled messages from Erend for the better part of a day now. He sounded panicked. He hated using his focus but there was apparently something important enough for him to try. It seemed desperately urgent and the only thing she could make of his messages was that she needed to go back.

Chasing after GAIA and whatever was left of APOLLO was going to have to wait.

Her strider whinnied—Aloy hummed a small apology she hoped it could understand. If she found a charger it’d be better—she could ride through evening on a mount strong enough to discourage smaller machines from engaging them. By next evening she could rest by the ranch.

Aloy bit her lip, a soft feeling of longing at her gut. That’s what Elisabet called it in her journals anyway—Sobeck Ranch. A small speck of life, trees, and flowers on the eastern edge of the Barrens. A small place to rest before another two days’ ride to Meridian.

She remembers how freeing it felt to tell Rost about her misadventures so far. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to take a few minutes for Elisabet and do the same.

She urged the strider to run a little faster, wind whipping at her hair and the tassels of her armor. “Just a bit more, big guy. Just a little more.”

-

A/N: Thank you once again to Tototops for beta-reading this chapter!

It's been a hot minute but here we go with chapter 2!

[wkemeup]

Call to Action

inbox request: “hiii i'm really curious what's gonna happen if bucky gets assigned to work undercover again? 🥰“ by @sarge-barnes-sir​ ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 1.7k warnings: sweet loving angel bucky, kas cant let go of this series yet  a/n: surprise!!! we’re not done with our Sundays yet! I do plan on doing more of these, so keep sending in ideas if you have them!  🌹series masterlist 🌹

You woke to an empty bed; sunlight streaming in delicately from the soft overlay of ivory curtains and the soothing scent of a freshly steeped tea at your bedside, steam still rising from the mug. Stretching your arms up over your head and then out to the sides, you frowned as your fingers curled around the empty sheets beside you.

“You can’t ask me to do that, Steve,” Bucky’s hushed voice carried from the kitchen.

You turned to the door, narrowing your eyes upon the thin crack in its frame. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be at the apartment, but the clock to your left told you it was far too early for a friendly visit. Judging by the tone in Bucky’s voice, it couldn’t be anything good.  

“It’s not me, Buck. It’s way over my head.”

You quietly pushed aside the sheets, setting bare feet on the hardwood floors and grabbed for the robe hanging over the bathroom door. You slipped it quickly through your arms and wrapped it at the waist before you carefully pushed open the door. Disregarding the state of your hair laying frizzy and untamed at your shoulders, you crept down the hall.

Bucky was pacing in the kitchen, hands clenching at his sides, head shaking defiantly as he muttered under his breath. Steve sat at the table, watching with every stride Bucky took as he laid back into the chair; though the rigidity of his posture betrayed the calm persona he put on.

“I’m not going back under,” Bucky asserted. He didn’t seem to notice you emerge from the hallway as he continued to pace divots into the tile of the kitchen floors, but Steve did. His back straightened, his expression melting into something mirroring an apology as he met your eye.

“I’ve been out for almost a year,” Bucky continued, stare focused on the floor, tunnel-visioned and disregarding Steve’s attempts to draw his attention to you. “I told Fury I was done, Steve. He can’t pull me back in! Hydra was my last job and I’m-- I’m not leaving Y/n after everything we went through. So... So, you can tell Fury to fuck off!”

An unsettling silence took over; only Bucky’s muffled footsteps and labored breaths carrying through. You hadn’t realized how tightly your jaw had clenched until you tried to speak.

“They’re sending you undercover again?”

Bucky froze dead in his tracks, his head snapping up to find you watching him from the hallway. His eyes were wide, lips parted. He uncurled his hands, though it looked as though it ached to do so, and brushed them on his pants. Light blue plaid, white t-shirt with the neck a little stretched out. He was still in his pajamas.

“No,” he answered quickly though it wavered in his voice. He closed his eyes, hearing the hesitancy and he dropped his chin to his chest. He took a minute, found his breath, and when he looked at you again, he softened, a smile pushing up at his lips though it seemed forced. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

Bucky made his way to you, his hands gently settling on your shoulders and soothing their way down your arms to encase your hands in his own. You kept your stare on his chest, trying to find something to focus on, and it helped as he squeezed your hands. Something real. Something solid. Bucky.

“I thought you were training recruits,” you murmured.

“I was.” Bucky winced as it came out. “I am.”

“Fury’s used to relying on Buck for this stuff,” Steve explained, slowly standing from his spot at the table. “He wasn’t happy when Bucky stepped down from the field. You’ve got to understand, he lost the guy who’s got more successful undercover OPs than anyone else in the Bureau. Bucky’s good at what he does. He put a lot of bad guy behind bars and saved a lot of lives.”

You knew. Probably more than most people.

“They can’t make him, can they?” You hated how small your voice sounded; frail like a child’s. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist, afraid that if you lost contact with him for even a second, he’d be pulled away. You missed how Bucky glanced back in Steve’s direction for the same assurance.

“No, they can’t,” Steve replied calmly, a slight smile on his lips just barely noticeable.

You nodded, though it didn’t ease the racing in your heart. You held your arms tightly around Bucky, listening for his heartbeat to center yourself. “Do you want to?”

“What? Of course, not,” Bucky replied without skipping a beat. “Why would you even ask that?”

You shrugged. “You’ve saved so many people. You're clearly meant for this work, Bucky. I don’t want to keep you from that.”

You knew what that felt like; to be held from the one thing that made you feel whole, to be pushed into the shadows of a life you were never meant for, to be cast off to something less than what you deserved. It was different from what Brock had done to you, but it still had the same result, didn’t it? You were keeping Bucky from the job he dedicated his life to.

Bucky shifted slightly in his stance and he gently began to pry your arms from around him. It caused a jolt of panic at first, but then his hands soothed their way up your arms, to cup at the side of your face, guiding you to meet his eyes; stunning painted brushstrokes of blues and greys and oceans and summer skies.

“You’re not keeping me from anything,” Bucky told you, a sincerity heavy in his voice. “I promised that nothing would take me from you again and I meant that. I’m not leaving you.”

Your eyes fell downcast, struggling to hold his gaze. “But if I wasn’t around--”

“But you are,” Bucky pressed, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then the other, then the tip of your nose, until he pulled back with a smile. “I love you, sweetheart. That changes things. Before I met you, I would have taken any case I could get my hands on for the excuse to throw myself into a world that wasn’t my own. I would have jumped at the chance to pretend to be someone else for a while and lose myself in a new identity. But I don’t want that anymore. I want to be here. With you. I want to spend all my days loving you. Is that so much to ask?”

Another kiss to your temple, then your jaw, your cheekbone, until you were smiling again. He was so beautiful when he looked at you like that, like he thought the whole world of a woman who spent so many years told she was nothing.

“I just don’t want you to wake up one morning and feel like you lost something by being with me,” you explained slowly, quietly, and your eyes trailed down to his chest to avoid his eyes.

“Not possible,” Bucky eased and you felt his lips as the touched the crown of your head. “There hasn’t been a morning that’s gone by where I haven’t woken up feeling like I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You looked up at him, awe and wonder, stunned silence, and he gently leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips. Steve was still standing in the kitchen, averting his gaze, though he was smiling. Bucky brushed a thumb over your lips as he pulled back.

“Doesn’t matter what I do for a living,” Bucky continued. “You’re by my side. That’s all that matters.”

You grinned up at him, a laugh bubbling under the surface. “But you hate the recruits.”

“I don’t hate the recruits,” Bucky argued, rolling his eyes when Steve began to snicker from the kitchen table. “They’re just little shits that would walk head first into a wall if I didn’t hold their hands.”

He was laughing again, bright and joyful, and tension hanging thick in the apartment began to dissolve away. Bucky turned back to Steve, his arms held tight around you.

“We good, brother?”

Steve nodded, a rare smile upon his face. “Yeah, man.”

“What will you tell Fury?” Bucky asked.

Steve pursed his lips. “Pretty sure if I remember your words correctly... ‘fuck off.’”

Bucky winced. “Maybe not that.”

Steve shook his head, that same carefree smile on his face he reserved for quiet moments like these upon his face. It was really quite sweet when you thought about it. This broad, stoic man with the weight of his team on his shoulders who only learned to let go when he knew it was safe. He cared so deeply for his friends and you were proud that Bucky had someone in his life like Steve.

“Sam’s been itching for his turn in the field for a while now anyway.” Steve shrugged, beginning to gather his things and head to the door. “I’d say it’s about time we break in the new kid to fill his spot. Danvers is a hell of a recruit, Buck. You did good.”

“She won’t take your shit, Rogers,” Bucky teased as he squeezed you a little closer. “Sam's either. Nat will love her.”

“She’ll fit right in.” Steve laughed.

There was a pause, a beat, and Steve held his stance by the door for a moment longer.

“I never thought I’d see a day when Bucky would turn down a job,” Steve said, leaning against the frame. There was a gratefulness in his eyes as he looked at you, a soft smile upon his lips. “It’s nice to see you happy, man. You got a good woman to thank for that.”

Steve nodded at you, an appreciation you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to grasp completely, and you smiled back at him. Bucky chuckled a little, heat rising in his cheeks and he nodded in agreement. As Steve, turned to leave, you felt Bucky press a kiss to your forehead; the little reminders that he was there, that he loved you, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[orsuliya]

Alright! Time for part 3 of married!Awu/XQ headcanons. This time? It’s all about the children!

There is nothing unplanned about Awu’s second pregnancy. The subject of children comes up again not long after Awu reunites with Xiao Qi after the so-called death of the latter. Their days in Ningshuo may be filled with the hustle and bustle of preparing for the upcoming march on the capital, but evenings and nights? Those are for holding each other close in search of comfort and reassurance. If not for that, Awu would scarcely have the strength to let Xiao Qi out of her eyesight during those first days and weeks.

During one of those quiet Ningshuo evenings Awu finally breaks. She has had to be strong for so long, all the while half-believing she would never be allowed the luxury of being weak in her husband’s arms again, that even now it takes time for her to let go and simply cry. When tears finally do come out, so do all of Awu’s past fears, leaving her one by one in an unstoppable torrent. Fear for those reliant on her, for the orphaned country and for her own fate; all of those are carefully listened to and soothed with words, silent affection and sense of complete togetherness.

One of those fears? Had you died, had you truly left me alone, what would I have of you for all the years to come? she asks, her voice muffled, her face pressed into her husband’s neck. There is a good reason why she was prepared to die after exacting her revenge. Far too many sleepless nights in Hulan had been spent imagining the long, dreary years of her widowhood. Ten, twenty, thirty years of loneliness, seeing her nephews and nieces being born and then growing up, with nothing, not even her husband’s sword to put in that bloody chapel; would that have been her fate?

She hits him – not too hard, but hard enough for it to be more than a playful tap – when he says that, in time, she would remarry and find happiness again. Would you?! she demands angrily, then softens, once she reads the answer in his eyes. A man should take responsibility from the beginning to the end. Not even a bloody sword to be mounted on the family altar, she laughs tiredly. You owe me, my Prince Yuzhang, you owe me and I shall be your most merciless creditor. Give me a child with your smile, one with your hands and eyes, she demands, pressing insistent kisses to that smile, to those hands and eyes, and then and only then will I consider myself satisfied.

He would, you know, he would have given her a dozen children if that were only possible, but surely she must know that it is not, it can never be in this lifetime. Awu can have anything else for the payment of his debt; he knows he owes her and will give her all that she may wish for that she does not already own. She wants children? Fine, she may have all the orphans in Ningshuo for the raising, if that will bring her joy. But he doesn’t, can never regret putting her health above all else and would give her five more miracle flowers if he had to…

Yes, Awu finally shuts her husband up, unable to take any more of this lethal sincerity. How? Well, the exact method I shall leave to your imagination, but the gist of it is as follows: Xiao Qi is not getting off that easily. They can and will have that child. How? Well, Awu might have plotted with Doctor Shen towards that goal and it will work this time. Maybe not now, maybe it will take another few months or years of fiery needles, but it’s not like they are in hurry. There is no way Awu will agree to have a child in the middle of a civil war, so her husband should really get on with restoring peace in all Cheng. Not right now! In the morning should be soon enough.

____________________________________

It does take some time, first to restore peace and then for Awu to actually get pregnant. In the meantime, she does take all the orphans in Ningshuo as an advance on that debt, not to mention their first son and daughter, Xiaohe and Qinzhi.

Doctor Shen, who – struck with a sudden premonition – had moved to Ningshuo among much grumbling and trembling over the contents of his priceless apothecary, is rewarded with the dubious honour of playing witness to Xiao Qi’s complete meltdown. The first thing our brave general does upon hearing of his wife’s pregnancy is to hug her and refuse to let go for a good while, not that she protests. The second thing? He panics like he’s never panicked before. Doctor Shen comes upon his noble patron, well, not hyperventilating, we’re talking about Xiao Qi here, remember. But certainly in throes of a good old anxiety attack. It’s… an experience for the good doctor, that’s for sure.

Thankfully Doctor Shen manages to talk Xiao Qi out of his wildest ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born. Yeah, that was not Xiao Qi’s proudest moment. Doctor Shen promises not to tell anyone of this sudden bout of unreasonable behaviour and keeps his word… for about three days, when he gladly throws Xiao Qi under the bus in order to ensure Awu’s full compliance with his own, medically justified safety measures.

Mind you, even Doctor Shen cannot work miracles, which he comes to bitterly regret in those next few months. Panicked Xiao Qi and worried Turnip Wang make for a truly hellish duo and Ningshuo soon experiences a steady trickle of accomplished doctors from the capital. Some of them have clearly been dragged out of their comfortable practices under duress, for others it’s quite an adventure. The latter soon find themselves put to work; no use in simply standing around and deliberating over a stunningly healthy woman when there are actual patients in need to be seen to!

____________________________________

Awu considers Xiao Qi’s debt fully repaid the moment she sees her son smile for the first time. Xiao Qi, an overachiever that he is, doesn’t quite agree… and a few years later they try for another child; this time it’s a daughter. One - as Xiao Qi likes to brag - as beautiful as her mother and isn’t it lucky that he has an army fit to guard the greatest treasures in all Cheng? Awu thinks that it would serve him right should Treasure the Younger marry an officer of that very army in the future. She doesn’t, by the way, but that is an entirely different story.

The children are named Yunshuo and Yunning, which is a reason of much good-natured teasing. Even among the children themselves. Yunning, once she grows to an age when she starts to assert her dominance, insists that really, her brother should listen to her in all things. He may be older in years, that much is true, but Ning always comes before Shuo, everybody knows that!

Jinruo’s words come true after all: Xiao Yunning is Awu’s tiny copy, only, according to Awu herself, twice as bossy and confident. Xiao Qi never questions this claim, at least not out loud, but Uncle Asu has no such qualms and immediately provides a good half-dozen stories to that effect. Now, Yunning has every chance to grow up spoiled with a mother who applauds her strong character, a father who might seem strict, yet folds like wet paper at the first sight of a trembling lip and a whole bunch of playmates only too easily coaxed into following her commands. And she very well might have... if not for one Hu Yao (who is alive and you won’t convince me otherwise, ha!). The younger Hu, a true Ningshuo legend, enjoys great authority among recruits and veterans both; she proves a match for a head-strong girl like Yunning, although only barely. No, Hu Yao’s pupil doesn’t become a general in her own right, choosing another path instead… but she keeps up with her training in the years to come.

Xiao Yunshuo, affectionately called Xiao Xiao, is no warrior in the making, being of a rather gentle disposition, something that he never grows out of, for all that this gentle disposition later turns out to hide a character of pure steel. Oh, make no mistake, Yunshuo is perfectly competent with weapons and on horseback, but it is not something that comes naturally to him, nor does he find much joy in fighting. This becomes blatantly obvious once he starts advanced training. Every child under Awu’s care is taught enough to be able to defend themselves or know when to run away, but nobody is forced to persist with military training, should they not wish to. Yunshuo persists all the same, making continuous progress. It’s only natural that he does: he’s rather frighteningly smart, that boy, and he works hard.

A bit too hard, as it turns out. Xiao Qi becomes suspicious of his son’s behaviour and makes sure to ‘accidentally’ come upon one of Yunshuo’s solitary and completely unsanctioned training sessions. Why, he asks and becomes rather angry once the truth starts coming out. No, not with Yunshuo. With himself, for not preventing this whole issue from existing in the first place. See, Yunshuo thinks it shameful that he, the firstborn and only son of Prince Yuzhang, the greatest general and warrior Cheng has had for generations, will never be able to become a worthy successor to his famous father. No, nobody has said anything, but Yunshuo is not stupid, he knows what he is and is not capable of!

Xiao Qi takes a minute to consider his next words carefully. In the end, he tells the truth: when he was a bit older that Yunshuo is now, he had no valuable skills, no education, no family and no real hope for the future. Signing up for an army was pretty much the easiest choice to make for somebody who didn’t really have all that much to live for. Killing people? Is not that difficult. All it takes is a good sharpened sword and some basic training. Learning to protect people, well, that was a bit harder; took Xiao Qi some years and a lot grief and pain to master that. Everything else – building a true home, making peace for yourself and everybody else, and creating a lasting, better future? That’s Awu’s forte and her work. There is no shame in having different skills, explains Xiao Qi. Find what you do best and make sure that it is of use to somebody. That’s it. Whatever Yunshuo’s skills, as long as at the end of the day he is be ready to use them to protect what is dear to him, he will be a warrior in his father’s eyes.

Xiao Yunshuo takes his father’s words to heart and, when the time comes, relays them to his own children. He never becomes a one man army, for all that he takes care not to let his skill with weapons go to rust. He does, however, become a great lord and statesman, and a startlingly brilliant strategist to boot; his advice is greatly appreciated by his older brother, the brave General Xiao Xiaohe… as well as by his brother-in-law, the Emperor of Cheng himself.

In Ningshuo, despite all his merits and great dignity, Xiao Yunshuo stays Xiao Xiao long, long after becoming a father himself.

____________________________________

Xiao Yunning is widely held by the ministers of Cheng to be the cause for at least a quarter of their grey hair. And all because of one rather tiny, if rather infamous deed. Okay, maybe not that tiny… But it is not Yunning’s fault that Xiao Qi had made such an impression on a bunch of delicate noblemen over twenty years earlier!

Once His Imperial Majesty, one Ma Jing, successfully negotiates puberty, it becomes a matter of national importance to supply him with a wife of appropriate station, character, beauty and fertility, the first and the last being the most important, of course. The true war over who will become the Empress of Cheng does not start until His Imperial Majesty becomes a fully-grown man; that is not until the Prime Minister’s eldest daughter comes of age. Having another Wang Empress is seen as inevitable by many; others are rather eager to see the streak of Wang Empresses die a final death. The idea of courting a foreign princess gets briefly thrown around and then soundly rejected. It’s a pity that all of His Majesty’s marriageable cousins with even a drop of Ma blood have the same family name, says somebody who sounds suspiciously like a true Classist Wei. For a moment there is complete silence as the thoughts of everyone present turn to the one cousin who is neither a Ma or a Wang.

See, Xiao Qi and Awu could easily make their daughter an Empress… if they thought that it would make her happy. They have nothing against Jing’er, why, he’s a beloved nephew to them both and they have taken a good measure of his character during the time he spent in Ningshuo, which amounts to a good couple of years. If they were to be honest, Yunning could use a husband this good-natured and conciliatory, and Jing’er would do well with an Empress of Yunning’s strength of character. There is also the matter of a rather touching childhood crush… but since Yunning herself has nothing but derogatory words for this whole imperial marriage mart mess, there is nothing to be done. Nothing to be done at all, as Xiao Qi quite readily assures his brother-in-law, adding that being an Empress is not an easy fate and one that he would not wish on anybody. Asu, long-used to not truly understanding Xiao Qi’s ambitions or rather the lack thereof, takes this assurance on its merits and goes back to planning his own daughter’s imperial wedding.

Rather surprisingly it’s Jing’er who becomes the greatest obstacle to Asu’s dynastic plans. Somehow he never really says no… but no mercenary father can ever pin him long enough to force him to say yes to any of the myriad of candidates. This stand-off lasts for some time, to Xiao Qi’s quiet amusement and Turnip’s frustration. Awu, on the other hand, becomes rather pensive, although she refuses to share her suspicions with anybody. It’s not like she has any proof…

...until her daughter provides her with all the proof she could have ever wished for.

The day another group of potential candidates is to be presented at court, Xiao Yunning pulls a Xiao Qi, causing many a minister to relieve their old trauma. Yes, she marches into the throne room accompanied by six of her companions, most of which do rather poorly at concealing weapons under their dresses. Yes, she climbs the stairs without as much as a by-your-leave. Yes, she does all of that while wearing clothing in a colour appropriate for the occasion. In this case? Wedding red. The main difference is that Ma Jing is a much wiser Emperor than Ma Zitan and grants Yunning’s petition immediately and with good grace.

The reason why Yunning did what she did, leaving Jing’er with no choice but to accept her suit? Well, that childhood crush might have been rather more than a crush. Really, Yunning would have had it in the bag the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, were His Imperial Majesty not such a noble bore. I cannot condemn you to carry this burden with me before you really know what you want, he said, every word disgustingly noble and self-sacrificial. You are not somebody who can be caged, so go and spread your wings and I shall wait for you for as long as it takes, he offered in a rather suspiciously bland tone of voice. Really, one could almost believe that Jing’er actually bought into that silly rumour that Xiao Qi requires every prospective son-in-law to fight him with live steel. Which, by the way, is not true. He only ever fought two rather persistent young lordlings who couldn’t understand that Qinzhi’s no means no.

Everything ends rather well for all interested parties, although Turnip keeps grumbling about having an unfairly deceitful brother-in-law. Awu quickly shuts him down, if only to get in her own portion of shameless teasing. See, if Xiao Qi wanted to avoid such situations, then he should have given his children a better example. This quickly devolves into a round of Yuzhang-style teasing, which prompts a stark realization from Xiao Yunning. She might be the Empress-to-be now, but even being thrice an Empress would still give her no power to stop her parents from being a pair of embarrassing old people in love. Jing’er, ever the conciliator, shows his diplomatic skill by proposing that she might have her revenge… by being one half of a pair of embarrassing young people in love.

The Wang Princess of that generation, a rather lovely and wise young woman by the name of Wang Xu, is not all that sad about losing a chance at the throne. Why, her tastes were always rather specific and in general ran more to generals than delicate young nobles. Now, this Xiao Xiaohe looks like an interesting specimen and certainly worthy of taking a closer look, should one be in-market for a pet general of one’s own...

[alchemabotana]

Horoscopes for New Moon in Cancer July 9th 2021

Horoscopes for the New Moon in Cancer

July 9th 2021

By Antonina “Little Thunder” Whaples

@whaplesantonina 

If you find these horoscopes useful, please consider voting for me in the Muscle and Fitness Hers front cover competition for 2021′s Ms. Health and Fitness: https://mshealthandfitness.com/2021/antonina

Digital painting by Antonina Whaples

Still steaming in the energy of the overarching solstice sun rays, this New Moon in cancer will have you blissfully forgetting any of the struggles of the very conflicted Capricorn dominated conversations of the last Full Moon. In the wake and bake of the solstice, our Yang energy gets an overdrive that manifests in contrasting ways. Looking at your focuses on this way down the epic landslide of energy will open up gates of knowledge to understandings about your true identity. With Saturn coming into center with Aquarius soon, and Jupiter hitting retrograde in Aquarius on July 28th, your inner databanks are getting a major makeover Queer Eye style.

Much of this reorganization will center around how we collectively feel about ourselves individually, our responsibilities for our words and actions in our communities, and how we plan to make real-time changes to our “Ways” in order to contribute to grand legacies. Legacies themselves will undergo a transformation of definition. We can thank good old Venus opposing Saturn in Aquarius for this. But, unlike the “tower of babble” moment, the scenarios brought up by this New Moon will have your communication systems recalibrating towards epic achievements of the mind/body/spirit varieties. It’s all about Love, your memories of it, the ways you’ve embodied it, and the sacrifices made for it. Some of those sacrifices are coming full circle, and in the New Moon, this will be mostly felt by the Yin collective consciousness as a major relief. If you’re feeling unbalanced on the 10th, try to focus on activities that bring you comfort and ease your mind. This act may feel like a true moment of spiritual rebellion. 

There’s a lot of hope in this moon, cradled by Cancers’ warm and loving waters. The “Home” is pivotal to this Moon’s inherent cleansing cycle, which may bring up dust and twigs swept under the rug. The idea of responsibility for our actions is heightened. We will all be challenged to face our own idiosyncrasies and dualities. This appears to be a long standing theme we’re all checking in and out of repeatedly until Neptune stations direct in Pisces on December 1st 2021. This very slow moving energy feels like a drum out of rhythm with our daily lives. Individually we are learning to tune into deeper vibrations of our own, and tune out wavelengths disruptive to our growth. This moon is a good time to move your body to healing sounds that help you manifest the emotional experiences attached to your not yet manifested dreams, hopes, prayers, and altar work.

Aries:

My fiery frequencies have been running too hot. I find places to release my steam that are quiet, dark, and all my own. Whether in the outside world, or my inner mind palace, I find slices of shade are my delight. I desire a type of self-synergy that can only be activated in the realms of the subconscious, and I make time to rest in the ways that make these new synapses happen. I want to learn and grow, and I’m giving myself the space to honor the eternal internal scholar within myself.

Taurus:

I’ve been typecasting my own archetype for some time, and I’ve realized those imprints have become outdated. I do not fear the revelation of my Cosmic Face to my own self, but rather look forward to the introduction of myself to Myself. I find ways to greet my emerging identity by balancing my time with friends and family. I take the time to meditate on what I am agreeing to when I go along with the herds. I respect my self sovereignty enough to reject projections on my personhood. I take responsibility for my own reflections on others, and these actions allow me to accept myself in any situation. I release all concepts of my empathic or psychic nature as negative, and allow the gifts I have been given to garnish me with life’s abundances.

Gemini:

I’m preparing for my mic drop moment. I’ve been writing bars and aiming for the stars, and I feel it coming. Not sure what, not sure when, but this moon is bringing mojo. I sense the message I was meant to embody is being written deeply inside me by a host of ghosts and ancestors ready to protect my destiny. Things are feeling extra cosmic, and I can almost feel my future touching me from time to time. I let myself enjoy my dreaming time, and this New Moon gives me a place to hide my secret poems and self reflections. There’s a softness coming over me, and I feel comfortable allowing myself to relax into the knowledge that my creative genius isn’t just valuable, it’s real.

Cancer:

The cycle of filling and emptying feels extra powerful under this New Moon. Elevated by this lunation, I use this dark moon to focus on the moments in-between. In this meditation, the world opens up a new concept of Time to me. In this knowledge I am able to reconstruct my psychological leanings away from worst-case-scenario and anxiety -laden secret self conversations. I don’t need to look outside myself for cues from the pack, and I am comfortable asserting my authoritative genius when applicable. This acknowledgement of my self-worth and efficacy gives me awareness that assists my community and gives others much needed moments of Hope & Joy.

Leo:

Things feel saucy in the right ways this new moon. Yin and Yang are focused on balancing my section of the sky’s influences this lunation cycle. Sometimes I feel the tug of my shadow side urging me to use my head AND my heart. Although I feel driven by the power of my heart center, and the emotions of my inner oceans, I find time to stop and ask myself “is this what I really want?”. When I allow myself to acknowledge the influences beckoning me to overspend my creative and sexual resources, I am able to find my personal zen. I discover new secret distractions in the everyday experience of relating and existing in community and friendship. I’m learning to tune my volume to the right settings, and this allows my audience to hear me clearly. Clarity has become increasingly important to me, as discernment makes me feel centered. This moon I use the dark hours to clear my mind, and calm my heart.

Virgo:

The quiet emptying of this New Moon secretly invites me to advocate for my silent needs in ways that feel safe to me. I practice self loyalty regularly, and renew my vows to my internal compass under the protection of the current skies. I know that moments like this aren’t always accessible, so when they are, I congratulate myself for my good luck. Spending time with private projects makes me feel centered and focused in ways that empower me. I use this darkened moon to look at my private world with a gentle eye. I know that my goals are just an echo of desires I’m learning to advocate for. Finding words for my journey helps me understand myself the way I wish to be understood.

Libra:

I am allowing myself to be seen and appreciated by myself. When I take the time to be in relationship with myself, my moods, and my memories, I find a special center. I’m manifesting a reality where my sense of self is solidified and appreciated by myself first and foremost. Through my self manifestation work, I am becoming aware and knowledgeable of the long history and sacrifices of those who came before me. I use this awareness to build gratitude within my heart center for myself and anyone else who shares in my archetype. My focus on self-healing is a radical step in my generational efforts in this timeline. I am an important person, and I tell myself so often.

Scorpio:

I am quietly waiting for new moments to try out my newfound knowledge. I’ve been watching and observing, but now it is my time to act. I take the reins of my destiny, and I do not apologize to the previous carriage driver. I know the power of an apology, which is why I know when one is owed or not. I do not need to struggle with power games that play in the psychopomp of the collective, and am my own sovereign spiritual space. I trust that my future is held in love & beauty and is supported by the generations of ancestors present on all planes. I am using this dark moon to get in touch with my essence and knowledge of my true self. 

Sagittarius:

This New Moon I am shedding responsibilities that have become recognizably not-mine. With this awareness has come the revelation of what is mine to control, and what is mine to let go. I accept the blessings of my responsibilities as the reason I am able to hold space for myself in my own life. I do not allow others to speak on my behalf, and use my voice to set the story straight. I use my energy for higher purposes and don’t have space this lunation to be dragged into any conflicts. I use my arrow to draw solid lines in the sand about which energetics I’m willing to play with. I promise myself to treat myself with compassion daily, especially as I outgrow scenarios and scenes that just ain’t me.

Capricorn:

I’m learning how to define karma for myself, and this New Moon is giving me a lot to think about. I understand that if I wish to heal, I must practice kindness towards myself. When I notice the mean monsters arrive in the darkness of night, I use my practical wisdom to ward them off. I’m noticing that fear doesn’t have as much power as I once imagined, and I’ve been slaying small demons like candycrush. This lunation I allow a space for the internal/external conflicts to find a cease-fire, and I find myself enjoying new mental quiet. I’m learning to trust the process of letting go, and this small cycle feels like the period at the end of a sentence.

Aquarius:

The labyrinths of my inner circuit board are asking me if I’ve tried turning it off and turning it back on again. When I consider my own off/on switch, I contemplate who I give access to it. When my triggers are alarming, I respect myself enough to take the time to respond carefully to my own messages. I acknowledge the wiring of the ancient ones, and use the ancient technology of this Moon to allow my power centers to upgrade. My dreamtime is especially sacred to me in these moments, and I use this lunation to discern important inner truths. I do not need to fear when I have premonitions, but instead, refocus that awareness on trusting my own intuition first and foremost. 

Pisces:

This New Moon I let out a deep sigh of relief. In the feelings of stuckness and frustration, I’ve discovered hidden patterns of life. As I discover which patterns benefit me the most, I learn to recalibrate my channels to an easier stream. This work opens me to timelines I may not have previously considered when vision-boarding and manifesting dreams. I thank the spiritual abbacus for working out ancient calculations this New Moon. I give gratitude when my supplies are distributed exactly how, where, and when they will make the greatest impact for my ultimate visionings. 

[earisu1]

“Once Upon a Time” in Jennifer’s Own Words

Original date of the post: 12 of October, 2007.

Disclaimer: this ideas and theories do not belong to me but to PokerNemesis, if the owner wants me to take them down I will.

“This is the complete collection what Jennifer herself says (excluding what is written in documents) in the “Once Upon a Time” (January) chapter of Rule of Rose.

This collection includes five of Jennifer’s memories/comments that were omitted in the GameFAQs game-script faq written by TheSinnerChrono.  I marked these with “####” to make them easier to find (for readers only interested in these).

This post does not contain commentaries by me (unless some of my descriptive comments count as being commentary).

If anyone finds anything I missed, or any mistakes I’ve made, please let me know in the comments.  Thanks!

Filth Room:

–At the shelf:

“This letter looks familiar…  Yes. it’s one of the secret letters that Wendy and I traded.” (reads letters)  “Wendy…  You were always so lonely.  Poor, lonely Wendy…  I wonder if my letters ever reached her.”

–At the central pillar:

“Tied to this pillar, unable to move, I was all alone.  It took a while, but I finally freed myself.  I was always the slow poke…  But, that won’t happen again.  I’ll never let myself be tied up again.”

–At the suitcase:

“When I came here, this suitcase was the only luggage I had…  I lost everything in the accident.  My mother, my father, all my possessions, and even my memories.”

–At the sunny window:

“I spent so much time in this room…  Who knows how many times I woke up here?  The nights were lonely and cold, but you’d always greet me in the morning… Only you greeted me warmly.  Thank you so.

–At the rubbish bin:

“It’s the detested rubbish bin.  No one ever suspected that something precious was hidden inside it.  Nor did they know that it was the only place where I could keep my things safe.”

–At the empty corner (where Bucket Knight had been):

“It feels as if something very dear to me was here.  Someone or something that always looked after me… helped me.”

Hallway:

–At the laundry shelves:

“Everyone would put their dirty laundry here, and it was my job to wash it.  How ironic… The one they called “filthy” washing their filthy clothes.  It all seems so silly now.”

2nd Floor Lavatory:

–At the toilet that has an eye drawn on the toilet lid:

“‘We’re watching you.’  That’s what the picture meant.  But it was still scary.”

–At Bucket Knight (by the sinks and mirrors):

“Bucket Knight…  A makeshift knight that Nicholas and Xavier used for sword practice.  Though they may have forgotten about it, I’ve always remembered.  For, I yearned for a loyal knight to come to my rescue.

Hallway (Front Stairway balcony):

–At the empty picture frame:

“There used to be a picture here, of everyone at the orphanage.  It was a picture filled with hope, taken the day I was brought here.  I was afraid someone would try to steal this precious memory from me…so I took the picture down and kept it safe.”

Sick Bay:

–At the drawers (these look like the same drawers as had the forbidden drawer in the “Unlucky Clover Field” chapter):

“Clara was a quiet person.  To me, she looked like just another student at the orphanage…except when she spoke to Mr. Hoffman or Martha.  Then, she looked scary.  I wonder if I’ll be like Clara when I’m older…  Will I enjoy those days?”

Sickroom:

–At the rabbit cage:

“Peter the rabbit… He was the pet that Wendy suddenly decided to take care of.  It was the same time I started looking after Brown…  I wonder if Wendy really loved Peter…  Was she sad when she had to give him up?”

–At the lamp:

“This letter looks familiar.  Yes it’s one of the secret letters that Wendy and I traded. ”  (reads letters)

Balcony:

–At the birdcage:

“The red bird in the cage… The doll Eleanor treasured.  ‘If only we could fly like birds and go wherever we wished,’ she whispered softly.  Yet, no matter how much Eleanor wished, she’ll never be able to just fly away from this orphanage.  Poor Eleanor…  She was burdened by her own frozen heart.”

Play Area:

–By the chair and train-track circle:

“Thomas was always playing with his trains…They were his only friends.  There were no final stops on his railroad, for that would be devastating to him.  It’s rumored that this obsession had something to do with his birth, but Thomas never spoke about it with anyone.”

####By the blocks:

“No one really played with the toys here because they were all old.  Only Thomas was the master of this room.  ‘A new girl, a new girl!’ he exclaimed when we first met.  He seemed to enjoy teasing me.

Library:

–By the white goat doll:

“It’s a stuffed goat… The white goat Mary.  The black goat Sally.  When Meg found her letter to Diana torn apart, she was deeply wounded and cried in Diana’s arms, even though she was the one that ripped it up…  And, when Meg’s notebook was found all scattered about, Diana made fun of her, saying, ‘Mary and Sally must’ve ate it.’  Poor Meg…  She was bound by the shackles of foolish devotion.”

–By the painting of the airship:

“The future that people dreamt of never came and was soon forgotten.  From the blue skies of hope, it sank into the depths of oblivion.  The new life born from it was an existence devoid of hope.  It slowly wriggles its large body and stares at the sky with a remorseful look… That’s its only purpose.”

Sewing Room:

–At the sewing machine:

“Amanda was fond of using the sewing machine.  When she got absorbed in something, she’d think of nothing else, especially sewing, which was always on her mind.  If we ran out of cloth or thread, she’d just sew rags with an empty needle over and over again…  And then she’d smile at the tattered rag with satisfaction.”

Hallway (2nd floor):

–At the graffiti on the floor near the Sewing Room door:

“There are doodles everywhere.  No matter how many we cleaned, more would show up the next day.”

Dormitory:

–At one of the two central tables:

“The night was quiet dark and scary.  Yet it was a mysterious time that aroused excitement.  Some nights, we’d stay awake in secret, hiding from the teacher, and draw pictures by lamplight.  It made us feel very much like adults–something not possible during the day.”

–At the other central table:

“A mermaid doll… What a proud and pure creature.  Diana yearned to become a beautiful lady, like a mermaid, but as she grew older, she realized that she was straying further and further from her ideal self.  Poor Diana…  She was trapped by her own ideals.”

Front Stairway:

####At the ladder:

“That day when Thomas couldn’t get down from the tree, the ladder, which had been collecting dust, sure came in handy.  Back then, Mr. Hoffman was a kind and admirable teacher.”

Main Hall (first floor):

–At the vase of flowers:

“There used to be beautiful roses here, picked by Wendy from the rose garden.  …But, as with all things, they wilted away with the passage of time.”

–At the potted fern:

“Miss Martha used to scold Nicholas for forgetting to water the plants, and then she’d turn her wrath on me, snapping, ‘What are you laughing at, young lady!?’”

Hallway near Classroom door:

–At a bucket-headed construct:

“A silent scarecrow… It stands there quietly, not meddling in the affairs of others.  It sways in the breeze, like me…a cowardly girl who was unable to assert her true feelings.”

Men’s Lavatory:

####At the blocked-off toilet stall:

“Once, Susan started a rumor about voices coming from this room at night…  It turned out it was only the door creaking in the wind, but one night, sounds came from the room even with the windows shut.  Susan jumped out of her bed and screamed.  It was really just a prank by Nicholas and Xavier.  From then on, the room was believed to be haunted and was considered off limits.”

Classroom:

–At the blackboard (which has written on it:  “Hitlerism is a form of government controlled by one man’s will / Democracy is a form of government controlled / Hitlerism is a form of government controlled by one man’s will”):

“I learned many things at this orphanage…The alphabet… words… how to clean and do laundry… But the most important thing I learned… was the lesson I received in exchange for my dear friend’s life… I finally came to understand myself.  My beliefs and the will to stand up for them… I don’t want to lose those ever again.”

–At the drawings on the wall (a map of Great Britain):

“The map of this country…  That day we flew from England… Those memories were buried deep inside of me…  The airship…and the accident…  Thereafter, the story of my life became a tale of misfortune.  Even when the others played ‘airship’ I couldn’t bear to join them, so I was left out.”

–At the schedule of classes on the wall:

“A brat, a know-it-all, an introvert, a crybaby, and an elitist… I know misfortune, because I tolerated them all.  I thought I was the only grown up, but we were all just kids, myself included.  But what does it really mean to be a grown-up?  Will I ever become one?”

–At the furnace:

“On cold winter days, we all used to gather here and talk… I, of course, couldn’t join in, so I sat off to the side.  Even so, it felt so warm.”

Bathroom:

–At the mirror (looking at her own reflection):

“Jennifer, are you happy now, considering how bad it was for you, back then?  …That tragedy you wanted to forget.  Now that you remember everything, how do you feel?  Is the answer inside you?  Think carefully Jennifer.”

Wash house:

–At the sinks:

“I came to this room every day to do laundry…  The water was so cold, and the soap would sting my eyes, but I didn’t hate it, because clean laundry is so refreshing.”

Kitchen:

–At the table:

“If Miss Martha had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to cook…  If Clara had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to tend our wounds…  If Mr. Hoffman had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to teach us.  You can’t live life eating snacks all day, with no exercise or studying.  If you look at it that way, even the Aristocrat club needed adults around… Our world was so small.”

Martha’s room:

–On the bed:

“There are a couple of letters here.  It’s a letter from the police…  “(reads letter) “It’s a letter from Martha…”(reads letter) “The letter ends there…  Perhaps if the matter had been addressed publicly, things wouldn’t have turned out as they did.  Adults are so selfish.”

Cafeteria:

–At a fork on the table:

“Olivia, the one who cried all the time, stopped crying completely when all the adults were gone.  With no teacher to give her attention and no cleaning lady to scold her, there was no point in crying anymore.  …Poor Olivia.”

Inner Court:

–Site of Brown’s burial:

“It all started here, when I dug up the mound…  I sensed that something precious to me was buried here… and I couldn’t stop myself…  The old me… the one who didn’t understand herself… I lost my friend because of her.  If… If I could go back… I’d try to save him… but what has happened can never be undone.  I’ll never break a promise again.”

Cell of Remorse:

(nothing)

Cell of Pleasure:

(nothing) film projector

Cell of Repentance:

(nothing)

Cell of Solitude:

–At the central chair:

“One time, Diana was absorbed in deep thought here.  She was the prettiest, the most mature of the Aristocrats.  She wanted so much to be an adult… and yet she was also afraid of growing up too fast.”

Cell of Bliss:

–At the table:

“The spooky things… The scary creatures that everyone talked about…  They’ll come and clean if you don’t, sweeping bad children away like dust…  Well, they actually came and attacked me… I knew what they really were… but that wasn’t the problem.  The real problem was my weak heart.   My weakness was what drew them here.”

Closet Room:

–At the clothes hangers:

“On Halloween, we all dressed up in costumes…  Everyone else wore bags over their heads, and stared at me through tiny holes…  Their blank faces and muffled voices…  It scared me like you wouldn’t believe…  ‘Is it really you under there?’ I asked, fearing it was something else.  But, no one would answer me.”

–At the mirror:

“Amanda was always more sensitive about her looks than anyone else.  One day she was given a severe scolding by Miss Martha.  That’s because Miss Martha’s lipstick had gone missing.  The lipstick was never found, but I know Amanda took it.  I’ve seen her applying it late at night.”

Hallway (ground floor, connecting Headmaster’s Room and Closet Room):

####At drawing on the floor of a big donut-shaped one-eyed person (near cabinet):

“This sloppy drawing must be Thomas’s.  See what happens when you give him chalk?  The walls, the floors…   To him, it’s one big canvas.”

####At drawing on floor of spooky things (nearest the Headmaster’s Room):

“The spooky things…  They swept away everything that’s dirty, including disobedient children.  It was a scary story that started as a rumor and spread like wildfire.”

####At drawing of spooky things (nearest the Closet Room):

“The spooky things love to clean.  That’s why they always carry mops and brooms.  They’ll kidnap you if you don’t clean.  At least, that’s what everyone says.”

Headmaster’s Room:

–At the PA system:

“Mr. Hoffman loved to broadcast over the PA system… while we were cleaning, while we were eating, and even after we were in bed.  He always announced our names in the order of his favorites.  We’d try our best to win his approval and be the first one to be called.  But he never called my name, not once.  I thought it was all rather silly, anyway.”

–At the desk:

“The book is open… ” (reads Hoffman’s diary entries).  “At the time it seemed so frightening…  Were those scary things that attacked me just figments of my imagination…?” (another entry) “..The diary continues, but the last page is particularly interesting… It’s Mr. Hoffman’s last entry before he disappeared.” (another entry) “…That’s the end of the diary.  We never saw Mr. Hoffman again.”

–At the fish tank (a fish swims inside):

“I know you’re in a very stinky place, because that rag Diana put to my face smelled just awful.  But, no matter how clever or fast you are, there’s no escaping.  You’re like a mermaid in captivity… adapting to a new reality.  Leaving your home behind…did you find happiness?”

Headmaster’s Closet:

–At the shelf that has shoes:

“That day, Mr. Hoffman disappeared, like he was running away from something.  He had tried too hard to be someone he wasn’t.  The expectations were too much for him… and he wanted to escape those restrictions.  However, children and adults live in the same world, and we must both play by society’s rules.”

Reception Room:

–At the record player:

“The record player is brand new.  Playing a record would fill the room with sweet music.”

–At the fireplace:

“It was a cold, winter night… I had been scolded as usual, and called into the headmaster’s room.  I didn’t like being scolded, but I didn’t mind so much when it was in front of the fireplace, which was warm and cozy.”

–At the vase on the central table:

“All of us loved red roses.  Even the name of the orphanage was befitting of an Aristocrat… It wasn’t until I swore the oath of the rose that I learned roses have thorns.”

–At the dish cupboard:

“This is Mr. Hoffman’s prized collection of fine dishes.  We would sometimes sneak them out and play house with them in the attic, but that’s our little secret.”

–At the graffiti covered portrait:

“This is a picture of Mr. Hoffman when he was a young man.  He was so proud when he showed it to us…  He never caught the one who doodled on it though.  But, I know who did it.  I saw Thomas trying to move the ladder on the day it happened.”

Women’s Lavatory:

–Toilet stall with bird drawing:

“Red bird drawings.  A red crayon and… a red broach…  A red rose and… red blood…  Red is the most beautiful color, yet it comes at a price.  It is my most favorite color and my most hated color.”

Entrance-way:

–At the lockers:

“It’s a small locker, but it was just for me.  My name was even on it.  They made me feel welcome.  I was so happy… I’d move my shoes in and out, over and over again.”

–At the umbrella stand:

“We never used umbrellas.  On snowy days, we’d go out for snowball fights.  On rainy days, we’d go out and play in the rain, and get soaking wet.  Every time, Xavier would trip and get himself all muddy and we’d laugh.  It was so much fun.”

–At the portrait of Hoffman:

“One day,  Mr. Hoffman suddenly disappeared.  Clara and Miss Martha soon followed, leaving me and the other orphans alone.”

Front gate:

–At the orphanage sign to the left of the gate:

“The Rose Garden Orphanage…  That day, I was escorted from the scene by Officer Doolittle.  At first, it was reported that there were no survivors…  Then, word got out that, miraculously, I had escaped the tragedy…  When rumor spread that I was also the sole survivor of a horrific airship accident in which the passengers were all presumed to be dead, the media went into a frenzy.  and so, the tragic murder of the residents of a rural orphanage was instantly bumped from the front cover of the daily newspaper to an obscure corner…  I’m sorry everyone.  You don’t deserve to be forgotten…  But I’ll remember you.  Thank you all for the precious memories.”

Fork In The Path:

####At the sign:

“The sign has been broken ever since I came here.  I guess it doesn’t matter:   no one comes to visit anyway.”

Bus Stop:

–At the bus stop sign:

“That bus that brought me here…  Should I try to take it the other way?  …No, that’s not right.  There are still things I have to do here.   Wait for me, Brown.”

Outside the rickety shed:

–At the door:

“Please wait for me.  I’ll be there.”

Inside the rickety shed:

(Spoken to Brown)  “My dear friend… I never want to lose you again.  I’ll protect you…  forever and ever until I die.”  (Writes on chalkboard:  “everlasting/true love/ I am yours”)  “I’ll protect you… forever until I die.”

Notes: some of this reposts are not showing in the tags sadly. Classic Tumblr.

[lilyhoshikawa]

🎥🎶💕🏳‍🌈💎 for hunters perhaps? >:3c

Oh golly! Ok fndkfnfn let me do this then. This may be difficult-

🎥: Do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

This is hard bc I have a lot of scenes I like and good scenes keep happening dhdjfn.

There are a lot of stand-outs so far. Among them is definitely like, the confrontation in the car between Blake and Sakio, and the recent social link scene with Blake and Lena on the boat.

Scenes that DON’T involve my own character that I adore include. The scene with Sakio and Camellia at the graveyard. The scene with with Lena and Twitch outside the store. The Sammy’s scene where they read Tango’s letter. Also the scene with Sammy and Masumi bc it was just extremely funny.

🎶: If your hyperfixation has songs / an OST, what is your favorite song from it?

Hm. Well time once again to advertise my Blake playlist, which I’m constantly putting a lot of work and thought into tbh dhjddb, I’ve deleted a fair number of songs from it when I feel they don’t fit, and I’m constantly messing with the order of the songs in relation to Blake’s prospective characters arc, and adding more as I find them fndkfnf I’m always on the lookout.

Also, vane is constantly updating the official playlist with some real bangers, and I appreciate that. Amil’s and Twitch’s themes are real good.

💕: Tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

Everybody has really really good characters, heck. One thing that strikes me is that even with taking the backseat and having to be on autopilot for several sessions, Camellia still has such a strong and distinct personality, to the point where everyone is on the same page abt them, and I think that’s just really amazing dhdjfjf, that’s how strong an impression they make every time they’re around.

Lena is also so good, she’s like… I think abt her frequently. Sometimes I just start giggling when I think abt Lena, bc she is a national treasure, and I hope she knows I care abt her. She’s great in this way that she’s both very funny/cute and also has a lot of depth and nuance to her arc, and I’m so excited for more.

In the same vein, Sammy. No one character has made me go from giggling to sobbing as fast as this green goat. One moment Sammy is making their cat do a little greeting and I’m rolling on the floor from the cuteness, and then the next second they’re crying and saying they don’t want to be left behind, and then I am also crying. How do they do it. The absolute range.

I also really appreciate Ilse like, particularly in contrast to Blake sometimes, in that Ilse is very smart in a way that’s quiet, self-conscious and careful, while Blake is at times recklessly arrogant, and those two bounce off each other well. Ilse feels mature at times but every time they quietly like, try to be the bigger person, or to not make a problem of themselves, I wanna give them a hug and be like “u deserve to be recognized and acknowledged and u deserve better” dhdjdndjdn. When u have big personalities like Sakio and Lena and Blake in the party there’s something compelling abt Ilse being with them and not asserting themselves as they try to do their best, if that makes sense, and I want them to know I see and appreciate them.

Sakio is also so good and I’ve talked abt this to vane plenty before but holy shit. There’s so much obvious care and love and effort and skill that went into writing a character who is both wrong in many ways, and who many player characters antagonize for good reason, and yet still so incredibly sympathetic, so likable and so compelling. The fact that both Blake and Lena have this relationship with Sakio where they don’t like or trust her, necessarily, but also can’t deal with her not being there, is so fucking good, it creates such powerful conflict in the smallest of ways. Sakio is great bc I love her and I understand her and I appreciate her, but I also wanna yell at her and think she is absolutely horribly wrong about incredibly crucial things and u can FEEL that turmoil in her as well, with her knowing on some level that her actions are going to cause harm, and she’s just waiting and hoping to take the fall, thinking, maybe foolishly, that she can, and that doing so will save everyone else.

I also fucking love so many minor characters we haven’t seen much of so far. I absolutely love Bee and I’ve told vane abt this but she’s just a total icon. Theo is also great, he is the only valid he/him in the entire campaign djdkfj. I love Twitch as well and I’m very excited for some of the interesting stuff in Twitch’s arc that has been hinted at coming to fruition later on, that’s very exciting. I’m also very excited to learn more abt Amil’s whole deal, I appreciate them a lot and I feel bad every time I have to make Blake come pester them fndkfnf. Oh also Prim, how did I forget Prim… what’s going on with her, I have no idea, but she’s a mean lady and my love for mean ladies is well-documented. Also her look is iconic. Also also Puck, the fact that he’s a child and I didn’t know it for several months shocked me to my core but it has made his brand of Shakespearean mischief that much more endearing, and now I seek only to give him snacks and let him sit in his funny garbage throne. I forgot abt Puck earlier so I’ll say he is the second valid he/him in the campaign but frankly I think Puck should take some neopronouns for a spin, he deserves it.

🏳️‍🌈: Do you have any headcanons (LGBT, race, neuro, etc.) that are important to you?

(*throws neurological disorders at Blake*) jdkdnfkf no but jokes aside. I love that this party is like, 5 player characters, 4 of whom use they/them. Just. The raw power of a persona series written by LGBT+ ppl…

I can’t speak on other ppl’s characters too much but as for Blake, they’re a closeted transfem and also too much of a disaster for a coherent sexuality but probably bi. Autistic, and an abuse survivor who experiences paranoid delusions and self-destructive tendencies. Probably more, but specifics are messy, they’re a fucking mess, what’s going on with them, they don’t even know.

Masumi is a binary trans lesbian, also an abuse survivor and manages quite a bit of paranoia of her own, dealing with mood swings and occasional delusions of grandeur, most of it she keeps internally managed which isn’t great for her mental health.

💎: Are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share?

Blake’s original characterization was thought up prior to the campaign and was very different from their finished characterization. They lived on a farm with their parents and were pretty quiet and passive before being arrested for a murder they didn’t commit (this part is the same) and their personality was way more quiet, reserved and passive, with the whole celebrity aspect completely absent. They were still going to be the sort of clever leader type character but leaned far more into the background. Their design was also different, with their hair in a low ponytail rather than high and scars on their face from scrapes and accidents working on the farm.

I realized that, even though this character was more of an original idea than Masumi (who I was playing in another campaign at the time and who was characterized somewhat differently as well) I didn’t find myself excited to write them, couldn’t get invested in them in the same way, and as I kept workshopping them I decided to be more self-indulgent and lean more into shamelessly making them an Akechi expy in more ways.

And what resulted from that, ironically, is what I feel is a better character in the end. Blake feels more dynamic, lively and interesting now than the old iteration I first thought up, back when I was intent on making them My Own Creation with their own arc. At this point I’m comfortable saying that Blake, for all their similarities to Akechi, has evolved over the course of the campaign into a more interesting character, into someone I recognize as distinctly different and who stands out. They feel unique to me, and feel like my own character. And I think that only could’ve happened through playing them in a TTRPG like this, in developing them along with others, and having to adapt, and I think that’s the beautiful thing about developing characters with other people. The Blake I’ve ended up with is one I’m really happy with, who I feel is more interesting and dynamic to me than if I had just tried to force something unique just to not feel cringe about making an expy. And maybe I need to learn that lesson before I go through the same thing with Zee fjdkfnf.

[tokyoghoose]

is it hot in here, or is it just me?

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: dirty dirty - charlotte cardin, so hot you're hurting my feelings - caroline polachek*, i touch myself - borns ( cover )

warnings: mentions of sex and dirty thoughts, fighting/violence, mentions of murder, the word slut ( towards reader ), daisuke being hot af ig

summary: while on an undercover mission you reunite with an old partner before things get 'frisky' and not in a good way.

announcements!

first full length balance unlimited fic! im actually quite proud of it even if the anime is postponed. I will continue to write for them 😌

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

—————

The bar is more like a club, except for the fact there's no one so extremely intoxicated that they're acting a fool. No, it's actually quite prestigious for being underground. White and gold outline outline the area and it smells like expensive cigars and leather. Live jazz music plays in the background, setting the mood for the couples huddled together in love booths. It's nice, beyond nice— whose daddy paid for this?

In a red dress, you stir your gibson cocktail, awaiting the signal from your boss over the earpiece. It's already been an hour and there's been no sign of the suspect. Maybe you've been played. As time passes that seems more and more likely. At this point you were ready to turn in and call it a night. Places like this were no fun unless you had someone with you. And honestly, being alone in a place like this wasn't the most comfortable. There were eyes looking your way from singles and couples a like. Who knew there would be so many swingers.

There's a patterned knock at the door that makes you perk up and glance through your peripheral. The body guard looks through the slit in the door, moving to mention something about the password. The club was always tight on security, afterall. To get in you needed to prove you were coming with a member or waiting for someone who was one. The whole process is quite time consuming when you're faking your identity.

Finally, the door opens and you can see a tall man in a dark grey suit walk in. Curiously you turn your face to place your chin in the palm of your hand. Eyes travel up the figure before finally reaching the face of the mystery man. Not the suspect, but he's even better. A fond smile comes to your face at the realization of Daisuke Kambe. The name has a familiar taste on your tongue and it's honestly quite uplifting seeing such a 'friendly' face. He looks the same after three years and you wonder briefly if he's undercover too or if he has paid his way in. Daisuke was never frugal when it came to getting what he wants. Where he was lacking in words, he made up for it with expensive charm.

Oh how you had missed him.

Meeting his eyes, you raise both brows in question before turning away to down your drink. You push the glass to the bartender, holding a finger up before glancing over at daisuke, who sits in one of the booths across the room. He narrows his eyes at you in question, jutting his chin over to the bar before nodding to the door.

So he's on a mission afterall.

Your eyes shift to the door as well with a nod. He seems to understand well, but it's not a surprise after the time you worked together. It was a brief two years, but during it you learned to communicate in silence. His eyes told you much more than his mouth ever could. Now thinking of it, all the Kambes were better with actions than words.

—————

A few conversations have picked up after twenty more minutes of waiting. Perhaps if there wasn't another man in the area, the other's advances would have moved you. You weren't picky with your men, but you weren't one to settle for second place when first is still an option. Still, it kept you distracted for the time being. Besides, Daisuke looked was busy with a man himself.

You lean in, placing a hand on the chest of some patron with a giggle before the door opens once again. This time you're quick to look, seeing another man trail in. The static in your earpiece comes alive, the voice on the other side stating that it is in fact your target. The patron you were with turns his head as well and smiles before pardoning himself to shake the hand of the man. You briefly recall the suspects name: Vince Aiko.

Now the party was getting started. You wave them over, batting your eyes with a small smile. You don't miss the woman that walks in behind them, but she doesnt stop at the bar anyway. Instead, she heads over to the raven haired across the way. You resist the urge to follow her figure, instead keeping eyes on the two men and starting conversation.

—————

The goal was simple. Get the target alone and eliminate him. Usually you weren't one for death, but the police weren't helping in this case. The company you worked for took it into their own hands, given the okay. Even if it wasn't your task to kill him, someone else would. No jail time would follow as apart of the deal, so there were no repercussions against you for killing the scum. It's a win win.

The other man had gone to the restroom by now, leaving you alone with Vince. He smells lavish as well. It was clear he belonged here by the way his hair was combed back and how whitened his teeth were. He has money and it's not ruining out anytime soon.

It took you until he ordered a drink and didn't have to pay to realize he was the owner. The assumption that it was daddy's money grew stronger. He was outwardly trying to flex wealth he didn't even own. He wasn't trying to be subtle when he asked for the most expensive bottle or paid the band to play his favorite song. It was entertaining, yet disappointing. At least Daisuke spent the money without mentioning anything about it. At this point you just kinda wished the guy would shut up.

Placing a lingering touch on his shoulder, you lean in again. He smells like a new car. He places a hand on your upper thigh, quickly catching on to your advances.

"Why dont we go to the back."

It's not a question, it's a demand and it's exactly what you wanted. Right in the palm of your hands. With a giggle, you take his hand and stand while plucking the toothpick out of your glass and pulling the olive between your teeth smoothly. Walking past Daisuke and the woman at his booth, you wink.

The backroom looks like how it sounds. Behind another door and a pink curtains, you enter a red room. It has a single loveseat in the shape of a heart and there's champagne and wine on a side table. There's a dark blue light overhead that contrasts the rest of the room like a spotlight. There's no music except for the quiet hum behind the doors, but the further you go away from them the quieter they get. He takes your hand and pulls you to the loveseat.

"I'm can't say I'm surprised. My friend out there thought you were in to him, yet here we are... Is it the money that gets you going?"

His eyes trail over your figure and you understand what this room is for exclusively. You resist the urge to roll your eyes or push him off as his fingertips skim your arms and you play along.

"What can I say? Rich men are the sexiest."

You play with the collar of his suit, looking up at him through your lashes and parting your red lips. He stands up taller to glance down at you, trying to assert his dominance. It's sad knowing that's how he got off. He wants control and he wants you on your knees, the only other thing he could ask for at that point is for you to lick his dress shoes. It makes you sick.

His fingers stop at the thin strap on your dress, fiddling with it before starting to slide it down. You push him away and into the seat behind him. Taking a hold of his tie, you lean down to his ear to kiss underneath it.

"Why rush when I can give you a show."

He chuckles when you turn around and you roll your eyes. What an idiot. I almost want to laugh. You move your arms up, brushing your hair off your shoulders before reaching for the top of the zipper. Glancing at him with a smirk, you shake a finger and turn to face him. His fingers rake up his thighs, reaching out to touch you but you smack his hand away with a tsk.

"Lookie, no touchy."

You start to make a round behind the chair, fingers grazing his shoulders and pulling at the fabric. Once behind him and forcing his head forward you take out the earpiece and reach for your thigh. There's a gun there in the holster and a knife beside it, hidden by the red drapes. Thank god the for the slit. When rounding his other side you pull the firearm out and aim it at his temple, stabbing the knife into his thigh before he can jump up.

"Sit down, sicko. Don't try anything or I'll put a bullet through your skull."

You stick the earpiece into his ear, waiting for the receiving in to chime in.

"Who let you think a soundproof room was smart? It's like one of those double sided mirrors in here. Honestly, you're such an easy target."

His eyes glower at you like his expression alone will make you back down.

"You slut! I'm gonna kill yo-" He's cut off by the earpiece. They ask for information, stating that if he complys his life will be spared.

"I'm not stupid-"

"Beg to differ."

"-I know you'll just kill me anyway. I'm not telling you shit!"

The earpiece goes back off and you take it from his ear to listen to the other side. Two words is all you need to finish the assignment. Kill him.

"This could've been so much easier for you if you just listened. " You feign a pout, clicking the safety off. He struggles against the metal, rambling on about killing you and the company, finding you and blah blah blah. Having enough of his whines, you silence him with a quick pull of the trigger. You look down at the body on the floor and then at yourself, cleaning up quickly before leaving the room, making sure to step on his back in the process.

—————

There was maybe ten minutes before his bodyguards would notice he hasn't left the room. You go to make your leave, but not before stopping by Daisuke's booth. You stand a bit aways, watching him try to get information out of the girl before his eyes glance over to meet yours. A one-sided smirk creeps onto your face. He was never very shameless when it came to things he did and the way his eyes did a slow once over of your body was deliberate.

How you missed that look. It's the same bedroom eyes from the nights you spent together in the sheets. You start to wonder if the body under his shit looks the same and if his fingers still produced magic without even trying. Were his lips still as soft?

Now isn't the time for that. You narrows your eyes and go to slide into the booth beside the girl after you notice the disgusted look she gave you. Shame is her freshly manicured nails were to get messed up in a fight. Not that she was trying to pick one, but-

"Long time no see, Kambe."

Daisuke quirks a brow and gives you a warning look when the girl glances at him. You shrug, placing your head in your hand.

"You know her?"

"Of course he does! I miss the sex we shared every night."

He chokes on his drink, shaking his head. What has gotten into you? You're lucky he had finally gotten the break they needed in the case before you came over. Still, you were way out of line with that one.

"Y/N, this is Lily. Y/N was just kidding, we used to work together. "

When he scowls at you, it actually scares you because he means it. He could take you down with him if need be. He adjusts his suit jacket and clears his throat before continuing, "Thank you for your time, but I suppose i should get go-"

"Aiko's dead! Code red!"

Daisuke looks over with his tongue to his cheek as if to say you fucked up and you're not ever hearing the end of this if we get out alive. Honestly, he might just leave you behind if in sacrifice fkr the case. You shrug in innocence, already calling in help for an escape. Until then you'd have to fight them off. Apparently these dummies were smart enough to notice who Vince went in with and they are quick to lock eyes with you. And so did the rest of the club goers.

You make a move to get up, sliding out of the leather seat with hands in the air in surrender.

"Would you believe me if I said he did that himself?"

It starts with someone attempting to grab you before people go ducking under tables. All those grueling hours of training for really coming in handy now. You just barely miss the grabbing hands, taking the bottle of wine on the table and breaking it. Lily gasps at the shards, going to hide under the table as well and tugging on Daisuke to follow. You gesture the broken bottle about, thrusting it forward.

The men simply laugh and go for the kill. The bottle doesn't last long and you move away from the table for the fight.

Hell is broken loose and it isn't long before Daisuke resorts to joining the fight. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does. He punches one of the guys with a right hook, grabbing the collad of his shirt and throwinf him into another. For someone so weak looking, he sure was strong. It makws you swoon.

"I really do miss us, Daisuke. Just like old times."

He scoffs, continuing to fight beside you. He hates fighting and always has. He finds it undignified and perfers to just dodge and have them attack each other if he can't pay it off. But right now there was no room for negotiations.

"Now isn't the time to relive the past, y/n."

It stings, but you know it's true. Daisuke was the kind to get straight to the point. It's part of the reason he was so easy to work with. Suddenly, it makes you upset to realize that this was in the past.

You hear a car screech outside, trying to land one more punch on some bald guy before looking at the door. You tug at Daisuke's suit, practically dragging him towards the door before pulling out your gun and pointing it at the rest of the men standing. The hesitate. As much as they want to go after you, none of them want to die for it.

You push him to there door and nudge him to open it. There's a revved engine outside waiting for you, and apparently now another guest. He takes the hint, pushing the door open and taking the gun from your hands as you flee. There's one shot fired, but you know the victim won't die. He may seem heartless, but he wouldn't kill someone unlwss he had to. He knows when someone will save someone else and he knows what's in people's conscious. He had always been good at reading people when he cared enough to.

The night has turned from blue to black and you aren't sure when. It's suddenly too cold to wear the dress and it's starting to rain. This has really been one hellish night. The passenger waves you over from down the block in a hurry. There are sirens in the distance—they must've called the police to arrest everyone else involved. That's always how it went. They gave the company the ok to take the case and then come in to finish the job and take the credit because of the unsavory ways you deal with the suspects. If you weren't always in such a hurry and you didn't want to be arrested, you'd be pissed. With a huff you kick off your heels and run down the pavement with Daisuke hot on your trail. He didn't usually flee scenes like this, not anymore at least. He'd be lying if he didn't miss the rush of it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the past life he lived.

When you get to the care, it starts to pour and Daisuke puts his suit jacket over your head and shoulders before pushing you into the backseat. Caring, yet impatient. His attitude makes you roll your eyes and shove him when he gets in.

The car pulls away just before the police arrive and it's quiet except for the low hum of some tape playing. The radio didn't work and the volume knob was stuck, so you'd have to strain your ears to actually listen. But it seems no one minds.

You take off the jacket, handing it back of to him and he puts a hand up to say you can keep it. He says something along the lines of, "It'll still be raining when you get out. Give it back later." Is he insinuating you'll meet again?

"Or I can give it back tomorrow morning, if you feel like staying over. "

The sudden bravery shocks you and apparently it takes him aback as well by the look on his face. His face drops back to deadpan almost as fast as it lifted and he scoffs, looking away and out the window.

"I really do miss you, Daisuke. In more ways than one," you say quietly, looking down at the jacket and running the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. He glances back over at you before dropping his gaze to your hand and with a sigh he places his over your own and squeezes. It's a conformation, a returned feeling, but of what exactly —you aren't sure.

It'd be enough for tonight.

[lindorthedragonslayer]

Aerith/Cloud’s Resolution Scene ✨

Normally, I like just reading other people’s thoughts on things, but since this scene, and Aerith herself are so tragically underappreciated, I decided to contribute to the conversation myself. :)

Warning: “there will be monsters.” (I.e. there will obviously be spoilers for FFVII Remake, but also the original game - based on my vague childhood memories of it, anyhow - Advent Children, and defs some Clerith bias shining through, so if that ain’t your cup of tea, please scroll away~) 

This scene was one of my absolute FAVOURITES in the remake because - on top of it being both visually, and musically stunning, as well as amazingly well-acted - I felt like it showcased Aerith, and Cloud’s characters, and their dynamic SO incredibly well. 

⁑ On Aerith ⁑

First, there’s Aerith. At the start of the scene, Aerith is her usual spirited self. When Cloud asks if she’s okay, she immediately reassures him, telling him that being back at Shinra was like “going back to [her] childhood home,” that it wasn’t "that bad,” even though that was far from the truth. Similarly when Cloud informs her that her “mom’s really worried, too,” Aerith, true to form, latches onto the chance to further lighten up the mood by teasing him about the unsaid sentiment that he was also worried about her (although this unexpectedly backfires on her).

Time, and again, it is implied that Remake!Aerith knows details that she shouldn’t, and the outcome of events that haven’t transpired yet (maybe the Whispers showed her glimpses of the future like they did with Cloud, and co.?). So, I believe that it is her awareness of her tragic fate paired with her own grief over suddenly losing her mom, Zack - and now Elmyra, and her home, too -  that prompts her to deliver her hauntingly beautiful speech about cherishing the present moment, to express her heartfelt gratitude to Cloud for all the happiness he’d given her, and to say her iconic “you can’t fall in love with me” line. She knows perfectly well how devastating it is to suddenly lose someone precious to you, so she tries to find a way to both prepare Cloud for that seeming inevitability, and also prevent him from getting too attached to her, and experiencing the same profound sense of loss she has because of her. 

I think it’s so sad, yet beautiful how Aerith’s loneliness is at the very heart of so many of her words, and actions. Aerith is so spirited, and lively, so full of life, because, to her, the girl who suffered so many great, and sudden losses, each, and every moment is “so precious, and fleeting.” Because of her early childhood, she learned to find, and appreciate the little joys in life, and the good in the people around her - even, and especially when neither were immediately apparent. This sad, pure girl, who is so touched by people simply seeking her out to be with her, works so hard to ensure, and protect the happiness, and lives of those precious to her, even if it comes at the cost of her own. 

⁑ On Cloud ⁑

Then, there’s Cloud. In this scene, Cloud refuses to go along with Aerith’s charade: he calls her out on her “childhood home” lie; ignoring her teasing tone, he sincerely admits to being worried about her; and, he listens attentively to what she does honestly say, encouraging her to continue speaking, even when she’s uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

For the very first time in the story, the seemingly aloof Cloud actually takes a firm stance on something, and even fights for it. When Aerith tells him “not to fall in love with [her],” that his feelings for her “[aren’t] real,” Cloud responds with,  “Don’t I get a say in all this?” With this curt response, Cloud actually asserts himself for a change. Cloud, the boy who, up until now, never really bothered to correct anyone’s (often misguided) impressions of him, who repeatedly chose to drop matters, and distance himself instead. Who later has an identity crisis, and doubts whether, or not “Cloud Strife,” and all his thoughts, feelings, and memories are truly real, and his, and not something Sephiroth simply created. Right here, and now, for the very first time, Cloud interjects, gets annoyed, and stands up for himself when someone tries to decide how he feels, and keep him away.  

And then, Cloud, the boy who coped with social rejection all this time by setting himself apart, reacts to Aerith’s attempt to push him away by taking a page from Aerith’s own book: he holds his ground, and further inserts himself into her life. “I’m coming for you.” This quiet, but firm resolution of his marks the beginning of Cloud’s journey to becoming the hero, and person he always wanted to be, I think. Previously, Cloud simply, and begrudgingly went with the flow: while he helped Avalanche, Jessie, T*fa, and Aerith (because “he’s a merc,” and, a good guy at heart), he never offered his own input on matters, and always yielded to their decisions, even if he wasn’t too keen on it himself. However, taking Aerith back from Shinra was so immensely important to him; it was a cause he decided to fight for all on his own, regardless, and in spite of everyone’s (Aerith, Elmyra, T*fa, Barret’s) contrary stances on the matter, and a cause that he gradually started calling all of the shots for. By the end of the mission, and game, the others actually look to Cloud for direction on what to do next, cementing his role as the leader of their ragtag group.

⁑ On Cloud & Aerith/Clerith ⁑

Now what I’ve always loved about Aerith, and Cloud’s relationship with each other is that - whether you see it romantically, or platonically - their connection is based on an easy friendship that brought both of them so much happiness, comfort, courage, and strength. Their bond with each other wasn’t built on any epic, world-shattering event that brought them together, but rather on a thousand quiet, little moments that they chose to share together.    

For Aerith, who was weighed down by so much sorrow, and unwanted responsibility, Cloud was someone who gave her so much to smile, and fight for. With Cloud, she was able to just let loose, and really live: being with him allowed her to be her true cheeky, mischievous, and energetic self without any restraints; to adventure in, and be part of the outside world she longed for without fear. At the same time, Cloud inspired her to be a little more open, and vulnerable, as well as to face her Cetra heritage head on in order to save the Planet that he, and all her loved ones live on - two huge shifts for her as someone accustomed to hiding behind a smile, and turning away from trouble. 

Likewise, for Cloud, Aerith was someone who both accepted him for exactly who he was, while also inspiring him to be better. When presented with Cloud’s cold, and distant SOLDIER facade, Aerith wasn’t deterred in the slightest; in fact, she became even more determined to stick by his side, and get him to open up to her. Through her relentless teasing, silly antics, and steadfast friendliness, Aerith quickly broke down many of the walls Cloud built around himself, encouraging him to just be himself without any pretenses. After meeting Aerith, Cloud was inspired to do so many things he previously scoffed at, like taking a break, and being more actively involved with others. In Aerith’s company, Cloud was happy, and showed that he did actually care in his own awkward, clumsy way. However, Aerith didn’t “fix” Cloud with her love, nor did she make herself the centre of his universe: she simply stubbornly stayed by his side, which encouraged him to really appreciate, and rely on the people around him, work through his issues himself, and even save the Planet.   

All in all, I believe that Aerith, and Cloud’s resolution scene perfectly captured every aspect of their relationship together. As usual, they’re initially shown directly across from each other, gazes locked, but choosing to close the distance between them. It’s a quiet moment where nothing particularly major, or dramatic happens - even the music is quiet, and gets quieter still at its climax. Yet, there’s so much love evident in every little moment, and gesture they make: they inspire honesty in each other, give each other the motivation to face another day, and once again make their desire to be together for just a little bit longer so heartbreakingly obvious. Furthermore, Cloud’s later claims about being someone who cherishes everything, and being okay because he isn’t alone anymore are so reminiscent, I think, of Aerith’s monologue here, proving that he really did take her words to heart.  

Despite the game’s purposeful ambiguity in the romance department (lest they make multiple version of the same scene, or have Cloud come off as a player), it is still clear that, as friends, or lovers (this part is up to personal interpretation, and preferences), Cloud, and Aerith’s bond with one another is one that brought them so much happiness, and strength, making it one of the most precious ones they have. In a game that heavily highlights contrasts, Cloud, and Aerith are an example of how opposite personalities can complement each other so well, making it all the more beautiful, and tragic. That’s what I believe, anyway. 

[dabblescrawl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Part One

Request by @ratatata-ah While Oscar is incarcerated, the reader took care of Cesar and when Oscar gets out he and the reader (Monse’s cousin) meet for the first time.  Oscar quickly becomes infatuated with the reader and invites her to his “welcome home” party to get to know her more.  The reader is shy and Oscar is very flirtatious trying to get her to open up more.  Long story short, the series could be about Oscar falling in love with the reader 

Monse and her crew had been friends since birth it seemed.  In truth, I suppose it was grade school when they were all kinders and the rag-tag group had formed.  Monse, always her style, had been the outspoken one who took quickly to learning.  Cesar had kept up with her academically and they had often found themselves in the same groups assigned by their teachers.  The pair’s quick wit and blunt personalities had matched right away.  Cesar was also a protector.  Even as small children Ruby and Jamal had been in need of that.  And so the small group of wildly different perspectives had formed.  

Sitting in the Diaz house now watching them argue about the rules for Clue, I rolled my eyes.  Their little group seemed to conflict more than they agreed, and yet the soon to be high schoolers seemed tight as ever.  Often when you were watching them spend time together like this you were slightly jealous of their tight bond.  Despite any bickering or arguments, the group always had each other’s backs.  They protected and supported one another.  The world be damned and destroyed if it tried to hold down any one of the four.

Many times I’d wished my friendships were like that.  Of course they weren’t.  Sure I had friends but I am a continuous giver without much reciprocation.  I am a part of several friend groups due to my kind spirit and personality, but none of those groups ever felt like my own, not the way the Core 4 belonged to each other.  It probably was related to my hesitant and unsure nature when it came to sharing myself with others.  It was easier to be a yes woman and do what was asked of me than build any personal connections.

Shaking away the thoughts of self pity and jealousy, because those never resulted in anything good, I elected to see what was still in the fridge from my last shopping trip.  Opening the door I saw a few things but nothing of substance left.  I nodded to myself, grabbing the keys off the countertop and heading towards the door.

“I’m going to the store,” I announced, my words unheard over the game, “Ay!” I shouted over their voices to try again.  Four sets of eyes trained on me.  “Cesar and Monse, any requests from the store for food this week?” Both preteens shook their heads negative.  “Ok, well I’m going now then, and then when I get back…”

“Everybody better get their asses outside to help carry it in.” They answered.

I nodded, “And then everybody is going home,”  which was answered by 4 sets of eye rolls.  “Eh, eh, it’s a school night,” four more nods.  “Last call on requests because…”

“I’m only going once” they echoed again, cutting me off.

“Awww,” I replied sweetly tugging at Monse’s check who was closest to me, “I have trained you so well.” I giggled and headed out the door as the bickering started again.

The mothering thing had come naturally to me, but I guess that was to be expected, I had raised myself from a young age.  When Uncle Monty first started long hauls he was only gone overnight and I’d gone to stay with Monse.  But the money was better and I was free anyways so nights turned to weekends, and weekends, turned to weeks, and those weeks were sometimes continuous.  I’d lived there through most of high school and simply stayed after I graduated three years ago.  I’d always been able to go out on a limb for either Monse or Cesar and be more assertive, but when it came to myself that was a skill I lacked.

After Cesar’s brother had gotten locked up, he’d been a mess.  How was a 10 year old kid supposed to take care of himself?  And the truth was, he wasn’t.  In fact, it was by some miracle at all that he’d been overlooked and allowed to continue to live outside of the foster system himself.  And I intended to keep him that way.  Sure, he was alone a lot, but the Core 4 and myself also tried to have him around as much as possible.  So really, he wasn’t alone all that much more than you or Monse.  The thought of foster care just did too much to disrupt his life so you’d made it your mission to make sure it didn’t happen to either of them.

Pulling the coffee off the pot and pouring it into the cup I slid my phone out of my pocket and speed dialed 2.  “Hello” came the groggy voice on the other end.  

“Morning, sleepy head” he smiled into the phone, “Have you taken a shower yet?”  The voice mumbled an affirmative.  “What’d you have for breakfast?” The voice slurped into the phone as if to answer the question.

Mouth clearly full, the answer was garbled, “Cereal”.

I nodded to myself, “Brushed your teeth?”

“YES MOM” was answered from the frustrated half yell.

“Listen here friend,” I started, “it’s a call or a visit, you want your mornings to yourself you just answer.” 

“I know” Cesar conceded, “I have to get dressed so I’ll be ready when everybody gets here.  

“Have a great day, learn something new, and…be good” we finished in unison.  “Bye, companero”

“Bye”

I hung up and took the first deep gulp of piping hot coffee.  Ok, one down, one to go.  I marched off towards Monse’s room where I completed almost the same routine with much more resistance from Monse than Cesar had given me.  The teen years were going to be fun.

With everyone off to school you hurried around to tidy up the house, finish getting ready for work, and barely made it out the door on time.

Monse had just left for writing camp for the summer.  For the first time in a long time, there wasn’t a kid in the house for you to take care of.  You’d picked up extra shifts, carefully scheduling them when Cesar should be asleep or with friends so that he wouldn’t be alone all the time.  

As seemed to be my norm, I had done some favors for my friends this morning and was completely behind when I had wanted to leave.  I texted Cesar apologizing and letting him know I would make a late lunch, instead of noon as we had planned.  No response yet, I hoped he hadn’t decided to eat without me. 

I hurried to finish getting ready and chose to leave the house with soaking wet hair.  I mean Cesar has seen me before, no need to waste anymore time getting prepped, we were just having lunch.

I pulled into the drive and noticed quite a few more cholos in the yard.  I frowned, that’s weird, sometimes different homies come around to check on Cesar, but never this many.  Something had to be going on.

I stepped out of the car and headed for the house.  Opening the door I yelled for Cesar, “Hey, Cesar, just me.  I’ll get lunch started!” I made my way into the kitchen without really taking a look around, “Also, what’s going on, there’s like a bunch of people outside.”  I pulled the ingredients for lunch from the cabinets and the fridge with ease, after all it’s not my first time cooking here.

“Uh, Y/N” Cesar said, seemingly hesitant near the fridge.

“What’s up dude” I smiled and continued about my business.

“And who do you think you are?” a deep, booming, voice came from behind where Cesar stood. 

I turned and my jaw dropped to see Cesar’s older brother Spooky behind him.  Blinking a few times, I gathered myself.

“Uh, hi, Spooky” I started, then gained a little more confident and raised my voice above a whisper, “You probably don’t know me, I am Monse’s cousin, Y/N.” You paused as the information didn’t seem to answer his question, his face hard and betrayed no emotion.  “Um, I have been watching out for Cesar since you’ve been gone.” I finished.  

“Yeah, Oscar, she’s been awesome.  She checks on me every day, and does the grocery shopping, and well most of the cooking too.” Cesar started his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Monse’s cousin?” he asks.

I nod, “Yeah, my mom is Uncle Monty’s, that’s Monse’s dad, sister.  I didn’t move to Freeridge full time until she died” I shrugged, it was old news. 

He nodded as if taking in this new information.  “Well thanks for taking care of my mano'' he said, placing his hand on Cesar’s shoulder.

“Now I get why everyone is outside” I answered, turning back to the food, “well” I said clicking my teeth and surveying the contents of the fridge.  “I don’t think I have what we need to serve everybody. But I can do lunch for the three of us.”  I said turning back to the Diaz brothers and waving my pointer finger in a circle at each of us and each nodded in turn.

“Give me like” I made a calculating face waving my hands in that little up down motion for about “20 minutes and it’ll be on the table.  Give or take.” I amended my previous statement.  

When I finished lunch, I laid it out on the table and mostly listened to Cesar detail to Spooky everything that had gone on since he’d been locked up.  There was a lot to catch up on in Cesar’s life, and that of the block.  Mostly I was quiet but every now and then Cesar would turn to me for a detail or I’d prod him about a subject that he’d forgotten to include.  Spooky would look at me intently each time I did speak and I couldn’t figure out the look he was wearing when he did.  

After lunch I cleaned up and was headed for home.  “Ay, Y/N” Spooky stopped me before I left for the afternoon.  “We’re having a party tomorrow night.  Beers on me, thanks for taking such good care of Cesar.”

Standing in your room you weren’t quite sure what you should wear.  Parties weren’t really your thing after all.  The concept was always appealing but the practice was always less than desirable.  At the time that you had accepted it had sounded like a fine idea and now you weren’t really looking forward to it at all.  You weren’t even sure you’d know anyone there at all except Spooky.  Well and possibly Cesar, but, the idea of drinking with a nearly 14 year old made your motherly, legal, brain uncomfortable.  You laughed at yourself, because a Santos party was the place to be concerned about legality. 

Sighing and looking back at your bed you decided to play eeny meeny miney mo with yourself.  If you didn’t choose soon you’d chicken out entirely.  I wanted to try to be a little more adventurous and also I had told Spooky I would be there, if I don’t go it’s like backing out on a promise.  In the end you ended up with a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a strappy but flowy tank.  My hair isn’t usually as unruly as Monse’s, but today I had no such luck.  I threw it in a couple of tight braids and hurried to put on some make up.  I looked at myself in the mirror on my door as I tied my converse.  Close enough, I thought.

When I got to the Diaz house I was grateful for 3 things, my outfit allowed me to stay relatively cool and comfortable even in the California summer evening, I had chosen to walk because the curb was packed with cars, and Cesar was right out front.  If it hadn’t been for his catching my eye, I probably would have turned around before ever stepping foot into the party.  There were a lot of people here, like A LOT of people.

Cesar had taken me to the backyard as he’s been instructed by Spooky and cracked open my choice of beers.  I was both afraid to drink too much and too socially awkward not to get a little liquor courage in my veins.  “Next, stop, Spooky” Cesar announced.

“What?” I asked eyebrows furrowed.

“He said he wanted to know when you got here, he was by the DJ last time I saw him” Cesar turned and began snaking through the people in the yard and a beat or two later I was following him.

Read Part Two Here

[wovensentinel]

It's a quiet moment in the mist of the woods. Hornet sits in the grass under a tree, quiet and still. She's waiting. She's been followed through this whole quest so far, something she's been under the impression she'd do alone. But she's caught enough glances of something small dashing past her in the bushes, just too far away in the fog for her to see clearly. She's waiting for it to appear again.

Almost on cue, Hornet hears small footsteps from behind the tree she's sitting by. "Stop," she says, and the footsteps stop. Hornet dares not move closer, for fear of scaring it off.

"What do they call you?" Hornet asks, recieving no response. "Do you have a name?" She continues.

"...No," a small voice replies. In that moment, Hornet suddenly understands. That voice is far too familiar for her to not recognize. As sparsely as it was used at that age, Hornet knows. This is her voice. No, more than that. This is her younger self’s voice.

“...How old are you, small one?” She asks, unsure if she wants to know the answer.

“I’m nine,” the smaller version of herself says. Hornet sighs. She’s not that old yet.

“My name is Hornet,” her older self says. “Do you want to come out from behind the tree and see me?” Young Hornet makes a noise, one that Older Hornet knows to mean “no” or perhaps “I can’t.”

“That’s alright,” she says. “Have you been in this realm long? Do you know where you are?”

“No... I think I got lost...”

Hornet stands. “If you follow me, I can help you find your way home. I’ll lead you right there.” From what she understands, this must be a trick of the Stars’. It must have something to do with her current quest... Once she completes it, Young Hornet must go home.

Hopefully.

“Do you trust me?” Hornet asks. She doesn’t receive a verbal response from her young self, but she does see the blurred form behind the mist stand and emerge from behind the tree- if still just too far to make out entirely.

They continue on for a while in some silence, Hornet fighting off the clones they come across as they do... and realizing her younger self is dealing with the same. But... at that age, she wouldn’t have known to fight...

“Do you wield a nail, young one?” She asks after combat.

“No,” Young Hornet says. “But I’ve seen, uh, big bugs do it.” Hornet can’t help her smile.

“Would you like to learn to fight someday?”

“Yes!” The little one exclaims. “I want to grow up and become big and strong just like Mother!” Hornet sees her small form dance around, making cool poses with what appears to be a stick.

And, she has to wonder... Is this what she wanted in her youth? If she could still have the same young perspective now, would she be awed by her current self? She already knows it must be different in at least some ways. She remembers wanting to be trained properly, becoming a knight under the King and surpassing her mother in strength... becoming a well renowned warrior, full of pride and praise. Instead, her path was formed under worse conditions. She wishes she was half as fortunate as her fantasies.

The two continue even further onward, their path eventually being blocked by not one, but several Ofiuclones. This is... more than Hornet is used to. Had she her thread, she could tie them up, disarm a few before taking care of the others. She’s been so hindered without her full capabilities, and since even the incident with the diamonds, it’s been stinging more than usual. She’s become so used to a more domestic life, she hasn’t realized how weak she’s growing in combat, and-

Her thoughts are cut off by two things: a terrible buzzing feeling in her back, and a yelp from her younger self. Hornet stumbles, tripping and falling to the ground. It occurs to her now she hadn’t been actually getting hit in combat until now. It wasn’t physical pain for her, more of a sudden jolt, but from the way her young self reacted, she isn’t sure if it’s the same for her.

Hornet flips onto her back, finding herself being cornered by the clones. Something in her stomach sinks, a feeling of hopelessness replacing it. Death is impermanent here, and she’s sure these clones can’t even inflict that much, but...

“I- I’m sorry,” she calls to her young self. “I can’t do it... I failed you. I can’t get you home. I’m sorry...”

“Of course you can!” Young Hornet calls back. It’s the most assertive she’s ever heard herself. “You have to! You’re the only one who can!”

“I...”

“I know you,” Young Hornet continues. “I know how strong I’m going to be now... I believe in myself. I believe in you! I know... I know you’re everything I want to be!”

Hornet is stunned, but only for a moment. Then, steeling herself, she reaches for her needle. She kicks at one clone, knocking it backward, and makes it to her feet. She then dashes past two more clones, stabbing her needle through the one nearest the back, and as the other two approach in a straight line, she takes a breath- and then tosses her needle, passing straight through the two like targets.

The woods fall silent.

Hornet pauses, panting. She did all that with just her needle. Maybe... maybe she truly is more capable than she thought.

“...Are you hurt, small one?” She asks after a moment.

“No,” Young Hornet says. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Hornet replies. “I... must thank you for your words of encouragement. I wish I could truly accept your praise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must think of me as exactly what you wanted to be, don’t you?” She smiles sadly. “Knighted under the King, full of glory and passion... I wish I could say such was the case. I... I wish I was forged under such pleasant conditions. I wish I... I wish I could be what you wanted.”

“...You are what I want.”

“What?”

“I don’t care how you become a fighter. I don’t care how I become a fighter. I just want to be as strong as you. I can’t do what you did, but... now I know I will be able to.”

“I thought you wanted to be as strong as Mother?” Hornet says.

“You are as strong as Mother!”

Hornet laughs.

“...Thank you,” she says. “Thank you... Hornet.” She walks past the disabled Ofiuclones and picks up her needle, sheathing it. “Now, how about we get you home?”