#Smalls - Departure - 17

[jtl-fics]

as of me writing this, dilf wymack is at 90 points. will he move on the scale in the next installment?

asking for more smalls au to find out

WIP Wednesday - Closed (9/13/23) | Smalls AU

"Do you see anything you like?" Wymack asks having set his menu down.

"I saw what I can only describe as one of the worst things I have ever seen." Janie says with complete seriousness.

"The pun for their 'health bowls'?" Wymack offers a guess.

Janie looks at the pages and sees 'Irresit-a-bowls', "That's bad but no this is worse. The..." she wishes she could have cultural distance from even saying the words she was about to say but alas, she was now an American, "....Quesadilla Burger." she says.

"You're shitting me." Wymack says picking the menu back up. "What the fuck is that." he questions.

+10 DILF points.

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[sneakyboymerlin]

It’s a shame that the core four’s ages are never confirmed in canon. Arthur’s age is the best we get, and even then, it’s not that simple.

The dragon was captured exactly 20 years before Merlin came to Camelot. This means that Arthur is certainly over the age of 20 in 1x01. I’d argue that he should be over the age of 21 if the Purge had not only been going on for some time, but had already progressed into Kilgharrah’s capture by that point 20yrs prior.

If we take each episode as ~1 month (making each season ~1 year long), then Arthur’s birthday being in 1x09 would indicate about 9 months’ difference from 1x01, meaning that — if Arthur is 20 here — he was born only 3 months prior to the dragon’s capture.

This would mean that it only took 3 months for Uther to 1) wage his war, 2) escalate it so severely that Balinor summoned Kilgharrah to make peace with Uther, and 3) manage to capture Kilgharrah in chains specially designed to keep a dragon. This is incredibly unlikely.

I propose that Arthur is actually 21 in 1x01, giving Uther ~1 year and 3 months to wage war and orchestrate Kilgharrah’s capture.

From there, we can guesstimate Merlin’s age, since his birth is a direct result of this event. 20 years prior to 1x01 is when the dragon was captured, and so too was Merlin’s father. Then, he would have spent a period of at least a few months or 1+ years in Ealdor (long enough for him to fall in love with Hunith, and enough to never love another woman like that ever again). Then, he left Ealdor before he could discover Hunith’s pregnancy (i.e. she was not showing).

Accounting for the time Balinor spent in captivity, then the time spent in Ealdor, and of course the 9 months of pregnancy (which would have had some overlap, but small enough that Hunith was not showing), we get a period of at least one year, possibly even 2 years, after the dragon’s capture (again, exactly 20 years before the events of 1x01).

Subtracting 1 year, or 2, or whichever number we decide is most realistic from that 20 year figure, Merlin could be any of a wide range of ages in 1x01. At the oldest, he is a little over 1 year younger than Arthur (21 - 1.5 = 19.5). The youngest he could be is ~16 (based on appearances and relative age, since the numbers alone don’t place a limit on his minimum age) but it’s safe to say he’s at least 17 when he leaves Ealdor. So, 18 or 18 and a half would make for a functional average.

There is little to go off of for the Smiths, but Gwen is likely to be somewhere right between Merlin and Arthur’s ages since she has romantic plot-lines with both. She is likely ~19 in 1x01, older or younger depending on which figures we’re using. Elyan is implied to be younger than Gwen in 5x06 (when he says that Gwen “practically raised [him]”), so he may be Merlin’s age or younger. Only tangentially related, but Gwen says in 3x07 that it’s been 4 years since Elyan left. This places his departure ~6 months prior to 1x01.

As for Morgana, her age is dependent on when Uther slept with Morgana’s mother. Gorlois was off in battle when this happened, so it may have been post-Purge. However, because Morgana’s magic is an inherited trait (as it is with her sister, Morgause) and she and Morgause have the same mother but not the same father, this makes the magic a matrilineal trait in their family. It is highly unlikely that Morgana’s mother — a woman with innate magic — would have slept with Uther during the Purge. It was likely pre-Purge, and at least a year before Arthur’s birth.

Furthering the latter possibility, Uther having a child out of wedlock would be the evidence he needs to confirm the reason he has no child with his own wife (only his best friend’s wife): Ygraine is the infertile one. (Uther, on the other hand, is a little too fertile for his own good).

Compiling the timelines of these events, with enough time passing for the conception of Morgana to be realized, enough time for Gaius to persuade Nimueh to help Uther and Ygraine conceive, and enough time for Ygraine to complete a full 9 month pregnancy, we’re looking at a minimum of ~1 year and a half, but probably 2+ years if Uther and Ygraine looked into other (ineffective but time-consuming) fertility options first (via Gaius?).

Therefore, Arthur and Morgana might have a good 2 years between them. If Arthur is 21 in 1x01, then Morgana is probably ~23.

So my best guesses for 1x01 ages are:

Morgana: 22-23

Arthur: 21

Gwen: 19-20

Merlin: 18-19

Elyan: 16-18

[tehrevving]

Did you have a scenario of Vincent getting condoms? The idea of this tall brooding man purchasing is funny.

You know what Anon, I hadn’t actually thought of a scenario when I wrote that chapter, but it sounds like fun, let’s do it! (Tumblr exclusive for now. I’ll get this on Ao3 eventually lol)

18+, with spoilers for Chaos Theory Chapter 17.

It is far too close to the planned departure time when Cid finally relents and stops arguing. The man’s insistence on always needing to have the last word made the entire navigation discussion an utter nightmare. Eventually Vincent had just walked out, heading down the airstairs without saying a word. He has things to do, well one important thing that he needs to do before departure, though he is extremely reluctant to actually go through with it. 

He’s still somewhat blindsided about what had happened last night. He hadn’t planned on taking his clothes off and showing you everything that he’d been hiding. He hadn’t expected your reaction, kissing across his scars instead of reacting with repulsion or disgust. He can’t stop thinking about how good your hands and lips had felt on his body. You had brought his monsters to the surface, instinct simmering just underneath his skin. He had been able to handle it, everything had been fine, until you had soaked his chest and turned him into an animal. 

He had almost lost control and it’s not good enough. He had been so close to giving in. Somehow, he’d ended up with the head of his cock rubbing bare against your folds. You had been so wet for him, slick, hot and desperate. You had been begging verbally for him to fuck you, and your body had been recklessly trying to pull him inside. He can’t suppress the shudder that shoots down his spine, suddenly feeling a cold chill in the hot, coastal heat as he remembers everything. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to resist you, how he’s supposed to stop thinking about you. He doesn’t understand how you make him lose control, or why he doesn’t seem to mind when you cause it. 

He needs to be prepared, he needs to have options. You have previously mentioned having a materia, but just a mention is not enough. He is not going to make assumptions or take unnecessary risks. He is sure that you have also made preparations, but he can’t rely on that either. 

So, reluctantly, Vincent enters the first pharmacy that he comes across, to buy condoms. 

The woman behind the counter stares as he walks in, her head craned back to look up at him. Her eyes widen as they follow his attire and take in his general strangeness. He tries to relax his shoulders, he doesn’t want her to think he might be dangerous. 

“E-excuse me Sir,” she stammers, managing to find her voice half way through a practised spiel. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Vincent replies dismissively, walking straight past her. He hates that he was rude, but he will not see her again. He does not have time or the patience to make small talk. 

The aisles are labelled with the ridiculous, standard font for this era. He can read it of course, but the typeface is looped, slanted and difficult for him to understand at a glance. Frustration fills him, but he quickly finds what he is looking for, the aisle labelled ‘family planning.’ He tries to not let his disgust for the term show on his face. 

There is far more choice than he was expecting. His eyes scan over an overwhelmingly large assortment of boxes, the brands unfamiliar to him. He sighs, he had hoped this would be straight forward. He remembers the brand that he used to buy, from a past life far too long ago, but of course that no longer exists. 

He scans the aisle, surprised at the assortment. Flavoured. He wonders if you would prefer for him to taste like—his lip curls with distaste—banana or strawberry. Definitely not.

His eyes find a box in the next row, the words ‘extra lubricated’ written in large font on the packaging. He gives a small smirk underneath his cowl. That certainly will not be required. If anything, he may encounter the opposite problem, but he’s not concerned, he will just use his tongue to remove any excess if you end up too slippery. He forces himself to look back at the aisle and focus. He does not have time to be distracted by thoughts of your taste.

There are multiple boxes advertising patterns, boasting that they are, ‘ribbed for her pleasure.’ He is not familiar with those. Would that even be pleasurable for a woman? He’s not sure, but then you had enjoyed his glove last night, so maybe there is some merit. He considers purchasing some, but then decides it would be strange. He is perfectly capable of pleasing you without any external aid, and does not want to imply otherwise. 

He keeps looking, eyes glazing past words like, ‘tingling,’ ‘long lasting’, and ‘minty.’ Modern people truly are degenerates. Finally, right at the bottom, where he has to bend at the knees to be able to inspect them, he finds normal ones. He selects a smaller sized box advertising a reasonable amount of lubrication and a larger than average length. That will do. This has all already wasted too much time. 

The woman at the counter gives him an extremely funny look as she rings up his purchase. He supposes he can forgive her. He probably does look ridiculous, an inhuman monster purchasing condoms. Her eyes narrow when he pays with coins instead of the plastic cards that everyone now seems to use. She struggles to count the change for him, the world truly has gotten worse in his absence. 

He walks back towards the Bronco, squinting in the sunlight, new purchase weighing heavy in his pocket. The sunlight is harsh, burning at the pale skin of his face. He disappears as much as he can into his cowl. It is still uncomfortable being outside, even though he has managed to grow more used to it over the past few months. 

He spots Barret as he turns the corner to head to the dock. The man beckons Vincent over and he sighs, tempted to just keep walking past the man staring daggers at him from behind dark sunglasses. 

“If you hurt her,” Barret grunts, gesturing towards the plane with his head. “I’ll shoot you.”

The man is clearly serious. “Noted,” Vincent replies. He appreciates Barret’s protectiveness but it is not required. If anyone ever hurts her, even accidentally, well, Vincent was a Turk, he knows how to make people disappear. 

Thankfully, Barret dismisses him with a wave of his gun arm. Vincent walks past him, thankful the conversation had not been excessively painful. 

Vincent walks down to the dock and immediately sees you, standing underneath one of the plane’s broken wings speaking to Aerith. You are even prettier today than you had been yesterday, eyes bright and clear. Vincent can see the pleasure he gave you last night in the relaxed set to your shoulders, and the slight twitch of your thighs as your legs move, it fills him with a selfish pride. 

Your face lights up when you catch sight of him and you wave. He pauses as you walk over to him. You stop in front of him, looking up at him with those sweet eyes and a soft smile. He wants to pull you into his arms, but he stops himself, though he can feel some of the tension leave his shoulders now that he’s close to you.

“Can you help Aerith and I reach something?” you ask, voice sweet before you trail off. “We’re both too short,” you pout. 

He nods, hiding a smile behind his cowl, though he thinks you can see through his hidden expression. He could never deny you anything.

“Thanks,” you smile, turning around with a wave of your hand, a gesture for him to follow. He falls into step behind you, immediately distracted by the sway of your hips and the curve of your ass. He is going to have you tonight, even if he has to stage a commotion to get you alone.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

pspspspspsps here kitty kitty kitty (Joking,... now you laugh) ....

Italian, Fem!Reader, that had traveled briefly to the village, to sell some books, movies, and whatnot -- just to grant the vilagers some sense of like.. the outside world? If that makes sense?

Reader, having already timed their escape, decides to go to that peculiar house up on the hill, across the bridge, before their departure, -- maybe the residents, who, Reader thought, was an old couple, or a very wealthy woman, .. maybe even one of those trust-fund families.. yes! Reader BET that the inhabitant of a place so grand would spend a pretty penny on some foreign knowledge.. maybe, Reader could even upsell. Yes! That would be enough to pay off Readers risky carriage fees.. (nervous laughter)

Reader, ignoring all darkness, all red flags and blatant signs of danger, because, well, Reader is very oblivious, and very optimistic, -- and, well, they barely know English, so, .. how would Reader know what the villagers say about the owner of said.. Oh-so large mansion? Pfft. As if.

'Oh.. its getting dark. Jeez, the trees sure do make this place gloomy!' 'Uhhhh.. why do i have a blaring sense of discomfort, nausea, unease, and a will of fright that makes my stomach churn with instinct to yeet myself the opposite direction? Oh, man, i knew i shouldnt have eaten that un-refrigerated fruit!'

Angie, if i remember that dollies name correctly, answers .. takes one look at Reader, in all of their 'Italian-beauty-standard-fitting', 'italian-book-carrying', 'Donna-language-speaking' glory (Donna language speaking because.. Italian. That was also a joke. Plz laugh), and immidiately, with that screechy voice calls Donna over

Donna fucking FAAAWNNNSSS over everything Reader has, buys their entire stock, then, out of pure gushy-ness, of how nostalgic, and amazing, and flavourful (meaning, how much stuff that Donna was desperately searching for, Reader has in stock) Readers 'for-sales' are, that she, spur-in-the-moment, ushurs Reader inside, makes them tea and whatnot,

well.. so much for Readers plan of escape. Poor bus-maid Reader hired, they thought, as they sat awkwardly beside the lady in black, veiled thickly, who was talking in Italian, since, well, Reader has little to no knowledge of english. Atleast shes also Italian. Thats nice. Wait.. why does Reader feel their cheeks heating up? Gosh, darn it, Reader has read (aha) far too many romance books.

Make it so that, since Reader, who, now, cant escape the Village, since their little plans of flight had been SPOILEDD!! (reference. Chuckles) they stay with Donna, then, after awhile, after teaching Donna everything they know about Italy, and get really comftorable with her, and sees her without her veil on accident, and cooks traditionally, does fucking .. house chores, because, well, they're an unpaying guest in a strangers home, they both start catchin' feelsies and all that sweet stuff. I'll leave the deciding of when and how to you! How generous of me!

(No smut, please. Aroace look'enne for sum intimate, not-so-intimate love. Aha. Joke again. Just a little giggle, please 😨)

Hope ya have an amazing day!! Yes, i know im too descriptive, im just awesome like that. Much apreesh, Anon. 💗

(p.s, thank u blusy 🫂🫂🫂 virtual hugs from italy. ciao bbg.. or.. bbb.. i dont .. i dunno)

Yesss!!!! Well, that was quite long request, but it was funny to write!!! Thank you for sending it and for your funny words!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language(s) mistakes!!!!

Foreign Business

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Italian! Reader

Warnings: fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,585

Summary: Should you leave that gloomy village?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

“17:30, do you hear me?” the young woman driving the small bus said.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, picking up your stuff.

“I don't think it will… How do you say… take long,” you murmured with an innocent smile, taking out your suitcase as best you could, letting it fall into the snow.

“Hey, stranger,” the girl said, with a gloomy look. “You have to pay me now.”

“Cosa? No, I'll pay you when I get back,” you said with a frown, crossing your arms.

“I'm leaving,” the girl whispered, starting the vehicle again.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! No, no, no…” you said comically running towards the small bus. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Look stranger, it's clear that you have no idea of what’s going on in this place, right?” the driver asked, with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head and smiled innocently.

“Hey, I was invited,” you protested confused, giving up and taking out your wallet.

“Who has invited you?” she wanted to know.

“I have a relative in this country who is also a businessman,” you explained, putting on your coat because of the cold. “He says he is known as… The Duke.”

The girl looked at you curiously, but finally shook her head.

“No idea…” she murmured. “Besides, that doesn’t matter to me. My job is to bring you here and take you back to Bucharest. If for… Well, for whatever reason you don’t come back, I’ll be left without my money, do you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” you asked nervously, looking down the hill, where the old village stood in a frozen mist. “I'm just going to sell my stuff and…”

“You bore me,” the driver sighed, with a mocking laugh that made you burn with rage. “Just pay me now, spaghetti.”

“Mm, politeness is not your best virtue, is it?” you murmured, wishing to say other things, other not-so-elegant words.

After all, that stupid girl was your only transportation in that place in the middle of nowhere… You should control your desire to insult her with all your might.

“I'd rather be rude than stupid,” the young woman laughed, extending her hand for you to give her the money you were holding, squeezing it tightly.

“Ugh, here, your money,” you grumbled, getting a satisfied look from the driver, who turned off the engine, reclining her seat and picking up a magazine.

“A pleasure doing business with you, spaghetti...” she sighed with a sinister laugh.

You, without her seeing you, made fun of her, angrily picking up your suitcase and walking towards the path where you had met with the Duke.

“Stupida...” you hissed, shaking your head, observing the landscape around you.

The trip had been exhausting. Dodging the mountains, those snowy landscapes had taken you too much time, but, that seemingly remote place had a special charm that made it worth it.

You were always a saleswoman, descendant of a family of merchants that expanded throughout old Europe decades ago. Sell, buy, repeat… That was your way of life. Trading in the villages of your country, Italy, was something simple for you, perhaps too simple.

The lack of interest of people in the modern world for something as simple as books, films, or any element of culture, had caused your business to falter, and you had no more than four clients in your area.

You always believed in tradition, in following the family legacy, even when circumstances were not in your favour. You could say that you were also a bit stubborn. Your family branched out to all possible places, places like France, Germany, Spain…

They all seemed to be haunted by the same curse, the same lack of interest in a good book, in knowledge itself.

But there was one place, a place where the tentacles of your family had arrived to stay for a long time, a place where the past lived, where present and future seemed not to exist at all.

A distant relative, the Duke, was for you the luckiest member of the family. Not even your parents knew how long that man had been in that village, in Romania. There were even rumors that he never came, that he never left, he had always existed.

Nonsense and legends in your opinion.

What you did know was that in that place, there were some business opportunities.

You had heard many things about the Duke, about the place where he worked. Apart from old superstitions and legends of witches and vampires, things you didn't believe in, you had heard that the people of the place lived completely oblivious to the outside world.

A unique opportunity. How much would a person pay to know what the world around them was like?

You didn't really care much about the reasons, those strange rumors. You didn't even wonder why that village seemed to be frozen in time. The only thing you thought about when you got on that plane was business.

“Qui...” you sighed when you reached that meeting point the Duke marked.

Without having anything else to do but wait, you sorted your merchandise while you studied the snowy forest that surrounded you, trying to decipher the old wooden signs that indicated illegible directions.

“Re-Reser-Reservoir...” you stammered, removing the snow from one of those signs, looking around. “Un bacino idrico?” you asked, scratching your head. “Mm, interessante...”

Yes, maybe if you finished soon you could do some sightseeing and, above all, you could see the enormous castle that seemed to guard the village.

The minutes passed, you couldn't tell if quickly or slowly. Nothing, there was no sign of the Duke. You might not have known what he looked like, but… In reality, you hadn't seen anyone pass by that path.

The cold began to mix with impatience, making you shiver.

“Ah!” you shrieked when, out of nowhere, a flock of black crows appeared, passing over you, close, too close.

Those black birds seemed like an evil omen, but you were too eager to know that place to realize it. Simply, with a proud cough, you stood up from your crouched position, shaking the snow off your dress.

“Uccelli…” you growled furiously, watching how that flock of crows moved away with sinister sounds.

Checking that your merchandise was still intact, you closed your suitcase, crossing your arms, slowly losing patience.

As you sighed for the umpteenth time, you realized that maybe you were in the wrong place. Asking wouldn't do any good, and besides, there was no one you could ask.

“Mm?” you muttered when you noticed something different among your stuff, a sealed envelope that you could swear wasn't there before.

Looking around confused, thinking no way those crows left that envelope, you slowly picked it up, opening it with a frown. As you began to read, you looked nervously at that forest again. It was a letter for you, in the middle of nowhere.

Dear (Y/N)

I'm afraid something unexpected has come up. It prevents me from attending to you, even though I was certainly looking forward for us to meet. I suppose that, since you are my family, to trade in the village on your own won't be a problem for you.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

PS: A word of advice, listen to what the villagers tell you, I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse. Please take care of yourself.

Duke

There was no doubt about it, that letter had arrived there by magic. The idea of ​​messenger crows seemed less and less crazy. But the reality was overwhelming: you were alone in that unknown place.

You had two options: You could take your suitcase, walk back in your tracks and go to the bus, writing yet another failure in your diary, a very expensive one. On the other hand, you could ignore those chills, that feeling of being where you shouldn't be and do what you had come to do.

I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse…

That warning seemed like an irony, a little joke that was surely common to all outsiders like you. Well, it's not like it was a place where there could be wolves but… That wasn't the disturbing thing. What could be worse than being savagely devoured by those beasts?

Curiosity or cowardice, that was your dilemma.

With a thoughtful sigh, you looked at those two possible paths, imagining that, under each of them, there was a line of text that told you which page to go to, like those adventure books that offered several possibilities, some of them fatal ones.

You always fantasized too much thanks to those books. Maybe if you had been as rational as the protagonists of those great adventures, you would have considered your possibilities better.

Shrugging, not wanting to have wasted your money on a fruitless trip, you didn’t listen to the Duke's letter. After all, your job was to talk to people, you didn't need his help, or so you thought.

The castle was increasingly imposing as you approached. It was fascinating, a place from a novel, full of possibilities. Surely when you returned home and read one of those books, you would imagine that gloomy and mysterious landscape.

The glances traveled to your eyes passively. These villagers were definitely strange, they seemed to either fear you, or wish you away, you weren't sure.

Unfortunately, your eagerness to offer knowledge to these poor souls was unsuccessful.

Muttering things you didn't quite understand, in an English that was practically incomprehensible to you, which, on the other hand, was bad luck, since you didn't fully master the language either, each one of the doors of those old cabins closed in your face.

“Hey, I haven't even said my name!” you protested after the tenth disinterested grunt from one of the inhabitants of that place. “Cazzo…”

The door opened again and a young woman with an apologetic look appeared.

“Forgive my father. He doesn't trust outsiders,” the young woman said. Well, at least she spoke to you. “My name is Elena.”

“Sono (Y/N),” you said politely, shaking your hand with the young woman's, who frowned upon hearing you speak that way.

“It's clear that you're not a villager,” the girl joked, closing the door.

“No, I'm Italian,” you said, with a business smile that you had already rehearsed.

The young Elena nodded curiously, glancing at your suitcase.

“Are you a merchant?” she asked, pointing at your merchandise.

You nodded slowly.

“Yes, I've come on behalf of a relative... His name is, or he calls himself... Duke,” you explained with a trembling voice. Your nerves couldn't fail you. At least you had managed to talk to someone.

“The Duke?” the girl asked, with a surprised look. “Wow, I didn't know he had a family.”

“Yes, but he seems to be the only one who is successful,” you murmured jokingly, pronouncing the words in the best way possible. “Well... Elena, right? Are you interested in something?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid we have everything we need,” she said, shaking her head with a kind smile. “My father says that books are a waste of time.”

“Sciocchezze,” you sighed with a mischievous smile, showing her a vinyl record. “What about music? It's the sound of the soul.”

“No, no, I... I'm afraid we don't need anything like that,” Elena shook her head again.

“Oh, great,” you said, letting your smile fade at the thought that you couldn't even get enough money to recoup the investment of the trip.

“Don't be offended, just…” the young woman said, gesturing with her hands to emphasize her apology. “… We just work to live, that's, that's all we do, anything else would be entertainment.”

“Oh,” you said curiously, arching your eyebrows.

“But, um…” the girl said, looking around. “Maybe, maybe I know someone who might be interested.”

“Do you?” you asked.

Elena nodded, briefly pointing to a large house that stood out from the orchards.

“Luiza has always been a very cultured woman, and she is very kind. Maybe she would want to listen to you,” the young woman explained, in a kind tone. You blinked, looking at the indicated place, and smiled. “She lives up there, in the orchards.”

“Elena!” A loud voice was heard inside the cabin and the girl shuddered.

“I'm coming, father!” Elena shrieked, with another apologetic look. “Sorry, (Y/N), but…”

“Oh, of course, there is no… Pro-problem,” you said nervous about the impatience of that unpleasant man. “Luiza… Okay. Ciao!”

At least that girl helped you not to lose hope.

Elena wasn't lying, that Luiza seemed a bit different from the rest of the villagers, kinder, smarter, with an understandable English... It seems that you interested her enough to invite you into her house.

“Wait there, I'll make tea,” she said kindly, indicating that you sit at a table where a man seemed to be sharpening a knife with a distrustful look. After a few tense seconds, the man left his task, looking at you with distrust.

“So you're a merchant...” he whispered, tilting his head and crossing his arms.

“Yes,” you answered, with that well-rehearsed smile.

“And an outsider...” he whispered, with a sinister smile. “Luiza says you are related to the Duke...”

“That's right,” you said, without losing your merchant composure.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Wow, I didn't know the fat man had a family,” the man said, with the same surprise in his voice as the young woman before. “Where are you from?”

“Italy,” you said proudly, ignoring those dark eyes, which hardened when they heard you answer.

“Italy, you say?” he asked, leaning a little towards you, narrowing his eyes. “You say you're related to the Duke?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, confused by that change in attitude.

“Mm, are you sure you're related to the merchant?” he asked suspiciously, making you nervous. “Hey, maybe by any chance you know...”

“Ahem,” Luiza interrupted, serving you the cup of tea. “Marcus.”

“What? I'm just asking, the girl says she's Italian,” the man, her husband, apparently, protested. “You and I know who…”

“Marcus,” Luiza said, with a firmer tone. The man shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Don't scare the poor girl.”

“Bah, if she's not scared yet, she must be brave, or stupid,” Marcus commented, laughing amused. You made an effort to smile at that little joke, smelling the delicious aroma of tea.

“Okay, (Y/N), unlike my husband, I’m interested in those foreign items… Do you have any opera records?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you said, as if coming out of a confused thought, opening your suitcase and putting on a display of everything you had.

Well, you did manage to sell a few things. You would always be grateful to that woman, the only kind woman in that place, apart from the young girl, of course. But even with that partial success, you didn't have enough to feel like you had succeeded.

If that woman had bought you something, nobody was telling you that there couldn't be more Luizas in that place. You just had to find them.

You were ready to leave that house, when a small book caught your attention. It looked like a book full of old photographs of the village. You approached it with curiosity while Luiza kindly opened the door for you.

“Um, sorry, but... Can I take a look?” you asked, pointing at the book. The woman looked at her husband and he shrugged, making a vague gesture of farewell.

“Of course...” the woman sighed, faking a smile. You returned it gratefully, starting to turn the pages of that album. “This village is an old one.”

“I see,” you commented nodding, turning pages and pages full of snowy landscapes. “My family had told me about this place, but... Well, not much. What is this?” you asked, pointing to a kind of square guarded by four large statues.

“Those are the… The four founders of the village,” Luiza explained. “The Dimitrescu family, owner of the castle; the Moreau family, owner of the lake lands; the Heisenberg family who owned a metal factory on the outskirts of the village, and the… The Beneviento family, the doll makers.”

“Oh,” you sighed interested, not even hearing the names very well, you were more attentive to those old photographs. “Does anyone live in the castle? I'd like to visit it.”

“Um, no, I…” the woman stammered, making you frown. “I don't think you should go near it, (Y/N).”

“Isn't it open to the public? What a pity,” you said with a disappointed voice.

Luiza made a strange gesture, shaking her head.

“Young lady, take some advice from me,” the woman said, speaking in a very low tone, approaching you with a hand on your shoulder. “You must leave this place.”

“Why?” you asked, confused, looking away at another of the photographs, one with a beautiful mansion, guarded by a waterfall.

It quickly caught your attention, even making you ignore the kind woman's warning words.

“Because…” Luiza sighed, with a broken tone, as if she were afraid of something. “It's not the best place for an outsider.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you said, amused, gesturing with your hand. “I have people skills. That's not a problem. Tell me, is this house in the village?”

“Oh, that house…” Luiza murmured, looking at the same photograph.

“It's impressive,” you said curious. “Does anyone live there?” you insisted, running your hand over the drawing of what looked like a symbol, one with a moon and a sun.

“It's, it's far from here,” the woman commented, closing the album and subtly pushing you towards the exit. “Listen to me, don't go near that place. It's very dangerous.”

You shook your head with wide eyes, pulling your suitcase.

“Everything here seems very dangerous,” you commented with a low voice and a frown. The woman put on a sad look, caressing your cheek in a strange way.

“Go away, (Y/N), go away before the shadows invade you,” Luiza whispered, turning her back on you and closing the door softly, leaving you petrified on the floor.

“Cosa diavolo non va?” you asked yourself with a strange grimace, slowly moving away from the house.

Ignoring these strange warnings, you walked aimlessly through the village, looking for someone who wasn't afraid of your presence, or who wouldn't bow their head, ignoring your greeting.

Tired from your erratic walk, you decided to lean against a stone sculpture, in the middle of another snowy square. Failure loomed in your thoughts, in your mind, wondering if perhaps with the Duke present, things would have been different.

You looked at your watch and sighed, it was still early to leave, and even more so when you had barely sold four things. You had to make an effort, either that, or try another nearby village.

The crows flew above you like a bad omen that you couldn't interpret. The sky was dark, gloomy.

Don't let the shadows invade you...

Luiza's words echoed in your ears, words you didn't know how to interpret, or rather, that you didn't want to interpret. You were in a different country, in a different culture, lost in that snowy, sinister village. Even though you believed that nothing could go wrong, a bad feeling began to haunt you.

Yes, maybe it was time to leave.

You stood up with a defeated gasp, shaking your head, depressed by your ridiculous failure. But, you had barely taken two steps when something caught your attention.

In front of you was a wooden door, a kind of fence that separated a private property. Above the frame, there was a symbol, one that you remembered having seen before: that moon and that sun.

Your mind was left thinking. Yes, surely that would be the way to the waterfall house. It had to be. Luiza warned you to not get too close but… Curiosity was calling you.

Okay, it wasn't a huge castle but… Still, that mansion couldn't belong to just any villager. The curious relationship of wealth, bigger houses and kindness that you found in the village made you think that maybe someone rich lived there, a person or family with enough money to think about leisure or wisdom.

“Mm,” you murmured curiously, approaching that place, looking at that symbol closely. The door was open. You almost thought you heard whispers that encouraged you to enter that dark path.

You swallowed when a cold breeze came out of that darkness. Your body trembled for no reason, but your mind was blinded by greed. You couldn't miss that opportunity to know what or who was on the other side, who lived in that place.

The sunlight illuminated the path you had to follow with increasingly less intense rays. Slowly, you followed that luminous advice, entering through the wooden door, walking towards the unknown.

It didn't seem like a very strange place, or so you thought. The trees seemed sad, that place seemed devoured by time. Strange objects hung from the almost rotten branches, which you passed by without flinching.

You simply kept your mind busy, like a danger blocking mechanism that seemed to alert your subconscious. Instead of worrying, when you saw that those things hanging from the trees were dolls, you simply whistled, making your way through the branches with a slow walk.

You passed an old wooden bridge, one that said: go away in all possible languages. You were never good at interpreting those words, those screams from your mind that demanded your attention.

The sunlight diminished as you walked, it was getting dark. The branches of the trees drew disturbing shadows that surrounded a pair of ruined cabins.

“Brr,” you shivered when you saw those wooden claws stalking you.

The smile never left your face, but your body began to notice the symptoms of that inner fear; a dizziness, a feeling of heaviness in your stomach... All of these were physical signs that seemed to want to stop you in your tracks.

You even thought that the tea or the fruit you ate at Luiza's had upset your stomach. No, you didn't see the danger in any way, or rather, you didn't want to see it.

Finally you reached a clearing, where a mound showed a sinister grave you didn't want to approach. Your stupidity and your desire for wealth were so strong that you thought it was perhaps a simple decoration.

“Un ascensore...” you murmured when you reached a red door, surely the entrance to that curious mansion.

Biting your lip, you rubbed your hands entering those metal bars. Of course, whoever lived in that place had to have a lot of money, and, above all, a great desire to spend it. You fantasized about what you were going to find: a rich family? A widow, perhaps? A wealthy man? Maybe one of the founders of the village’s descendants? It didn't matter who it was, but you could smell money from miles away.

When you got out of the elevator, the sight in front of you forced you to stop. There was that house, that huge house with a beautiful waterfall next to it.

“If this doesn't work, I'm leaving the business,” you said, rehearsing in your head the phrases to say to the inhabitant of that place, greetings, smiles, all your charms.

The sound of the falling water relaxed you, although you didn't know why you were even nervous. The word danger whispered in your mind like a premonition or intuition, but you let the waterfall completely eclipse it. The beauty of that place couldn't entail any danger, you were convinced.

You cleared your throat as you approached the door, slowly climbing the steps. At the moment, there was nothing that matched Luiza's warnings, nothing, until, before you could knock on the door, it opened with an ominous creak.

“Um, hello?” you asked, seeing how, in front of you, there was nothing but a beautiful wooden room, with a rocking chair that moved by itself. “Ciao...” you repeated in a lower voice.

There didn't seem to be anyone in that place and you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking around.

“Oh!” you squealed in fear when you looked down, where, what looked like a ventriloquist's doll was standing looking at you. “Oh... Cazzo... What...” you said upset. “Good... Good trick...”

Smiling, thinking that, like the gravestones in the clearing, this was just a joke, you crouched down curiously, looking at that puppet.

“Hello?” you repeated, standing up again and ignoring the doll, which, perhaps because of the accumulated fatigue, you thought was following you with its gaze.

“Down here, stupid!” a high-pitched screech scared you again, making you fall backwards, tripping and crashing your body against the hard stone of the porch.

But neither the pain of the fall nor the fright were the worst. Yes, you were not dreaming, if it was a joke, it was the best one you had ever seen.

That doll, that damn doll moved, moved its articulated mouth, laughing out loud.

“Who are you?” the puppet asked, approaching your collapsed body. You backed away scared, crawling until you reached those small steps.

“Ahhh! Una bambola parlante!” you shrieked in fear, standing up as quickly as possible with your hands in front of your body.

“Who are you calling a talking doll, you silly, silly?” the puppet asked.

No, there was no doubt. There were no strings, no ventriloquist, it was alive.

“Ah, io, io… What?” you stammered nervously, shaking your head, blinking hard to make what was undoubtedly a hallucination go away. It didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, can you repeat that?” the doll said, approaching with a comical step. “What did you just say?”

“Cosa?” you asked, grabbing your suitcase, ready to run away. “Sorry, I… No, no… What?”

“You called me a talking doll,” it said, crossing its arms.

 You nodded confused.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... No, no...” you stammered, still shocked and scared by the impossibility of that old toy. It couldn't move, it just couldn't.

“Who are you?” it asked again. “Why do you know Italian?”

“I-I-I'm Italian,” you stammered, shaking your head.

The doll tilted its head curiously, looking you up and down.

“You're a long way from home, you silly Italian,” the doll commented in a mocking tone.

You blinked again, scratching the back of your neck, searching all over the doll for the mechanism that was supposed to make it behave like that. You didn't find it.

“I-I'm a merchant,” you said with a broken voice. The doll nodded, walking towards you quickly, climbing up your dress. It was too close, you couldn't move.

“Merchant?” it asked again, looking at you as if it was reading your soul. “What do you sell?”

“I sell… I sell… Books and… Vinyl and… Movies…” you explained when the doll finally got off your body, without taking those cold eyes off you.

“Books and movies?” the puppet asked.

You, nervous, still scared, nodded erratically.

“Do you have Italian stuff?”

“S-Sure I have,” you whispered in a small voice.

“Mm,” the doll murmured turning around, but looking at you several times before disappearing into the darkness of the mansion. “Donna, Donna! You have to see this, come, come!”

“Donna?” you asked yourself, gathering enough courage to walk back to the door, where, after a few seconds, the sound of heels approached.

In front of you was a woman, a woman dressed completely in black, with a veil covering her face. She had a stoic pose, she emanated danger, and even more so when you saw that she was holding the doll in her arms.

Even if she was the most experienced ventriloquist in the world, she could never have done that, it was simply impossible.

“She's pretty, huh, Donna?” the doll said, nudging the lady, who sighed tiredly. “An Italian beauty knocking on your door, not even in your dreams could you imagine something like that.”

“Angie…” A hoarse, dark voice came out of that black veil while the woman lowered the doll to the floor. It laughed amusedly, staring at you again.

“Um, well…” you murmured confused, with your gaze fixed on that black veil, on those invisible eyes that you knew were watching you. “H-Hello…”

There was no answer. The lady didn't even seem to be bothered by your words.

“Um… I'm… I'm (Y/N),” you said, putting fear aside and politely extending your hand towards her, who looked at it briefly, without returning your greeting. “No? Okay… Well…”

“I'm Angie!” the doll shrieked, grabbing your hand instead of its owner and shaking it roughly. “Nice to scare you!”

“H-Hello… Suppongo…” you whispered, still confused but, mysteriously, more relaxed.

“Forgive her, she doesn’t like to talk,” the doll explained, pointing at its owner in a mocking way. “Shall I tell you a secret? She's Italian too.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, looking at the lady, who nodded briefly. “Che strana coincidenza…”

“Perché strana?” that hoarse voice asked again, the voice of that mysterious lady.

“Oh, well…” you said embarrassed, of course, that doll hadn't lied to you. “No, it's nothing…”

“Che vuoi?” the lady in black asked again, her tone lighter, but reflected impatience.

“I'm, I'm a merchant,” you said again, trying to smile, making a superhuman effort to make that strange situation stop being so strange.

After all, she was the inhabitant of that place, and she was also Italian. The business seemed to call you…

“She sells a lot of things, Donna!” the doll shrieked, pointing at you. “Things you like!”

“Mm,” the woman in black murmured, looking over your shoulder at the merchandise. “Me li può mostrare?”

“Oh, sure, sure…” you said nervously, heading towards your suitcase and opening it on the floor, closely followed by that strange doll, which didn't seem to want to leave you alone.

“Look, Donna, your favorite record!” the doll squealed, rummaging through the merchandise without any kind of hesitation, under your watchful gaze, and hers.

The lady took that vinyl, observing it carefully. You almost thought you heard a slight laugh coming out of that veil.

“È, it's a special edition,” you murmured when you saw how interested she seemed to be. “You, you know… Come prima… Più di prima…” you sang in a timid and horrible way.

The veiled lady looked up with a sigh.

“Are you also a singer?” she asked with a weak, whispering voice.

You laughed nervously shaking your head, with your cheeks slightly blushed.

“No… The truth is, I’m not… Although, although they've always told me that I have a beautiful voice,” you said timidly, looking sideways as Angie rummaged through the books.

“Mm,” the lady murmured with disinterest, looking at the vinyl again.

“Donna, Donna! Nonna's favorite book!” the doll squealed, handing her one of your books in perfect condition. “Look, look, this one isn't broken!”

“I have that one on sale… If, if you're interested… Donna, right?” you said with your voice cracked by nerves, playing with your sweaty hands.

“Donna? Lady Beneviento for you, silly!” the doll snapped at you, in a haughty tone.

“Beneviento?” you asked involuntarily, knowing that you had heard that name somewhere.

Of course you heard it. Like a whisper of help, your mind recalled Luiza's words, those that explained to you the families who had founded the village. Of course, that Donna Beneviento was an important person in that place. Despite everything strange, your greed took precedence, she seemed truly interested in what you were selling.

The mysterious woman nodded slowly, leafing through that book with curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Lady Beneviento,” you said elegantly, lowering your head. You knew she was not an ordinary villager and therefore, you could not treat her as such.

“Vieni,” she whispered, gesturing for you to enter the house.

You nodded nervously, closing your suitcase and pulling it into the mansion, with an extra weight. That living doll had climbed on top of it, swinging its legs in a playful way.

“Hey, do you mind?” you said nervously. The doll, obviously, shook her head.

You groaned, still in disbelief, and when you looked again you saw something strange.

There was a portrait, a portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs. On it, there was a woman, a really beautiful, gorgeous woman with a pale face, serious eyes and black hair. Next to her, there was that puppet, the Angie doll. Would she be the lady?

Lady Beneviento cleared her throat, getting your attention, letting you know through her non-verbal language, that she didn't want you to look at that portrait. You decided to be good and obey.

“Sit down, I'll make some tea and we'll talk business,” the woman whispered, pointing to a cozy corner of that house.

“Sure... Yes, um... Thank you,” you said with a kind smile.

The woman in black looked at you for an almost awkward moment and then turned around, walking slowly towards a hallway. You followed her with your eyes until she disappeared.

It was a strange situation indeed. Perhaps you should have listened better to your survival instincts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lady returned, serving you a cup of tea with an elegant gesture and sitting in front of you.

“Grazie…” you whispered with a grateful smile, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Truth be told, I didn't expect to find someone who spoke my language… I've never been good with English.”

“You seem to speak it quite well,” she commented, with a regal pose, barely moving, not letting anyone see for a moment what that black veil was hiding.

“I have no choice, I guess,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Do you trade all over Europe?” she asked curiously as you opened your suitcase again, your hands shaking.

You weren’t there to chat. You had gone to do business. You couldn’t forget that.

“No, I… Well, I used to trade only in Italy,” you explained with a sad smile.

“Where in Italy are you from?” she asked again as Angie, with the suitcase open again, rubbed her wooden hands, rummaging through your stuff with an evil laugh.

You looked back at the lady, a bit confused.

“Da che parte d’Italia vieni?” the lady repeated with a slightly darker voice. “Nord, sud…?”

“Oh, yes, Well… I was born in the city of… This may seem like a joke to you but… I’m from the city of Benevento,” you said with a shy smile.

 You didn’t want her to think you were laughing at her. It was just a stupid coincidence.

“Mm, why would I think it's a joke?” she asked, with a tired sigh.

“Well, because of your… Your last name… It's quite similar, isn't it?” you said with a fake smile. “Are you from around there?”

“No,” the lady answered dryly, without bothering to shake her head. “I was born here.”

“Oh, okay…” you murmured, glancing at the doll, who was shuffling through your books. “Hey, um… be careful…” you said to the doll, who made a mocking gesture, imitating your voice in an unpleasant way. “Hey, la, la bambola…”

“Angie”

“Yes, Angie…” you repeated with a frown. “Why is she alive?”

“That's none of your business,” she said, with a cold voice, one that ran through your nerves, putting them on alert again.

“O-Okay, sorry,” you murmured, looking down.

“Do you have Italian movies?” she asked after a tense moment, one that you took advantage of to hide your embarrassment in the teacup. “Film.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course…” you said nervously, reaching for the suitcase, rummaging through your messy things due to the Angie doll, who protested with a grunt at your hand. “I have a lot of these.”

“Mm?” the lady murmured, looking at the cover confused, opening it and taking out the disc. “What is this?”

“A, a movie,” you said, clearing your throat. “A DVD.”

“DVD…” she whispered, looking at her reflection in that shiny disc, visibly confused. You couldn't believe she didn't know it. That village was definitely stopped in time. “I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

“Um, well…” you said, scratching the back of your neck, wondering how you were going to explain that to this mysterious woman. She didn't seem to be joking, at all.

“Hey, it's like a mirror!” Angie squealed, climbing onto her owner's lap and comically looking at herself in the disc, turning it curiously. “I want one, Donna, I want one!”

“Ugh, va bene…” the lady whispered, putting the DVD back in its place and handing it to the doll, who jumped victoriously. “It's still not what I'm looking for.”

“What… What are you looking for?” you asked, flashing your fake saleswoman smile again.

“Don't you have any 28mm rolls?” the woman wanted to know.

You nodded confused.

“Yes… But, but they are, they are special, I mean, I mean… They are… They are molto costose, you know… They are, they are almost museum relics,” you said, taking a metal box out of the suitcase and opening it, displaying its contents.

“Fine, I want them,” she murmured, nodding and snatching the box from your hands. “Money is not a problem.”

Well, that phrase fostered a more sincere smile on your face.

“Va bene… It is…” you said nervously, taking out a notebook in which you wrote down your sales.

“I'm not finished,” she interrupted you, leaving the box on the floor. “I also want those books.”

“Those? Which ones?” you asked confused by her vague description.

“All of them,” the lady said abruptly, leaving you glued to the seat. “I've been asking the Duke for that classic novel collection for a long time.”

“The Duke? Oh, well, I'm related to him,” you said smiling, taking the books out of the suitcase and leaving them on the table.

“You?!” Angie asked in a shrill voice, getting too close to you again. “Come on! You don't look like that fat greasy guy!”

“Fat greasy guy?” you asked amused. “Well, I don't really know him, but it seems that in this village you do it quite well.”

“Oh, yes, he's a scammer!” Angie shrieked laughing amused. “Isn't he, Donna?”

“Mm…” the lady nodded, distracted by the books.

That scared you.

“Oh, I… I'm not like him. I'm always fair with prices and… Cazzo, don't think I'm trying to rip you off or anything like that… Cazzo.”

“Do you mind stopping talking like that? I don't like rude girls,” Donna snapped at you, with a dangerous, annoyed tone.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, I'm not used to being understood,” you explained with a different blush, one that was accentuated when a shy laugh came out of her veil.

“It was just a joke,” she said amused, more relaxed, surely fascinated by that collection of books she was looking for so much. “Do you want some more tea?”

“Oh, yes, per favore,” you said, extending your cup towards the teapot, with a calm smile.

“I still don't know what a girl like you is doing in a place like this...” she whispered after a moment of calm silence, one that served to, little by little, get you used to that sinister atmosphere, and that doll.

“It's a long story...” you sighed, leaning back on the old sofa.

“I have time,” she said, with the same tone as you. “I'm sure you'll appreciate having a chat in your native language, right?”

“S-Sure…”

As if you had suddenly forgotten what you were doing there, or how much time you had left to leave, you began to chat calmly with that strange woman.

At first she seemed gloomy, reluctant to hold any kind of conversation but… As you explained everything that led you to the village, your concerns, your goals… Well, her attitude relaxed quite a bit.

The short, dry sentences turned into a soft voice, into shy laughs from time to time. It seemed that she had gained some confidence with you, or so that living doll hinted. After your hectic trip through Romania, a chat in your language effectively lifted your spirits, it was almost like feeling at home.

On the other hand, that erratic behavior of the lady in black never ceased to surprise you. Like the rest of the villagers, she seemed not to understand or comprehend very well the outside world, the time in which you lived.

To your surprise, she had never even set foot on Italy. Yes, her family came from there, but, incredibly, Donna had never been there. But that was not the only thing that was curious, so were the words that claimed she had never left the village.

It might seem that this woman, with money, with power, from an important family, had little or no interest in traveling, in leaving this sinister time capsule.

But that was not the case. Her words were full of sadness, her sighs, that nostalgia with which she listened attentively to your words... It seemed as if deep down she wanted to leave, as if, for some reason, her stay in the village was some kind of condemnation for her.

The mansion grew darker as time went by as you talked, sharing impressions, tastes, hobbies… It was almost as if you had just met a friend, a friend with an interesting voice, with a beautiful body, with a subtle but intoxicating lavender perfume…

Your cheeks betrayed those erratic thoughts about the lady in black and you shook your head several times.

You, a cultured girl, a fan of romance novels, always tended to idealize that kind of situations. You didn't want to believe in love at first sight, but you certainly didn't know what it felt like, if it was even possible.

No, no, no, no… You couldn't think about that, despite how attractive Lady Beneviento was to you. Everything had an end, and sooner than you would have liked, yours came.

Sighing, finishing your last cup of tea, you looked at the clock and almost choked.

“Oh, cazzo!” you said hurriedly, getting up from the sofa. “5 o'clock, if I don't hurry…”

“What's wrong?” the lady in black asked, getting up too, playing nervously with her hands.

“I'd love to stay and chat but… If I don't make it to that stupida’s bus, she will leave without me and…” you explained, gathering that was left in your suitcase. Donna had bought almost everything without thinking about it.

“Are you going to leave?” she asked in a whisper, with a voice that, at least to you, seemed sad.

You looked at her and nodded with a polite smile, extending your hand towards her, a hand that, this time, she shook briefly.

Damn, her hands were very soft…

“It's been nice meeting you, Donna,” you said kindly, turning around to walk towards the hall.

“Are you going to let her just leave? Silly Donna…” you heard the doll whisper in an indiscreet manner.

“W-Wait, wait a moment,” the nervous lady said, running to meet you, making her veil move, inducing your mischievous eyes to look at what was underneath. “D-Do you really have to go?”

“Yes,” you said with a confused look, totally innocent.

“W-Wait, I… I…” she murmured, approaching slowly. “It's dangerous to go out at night.”

“Hey, can someone explain to me what it is that scares you so much about this place? And why are there living dolls?” you asked with an impatient tone, remembering each of the villagers' warnings.

“I'll explain everything to you, but, but only if you stay with me a little longer, just a little longer,” the lady said, in a tone that sounded curiously desperate. “Per favore…”

“Please, please!” the doll repeated in a shrill tone.

“Um…” you stammered, unable to find an answer, a desire to stay that you knew existed. But that village had already given you so much trouble, you wanted to leave, but at the same time, you didn't.

Damn senseless crush… How can you even know if you really liked that woman?

“Okay,” you said, letting your words speak for themselves, sighing as you looked at your wristwatch, knowing that, even if you ran, you wouldn't make it to the bus on time. “Hai un telefono?”

The lady nodded, pointing to a small table.

You walked slowly past her, checking how, in a disturbing way, the doll and owner followed you with their gaze.

“Irina?” you asked when someone finally answered, after a few tense moments.

“Oh spaghetti, it's you!” the driver of the bus screamed. She seemed agitated, as if she was running away from something, or so you sensed, there was too much interference. “You have to… Help me! Wolves… Monsters…! Call the… Lice!”

“Cosa? I don't understand you, are you okay?” you asked with a frown, that stupid girl seemed to be in danger.

“No…! No…! Mother Miranda!”

After those screams, the call was interrupted, leaving you disoriented. Seeing you like that, Donna approached, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it slowly, as if somehow those screams hadn't surprised her.

“It seems that there are some connection problems,” Angie mocked, laughing, but stopping when the lady suddenly looked at her, as if she had said something she shouldn't. “Oops…”

“I think she wanted me to call the police… Who is Mother Miranda?” you asked confused, with your heart racing.

“She’s the leader of this village,” Donna murmured, with a somber voice. “But don't worry, she won't hurt you, I won't allow it.”

“Hurt? Um, hey, Donna, I think, I think Irina was in trouble,” you said nervously, focused on finding out what had happened.

“You'll be in trouble if you go out at night, silly! You have to stay here!” Angie yelled at you, pointing comically at the floor.

“Oh, no, no, I don't want to disturb you,” you said with a trembling voice.

Your intuition wasn't wrong at all, but... In that house, you didn't seem to be in danger.

“You're not disturbing me, I like your company,” Donna said, with her hands in front of her body, with an elegant posture, unfazed by what seemed to be the death of the bus girl. “Do you want...? Do you want to cook something for dinner?”

“Oh, um, yes, dinner... Um...” you said confused, nodding without really knowing why. “Va...Va bene...”

As if you had forgotten what had happened, as if that call hadn't taken place, you went down to that dark basement with the lady in black and started cooking. It was a fun, entertaining time.

You both shared your own recipes, your special ways of doing things. Your mind had forgotten about going home, it had forgotten where you wanted to go, why you wanted to leave. The only thing you knew was that you wanted to stay with that dark Italian Lady. You wanted to talk to her, laugh with her.

Yes, you started to believe in love at first sight, you had no doubt that it existed, you were experiencing it.

Day and night began to dance before your eyes, the sun and the moon. How long had you been there? You didn't know. Had it been days, weeks, months? You weren't sure.

Cooking, reading, watching those movies… Any excuse was good enough to forget about your problems, to forget you had a place to go back to.

 Maybe darkness had invaded you but… You had become addicted to her, to Donna Beneviento, to that strange woman and her doll, to her voice, her words, her laughter… To the lavender of her perfume…

“Sale,” Donna said, extending her hand so you could give her the jar she needed while, like so many days, like so many times, you cooked with her.

A curious routine, cooking, cleaning, sewing… Something that your own conscience used as payment for being a guest who didn't pay for her stay but… Were you really a guest? What were you?

“I've never seen anyone making pasta,” you said curiously, leaning your elbow on the counter. Donna laughed amused, shaking her head. “Well, my grandmother usually…”

“You say I'm like your grandmother?” she joked, kneading calmly.

“No, not at all,” you said, amused, looking hypnotically at that curious dough. “I buy it ready-made, it's easier and faster that way.”

“Chi va piano…”

“Va lontano…” you finished, smiling again, with that damn blush on your cheeks. “It's true, you're right, Donna.”

She glanced at you briefly, giving you another of her beautiful laughs. You were so dazed that nothing mattered anymore, only waking up in that guest room again, only going downstairs to share moments with her, only her, only Donna mattered to you.

“Wait, let me help you,” you said, picking up one of the flour sacks and putting it on the counter with a loud thud, raising a thick cloud of white dust. “Cazzo! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

The lady coughed, brushing the flour away with her hand, clearing her vision. It could be a comedian or a dangerous one, you didn't quite know. Her little apron was unable to stop all the flour, which landed on Lady Beneviento, including her veil.

“Tutto bene?” you asked timidly, brushing the dust out of your hair.

“Sì,” the woman in black murmured, accidentally removing her veil, shaking it in front of your wide-open eyes.

When she realized the mistake she had made, the mistake of showing you her face, she gasped nervously, shaking her head.

You stood petrified, admiring every inch of her beauty, a hidden one, one that you only sensed and you had just confirmed. No, a stupid scar couldn't be that important, it wasn't capable of hiding anything, of overcoming her beauty.

“Non… Non…” she whispered, turning around and covering her face with her hands. “Non guardami!”

“Donna, wait, wait…” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, don't cover yourself, You are… Sei bellisima…”

“No, no, no…” she repeated, nervously, pushing away your comforting hand. “Sei una bugiarda!”

“I'm not lying, Donna, really, I…” you said, trying to reason with those incipient sobs, with the trembling of her body.

“Now you'll want to leave… You'll make me hurt you!” she shrieked, completely out of control. You shook your head, ignoring that dangerous last sentence.

“Shh,” you whispered softly, turning her around, taking advantage of a slight moment of weakness. “I won't leave, I like being here.”

“No… Non é vero…” she said, moving away from your gaze.

You snatched the veil from her so she couldn't put it back on and, without thinking, you launched yourself at her lips, kissing them fiercely, just as you had wanted to do for a long time, you didn't know how long.

“Donna…” you sighed when you pulled away from the kiss, a messy kiss that she had a hard time joining.

Finally she did, caressing your cheeks, mouth agape by that sudden reaction, one that she was apparently also waiting for.

“You have come into my life like a savior, like a light that has passed through the darkness…” she whispered, kissing you again, losing that fear, that cowardice, the fear of being discovered, of you seeing her wounded face.

What Lady Beneviento didn’t expect, is that you would feel something for her.

“Per favore…Non partire…Rimani con me…Per sempre…” she murmured while your lips caressed each other, while the warmth of that unexpected love slowly passed through your body, until it reached your heart.

“Per sempre…”

[tinycheesecakedetective]

Character Files #1: Blueberry Milk Cookie

Hello again! It's been a while. Today I'd like to waffle on about Blueberry for a bit. If you'll allow me to. In the past I discussed his trajectory, but I wanted to take the opportunity to update a few things and add some fun details. This post is meant to cover Blueberry's past. What will become of his kingdom will be discussed when I get to the aftermath of the Dark Flour War. Now let's begin! ~~~~~

Personality & Early Life Blueberry Milk is a scholar with a taste for thrill and has an insatiable curiosity. He's kind to others, however he has a tendency to be overdramatic and cocky. He always pushes beyond boundaries despite the consequences or risks it may pose. He's an adventurer specifically because he found traditional studying too boring and would much rather get his hands dirty with experiments. But before Blueberry Milk became the illustrious founder of the republic, he was just a student at the Parfaedia Institute of Magic. Many teachers considered him a prodigy due to his prowess and intelligence, however others dreaded teaching him due to his penchant for troublemaking.

He would graduate at the age of 17, and took on a job as a professor before quitting years later. Many would cite a lack of stakes as one of the reasons for his departure, though that was common knowledge to anyone that was close to him. Blueberry Milk would then become an independent researcher, exploring the world and doing field research.

The Kingdom's Beginnings With months of travelling under his belt, it became very clear that he needed somewhere to store all of his findings. Initially he planned to establish it back at Parfaedia, but found it too stifling for him. So he packed all of his things and began moving north. Some old colleagues heard about this and followed suit, joining him up north in what would be called "The Land of the Studious." Alongside his colleagues, they established The Congregation, a meeting hall where they could all discuss the progress made with each of their projects.

Over time, more cookies heard of this place up north and had began seeking it out to perform their own personal projects. The Land of the Studious became known among Parfaedians as a wizard's getaway, a place where students could perform magic more freely than in the Institute. With the surge of visitors, the Gelato Villas were built for incoming travelers and eventually permanent residents, and the Wafer Train Station was built soon after for easier access to and from Parfaedia, and a new school began construction. As the area expanded more and more, the Land of the Studious had changed from a small community of scientists to a bustling city-state. The Congregation evolved, with the original founders becoming council members and gaining more political power over time. Soon even the name itself had changed, now being known as New Yogurt City.

A City in Crisis As the city developed, Parfaedia began to recognize NYC as a legitimate entity outside of "tourist destination." With competition on the rise, the magic city was forced to evolve to stay relevant. More technology was implemented into daily life as a result, with new experimental magic being tested. It was all going well until everything came screeching to a halt.

The incident happened outside of the institute. It started as a few electrical malfunctions inside some of the classrooms before quickly spreading to the rest of the building. Strange rifts opened inside one of the classrooms before letting in a legion of cake monsters. Even with all wizards pushing back, they were unable to stop the rifts. More appeared, wreaking havoc across the magic city. In a final attempt to get outside help, the wizards looked to the legendary beacons and lit them.

Dozens of wizards saw the lights and answered the call, including Blueberry Milk. With additional backup, they all began to go around the city, fighting the cake armies with staffs and wands. The city lit up with magic spells and potions as the streets were enveloped with smoke. For a moment, it looked like victory was near for the wizards, until the smoke parted with a mighty shriek.

Flying over them was their last and greatest opponent: the roll cake hydra. A horrible beast with cream cheese frosting bleeding through it's teeth and seven heads to boot. While the wizards and townsfolk fought long and hard, it kept coming back harder and more angry. The terrible beast forced them to retreat into the nearby forests.

A Glimmer of Hope Tired and exhausted, the cookies tended to their wounds. Many of them had passed out from spending too much mana, and others didn't know how much longer they could go on. Splitting from the group, Blueberry Milk wandered through the woods. He began flippantly going through spell after spell, trying to find one that could stop this before he never could. In his darkest moment, a voice beckoned to him. He tried to find the source, moving further inside before it spoke again.

It asked him if he was truly determined to save Parfaedia, and he responded with a nod. Sensing his desperation, the voice offered him a deal. It would give him the power he needed to stop the hydra in exchange for defending Earthbread as a whole. With dwindling options, he agreed, and his powers were amplified. Using his newfound strength, he left to face the hydra alone.

The fight was intense. Standing in front of the hydra armed with only his staff, he launched the first blow. Taken aback by the sudden attack, the hydra was struck, backing up before lunging it's heads at the cookie.

Move.

Blueberry Milk jumped out of the way, heart racing as he looked down at his hands. He felt sharper, quicker. The hydra tried again, snapping it's neck at him as it attempted to swallow him whole.

Roll.

His body acted on impulse, rolling away from it before sending a shockwave at the monster's body. A direct hit. A grin curled up onto his face as his teammates returned, mouths agape in shock.

Again.

The fight raged on as Blueberry Milk effortlessly weaved through each attack while dealing blow after heavy blow. More onlookers came, cheering him on as the hydra grew tired and sloppy. Another set of attacks came as he pushed the hydra into a corner.

Once more.

Pouring his remaining mana into his staff, he sent one final attack aimed at the hydra's chest. The hydra, desperate to live, fought back with all it's remaining strength, but it would be of no use. The attack speared through it's chest, pushing it back into a wall before it erupted in a beautiful collage of colors and sounds.

His finest work yet. And one that made him faint. His body was quickly ushered into a recovery room. When he woke up, he found himself surrounded by friends and acquaintances. If he didn't shoo them away, they would have killed him with kindness. He also wouldn't have noticed the gleaming blue gem resting on his chest.

The Aftermath Since the attack, Parfaedia immediately began reconstruction efforts, and with the help of the NYC was able to recover almost completely. After intense discussion and meetings, the two cities agreed to join under one entity as the New Yogurt Republic. The new republic recognized the efforts of the brave wizards that defended Parfaedia as heroes, and Blueberry especially began to grow in popularity. He was eventually appointed as the leader of the republic, with a new and improved council by his side, and with their combined efforts helped to usher in a new golden age for both cities.

For now.

Blueberry Milk, now a wielder of the soul jam of hope, began doing research into how exactly it worked. He knew that it helped him during the fight, but something about it felt.. foreign. But Blueberry wasn't one to give up, and he began to seek out others like him for his research. His curiosity knew no bounds, and he was determined to unlock the secrets of the soul jam.

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. cw: food mentions and suggestive theming. he refers to reader as sunshine.

this is a bit of a love language exploration. reader’s giving love language is acts of service (😔 never beating those allegations) and gojo’s is giving physical touch with a dose of words of affirmation. wc 1.3k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune

There are times when the simple daily acts of taking care of Satoru feel like the sole thing you were put on earth to do.

Not in the fashion of the maids he was raised by, tutting over his wrinkled yukatas and forcing him to eat the slimy natto he’d swallow through a pout with eyes as watery as the oceans that color them, but as if you’re the well from which his energy springs. He wouldn’t think about little things like slowing down to eat, rest, drink, and enjoy without someone there to remind him to do it. The curse and blessing of being as close to otherworldly as one can be without entering the uncanny valley.

This realization came to you long before you admitted to anyone that you were enamored with him. Back when you were a pair of bratty teenagers and you’d only ever seen him munch on konpeito with a hand wrapped around a bottle of melon soda to wash the scratchy sugar crystals down. You were appalled at how little he cared about himself (you didn’t take excellent care of yourself either in those days, judgmental one…) but you took it upon yourself to start taking better care of yourself and him by proxy in the process. A small act of compassion for a friend would never hurt, you reasoned easily at 17.

At that point, your role was merely sharing bentos or onigiri you made for yourself with him, trading a bite of your tuna filled rice for a sip of his soda - the indirect kiss aspect of this ritual made him giddy for more years than he’d like to admit aloud - or some of the star shaped sugar crystals in his palm that he’d toss between your lips and teeth when you’d open your mouth wide enough to catch them.

(You’d stick your tongue out far enough to allow him to watch the sugar melt away and turn into a colorful splotch. His big eyes, animated as ever, widened further with each bright green and orange spot that appeared and washed away in a flash. This little ritual is also how both of you learned to French kiss but that’s a memory to reminisce upon another morning.)

The two of you experienced some terrible things your first year and his second year of high school. A certain part of you felt bad for how unapproachable and closed off he seemed after Suguru’s departure and you know now that the acts of kindness had a larger impact than intended. A stray cat that gets fed always returns, after all.

He keeps returning. You thank the stars above morning, noon, and night.

Now, caring for him is as steady and effortless as the click, click, click of the knob thay controls the flow of gas on your stove as a flame ignites beneath your rectangle shaped tamagoyaki pan. Oil sizzles and the sound of it mingles with the shower running across the apartment and Gojo’s singing that is somehow louder than both of these happenings.

No wonder the neighbors hate you.

Whatever off key song he has come up with at least makes you giggle while pouring enough egg into the pan to start the process of making breakfast. Some days you are both too busy to sit down and share these moments but you still make sure he eats, a bento always tucked into his bag that matches the one in yours. Thankfully you are both off today so you get to enjoy the process rather than rush through it.

“It smells amazing.”

You didn’t hear him shut off the shower, too busy pouring and positioning egg to notice wet footsteps across the floor and heading directly toward you. A towel is slung carelessly over his hips and you giggle when he drapes himself over your shoulder, his hands dangling down the front of you. Shifting your face, you meet his with a smile and pretend to frown when water droplets fall out of his hair and onto your shirt.

“Whatever happened to good morning?”

He looks up at you from the corner of his eye and then feigns a bright idea coming into his head, shaking it and making more droplets fall on you at the same time. Giggling, you try to simultaneously monitor your eggs and him at the same time.

“You’re so right, how could I forget!” He clears his throat dramatically and stands up, hands wrapping around your waist. He bends to whisper in your ear. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You glance up at him with a too fond smile. When did you become so soft? You’re no better than the sugar that used to melt on your tongue, more than charmed by his sweet words and tender touches. It may be written all over your face but you do your best to hide it, raising your brows and sighing dramatically.

“That’s better.”

Clicking off the heat and shooing him as much as you possibly can, you pull the hot pan off of the stove and deposit your eggs onto a cutting board. Even a few seconds of time apart makes Satoru antsy so he’s by your side long before you can miss him, an arm draped around your shoulder and a hand on his hip.

“Thank you for doing this. I know the sun makes you hiss before 10 so it means a lot.”

Rolling your eyes, you slice the tamagoyaki and he hums his approval immediately. Steam wafts through the air and you have to admit that it’s making your mouth water, too.

“You’re the only person I’d do it for,” you mutter under your breath and he laughs, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You’re a liar. You’d do this for anyone who needed it.”

You continue slicing and he removes his hand from his hip, reaching to grab one of the already cooling slices off of the cutting board and stuffing it into his mouth. It’s still too hot and whatever he was going to say next is lost completely when he burns his tongue. He breathes through his mouth for a second to cool the eggs down the rest of the way and you groan.

“Mouth closed. You’re an adult, I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Now that it has been sufficiently cooled down, he chews the mouthful and swallows. He knows you’re joking so there’s no hurt feelings, just a cheeky grin and a dramatic eye roll.

“I was going to say, before your breakfast tried to murder me, that I’m grateful you do it for me and not just because we live together.”

The way he beams down at you is all the thanks you need, his smile as big as he is, but the words make you squirm. You’ve never been good at accepting praise or compliments no matter the amount of them you’ve been given.

“Yeah, yeah. I did it willingly when I was just your late night call too, I know.” He scoffs and shakes his head, reaching for another piece of egg. You slap his hand away playfully. “You’ve never been just a late night call to me, you know that.”

This is true and you lean into his side, aware again that he’s naked except for that damn towel. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you tickle his side and he whines.

“Go get dressed. I’m feeding you natto this morning.”

Satoru Gojo, alleged grown man, whines again. Loudly, childishly, pathetically. You giggle at his dramatics and slump when he puts most of his weight on your shoulder, drooping.

“Really?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, we’re having salmon. Go get dressed.”

He shakes his hips and the towel wrapped around them threatens to fall right in the kitchen and you tap his side with a coy smile.

“Goooooo,” you urge. “The sooner you do the sooner we can eat and then our day can really begin.”

Raising your eyebrows suggestively, he picks up on your meaning immediately and holds the knot of the towel against him while he hurries to your room to pull on some sweatpants. They’re his favorite for easy access and he’s more than prepared to give you his thanks in the form of as many orgasms as you want as soon as you’ve both fueled up.

[lucianhuntress]

Day 17. Trafalgar Law x Reader: 29. “I should’ve fought for us.”

Behold! More angst!

It had been two years since you last saw him— his silhouette fading into the endless horizon and your heart sinking to the depths of the ocean like someone tied stones around it and threw it away. You still remember his departure, like he had taken a small bit of you with him.

Would you ever meet him again? Trafalgar Law is a pirate— and a notorious one; you keep track of his progress by following the updates on wanted posters. Even if you had told him about your feelings nothing would have changed, there is no happy and safe future for you two.

But as if someone had pulled the strings of fate and brought him back to you. You saw and felt the familiar paramecia powers you had witnessed two years ago. He didn’t seek you out at first, part of you wondering if he did forget about you, maybe even found someone special on his journey. 

In fact he was very much pained when he saw you; how much has he missed being just next to you. It ached his heart to know that you might not have felt the same way as he did. For two years he had explored the seas and for two years he yearned and regretted leaving you, not telling how he felt.

“Yo,” he greeted me when you were just restocking the medicine cabinet at the small health station you worked at. Law didn’t look you in the eye when he approached you, which made your heart leap into your throat. 

“Heya,” you replied, biting your lip and closing the cabinet. 

There was an unnerving silence between you two, both thinking about their next move. 

“So—” you both started in unison, you chuckled and he scoffed— but his lips curled into a tiny smirk. You decided to head outside to a balcony to have a chat; it was a reunion of old friends and the less people knew about your connection to a pirate, the better.

The sun was setting, casting its golden rays on the streets and buildings in the small town you lived in. 

“How have you been?” you asked, admiring the sparkling ocean and occasionally side-eyeing the pirate. You didn’t even remember him being so… hot. Just the thought made you feel flustered and weak in the knees.

“Good,” he said simply, turning towards you and you notice his presence is not as threatening as previously, there is softness in his expression and sorrow in his dark eyes. He wanted to tell you so much more; about his adventures, about the other pirates but mostly he just wanted to know how you are doing, yet the words couldn’t leave his lips even when they parted, ready to speak out.

“Ah, great.” You nod, your cheeks glowing but the colors of the sunset hiding the rosyness in its golden beams, “so I guess you didn’t miss me at all.”

“I did!” he replied fast, turning his face away to inspect the railing of the balcony, “I mean—”

You let out a shy giggle. It had been way too long since you last teased him like this. “Honestly though,” you continued with a heavy sigh to cover the blood roaring in your ears and the pounding of your heart in your chest, “I really did have a crush on you back then.”

“What?” Trafalgar swallowed, turning to face you with his eyes widened from surprise, “you?”

A breeze passed by with a silent whistle and you tugged a stray hair behind your ear, “yeah.”

He curses mildly and inhales, “if only I had known I could have— we could—” Law groaned and took your hands into his. He is clearly flustered, but doesn’t let it bother him that much, “I should’ve fought for us.” The regret stung him like a sword and you could almost feel it.

“Law…”

“Is it too late now?” he asked softly, staring into your eyes.

“My heart will always be yours,” you said, knowing that you couldn’t think of anyone other than him. Even if he were to depart the next day, you would be there, waiting for him.

[seastarblue]

Character Intro: Kaiden Evania

“So what if I can’t save everyone? I’ll try anyways, godsdammit!”

~~~ Basics:

Pronouns: she/her

Species: Human (Deathless)

Age: 27

Nickname(s): Kai, Kaids, Dee

MBTI: idk yet lol

Voice Claim: Cami Cat on YouTube

Physical:

5’8” (≈172 cm)

Build: Lean muscle

Skin: Dark brown

Eyes: Dark Brown, flecks of Gold from the Curse

Hair: Black, in locs (semi-Freeform I think)

Special Features: Gold blood, tears, and scars on account of the Deathless Curse.

Picrew refs: *more? Possibly*

Personality:

She’s quite introverted, keeping to herself around new friends and old acquaintances alike. She can come off as standoffish and cold, but she’s not really like that unless you’ve upset her somehow, which is pretty hard to do. She’s not very expressive, something she (sadly) prides herself on. She thinks (in her case) it’s best to push others away with callousness before they get too close.

Speaking Style: Kaiden is very quiet, to be honest. She doesn’t really enjoy small talk and prefers to go straight to the point. She does enjoy listening to others talk, she believes you can learn a lot from other people’s conversations.

Likes: Reading, her dog, sparring (occasionally), her friends (she’d never say it out loud she’s too embarrassed), food, tea, her name (she thinks it sounds pretty), earrings/jewelry in general, the quiet, a goooooood fight, alcohol.

Dislikes: Liars, warm weather, being forced to talk when she doesn’t want to, her curse (and the stigma that comes with it) being doted on, the Nikasa, dying.

Main Goal: “I’m going to get to the bottom of this ‘Nikasa’ business. I will rip them to pieces, mark my words.”

Backstory (under the cut—it’s quite long):

The first thing Kaiden remembered was loneliness. The ghosts helped keep that at bay for a while. Then, fire and screams. After that, everything was a haze.

On a cold winter day, a young Kaiden was playing on the rocks with other children. She, oblivious to the dangers of doing so, failed to notice the black ice below her. She slipped. And promptly cracked her head wide open. Kaiden's playmates, understandably terrified for their friend, rushed over to her mother. When her mother finally arrived, she was frantic. The curious part is, Kaiden was fine. Winded and scared, sure, but what would have been a large gaping hole in her head was nothing more than a scar after what couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. She did lose blood, though. Lots of golden, shimmering blood. The ghosts laughed then.

The Emerald Guard needed new soldiers for their lower ranks, as the experienced ones who were already serving went to prepare for war with Hlunlah. All Nialon-born citzens aged 17 to 20 were to join. Kaiden, unfortunately, was born in Nialon and raised in a tiny, sleepy Niali town called Daeryn, and so the letters came to recruit her and several others. The people of Daeryn were naturally terrified for their children, Kaiden's parents included. Her mother and father begged her not to go. Kaiden didn't want her adoptive parents to be fugitives, especially since the letters had warned- not directly, but noticeably- that the recruits and their families would suffer the consequences if they refused. Li Hua, her best friend, didn't want her to go either, and the two spent the last few weeks before Kaiden's departure arguing. It was challenging to try and get used to the new setting, as Kaiden had never left Daeryn. She was a quiet, awkward, lonely kid who sometimes seemed to whisper to the air when alone. She was an outcast, through and through. Then, she met Felix BonaDea, another alienated kid. They were inseperable after that.

Every year the Guard held a small challenge to kill a magical beast to try and find the best recruits, and as someone with little fighting skills or training, Kaiden learned quickly that she had to depend on her wits to shine. Something (not the ghosts, not this time) told her she needed to stand out.  After three years of grueling training, Kaiden had finally become an offical knight of the Emerald Guard, waiting to be informed of where she would be stationed. The Aquamarine Ball was to determine that. Instead of becoming a guard, however, Kaiden (and Felix) were approached by a Lloyd Santhuff, the leader of the Azari, an elite fighting unit. The two accepted the offer.

They were good. The best, even. Every time they were sent on a mission, they came back victorious, which was why on one particular mission, Kaiden was cocky.

“… we’re surrounded.”

They were safe, thank the gods. Badly harmed, barely alive, but safe.

He was gone now. Gone to live with his family. The others didn’t seem to care.

Formerly a member of the Azari, Kaiden Evania left shortly before the murder of Natasha Pierce, a noblewoman. When questioned about her sudden departure, she stated she felt she wasn't good enough to be a knight and realized she was better off leaving. It’s said she made quite the stir when handing in her resignation. Santhuff was particularly angry for a while after. Kaiden didn’t care.

Kaiden now works as a bounty hunter. She knows she's quite good at it.

[jtl-fics]

smalls au i beg

WIP Wednesday - Closed (9/6/23) | Smalls AU

She took the offered menu but didn't look at it quite yet. "Lot of kids who have a problem?" she asks as if she didn't vaguely remember one of the Foxes guzzling down as much alcohol as he could before having to deal with... she racks her brains for the name of the rival team in the books.

"A couple." Wymack answers vaguely but points at the menu, "which lemonade are you thinking about?" he asks obviously changing the subject.

She looks at the menu in her hands and starts to read through them. She feels her brain stall out a bit.

"What the fuck is a Blue Raspberry?!" she asks her confusion too powerful for it to remain only in her head.

< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none i dont think

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 4

It was already Christmas 1959, and I had no idea what to get Matt. I walked through the crowded streets of Wiesbaden, windowshopping, trying to get ideas. Picking out gifts for the family had always been easy, since we always knew exactly what was wanted or needed; in fact, we often made our gifts for one another. On this occasion my father gave me thirty-five dollars to spend on Matt, and it seemed a vast amount to me when I set out on this freezing cold day. I was slapped with the reality when I noticed a beautiful hand-made cigar box with porcelain outlining and a decorative design. Matt, a cigar smoker, would have loved it. But after the shopkeeper told me the price, 650 Deutsche marks or $155, all I walked out with was my expensive taste.

It was snowing heavily and I hurried into another shop, this one full of bright toys, including a solidly built toy German train that I could imagine Matt instantly setting up in his living room. But the train cost 2,000 Deutsche marks.

Heading home in the dark, on the verge of tears, I spotted a music store, where a pair of bongo drums inlaid with gleaming brass were displayed in the window. They were forty dollars, but the clerk took mercy on me and sold them for thirty-five. As I headed home I was beset by a thousand doubts, convinced that the drums were the least romantic of gifts.

I must have asked Nate Doe and David Jones twenty times if they thought the drums were appropriate. “Oh sure,” Nate said. “Anything you give him, he’ll like.” I still wasn’t convinced.

On the night we exchanged gifts, Matt emerged from his dad’s room and drew me to one corner of the living room, where he handed me a small wrapped box, in it, a delicate gold watch with a diamond set on the lid and a ring with a pearl bracketed by two diamonds.

I had never owned anything so beautiful, nor had any smile ever warmed me as Matt’s did then. “I’ll cherish these forever,” I told him, and he made me put them on right away and took me around to show everyone.

I waited as long as possible to give Matt my present. Laughing, he said, “Bongos! Just what I always wanted!” Matt could see that I didn’t believe him; he was better at giving than receiving. “Charlie,” he persisted, “didn’t I need some bongos?”

Motioning for me to sit next to him at the piano, he started playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with such emotion that I couldn’t look up for fear he’d see I was crying. When at last I couldn’t resist meeting his eyes, I saw that he too was holding back tears.

It was not until many days later that I discovered a whole closet full of bongo drums, mine not included, in the basement. The fact that my white elephants had not been throw into the closet but instead were prominently displayed beside his guitar made me love him all the more.

As the days passed I began to dread the day of Matt’s departure. By January he was already packing, and each night I spent with him became more precious than the one before.

Then, just as the weather turned freezing cold, Matt was sent out on field maneuvers for ten days, and if there was anything Matt hated, it was having to sleep outside on the frozen ground.

The morning after he left, it began to snow and by afternoon it was a blizzard. As Michelle and I were driving home from school with my mother, I turned on the radio, just in time to hear a late-breaking news bulletin.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but it was just reported that Corporal Matt Sturniolo has been rushed from field maneuvers to a hospital in Frankfurt, suffering from an acute attack of tonsillitis. Matt, if you’re listening, we all hope you get well real soon.”

Frantic with worry, I called the hospital, hoping to learn more about his condition. To my surprise, when the operator heard my name she put me right through, saying Corporal Sturniolo had left word to do so if I called.

“I’m a sick man, Little One,” Matt rasped. “I need you by my side. If it’s okay with your folks, I’ll send David for you right now.”

Of course my parents gave me permission to go to the hospital, and an hour later I entered his room, just as the nurse was leaving. Matt was propped up in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, surrounded by dozens of floral arrangements.

The moment the nurse was gone, Matt took the thermometer out of his mouth, lit a match, and carefully held it under the thermometer. Then he stuck the thermometer back in his mouth and slumped down on the bed just as the door opened and the nurse returned, carrying in even more flowers.

Smiling warmly to her famous patient, she took the thermometer out of Matt’s mouth, looked at it, and gasped, “A hundred and three. Why, Matt, you’re really sick. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here at least a week.”

Matt nodded mutely as the nurse fluffed up his pillows, filled his water glass, and left the room. Then he burst out laughing, jumped out of bed, and took me in his arms.

He despised maneuvers, and since the weather was so bad and everyone was so worried about his voice, his answer was tonsillitis. Already susceptible to catching colds, Matt learned to dramatize his sickness with a little flick of a match.

It was March 1, 1960, the night before Matt was to leave Germany to return to the States.

We were lying on his bed, our arms around each other. I was in a state of complete despair.

“Oh, Matt,” I said, “I just wish there were some way you could take me with you. I can’t stand the thought of life without you. I love you so much.”

I began sobbing, my anguish overcoming my control.

“Shhh, Baby,” Matt whispered. “Try to calm down. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll forget me the moment you land,” I cried.

He smiled and kissed me gently. “I’m not going to forget you, y/nn. I’ve never felt this way about another girl. I love you.”

“You do?” I was stunned. Matt had said that I was special before, but he’d never said that he loved me. I wanted so badly to believe him, but I was frightened of getting hurt. I’d read some of Nicole’s letters, and I was sure Matt was on his way back to her open arms.

Holding me close, he said, “I’m torn with the feelings I have for you. I don’t know what to do. Maybe being away will help me understand what I really feel.”

That night our lovemaking took on a new urgency. Would I ever see him again, be in his arms the way I had been nearly every night for the past six months? I missed him already. I could not bear the thought of the night ending and our saying goodbye for what I thought would be the last time. I wept and wept until my body ached with pain.

For the last time I begged him to finally have sex with me. It would have been so easy for him. I was young, vulnerable, desperately in love, and he could have taken complete advantage of me. But he quietly said, “No. Someday we will, y/n, but not now. You’re just too young.”

I lay awake all that night and early the next morning I was back at 18 Hauptstrasse, lost in the midst of a large group of people milling about the living room. They were waiting to say goodbye to Matt, who was upstairs finishing his last-minute packing. Knowing that I alone would be accompanying him to the airport gave me little comfort.

When Matt came downstairs, he laughed and joked with everyone there. Finally, after saying his last goodbye, Matt turned to me. “Okay, Little One, it’s time to go.”

I nodded glumly and followed him out the door. Oblivious to the drizzling rain, hundreds of fans were waiting outside. When they saw Matt they went crazy, begging him to sign autographs. When he finished he jumped into the waiting car and pulled me in behind him. As the door slammed, the driver accelerated and we sped toward the airport.

We rode for a long while in silence, both of us lost in thought. Matt was gazing out the window, frowning over the falling rain. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you to go back to being a schoolgirl again after being with me, y/nn, but you’ve got to. I don’t want you to be sitting around moping after I leave, Little One.”

I started to protest, but he silenced me. “Try to have a good time, write to me every chance you get. I’ll look forward to your letters. Get pink stationery. Address them to Nate. That way I’ll know they’re from you. I want you to promise me you’ll stay the way you are. Untouched, as I left you.”

“I will,” I promised.

“I’ll look for you from the top of the ramp. I don’t want to see a sad face. Give me a little smile. I’ll take that with me.”

Then, handing me his combat jacket and the sergeant’s stripes he’d recently been

awarded, he said, “I want you to have these. It shows you belong to me.” After that, he held me tight.

As we approached the airport, the cheers of the waiting crowds grew louder. We drove as close to the runway as possible, then Matt turned to me and said, “This is it, Baby.”

We got out as cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and screaming fans pressed toward us. Matt held my hand and walked across the runway apron until the guard, who was there to escort Matt to the plane, stopped me from going further.

Matt gave me a brief hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get home, Baby, promise.”

I nodded, but before I could answer, we were pulled apart as the crowd rushed in. I was swept away by hundreds of fans, pushing and pulling, trying to get to him. I cried, “Matt!” but he never heard me.

He ran up the boarding steps. Then he turned and waved to the crowd, his eyes searching for me. I waved frantically, as did hundreds of other fans, yet he found me, and for one more brief moment, our eyes locked. Then he disappeared. Just like that.

My parents came to the airport to drive me back to Wiesbaden. During the long ride I was silent.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad chapter 😪 (sorry its shorter than ones before)🎀

[sunshine-theseus]

Slow | Chloe Logarzo x Reader

Words: 1.9k Summary: despite a rough relationship with your parents, your closeness to your sister brings you Chloe, the only girl for you. Warning: NOT PROOF READ I have no clue if this is any good and I’m so sorry I think it might be one of my worst ones😭, I know the WBBL started in 2015 but who fucking cares, I changed it – no COVID but Olympics still postponed for some unknown reason :D Requested by - @charligrantismygirlfriend - not happy with this one at all i'm genuinely so sorry

Sport wasn’t something I was unfamiliar with. In fact, it was my favourite thing. As a kid, my mum and dad put me through many different clubs for different sports, from tennis to AFL. We always landed back at the same lush green cricket pitch in the western suburbs of Sydney on a Saturday morning, surrounded by other girls of all ages who shared my passion.

On Sundays my younger sister would play her soccer games, so we’d spend the weekend in a hotel in the city, then go to each other’s games, pretending to do our homework as we watch.

Not long into Ellie’s soccer journey, our parents decided the move from Cowra to Sydney was necessary for her to develop. The hours long trips to and from training in the depths of Sydney every afternoon proving to be more difficult as she progressed in school.

I no longer lived with them when they made the move, but I resented Ellie for a while. I’d been playing cricket before she could walk, albeit poorly as a 6-year-old, and had moved up through the stages into the best group in the academy by the age of 14. My parents insisted nothing much would come of it, so there was no reason to make such a drastic move and leave the farm and small-town life behind.

-

I started playing professionally for Sydney in the Twenty20 Cup at 17, the same year I got my first call-up for the women’s national cricket team. We, or they, still didn’t live in Sydney, so I dropped out of high school my senior year, and lived with one of the older girls who was also on the national team. I made my national debut a couple months after in a test match against England. My parents didn’t come, Ellie had some important game on that was simply impossible to miss.

-

At 15, when they finally joined me in the city, Ellie joined her first W-league team, and had her first senior team call-up. I made sure to be there for both debuts, avoiding my parents who sat in the crowd nearby. I cried the moment she first touched the pitch in a Matilda’s jersey, and rushed down from the stands to pick her up and hug her when the match was over.

That’s when I first met her… Chloe. My age, a beautiful brunette in the midfield who celebrated with my sister after their 9-0 win against Vietnam. We introduced ourselves and exchanged numbers but nothing much came of it. I can’t deny the many nights I spent awake dreaming of the girl.

The next time I saw Chloe in person was a Sydney Derby. Naturally I’d come to support my sister, but I couldn’t help but cheer whenever the older girl got a touch on the ball. I met up with her and Ellie again after the game, shouting them both dinner. That’s when Chloe asked me out on our first date.

It was somewhat rushed. Her departure for Newcastle was pending and it limited our options, leaving us to grab some shitty take away and dance around in a field down the road from where I lived. The sun was bright, but her smile was brighter. I stumble on my own feet whenever she looked at me, her beauty beyond compare. The beginning of a sunburn kissing my cheeks only provided me so much of an excuse as to why I was so red.

“I’m going to come to every single one of your games.” She whispers in my ear as we lay on the picnic blanket, beneath the over looming gum tree, me playing with her hair as she rests a hand beneath my loose linen shirt.

“You have your own training. And you can’t drive 2+ hours back and forth once a week. Also we have away games you can’t possibly make...” Despite my desperate want for her to be there every game, I begin to list all the reasons it wasn’t logical.

“I’ll find a way. And if not all, most home games.” She gives me a satisfied smile, one that tells me she knows she’s won whatever little argument we had.

-

Chloe keeps her promise, and I join her in my own. We both attend each other’s home games as often as possible, and very rarely, we managed to catch an away game. It usually happened when we were both playing a game in the same city, but we took whatever we were given.

Things went down hill when she moved to Sweden.

She hadn’t been the one to tell me. Ellie was spending a week with me after returning from the Olympics, which I had managed to attend most of, and asked me how I felt about the move. Chloe and I had been dating for a year, so the shock that she hadn’t told me was bigger than the shock at the news.

“What do you mean? She would tell me if she was moving to Sweden.” The pity in my little sister’s eyes is enough to break me. She pats and rubs my back as I sob into her shoulder. My whole body shakes as I moan and weep, and by the time I stop my eyes burn and there isn’t a dry spot on her shirt.

-

“So this is it? You’re breaking up with me because I’m moving?” Chloe looks at me like I’ve got 2 heads as I stand on her front step.

“No, I’m breaking up with you because I had to find out from my little sister, by accident, that you’re moving. Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I just going to have to find out when The Jets removed your name from the squad list?”

“I’m going to come back for the A-League season anyway! It’s not like I’m never coming back, I’ll barely be gone 8 months. And I was going to tell you!”

“When? Once your plane touched down in Stockholm or wherever you’re going? In 5 months when I called you so you can explain why you didn’t come to my game? When were you going to tell me Chlo?” I’m met with silence.

“That’s what I thought.” I turn and walk away, never expecting to see her again.

I can hear her shouting something at me as I continue to walk down the road, droplets of rain beginning to fall on the pavement in front of me. Nothing really registers until I’m standing in front of my sister’s apartment door, clothes heavy with rain and a face void of any other emotion except heartbreak.

-

I don’t see Chloe for years to come following the tragic end of our relationship. Despite her coming back during the summer to play for Sydney, I had no reason to watch her games, Ellie having moved to Portland to develop her career.

Then Ellie moved to Lyon, and I decided to move with her, putting a pause to my cricketing career. Further away from Chloe and closer to Ellie seemed like the perfect deal.

So I helped Ellie move and meet her new teammates. Every morning I’d make her breakfast and then walk around the city, usually finding myself in a café or museum and writing a book. Something I never planned on doing anything with, but found a solace in.

That’s how I found myself in the same café I go to every Saturday, typing in the same document I have been typing in for 5 months. Desperately pressing the backspace as I sip the now cold coffee, I don’t notice someone sliding into the seat across from me.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash at the speed in which my head snapped up to look at the girl across from me.

She looks different. Not really, just… older. And her hair is bleached, skin just a fraction more tan, eyes still that shimmering blue. Still beautiful

“Chloe- what the fuck are you doing here?” the words nearly get caught in my throat as I try to process what’s going on.

“Well, I’m playing for Bristol now, in case you didn’t know. Only spent 2 seasons in Sweden then went back to Sydney, went on loan to Washington for a season, back to Sydney, now I’m in England. We have a small break so I thought I’d come see Ellie. Planned everything around you, knew you wouldn’t want to see me. I didn’t take into account you might still like coffee as much as you used to.”

“How’d you even know I’m with Ellie?” it’s a dumb question but I ask it none the less.

“You think I stopped tracking your career because we broke up? I have to say, when I read the “renowned cricketer Y/N Carpenter taking a break for an unforeseen amount of time to help her little sister, Matildas star Ellie Carpenter, settle into the big leagues at Olympique Lyonnais.” headlines, I was shocked.” I finally managed to meet her eyes, the crow’s feet that crack at the corners making her ever the more pretty. It’s aggravating.

“Thought it’d help me get away from Sydney.”

“Sydney? Or me?” I almost want to grab her by the shoulders and scream at her how much I miss her, but I stay sat and silent. A satisfied hum escapes her lips and a smile graces her face.

“I miss you.” She says what I’m thinking, and I begin to think how much of a coward I am. It was so easy for her, why am I struggling?

She doesn’t let me reply, getting up and walking out. I get up to follow her but she’s vanished in the crowd, so I sit, letting my coffee grow colder, thinking about her.

~~~~~

“Ellie this is a bad idea.”

“Common. Meeks is bringing Harley and Kirstey. You love Harley. You can babysit!” my little sister is determined, although my fighting is useless as we drag our suitcases through the airport.

“Chloe is going to be there El.”

“Chloe is going to be here.” I nearly bump into her as she stops in front of us.

“And she’ll be your plane buddy.” The cheeky grin I was once so familiar with graces her face and I can feel the corner of my own lips twitching as my heart clenches. Fuck.

“Oh goody.” I try to ignore the sweat that begins to prick through my skin as Ellie stalks away from us to meet Emily Gielnik.

-

“Real talk.” Chloe’s face is serious as soon as we take our seats on the plane.

“I miss you, and I want to try this again. I get you may not want to but you can’t tell me you don’t still feel even the tiniest bit of love for me still.” Her finger waggles back and forth between as to indicate exactly what she’s talking about and I sigh.

“I miss you too…” I meet her eyes and I can see the hope that grows behind them.

“But if we try this out again, we have to take it slow. Like go out on a few dates to start with.”

“I can do that.” She eagerly nods her head in agreement.

“I’d really like that.” I smile back at her, and that seems to end the conversation.

As the engine rumbles and we begin moving along the tarmac, I rest my arm on the armrest. I gently slide my hand into Chloe’s and rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes. Maybe slow wasn’t necessary, I love her too much.

[catladywriter]

Inotan Fanfic: Sleeping Together

Synopsis: After retiring from demon slaying, Zenitsu relished the familiar comfort of sharing a room with his best friends at the Kamado household. But bedtime soon turned into a battleground when Inosuke, seeking warmth or simply craving cuddles, decided to ditch his own futon to snuggle up with Tanjirou. The couple's nighttime activities disrupt Zenitsu's sleep, propelling him into a struggle for some much-needed peace and quiet.

Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Secondary Pairing: ZenNezu (Zenitsu x Nezuko)

Setting: Canon AU, 1-3 years after the main story ends

Wordcount: ~5000 words

Status: Complete One-shot. 7th story in the Series: Where the Wisteria Always Bloom.

This story is part of the Series: Where the Wisteria Always Bloom and was written mainly as a bridge to the future chapters. It takes place in the years after “Kisses for an Idiot”, up to the next story. However, you can also read it as a standalone story.

But if you read the previous installments in the series, you may appreciate some references and throwbacks as well as the character development throughout the series. If you have the time, do consider reading the earlier stories in order before diving into this one.

In this story, our main characters live together in the Kamado family household, and they run an eatery in the neighbouring town called the Wisteria Garden. Inosuke and Tanjirou are an established couple and the story covers their ages from 17 to 20. Zenitsu and Nezuko are also an established couple.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Two years had passed since Zenitsu and his best friends had retired from demon slaying, yet remnants of their former habits persisted. Every night, the trio congregated in Tanjirou's room, a space that he once shared with his siblings. With practised ease, they laid out their futons in a familiar line - Tanjirou nestled between Zenitsu and Inosuke, recreating the arrangement from their days of travel.

Inosuke had concocted a frivolous competition - whoever was first to spread their futon and snuggle into it would be the victor, and the laggard would have to endure his jeers of “Slowpoke” all night. Zenitsu thought it was a pointless game, but Inosuke and Tanjirou always competed with gusto. 

However, things had changed since Inosuke and Tanjirou became more than friends.

It was a frosty winter night, not long after they had confessed their feelings for each other. Inosuke took a bit longer than usual to set up his futon, a rare departure from his usual swift movements. He rolled out his futon, but then hovered over Tanjirou’s instead of getting into his own. With a second's edge, Tanjirou had laid claim to his spot and was preparing to savour his victory when Inosuke yanked his covers, nudging him roughly.

"Move over," Inosuke grunted, pushing Tanjirou aside and squeezing into the tight space left behind.

“Inosuke, what are you doing?” Tanjirou asked, amused by Inosuke’s unexpected behaviour. “This futon is too small for both of us.” 

Zenitsu, always a touch more astute than the silly couple when it came to matters of the heart, sensed an uneasy shift in the air. An ominous feeling struck him, and he cleared his throat loudly. But the pair seemed lost in their own world and took no notice. Inosuke crossed his arms, but his reddened face betrayed his shy affection. 

“It’s winter,” he huffed, as if that explained everything.

Tanjirou smiled indulgently at Inosuke’s stubbornness. “I see, so you need some warmth.” 

“You’re the one who needs it!” Inosuke retorted. 

Tanjirou chuckled softly and patted Inosuke’s shoulder congenially. “I’ll fetch extra blankets.” 

Tanjirou made to get up, but Inosuke held him down, wrapping an arm over him in a firm embrace. “You don’t need extra blankets, you’ve got me,” he said matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You're right,” Tanjirou replied, his initial amusement softening into tender affection.

Zenitsu, an unwilling bystander to the ongoing exchange, released a frustrated groan. He got into his own futon and aggressively rolled onto his side, pointedly facing away from the ludicrous lovers in annoyance. He tried to drown out the throbbing noise pulsating in his ears—the erratic beating of their hearts. Zenitsu had perfected the art of filtering heartbeats, but now, their hearts pounded like wild war drums, impossible to disregard. 

Contemplating retreating to a distant corner of the room, far from the oblivious couple to give them some space and spare himself from their affectionate antics, he was struck by a surge of indignation. Why was he always the one accommodating their behaviour? They were the ones being inconsiderate, disregarding his need for sleep. Driven by sheer defiance, he resolved to stand his ground, refusing to be dictated by their whims. 

Meanwhile, the rhythmic pulse of their heartbeats echoed in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. Fuming, Zenitsu lamented that his friends weren’t dozing off. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were exchanging doe-eyed looks or indulging in some soppy romance. Attempting to distract himself, Zenitsu counted imaginary chibi Nezuko-chans, successfully blocking out the heartbeat cacophony, until Inosuke disrupted the rhythm. 

“Quit fidgeting! I’m trying to sleep!” Inosuke snapped, his voice loud and gruff. 

Struggling to find sleep himself, Zenitsu muttered under his breath, “Yeah, me too. How about you return to your own futon?” 

Tanjirou whispered in a gentle tone, “I think that corner over there is warmer. Should we move?” 

A glimmer of gratitude sparked within Zenitsu; Tanjirou still had a modicum of decency. However, Inosuke swiftly dismissed the notion. 

“Nah. I’m too cosy here,” he said. 

Tanjirou sighed. “Alright, let’s just sleep then.

Zenitsu was startled by a sudden loud rustling from the futon next to him. His ears perked up, wondering what was going on. He heard Tanjirou gasp, followed by Inosuke’s anguished yell.

"Ow! Stupid Gompachiro! You just kneed me in the nuts!"

Zenitsu's eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. "What the heck are they doing?" he fretted.

Tanjirou, sounding flustered, protested, "Sorry! Don't just climb on me all of a sudden!"

Zenitsu felt a wave of queasiness. The mental image of Inosuke straddling Tanjirou was enough to make his eyes burn. He heard more chaotic shuffling from the futon, and hoped that Inosuke was getting back to his own bed. He held his breath and prayed silently. But his prayers were in vain, as Tanjirou’s voice rang out again.

“What are you doing? I thought you wanted to sleep!”

Zenitsu moaned to himself, “Oh god, god is dead and can’t hear my prayers.”

Inosuke bellowed with renewed vigour, his voice full of excitement. “I don't know what's gotten into me, but I’m suddenly wide awake!” 

Zenitsu scoffed internally. “Because your heart's thundering like a stampede and all the blood's rushing south!” 

“Not here! Zenitsu will…” 

Zenitsu never heard what Tanjirou thought he would do. His ears were assaulted by the sound of sloppy, wet kisses, muffling whatever Tanjirou was about to say. He thought the kisses sounded like someone had spilled a pot of soup on the floor and was slurping it up. 

Enough was enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. With a burst of adrenaline, he sprang up and dragged his futon across the room to the farthest corner, desperate to escape the noise of their intimacy. 

In his lonely corner, Zenitsu felt a pang of sorrow as he curled up and tried to drown out the sound of their passionate kisses. He wasn’t lonely, he told himself. He didn’t mind sleeping by himself. In fact, he preferred it to sharing a room with those two buffoons. They snored like a pair of boars, especially that pig-headed Inosuke. Girls, he thought, were much more refined in this regard. They didn’t snore. Well, he didn’t know about all girls, but he knew Nezuko didn’t. Even as a demon, she slept like a peaceful angel in her box, never making a peep.

Yes, he had Nezuko, and she was all he needed. But now she slept in a different room. Oh, how he wished he could join her, but he shuddered at the thought of Tanjirou’s fury. The glaring double standard gnawed at him and he felt a surge of anger at the unfairness of it all. Tanjirou and Inosuke could snuggle up in the same futon without anyone batting an eye, but the idea of him and Nezuko sleeping in the same room would be met with fierce resistance. All because she was a girl and they weren’t married. Curse this sexist feudal society.

“Sorry, Zenitsu!” Tanjirou apologised to him, after what felt like an eternity later. 

“Don’t worry about it, Tanjirou,” Zenitsu snorted, his voice high-pitched with indignation. “I’m happy for you and Inosuke. Really, I am.” 

“Thanks, Zenitsu. You’re a good friend,” Tanjirou said, completely missing his sarcasm. 

Zenitsu prayed that this was the end of their antics. He was never so relieved to hear pig-like snoring, a sound that was suddenly music to his ears.

*

The following morning, amidst the clatter of breakfast preparations, Tanjirou handed Zenitsu a bowl of rice, wearing a sheepish expression. 

“Sorry about last night, Zenitsu. I’ve spoken to Inosuke; it won’t happen again.” 

Zenitsu grunted, still groggy and cranky from the sleepless night. He locked eyes with Inosuke, who responded with a haughty look, as if he resented Zenitsu for whatever Tanjirou had discussed with him. Zenitsu knew apologies weren’t exactly Inosuke’s forte. In fact, he suspected they didn’t exist in the wild boar’s vocabulary. Judging by Inosuke’s attitude, he wasn’t holding his breath for a change. 

Nezuko breezed into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What happened last night?” 

“N-nothing," Tanjirou fibbed, his ears turning a shade of red that rivalled the sun at dawn. 

Nezuko narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, you can tell me, nii-chan!” 

“Uh… Inosuke and I … caused some trouble for Zenitsu, so I was apologising for that.” 

“What kind of trouble?” Nezuko tilted her head, intrigued. 

Observing Tanjirou’s reddening face, Zenitsu sensed his struggle. He debated whether to complain to Nezuko. Doing so might humiliate Tanjirou and make him pay for his torture. However, Zenitsu also recognised that Tanjirou was shielding her from a similar discomfort Tanjirou had put him through. He also knew that Nezuko held Tanjirou in high regard, and he didn’t want to ruin her image of her beloved nii-chan. As Nezuko’s boyfriend, it was his duty to protect her and ensure her comfort and well-being above all.

“It’s nothing. Just Inosuke and Tanjirou snoring like boars all night, keeping me awake,” Zenitsu lied with a casual shrug. 

“Oh, poor you! You should take a nap later during lunch break,” Nezuko affectionately ruffled his hair. Turning to look at Tanjirou, who appeared visibly relieved, she said, “I didn’t think nii-chan would snore though. He never used to.” Then, giggling slightly, she added, “I heard that when couples get together, they tend to start mirroring each other. Nii-chan must be influenced by Inosuke. How sweet!” She clapped her hands together and gushed. 

“Of course! He’s my underling number one, after all. Of course, he follows me,” Inosuke boasted proudly, showing no sign of gratitude or remorse, Zenitsu noticed bitterly. 

Nezuko’s innocence and naivety would have him squealing “cute”, as always, if it weren’t at the cost of his own sleep, Zenitsu thought sourly. 

Well, he consoled himself, at least there might be a nap awaiting him later. He envisioned a scene on his favourite bench in the garden behind their eatery: Nezuko seated comfortably while he reclined beside her, resting his head on her lap as she tenderly tousled his hair. However, that vision wasn't a guaranteed reality. The thought of asking Nezuko for such an intimate gesture felt daunting; they'd only recently started dating. He yearned for her to take the initiative, but he feared it was too much to ask.

Envy bubbled within Zenitsu like a boiling kettle. Inosuke's unrestrained demands for affection made him squirm uncomfortably, while his own interactions with Nezuko remained restrained, limited to chaste hand-holding. He hesitated to pursue more, afraid of alarming her. 

Oh, if only he could borrow a smidgen of Inosuke’s thick boar hide instead of being cursed with his own hyper-sensitivity. Was Tanjirou tolerant of Inosuke’s boorish behaviour out of love, or did he secretly relish his boyfriend’s wildness? Regardless, he was sure that attempting Inosuke’s ways was a surefire way to upset both Nezuko and Tanjirou. In the past years, he had been frequently reminded to treat girls with respect, and he took it to heart. His mind raced back to their first meeting, where Tanjirou’s initial gaze made him feel like an insect under a magnifying glass. The memory was etched into his mind, and he swore never to experience such disdain again—especially from Nezuko. With Tanjirou slated to become his future brother-in-law, he needed to earn his blessing. For the sake of their shared happiness and the future he envisioned with Nezuko, he vowed to channel his inner gentleman.

Lost in this whirlpool of thoughts, Zenitsu suddenly felt Tanjirou's gaze, which sent a jolt of panic through him. Did his nose pick up on his inner turmoil? But Tanjirou just gazed at him with gratitude, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.

Zenitsu couldn't resist an eye-roll. "Save those starry-eyed looks for your idiot boyfriend."

*

Thereafter, their nightly routine took on a peculiar arrangement: Zenitsu secluded in one corner while Inosuke and Tanjirou formed a bundled duo at the other end of the room. Tanjirou always laid out an extra futon just in case Inosuke felt like having a bed to himself, but it lay neglected to one side, a silent witness to the former camaraderie that had shifted.

Zenitsu harboured a quiet hope that their nocturnal dynamic might return to its former familiarity after Tanjirou had the "talk" with Inosuke about their disruptive bedtime habits. He yearned for those nights where they'd lie together, bantering and sharing jokes. He even found himself nostalgic for Inosuke's juvenile futon-rolling contests.

Initially, it seemed Tanjirou's words had some impact. Nights passed quietly, granting Zenitsu peaceful slumber without any interruptions. Yet, this peace resembled cherry blossoms—beautiful but fleeting.

It always started the same way: Inosuke, starved for affection, would snuggle up to Tanjirou, trying to steal a kiss. Tanjirou, aware of Zenitsu’s presence, would gently rebuff him, cautioning, “Not now, Zenitsu can hear us.”

Zenitsu had transitioned through the stages of grief over losing his bedtime comrades, evolving into a resilient soul immune to the cringe of his awkward circumstances. Instead of feigning invisibility, he'd sarcastically quip, "Damn right, I can hear you loud and clear."

Sometimes, Inosuke's persistent affection would overcome Tanjirou's resistance. Swayed by his own desires, Tanjirou would reluctantly relent, saying, "Fine, but make it quick."

A brief exchange of affection would follow, interrupted by Zenitsu’s dramatic coughing fit. Inosuke, annoyed by the interference, would throw a pillow at him, yelling, “Shut up Monitsu!”, prompting Zenitsu to throw his own pillow too and yell back, “Go get a room!” 

Tanjirou would apologise profusely, begging for everyone to calm down and sleep, for fear of waking Nezuko up.

In an attempt to salvage the situation, Tanjirou brought in a divider, hoping to create some privacy. But it was a hopeless gesture. The divider did nothing to block Zenitsu’s hypersensitive hearing.

The temptation to seek refuge in the living room, the only other sleeping space, crossed Zenitsu’s mind more than once. But the living room, perfect for summer gatherings, was cold and draughty in winter unless he slept under the kotatsu. Zenitsu considered this idea, even though he knew it was not very comfortable. Maybe Nezuko would find him on her way to the bathroom and take pity on him. He fantasised about her inviting him to sleep in her room, the overwhelming happiness and shyness flooding him at the mere thought.

Eventually, Zenitsu gathered the courage to turn his fantasy into reality. One night, when he was sure that Tanjirou and Inosuke were asleep, he sneaked out of his futon and tiptoed toward the door. But he was stopped by Tanjirou’s voice, asking where he was going, saying he woke up when he smelled something fishy. Panicking slightly, Zenitsu blurted out the idea of sleeping under the kotatsu, though he managed to stop himself from rambling on about Nezuko in time. 

Tanjirou shot down the idea. “If anyone’s sleeping in the living room, that would be me!”  

The next day, he tried to lecture a stubborn and petulant Inosuke about the etiquette of public displays of affection, a lecture that would fall on deaf ears.

*

Zenitsu was determined to resolve the nocturnal turmoil in their sleeping arrangements once and for all. His solution was simple—build another room. Well, it was simple in theory, but he knew it would cost a lot, so he decided to work harder to boost the profits of the Wisteria Garden. He became a hawk-eyed accountant, making sure Tanjirou didn't get too generous with serving portions. He negotiated with suppliers, getting better deals to make every yen count.

For Tanjirou and Nezuko, the growth of the Wisteria Garden had never been a primary concern. Their focus was on maintaining a warm and happy environment for the townspeople while earning enough for their livelihoods. Zenitsu used to share this sentiment, preferring the idea of having free time to relax and enjoy dates with Nezuko. However, the urgency of his current goal transformed him into a driven man with a clear vision.

Zenitsu came up with crazy publicity ideas, each one more outrageous than the last. Inspired by Inosuke’s ability to charm women by showing off his chest, he suggested that the three of them go shirtless to attract more customers. He tried to persuade a sceptical Tanjirou, saying, “Women love men with battle scars. If they see the scars on your chest, they’ll go wild for you.” When Tanjirou frowned, he hastily added as an afterthought, “Your food, I mean.”

“But we’re a food business, not a show business. Let our food speak for itself,” Tanjirou said.

“Don’t be such a country bumpkin," Zenitsu scoffed. "You have to do both! That’s how they do it in the city…” 

But before Zenitsu could explain more about urban marketing, Nezuko angrily vetoed his idea. She snapped, “If you want to impress the ladies, you can parade naked in town for all I care. Just don’t drag our eatery down with you.” 

With that, she stormed off, leaving Zenitsu to clutch his chest in panic.

Inosuke, who was approaching them, looked alarmed as Nezuko passed by him.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked, his face showing a rare sign of concern. But his sweaty bare chest glistened in the sun, making him look carefree and nonchalant, which annoyed Zenitsu.

"This is all your fault!" With a sob, Zenitsu dashed off, anxious to seek forgiveness from Nezuko.

Inosuke was the cause of all of this, Zenitsu thought in fury. Since he was such a poster boy, he would turn him into a literal poster boy!

*

Tanjirou was sweeping the entrance of the eatery with a cheerful smile when he spotted a familiar figure standing at the doorstep. It was Yushirou, holding an umbrella over his head, and an enclosed carrier in another hand with Chachamaru inside. Tanjirou was stunned to see him, as Yushirou rarely ventured out in the daylight, preferring to stay indoors and paint portraits of Lady Tamayo. He usually communicated with Tanjirou through letters, so his sudden appearance was quite a surprise.

Yushirou looked solemn, and explained that he had heard that the Wisteria Garden was struggling to stay open, and wanted to offer his support. Tanjirou was baffled, and replied, “Struggling? We’re not open yet. But we have a lot of customers for lunch and dinner every day.”

Yushirou’s face twisted into a scowl. “That’s not what Zenitsu said when he barged into my studio and interrupted my painting of Lady Tamayo to make me paint Inosuke instead.”

“What?!” Tanjirou gasped, clueless about what Zenitsu had done.

Yushirou, clearly irritated, switched to his cold and curt tone. “Since your business is doing fine and Kuro-chan isn’t starving, I’ll go back to my painting of Lady Tamayo. You’ve wasted enough of my precious time.”

With that, he turned his back on Tanjirou and walked away.

“Wait! Since you’re here, why not stay for lunch?” Tanjirou called out as he ran after them. He immediately regretted his words, knowing how Yushirou couldn’t eat human food. He wanted to apologise, but Yushirou disappeared from his sight, using his demon art to blend in with the surroundings. He heard Chachamaru give a faint grumpy meow, as though the cat was admonishing him too. 

Tanjirou sighed at his own blunder and wondered what Zenitsu had in mind when he asked Yushirou to paint Inosuke. He decided to go back and look for Zenitsu to get some answers. But as he turned around, he saw another group of unexpected guests. Kanao, Aoi, Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo had arrived. Springtime was the busiest season for their ryokan, so he was very surprised to see all of them here.

“We came to support you!” Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo chirped in unison, their voices high-pitched and cheerful as always.

“We heard that your business was in trouble. We just want to help,” Kanao said sincerely in her soft voice.

Tanjirou was touched by their kindness, but also confused by their concern. He was about to thank them and ask why they thought his business was in trouble, when he noticed Aoi holding a flyer with what seemed to be Inosuke’s face on it.

“Can I see that?” he asked.

Aoi handed the flyer to Tanjirou, and he scrutinised it closely. His eyes widened in disbelief. The flyer showcased an intricately detailed painting of Inosuke, unmistakably Yushirou’s handiwork, accompanied by the cheesy slogan: “Our food is as appetising as our staff!” As if that wasn't enough, there was a lucky draw event offering customers a chance to win a dinner date with the poster boy.

Tanjirou blinked repeatedly, hoping it was some prank or a mistake.

“We're not here for the lucky draw, obviously,” Aoi said, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing to mask the disdain in her voice. “Zenitsu sent us a bunch of these flyers with a letter, asking us to distribute them to our guests. We found it… well, let's say we found it quite peculiar and unexpected. We just thought… well, maybe you really needed more customers…” She trailed off sheepishly.

Tanjirou marched into the dining area, holding the flyer in his hand. He was followed by the girls, who looked bewildered. He spotted Zenitsu, who was sitting at a table, counting some coins, and shouted, “Zenitsu! What is the meaning of this!”

Zenitsu looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw the flyer. “Meaning of what, Tanjirou?” he asked, in a hopeless and feeble attempt to stall while trying to think of a plausible excuse to calm him down.

Inosuke, who was sitting next to him spinning a coin, grabbed the flyer from Tanjirou’s hand. He gawked at it, and exclaimed, “Is that me on the flyer?”

Zenitsu looked slightly panicked, and started to babble. “Oh! Wow, I didn’t know the crows delivered so fast. I was planning to explain to you all before that. You see, um, I had this brilliant idea to boost business. So uh Yushirou-san generously agreed with my idea and painted Inosuke’s picture and I designed and printed the flyers and had the crows distribute them. This way, customers all over Japan would get to know about our eatery. And oh don’t worry about the lucky draw, of course I don’t expect Inosuke to really dine with anyone. I’m sure he’d scare them away rather than attract their business. We don’t actually have to pick anyone, no one would notice.”

Tanjirou grimaced at him. “So you thought it was a good idea to use Inosuke’s image without his permission, lie to Yushirou-san and pressure him into painting Inosuke, and now you want to lie to all the customers as well.”

Zenitsu waved his hands frantically. “No, it’s not a lie, it’s just publicity, to lure people to come. It’s just a gimmick!”

Tanjirou shook his head, and said, “At Wisteria Garden, we serve our food with honesty. This is unacceptable. You have to take back all the flyers, explain that there is no lucky draw, and you need to apologise to Yushirou-san.”

But before Tanjirou could wrangle Zenitsu into any of that, a flock of young women that Tanjirou had never seen around town before flooded the doorstep, clearly smitten by the poster boy.

“He looks even better in person!” one of them squealed, elbowing her way to the front to get a closer look at Inosuke.

“Please, please, please, can you autograph my flyer?” another one begged, waving a piece of paper with Inosuke’s face on it.

The crowds kept streaming in all day, with new customers from near and far eager to catch a glimpse of the handsome poster boy. Inosuke, agitated by their constant stares, loud screams, and attempts to surround him, suddenly stormed out of the eatery and ran back home. He came back later, wearing his boar mask, and growled menacingly at anyone who dared to approach. Strangely, this bizarre behaviour only seemed to excite the customers, who thought that the lucky draw winner would get to see his face in person.

With Inosuke practically out of action, Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Nezuko were so overwhelmed that they couldn’t have managed it if not for their five friends from the Butterfly Mansion. Kanao, Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho helped out with taking orders, serving food, and cleaning up. They also offered complimentary snacks and drinks to the customers who got impatient with the long waits.

Throughout the day, their friends came to show their concern. Giyuu reminded Tanjirou that he was always available, even if he didn’t reply to letters. Urokodaki said he didn’t understand what young people were thinking these days, but if they were hard up, they should have told him and he would have been happy to let them use his retirement savings. Sanemi bluntly told him that the flyer reeked of desperation and made him cringe. 

Tanjirou, deeply touched by his friends’ care and mortified by their perceived disappointment in him, found himself constantly apologising to everyone. He shot angry glares at Zenitsu and seized any chance to scold him, while Zenitsu tried to sneak away. Only Tengen seemed to appreciate Zenitsu’s ingenuity. 

“This is quite flamboyant. I might just have to try it for my grapevine business,” he mused. Zenitsu was secretly pleased by Tengen’s praise, but he kept quiet, not wanting to admit that he had taken inspiration from Tengen’s idea of putting his own face on his grape and wine products, after he had ridiculed him for it.

For days and weeks after that, they were kept busy by the influx of customers. Inosuke remained largely hostile to the customers, but fortunately, they liked the food enough to come back. Tanjirou eventually stopped being mad at Zenitsu when he saw how their neighbouring businesses benefited from the extra customers that Zenitsu’s flyers had brought.

Zenitsu hadn’t expected his idea to be such a roaring success, despite the unimpressed reaction from his friends. He didn’t really care for their disapproval, but he was most worried about Nezuko, whom he was sure shared her brother’s righteousness and could be needlessly stubborn sometimes. 

Fortunately, while she initially scolded him, she also said, “I know you meant well, Zenitsu. But this is not the way we do things at Wisteria Garden. We don’t need to deceive or trick anyone to get them to come. We just need to serve our food with honesty and love. Do you understand?” 

Zenitsu nodded eagerly, relieved that she wasn’t too angry with him. 

She then warned him, “Don’t ever do this again, or anything like this. Or else I won’t talk to you for a week.” 

Zenitsu shuddered at the thought, and quickly agreed.

*

Zenitsu had no need for any more dubious schemes. Business was flourishing to the point where they could hardly keep up. He persevered in his hard work, and by the year’s end, they found themselves with a sizable surplus. After expanding the eatery and hiring additional staff - former members of the Demon Slayers Corps - they still had funds to extend their home. The new addition was an extra room: Zenitsu’s own haven. Located farthest from the shared room with Inosuke and Tanjirou, it even came with soundproofing features.

Tanjirou congratulated Zenitsu for having worked the hardest among them that year, and agreed that he deserved the room so he could have better rest. Despite frowning upon Zenitsu’s questionable publicity stunt, Tanjirou appreciated the good intentions behind it and praised Zenitsu’s hard work in other areas. 

“I know you’ve been working so hard to prove your worth to Nezuko and I want to tell you that you have my blessings,” Tanjirou said, smiling warmly at Zenitsu. 

Zenitsu tried hard not to feel guilty about this. Besides, Tanjirou wasn’t completely wrong. Nezuko was undoubtedly important, so was his sanity. He couldn’t care for her without preserving his mental well-being.

When the room was finally completed, Zenitsu cried tears of joy. It was a spacious and cosy haven, a personal paradise away from the noisy outside world.

The back of the room faced the backyard, and while there wasn’t a window, he could open the back door to peer outside. In this season, the wisteria bloomed, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Excited at the prospect, he envisioned inviting Nezuko to spend romantic afternoons sipping tea and enjoying sweets while gazing at the blooming flowers. He pictured how he would hold her hand, caress her hair, and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. He imagined how she would giggle and smile bashfully in response. He dreamed of how he would lean in and kiss her softly, making her blush and melt in his arms.

He slid open the back door, looking forward to savouring his new scenery. His excitement crumbled into dismay as he found himself gazing at the backs of Inosuke and Tanjirou, locked in an intimate embrace and sharing passionate kisses on the porch. 

Zenitsu wept silent tears as he closed the door. On the bright side, the soundproofing had worked flawlessly; he hadn’t heard a thing. Determined, he resolved to work even harder, striving to buy a new house, marry Nezuko, and escape the company of the insufferable couple.

Next story in the series: Love Bugs (Link TBA) or read it on AO3

「 ✦ Please support your creators by reblogging ✦ 」

Author's Notes: This fic was originally meant to be a precursor to an Inotan smut fic (yes, diving into the deep end, for better or worse!). I mean, Inosuke and Tanjirou needed their private space, right? Especially considering Zenitsu's hypersensitive hearing. So I wanted to give an explanation on how Zenitsu got his own room. However, the storyline was getting lengthy, so I decided to make it a standalone fic and explore Zenitsu's discomfort with his roommates' antics. While writing it, Zenitsu's marketing idea popped into my mind (He and Tengen are businessmen ahead of their time!), allowing me to casually name-drop some of Tanjirou’s pals who are still around. They all remain good friends, keeping in touch.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my fic, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously! Although I mostly write for myself, your encouragement keeps me motivated to post and share my work.

[heylorrain]

Chapter 17 - Serpent's Condemn

Expand and enjoy or visit my AO3

She devoured the pudding on her plate, desperate to drown out the overwhelming flood of thoughts and emotions consuming her. But the sweet flavor stood no chance against her thoughts, and didn’t prevent the tears from keep rolling down her cheeks in an endless cascade.

As the clock struck an hour before midnight, the two Slytherins stealthily made their way through the dimly lit hallways back to their common room. The faint sounds of laughing and chatting echoed off through the whole castle, and the faint scent of firewhiskey lingered in every corner of it, evidence of a recent celebration. Some students stumbled past them in a drunken haze, while others laid passed out in various corners around the school. The duo had no need to hide or be extra careful amidst the chaos. They were like shadows, blending seamlessly into the night as they snuck towards their destination.

Ominis's voice rose above the noise from their footsteps, lamenting Anne Sallow's recent situation, his face etched with concern as he recounted the events that led to Sebastian's sudden departure for Feltcroft.

“I’m sorry that happened to her. Poor Sebastian, spending Christmas like this…” Lorra regretted not having the chance to get to know Sebastian’s twin sister, but from what Ominis had told her, she was sure Anne was just as kind and caring as her brother… and as stubborn and wicked.. 

Memories flooded back as the young Gaunt reminisced about their earlier days, where they used to tease first years by telling them they could spot mermaids if they stood at the Common Room’s window long enough. It seemed silly now, but it was one of the first memories they’d together. 

Lorrain couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of Anne missing out fourth year with her brother and Ominis. "I'm sure she'll be back soon," she reassured him, hoping it would bring some comfort. 

"I hope so; Hogwarts just doesn't feel the same without her…" the blonde added with a wistful sigh.  

As they made their way to the Slytherin room entrance, a girl with short hair greeted them before they could enter. 

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine excitement. "I'm sorry if I caught you off guard...but Penny told me I could find you here… Of course it’s your Common Room…er. Anyway - this is for you.” The girl then handed out a small present. 

Ominis didn't recognize the girl's voice or silhouette, so he decided to let the girls have some privacy and started walking away, but before he could leave, Lorra grabbed his arm. "Ominis, she's talking to you," she whispered urgently, gesturing towards the girl who held out a small striped box with a bow on top, filled with colorful candies - Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. 

“Oh! My apologies- er-…”

“I’m Poppy, Poppy Sweeting. We’re in Beasts Class together.” But Ominis couldn't place her face or name, and it was clear that she didn't expect him to. "I just wanted to thank you for treating Gerald so kindly," she said. "Especially after Garreth Weasley practically slammed food on his face. So I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas, Ominis."

Ominis took the present shyly, he didn’t expect any gifts from his classmates, especially not from someone he barely knew. But as he traced down the familiar form of his favorite candy from HoneyDukes, he couldn't help but feel touched by Poppy's thoughtfulness. 

"Thank you, Poppy," he said sincerely "Merry Christmas to you too. Would you like one?" He rapidly opened the box and offered her some but she kindly denied it. 

“They are for you after all, but thank you! I’ll see you guys around!” Poppy walked away waving goodbye at them with a wide smile on her face.

“Gerald…?” Ominis asked confused, popping a green bean into his mouth while descending into their common room.

"Her favorite puffskein...you know, the one you fed a while back?" Lorra replied before stealing some of his candy. 

“Oh…right…” That Poppy must be a Hufflepuff…

As they made their way towards their usual spot by the crackling fire, they noticed a group of first years already gathered there. In the midst of the young students stood Penny Backster, holding a large basket between her hands. Her bright blue eyes lit up as she recognized them and she eagerly approached with a welcoming smile.

"Hello again, Lorrain and Ominis," she greeted, her voice full of warmth. "I brought you guys sandwiches like I promised! And there's even some turkey legs, mashed potatoes, and other tasty treats. The house elves really outdid themselves this year." She gestured to the basket overflowing with delicious food.

Lorra graciously accepted the basket from her classmate and pulled her into a warm embrace, expressing her gratitude. 

Well I guess it’s my turn now… Ominis extended his hand with the candy box to the girl. “Would you like a Bertie Bott, Penny?” he offered. 

Penny's brows furrowed in surprise at this unexpected act of kindness from the usually aloof Gaunt boy. Hesitantly, she reached out and plucked a yellow candy from the box, popping it into her mouth and relishing in the sharp burst of sourness on her tongue. "Thank you!" she managed to say before hurrying back to her friends. 

“I poisoned that Bertie Bott you know” He whispered to Lorra sarcastically.

“Oh yeah, I bet you did…”

***

They finally addressed the elephant in the room, secluded in Gaunt's bed like a bunker, their only refuge. The topic surrounding the upcoming New Year's party caused their stomachs to coil into tight knots, making it nearly impossible to swallow down their meal. After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached a decision, a desperate plan born out of necessity. Ominis couldn't shake the nagging sense of danger that lurked around Lorra.As for her, the fear of one of their own getting hurt weighed heavily on her mind, making her anxious with each passing second.

"So it is decided then," he concluded with a heavy sigh. 

"Yes..." Lorra answered, her gaze fixed on her plate.

 "Are you certain I cannot change your mind?" Ominis pressed, hoping for a different answer. But her reply remained firm, a hint of anxiety underlying her words. 

"No, Oms...I'm sorry."

“I’ll start working on the arrangements right away then,” he said, his voice trembling with nerves. 

The girl grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly. "We'll take care of it tomorrow,"she reassured him before getting up from the bed to collect their plates. 

He hovered his wand over her and sensed her calm attitude. “How can you be so composed?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Someone has to be,” she replied, hiding her own terror. 

“Sorry, I’m just-” he started to say before she cut him off. “-Nervous, terrified…just like me,” she admitted as she clutched the plates a little too tightly. 

After placing everything back in the basket, she sat back down with her favorite dessert, trying to calm herself but failing miserably.

As Ominis let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped and he ran his fingers through his blonde hair in frustration. "Sebastian would probably come up with some ridiculous excuse to calm us down," he muttered. 

"And he'd likely throw in a few jokes about how we're overthinking everything." Lorra added with a hint of sarcasm. Despite the seriousness of their current predicament, both Ominis and her chuckled at the thought of their usually carefree friend being the voice of reason for once. It was a strange yet comforting notion to imagine Sebastian steering them back onto a steady course in the midst of chaos. 

“He’s such a good duelist, I can’t seem to beat him just yet at CrossWands” She trailed off, trying to distract herself. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he became an auror…or a professional Quidditch player-” Her voice wavered as the tears started to spill down her cheeks. 

"Why does this have to be so difficult?" She muttered under her breath, the weight of it all was finally crushing her. The murder accusations, Arthur's cruel methods of interrogation and his sudden apology, the shocking revelation about her beloved aunt… It was all becoming too much, threatening to swallow her whole. Her world was crumbling under her fingertips and she was struggling to hold on.

She devoured the pudding on her plate, desperate to drown out the overwhelming flood of thoughts and emotions consuming her. But the sweet flavor stood no chance against her thoughts, and didn’t prevent the tears from keep rolling down her cheeks in an endless cascade. 

Ominis put her plate aside and threw his arms around her, squeezing her with a force that threatened to crush her bones. She was torn between gratitude for his unwavering presence, combined with an overwhelming sense of guilt for the mess they were in, all because of her.

On top of that, the timing could not be worse, as their entire plan depended on Sebastian's involvement, but Anne's fragile state added yet another layer of uncertainty to their already precarious situation.

“We’ll figure it out, together…” Ominis comforted her. “...but wherever this path leads us, I want you to know that I-I-”

“Don’t you dare” -she interrupted sharply. "We can save our words for later, after we've dealt with this” - and regretted it immediately-.

I’d love to say how much I love you too, Oms. I wish I could say it so easily. Every fiber of my being loves you and until this day, I don’t understand why. No words could ever fully express the depth and magnitude of what you mean to me, who you truly are in my eyes…But-

“You’re right, there’s no need for those things right now. I apologize, Meva… ”

“I didn’t mean to sound harsh, Oms,” She said, gently cupping his face between her hands. “It feels like you’re saying your goodbyes, preparing for the worst, and I’ll not have it.” She tried to wash away his worries by kissing him on the corner of his lips, her own lips tingling in consequence.

He responded eagerly, capturing her mouth and pulling her closer, his hands gripping her swollen cheeks. She felt both loved and owned by his possessive touch. Yet, beneath the sweet taste of her lips was a hint of longing, begging for more exploration. 

But… what if there’s no “later”…? What if I don’t get to tell you how much you mean to my soul, Oms. What if I don’t ever get to kiss you after New Year. What if this IS my final goodbye?

A final tear rolled down her cheek, but was gently wiped away by Ominis’ thumb. She couldn’t be the one to be thinking that, she had to be strong. She had to. If not her, then who? It was her burden to bear. Not Ominis’, not Sebastian’s. It was hers and hers alone. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Lorrain,” he pleaded, breaking the kiss and grabbing her by the wrists, his unseeing eyes filled with worry. “This is madness”. 

“I believe so too. But, there’s no greater pain than living a life that isn’t truly yours. If there’s any chance for me to actually be free of whatever my family arranged me to, I’ll take it”. Her heart raced so fast it felt like it might burst from her chest. She refused to let her life be controlled by the actions of her ancestors, no matter who they were or what promises they’ve made.

After a few gentle kisses to her hands, the blonde stood up from the bed and made his way to his nightstand, reaching for something inside the top drawer. "Do you want your rings back?" He held out a small box in his hands, the rings still nestled inside. 

Lorra's heart skipped a beat as she remembered his Christmas gift. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Yes, please. Thank you." she finally spoke, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the box. "Now that I don't have a wand, I'll-"

Shit. 

Her sentence was cut off by a sudden realization. Panic set in as she remembered an important detail - she didn't have a wand of her own. Using Geneva's wand was out of the question; the thought of it made her cringe, it was like using a stranger's toothbrush. 

Ominis threw his head back in frustration, coming to the same realization. "Mr Ollivander won't be back until January, as he does every year," he pointed out with an exasperated tone. The renowned wandmaker's shop was open every day of the year except for that exact period of time. With slow and heavy steps, Ominis handed the box to Lorra, their options dwindling with each passing second. "I suppose there may be other shops out there," he muttered with forced optimism.

"But we don't have time to search for a new one! And even if we did, I highly doubt they'd be open..." Lorra exclaimed, frustration evident in her voice as she placed the rings on their designated fingers in a desperate attempt to calm herself.  They walked in anxious circles, racking their brains for another solution but coming up empty-handed.

“We could still try and-” 

“Try and get us all three killed? No thank you,” she hissed, her frustration boiling over. “Dammit! How could I be so careless and stupid?!” Her voice echoed with fury as she cursed herself for not realizing the situation sooner. “If only I had known…we could have made it to Ollivander's and procured a wand before it was too late. But no, I let myself get distracted and now we're-”

“Lorrain!” Ominis shouted in alarm, his wand pointed directly at her hands. She snapped open her eyes and gasped in shock. Her hands were engulfed in a violent purple flame that crackled and danced, but strangely didn't burn her skin. With each passing moment, the fire grew heavier and more unstable, fueled by her inner rage. 

The silver rings adorning her fingers glowed with a blinding light, proudly displaying the words GAUNT and LORRA engravings etched into their surface. 

The flames disappeared after she lost focus on her anger and frustration. But Ominis’ wand captured something that it was not supposed to be there. “Wait…” he pointed his wand to the rings on her left hand, his face contorted with curiosity. He reached them with his fingers and traced over the engraved letters of his last name. "I never asked for my name to be added…”

"I thought it was a nice gesture that you've asked Mr. Flammel to-"

"Do you think I'm that vain?” he scoffed and Lorra rolled her eyes at the question. Yes darling, you are…just a little bit.

“Do you really believe I would want my cursed family name etched onto anything?"  Ominis’ tone laced with disgust at the suggestion. 

But the sudden realization slapped them across the face. Ominis had never instructed the creator of those rings, the legendary Nicolás Flammel, to include his last name, and with a reputation like his, there was no way the renowned alchemist would make such a mistake in his work.

“Ominis,” her eyes darted between each of the rings.“You said Arthur saw your father talking to Professor Black about me, right after I left the Ministry…”

“Yes” 

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The weight of Mr Gaunt’s ownership over her felt suffocating, making her feel caught between fear and anger. How did he know about Ominis’ present? How much control did he really have over her? 

“He knew you were going to give this to me… He knows who I am…He knows he… owns me.”

👉It's been a while since I last posted an entire chapter here, sorry about that

👉The friend that helps me edit my drafts told me she wanted to see more of how Lorrain feels, what she thinks, what's on her mind... sooo this is me trying.

[calabria-mediterranea]

Dalida - The Beloved European Singer’s Calabrian Roots

Although she became famous worldwide as Dalida, she was born Iolanda Cristina Gigliotti in Cairo, Kingdom of Egypt, on 17 January 1933.

What is Dalida's Calabrian connection? Her father Pietro Gigliotti (1904–1945) and mother Filomena Giuseppina (née d’Alba; 1904–1971) were born in Serrastretta, Calabria, in Italy. Pietro studied music in school and played violin in taverns; Giuseppina was a seamstress.

Dalida was born in Egypt after her parents settled there, a move they made so that her father could pursue his career as a concert violinist.

By birth, Dalida automatically gained Italian nationality through jus sanguinis of both Italian parents.

Dalida singing the traditional Calabrian song "Calabrisella mia" (translation: "My sweet Calabrian girl") with actor John Dorelly on Italian national television:

She and her parents have maintained a strong bond with their roots over time, not only emotional, but also cultural and bureaucratic.

Dalida, in fact, even after moving to France, maintained her Italian citizenship and became French, with dual citizenship, only with her marriage to Lucien Morisse in 1961.

Dalida's visit to that small mountain town in Calabria, where her parents were born, Serrastretta, was unforgettable.

The singer decided to include an extra charity concert date in Catanzaro in her Italian tour, precisely to travel for the first time to the town that was the birthplace of her loved ones. Here she visited the house where her parents lived before moving to Egypt:

And she also met her cousins and her great-aunt who was still alive, played the tambourine and embraces the football team that bears his name.

The much idolized Dalida, the first woman to win the Platinum Record and for whom the Diamond Record was created, took to the stage of the Municipal Theatre of Serrastretta. All the newspapers talked about it. And at the moment of her departure from Sant'Eufemia station (modern Lamezia Terme), the tears flowed freely, so much so that a few days before the end of the tour, Dalida wrote to the mayor.

A shot that immortalizes Dalida's visit to the mountain village of Serrastretta, photographed next to the then mayor, Menotti Mancuso (1962)

«I would like to express to you again all the joy I felt in getting to know my family's town - wrote Dalida following a visit to Serrastretta in the 1960s -, and thank you for the warm and enthusiastic welcome you gave me. I will never forget the emotion I felt in finding myself among all of you and I ask you to pass on, both to my cousins and to all the inhabitants of Serrastretta, the thanks that come from the bottom of my heart."

Dalida in Calabria in 1962, photographed by Ezio Arcuri, upon arrival at the Sant'Eufemia Lamezia station (reportage archive)

Dalida spent her early years in Egypt’s bustling Italian Egyptian community but she lived most of her adult life in France.

Beloved singer both in Italy and France, unforgettable queen of the Paris Olympia, during her career she sold over 170 million albums all over the world, also earning the first diamond record in history in 1981, created specifically for her.

Away from the spotlight, however, many great sorrows accompanied his life, which was interrupted - at the age of 54 - on 3 May 1987 by an overdose of barbiturates. «La vie m'est unbearable. Pardonnez moi/Forgive me, life is unbearable for me" wrote Dalida in her farewell note, found on the bedside table of her bedroom, in the villa at number 11 bis Rue d'Orchampt in Montmartre.

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (24)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

It had been a month now since Amy had returned to Coventry, and every day felt listless and lifeless. She’d had long conversations with Ros, who was technically her direct manager and would have been in charge of all HR work. Amy had explained everything and had been met with the words, “We can’t keep the position open for you for long. You’ll need to make a definite decision on this. You’ve been compromised in a serious way.” It all felt like it was her direct fault, the more that Amy mused on it. 

Amy’s brother in law had been kind enough to do a run to the flat back in London, taking a rental van, to pick up her belongings. Matt had been told what to pick up and Lucas had made himself scarce ahead of the visit after Amy’s notice. 

After Amy’s departure from the flat, she had not spoken with Lucas at all. The only communication had been through texts, and this was to organise Matt’s arrival for her belongings. Lucas had agreed to keep the tenancy of the flat in just his name. 

Furniture remained behind. But all of Amy’s personal items such as remainder of clothing, her television set and DVD player, books, ornaments and even some of her cooking utensils and crockery, came back to Coventry. The majority of it was now back in her old room. The guest bed that she had shared with Lucas over new year was now her bed, and opposite it on a small bookcase was her Samsung flatscreen television. 

The last month had been a whirlwind of feeling depressed, numb, anxious and angry. Most of her dreams were her sitting in a dark room, trying to scream, but no sound came. She often woke with a tension headache, and ibuprofen had become a friend of late. 

However, as Amy entered the fifth week of being with her parents, she noticed that her period was late. Normally she had been like clockwork, always being on time and maintaining the same number of days for the period portion of her cycle. Maybe the stress of all the recent upheaval had caused it? She was sure she had heard that before, that stress and anxiety could mess with menstrual cycles. Just to be sure, Amy made her way into town one morning. Partly she needed to get out of the house and breathe. Ever since being home, her parents had been overly generous with her and kept treating her like she was a child again, and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable. 

She used up all three tests, and all of them came back positive. Amy was pregnant. 

The realisation didn’t hit her immediately, and she sat with the thought for a couple of days, trying to comprehend what was happening. Finally, two days after finding out, she approached her mum. It was an overcast Saturday morning, and her mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. 

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Sharon asked. 

“No. I…um…I need to talk to you about something.” Amy sat down opposite her mum and as soon as she looked into Sharon’s dark gaze, she broke down into tears. 

“Love,” Sharon cooed. She grabbed Amy’s hand from across the table. “You’ll get through this, darling. You’ll heal, I promise.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The words were like lead, heavy. Sharon was stunned, rendered rigid in her seat. “A…Are you sure?” 

“I took three tests and they all came back positive. I was on the pill, but you know they reckon it’s not one hundred per cent effective. But…I’ve wanted a baby for a while now. It’s just….why now? I need to tell Lucas.” 

Sharon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Amy, you need to keep as far away from him as possible.” 

“He has every right to know, Mum. I’m not going to keep him in the dark about it, and if he wants to visit…”

“No, Amy. I’m putting my foot down there. Before we know for absolute certainty that you’re pregnant, as tests can sometimes be wrong, say that you are…If you let him have any contact, think of the risk. I know you love him, but you need to let him go and make a life of your own with the baby.” 

Amy wept at the table, feeling so utterly consumed by sadness, frustration and confusion. “When will you and Dad let me have any control back?” she muttered. “You made me leave Lucas and now won’t let him have anything to do with his own child. When will you both allow me to actually make a decision for myself?” 

A flash of anger passed across Sharon’s face. “I know you, Amy. No one knows someone better than their own mother. You are besotted with that man. I don’t know what kind of hold he had over you…”

“Hold?” Amy asked, her eyebrows knotting. “He had no hold over me. He’s the only man I’ve ever truly been in love with.” 

“And you’ll find someone else.” 

“Mum, I can’t carry on with this conversation because I’ll say something I regret,” Amy spat. She got up and shoved her seat back, the wooden legs screeching across the flooring. Amy stormed to the doorway and then turned back, glaring at her mum. “Imagine being rock bottom, and you feel like no one would ever look at you twice. You know you’re not beautiful and there’s very little about you that a man would want, but somehow one man sees you. I mean he really bloody seesyou. And he finally helps you to see that maybe you’re not as bad as you always thought; he helps you to actually feel loved. Would you want to throw that away?” 

Sharon remained quiet, feeling a lump rise in her throat at Amy’s words. Of course she knew that Amy felt that way. She had seen it; the pain on Amy’s face, the loneliness in her posture, the desperation for love in her eyes. Sharon had felt all of that, too. 

***

Lucas was at work, sat at Amy’s desk when he heard his phone ring. Amy’s number flashed across the screen and immediately a whole array of emotions that he couldn’t fathom seemed to spread through his chest. His hand began to shake and he accepted the call, whispering her name. 

“Lucas. I’m sorry for bothering you. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” she said. 

Her voice wrapped around him, holding him so snug.

“Are you alright?” Lucas asked, immediately concerned for her wellbeing. 

“I need to tell you something, and maybe it’s best we meet in person. Mum won’t like it, but I don’t care anymore. I’m sick of both of them telling me what to do…”

“Amy they’re keeping you safe. They’re not telling you what to do.” 

“Why are you siding with them? Am I that bad that you’d happily just see me leave and we never…”

“Amy, for fuck sake,” Lucas growled. “I am not going over this with you again.” 

“Okay, I’m pregnant. There you go! Happy? I’ll go and you never have to hear from me again.”

“Amy? Fuck….Amy?” 

The line dropped. 

Lucas’ head was spinning. He dashed out of the main office space and into a hallway, feeling heat rise high in his head. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest and he paced the same ten feet of hallway as he tried to call Amy again, but each time it just rang out and then went to her voicemail. 

Up in Coventry, Amy grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the house. She tried so desperately hard not to break into tears, but it was too much, and she sobbed in the middle of the street. With her back against a tree, Amy bent her knees and hung her head, sobbing. 

“Are you alright, dear?” a kind old lady asked, who was staggering past on a walking stick, while walking her small dog. 

Amy looked at the kind lady through tears and nodded her head. The lady’s dog, a little black and white Jack Russell terrier sniffed Amy’s feet, its tail wagging in curiosity and excitement. Amy extended her arm down and stroked the dog, while smiling. 

“See? He always has that reaction with people. He made you smile.” 

Amy finally gathered the small slither of strength inside her and continued walking, passing one last smile to the dog and his kind owner. Trudging up the street, Amy pushed the tears away and head towards the small bakery and café which was on the corner of a small backstreet which joined on to the main high street. 

The café was quiet, with the only sound being a radio playing from somewhere in the back room. Amy ordered herself a chai latte and a piece of lemon drizzle cake, then sat at the very back of the café, slipping out of sight. 

On her phone, Amy found ten missed calls from Lucas, and three text messages. With a sigh and a sudden snap of her frayed self-control, she called him back. 

“Aim, listen to me,” he begged frantically. “Please, angel.” 

Hearing him call her ‘angel’ brought forward those horrible tears again. 

“Why do you keep thinking I’m pushing you away because I want to? That’s the furthest thing from the truth. But a baby? Are you sure you’re pregnant?” 

“I took three tests and they all showed positive. Lucas, we need to be together. I can’t be a mum without you. Don’t make me do this alone, please. I need you.” 

“I know, angel.” He sighed loudly down the line. “Your parents won’t let me near you and the baby, we know that. And they have good reason.” 

“This is our future. Not theirs.” 

“I can’t risk the pair of you. I can’t.”

“So what are you saying? You’re abandoning me? You’re going to make me go to every scan on my own, bloat to the size of a whale and then give birth in agony, all on my own? Fucking hell, Lucas, I thought you were more of a man than that.” Amy was seething at his attitude. “You’re going to make me be a single mother?”

“Don’t you think I know what I’m saying, Aim?” Lucas growled. “Don’t you think I know that by doing this I’m making you go through it alone? But making you go through it alone will make sure you at least go through it and get out the other side alive.” 

“I hate you, Lucas. I never thought you’d be this fucking cold!” 

A lady with a severe bob placed Amy’s drink and cake down on the table, her eyes wide upon hearing her customer’s side of the conversation. 

“All anyone does in my life is control me, and I’m sick of it. You’ve made the decision that we can’t be together without even considering me at all. My parents have got me back at home, treating me like a pathetic child. No one will let me stand on my own two feet and make my own decisions.” 

“Because this is putting your life at risk, and now a child’s,” Lucas spat. “What kind of a man would I be to just let all these things keep happening to you? You’ve already been shot and taken hostage because of me and being connected to me.”

“And now you have a baby, Lucas. You don’t get to just walk away from that. I am not putting ‘father unknown’ on my baby’s birth certificate. I refuse to do that.”

“I’ll make sure you have enough money…”

“It’s not about the fucking money, Lucas!” Amy cried out. “I need you in my life. The baby needs you. Can’t you see that? I grew up with a dad, and I thank God every day for that. I can’t let my baby not have a dad. Lucas…” Amy began to weep. “I can’t carry on without you. Please. I still wear my engagement ring because I can’t face that this is over. It can’t be. Sarah and Simon got what they wanted: revenge. They wanted us apart, and they got that. They can’t hurt us any more than they already have.” 

“Angel, we can’t.” Lucas voice was quiet but firm. “You have your family who’ll look after you. I’ll come to the scans and birth, but we can’t be together again.” 

“Fuck you, then. Keep away. I’ll do this alone.” 

Amy threw her phone down on the table and sobbed. 

The lady who had served Amy looked on confused. “A…are you alright?” she asked. 

***

Lucas sat with his head in his hands a short while later, gaining the attention of Ros who came onto the main floor. She approached him and perched on the edge of the desk. “What’s going on?” she asked, folding her arms. 

With a sigh, Lucas rubbed his mouth with his hand and looked up at Ros. “Amy’s pregnant. I can’t put them at risk, no matter how much I want to be with her and raise the baby. I don’t think she realises how much danger I’ve put her in.” 

“She does. Don’t underestimate her, Lucas. In the little time I’ve known her, I can see that in her. And can I be frank with you? I think you see her as immature to a degree, but she’s got a wise head on her shoulders. Far more than you know.” At that, Ros was staring straight at Lucas. Her gaze was piercing. “You’re like a lot of others in her life and you’ve taken advantage of her people pleasing nature, but when she kicks back, you see her as immature and not knowing what she wants.” 

“No…”

“Yes. I’ve been in this job long enough now to know how people work. She’s let you take control for the entirety of the relationship and now she’s trying to do something for herself, you judge her as not knowing what she wants. You did it when we recruited her.” 

“But she did do what she wanted in the end,” Lucas argued. 

“With a little input from me, to try and help her make the right decision for her. Stop telling her what’s best, and let her make up her own mind.” 

Ros disappeared into a side office and picked up her mobile, calling Amy. 

“Hello, Ros,” Amy said softly. Then sniffed. 

Ros immediately knew that Amy had been crying. “Is now a good time to talk?” 

“Yes. I’ve just got home and I’m in my room out the way of anyone overhearing me.” 

“How are you doing?” 

“I’d be a complete liar if I said I’m doing well. I’m guessing you’re calling me because Lucas told you I’m pregnant.”

“You’re very perceptive,” Ros chuckled. “Yes, he told me. I believe congratulations are in order, despite the circumstances.” 

“Thank you. I’m still considering the position, Ros. It’d be unfair of me to come back and then leave again. Maybe now that a baby is on the horizon, it’d be best for me to re-consider any future with MI5.” 

“Don’t make a rash decision now. I know I said we can’t keep the position open, but there is the option of maternity leave and pulling that forward so you take leave earlier. Your role would only ever be analysis, so please don’t be concerned that field work might be something you’d have to do. Maybe we could have a face to face meeting in the next week or two. I can come and meet you so you won’t see Lucas.” 

“How is he?” 

“Quiet, although flies off the handle easily at times. Doesn’t like to be challenged. He misses you, Amy. He even sits at your desk and uses your mug.” 

“I miss him, too,” Amy whispered. “I wish he’d let me come back.” 

“Amy, you can come back. Your parents and Lucas don’t own you; you’re your own person. I know why he’s doing this, but he needs to give you control.” 

“Everyone treats me like a child.” 

Ros sighed. “I’ve noticed.” 

***

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[hexpea]

Ch. 17 - Anemone In Victorian England, Anemones were given as symbols of love and anticipation. It's believed that the blood of Adonis caused the flower to spring for the first time, Adonis having loved Aphrodite.

The morning sun painted streaks of warmth across the tatami mats as you stirred from the cocoon of tangled limbs you shared with Naoya, your body still humming with the aftermath of the night prior. A soft knock on the fusuma door interrupted the fleeting tranquility. You extricated yourself from Naoya's embrace and, with a sigh, approached the door.

Opening it, you found Daisuke standing there, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good morning," he greeted, his gaze briefly flickering towards the single futon that gave way to the shared warmth of your night.

"Morning, Uncle," you replied, doing your best to hide any signs of dishevelment or discontent. Naoya, still half-asleep, muttered about his mother leaving as he often did in sleep, the words lost in the haze of drowsiness.

Daisuke's eyes fell upon the purple hickey against your neck, a knowing glint in his eyes. You instinctively covered it with your hair, the action not escaping Daisuke's perceptive gaze. "Your flight back to Tokyo is leaving soon," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I suggest you and your...husband," he emphasized the word with a sly smirk, "get ready."

Naoya's mumblings persisted in the background as you nodded, your patience wearing thin. "We'll be ready shortly," you replied, annoyance lacing your tone. 

Daisuke handed you a set of papers, holding onto them sternly as he looked into your eyes. "Your honeymoon information. Remember what's expected of you."

You nodded and accepted the papers with a yank out of his stern grasp. "Thank you, Uncle. I won't forget."

As Daisuke turned to leave, Naoya's voice, still muffled by sleep, resurfaced. "Mother, don't go..." he murmured, the words lost in a sea of his dreams. He slightly flinched and twitched in his sleep.

Daisuke's eyes bore into yours, the weight of his gaze making it clear that he meant business. "Don't let him linger too long in dreamland," he advised, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Remember, you have duties to attend to."

A surge of anger flashed in your eyes, and you shot back with a defiant tone, "I know what I have to do, Uncle. Thank you."

Daisuke's smirk never wavered. "Good. Get it done," he said, his gaze lingering on you. It was clear that your once loving uncle's patience was also wearing thin.

You nodded curtly before sliding the door shut, turmoil boiling within your chest as you turned to look down at Naoya's sleeping form. You knelt beside him, gently shaking his shoulder, rousing him from his sleep. He stirred groggily, his eyes fluttering open with a hint of annoyance. "What's going on?" He grumbled, his voice thick with sleep and a touch of attitude.

You sighed softly, your patience wearing thin already. "We have to get ready," you explained, your tone clipped. "Our flight back to Tokyo is soon."

Naoya let out a low grunt of acknowledgement as he stretched out on the floor, his expression souring at the reminder of their impending departure. "And what's this?" He asked, gesturing toward the papers in your hand as he slowly rose to his feet.

"Daisuke gave us the itinerary for our honeymoon," you replied, your voice tinged with exasperation. "Plane tickets, the villa, the whole nine yards."

Naoya's lips twisted into a smirk. "Oh joy," he muttered sarcastically. "At least I get to meet my death in paradise."

You rolled your eyes in exasperation. "We have some more talking to do first," you mumbled under your breath, more to yourself than to Naoya.

He chuckled darkly as he got up and began to dress, his movements lazy yet deliberate. "At least you didn't deny your task," he quipped while buttoning his white shirt.

Your eyes narrowed at his words, your frustration boiling over. "I wouldn't have let you cum in me last night if I was planning your death anymore," you shot back sharply, your voice laced with venom.

Naoya's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he masked it with his usual cockiness. "Well, lucky me then," he replied, his tone still dripping with sarcasm. The thought of accidentally impregnating you sent a shiver down his spine, a wave of panic threatening to engulf him. He wasn't usually so reckless, he cursed himself for jeopardizing your already fragile situation with his impulsiveness.

As Naoya loaded your luggage into the car, you stood by, feeling a sense of impending doom creeping over you. Just as you were about to join him, your father and Daisuke approached, their expressions stern and disapproving.

"Y/N," your father's voice cut through the air like a whip, "we need to talk."

You tensed, already dreading the conversation that was about to unfold. "What is it, Father?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Daisuke's gaze bore into you, disappointment evident in his eyes. "You know the gravity of your mission, don't you?" He said, his tone laced with accusation.

You nodded, a knot forming in your stomach. Daisuke had tattled on you once again... "Yes, Uncle. I understand," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how many times I have to confirm that with you."

Your father's voice turned icy as he reminded you of your failure at the reception, the bitterness in his tone palpable. "You ruined what your uncle had planned," he spat, "you jeopardized us."

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words crushing down on you. "I won't disappoint you again," you repeated your promise, grinding your teeth together.

Your father leaned in close, the slightly blue hue over his aging pupils staring you down. "You had better not. You know what will happen if you fail me again, daughter."

Your heart sank at his words, the threat hanging heavy in the air. You knew all too well the consequences of failure in your family. You'd seen many family members face such punishment. As your father and Daisuke turned to leave, you hugged them tightly, the sense of finality in the embrace weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"Goodbye, Father," you mumbled, your voice choked with emotion.

Naoya's impatient voice interrupted the moment, his irritation clear as he called out to you. "Y/N, stop wasting time!" He snapped, his tone cutting like a knife.

You gave your uncle and father a small bow before turning to join Naoya, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth. As Naoya closed the trunk, you couldn't help but mutter under your breath regarding your father, "you have more in common with Zenin Naobito than you think..."

Naoya shot you a curious glance, but before he could question you further, you plastered on a fake smile and leaned against the car, ready to begin the next phase of your travels.

As the car pulled away from the Kamo estate, you couldn't shake off the heaviness you felt in your chest. The fading image of your home stirred conflicting emotions within you, the thought of never being able to return crossed your mind. Naoya, sitting beside you, noticed your somber demeanor.

"You're acting like you're never coming home again," he scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to mask your inner turmoil. "Maybe I won't," you muttered under your breath, your words barely audible.

Naoya shot you a sideways glance. "What's got you so spooked?" He asked as you leaned forward and gave the driver an address to a certain gynecological clinic. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when you gave the address. "What are you going there for?"

You sighed in exasperation, "I need to consult a doctor to get the emergency contraception," you explained bluntly, leaving no room for further questioning. Your bluntness startled Naoya for a second, though his face didn't show it. "Do I need to remind you what happened last night?"

Naoya raised an incredulous eyebrow at your revelation. "Emergency contraception? You're overreacting," he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "overreacting?" You shot him a pointed look, your frustration evident. "It only takes once. It doesn't help that I was on fertility treatments prior to Naohiro's death. Who knows if that's worn off yet...? I'm no fertility expert."

He let out a low, derisive chuckle. "Well, aren't you just a diligent little wife. Can't have any accidental heirs, can we?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "It's been four months. I'm sure you're fine."

You shot Naoya a withering glare, your patience with his arrogance on its last ropes. "Shut your damn mouth, Naoya," you snapped, your frustration evident. "This isn't a joke."

Naoya just shrugged, his smirk never fading. "Hey, just offering a suggestion, princess," he replied casually, leaning back against the seat. "Maybe a little bun in the oven could buy you some time, give you an excuse to delay your little mission."

Your jaw clenched in anger at his insensitivity. "I'm not going to get pregnant just to stall for time, especially with your child," you retorted, your voice sharp with indignation. "And I certainly won't let you manipulate me into it."

He rolled his eyes, the mask of indifference slipping for just a moment as he cleared his throat. But what started as a simple throat-clearing quickly devolved into a fit of coughing, two bloodied cherry blossom petals spilling onto his palm.

Concern flooded your expression as you reached out toward him. "Naoya, are you okay?"

He quickly hid the petals from your view by enclosing them in his palm, his usual smirk back in place as he waved off your concern. "I'm fine, princess," he says, his voice strained. "Just a little tickle in my throat."

As you stepped out of the clinic, relief washed over you as you clutched the small package containing the pill. You wasted no time in getting back into the car where Naoya sat impatiently. Once settled, the driver pulled away from the curb and began their travel to the airport.

"About time," he muttered, eyeing the package in your hand with mild curiosity.

You shot him a glare as you tore open the package and swallowed the pill, washing it down with a bottle of water. "Don't start," you snapped, your nerves still frayed from the whole ordeal.

Naoya rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of concern in his voice as he replied, "just making sure you didn't get lost in there."

As you pulled up to the airport, your anxiety spiked at the sight of the looming planes. You gripped the armrest tightly, your knuckles turning white with tension. Naoya observed you with a raised eyebrow, his usual smirk replaced by a more contemplative expression. He had remembered the stress of flying to Kyoto that previous Friday.

The two of you navigated the airport with ease, this time Naoya kept his tanto knife stored safely in his checked luggage so as to not cause a scene at security. As your gate and departure time got closer, your anxiety continued to spike. Your blood pressure had gotten so high, it almost felt like the entire airport was spinning.

"You're not gonna faint on me, are you?" He quipped, though there was a softer edge to his tone this time. The two of you were walking down the air bridge to board your plane.

You shot him a glare, but the fear in your eyes betrayed your bravado. "Shut up, Naoya," you muttered, your voice trembling slightly. 

You felt sandwiched on the plane as you walked down the skinny aisle toward your seats. This time, with Naoya in front of you, he took the window seat. Despite, you found yourself shaking like a leaf beside him, trying to ground yourself with the 5-4-3-2-1 method, though it provided little comfort. 

Without any shared words, Naoya extended his hand towards you. You hesitated for a moment, uncertainty warring with your pride, but the intensity of your anxiety won out in the end. With a shaky breath, you reached out and grasped his hand, surprised by the warmth and reassurance it offered. Your eyes met briefly, and in that moment, you saw something flicker in Naoya's gaze, something softer and more genuine than you had ever seen before. It was gone in an instant, replaced once again by his trademark smirk which quivered slightly, but it left a lingering warmth in your chest.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper and essentially inaudible from the rumbling of the plane. To your surprise, he gently squeezed your hand in response.

"No problem," he replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Just try not to pass out on me, okay? I don't want to carry your ass off the plane when it lands."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt at humor, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "I'll do my best," you replied, offering him a small, grateful smile. He returned your smile with a small nod, coughing into his free fist and looking away.

Once arriving back in Tokyo, the familiar surroundings offered a temporary respite from the whirlwind of emotions. The echoes of your father's threats and Daisuke's warnings still resonated in your mind, the mounting tension between duty and personal desires had yet to find its resolution.

Upon returning home, the need to unpack and repack for the upcoming honeymoon gnawed at you. You dragged your luggage into the bedroom, sighing audibly as you unzipped the bag. Clothing spilled out, a chaotic mix of memories and necessities. Naoya lounged on the bed, a lazy smirk on his face as he observed you.

"Unpacking is such a hassle," you grumbled, glancing over at Naoya. "And we have to do it all over again for the damn honeymoon."

Naoya chuckled, his eyes tracing your movements. "Well, lucky for me, I've got a wife to take care of all that now. You'll handle the packing; I'll just reap the benefits of a well-prepared suitcase."

You shot him a wicked grin. "No way, Naoya. You're a big boy, you can do your own packing."

He scoffed playfully, getting off the bed to pinch your side, causing you to yelp. "Oh, come on, princess. Where's the fun in that? Besides, it's a wife's duty to ensure her husband's comfort, right?"

You rolled your eyes, pushing his hand away. "Your comfort isn't exactly my top priority, believe it or not."

Naoya leaned back, smirking. "Well, it should be. Happy husband, happy life, isn't that the saying?" He gave a sarcastic grin as you glared up at him.

"Happy wife, happy life," you grumbled with a smirk of your own as you separated your clothes from your luggage. "And it's still a fucked up saying."

He stretched his arms above his head as he let out a satisfied sigh as if savoring the comfort. "Well, you did good conquering those flight jitters on the way back. Bet the trip to the Maldives will be a breeze for you," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Don't remind me, it's a seventeen-hour flight," you muttered, shivering involuntarily at the mere thought of more flights.

Naoya, ever the opportunist, gripped your shoulders and leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he teased, "oh, please. Our honeymoon is going to be exciting, and not just because of the destination." He released you with a smirk, adding, "I've got some business to discuss with my father. Can you at least do something useful and empty out my luggage?" His tone was demanding, as if he expected nothing less.

You stared up at him suspiciously, the gears in your mind turning as you rolled your eyes. "And what's in it for me?" You retorted, refusing to let him think he could boss you around without consequences.

Naoya's gaze darkened slightly, and leaned toward you once more, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Well, who knows? Maybe I'll reward you later, princess." He chuckled lowly before straightening up and leaving you to your thoughts.

"Stop calling me that!" You called out to him as he left, grumbling to yourself as you leaned back over your luggage.

Naoya entered the main room of the Zenin estate with a purposeful stride, his jaw clenched tightly as he approached his father, who seemed entirely absorbed in his paperwork that was sprawled out on the tatami mat in front of him. Naobito remained inattentive to his son entering the room, focused solely on the documents spread out on the mats.

Without looking up, Naobito spoke in a disinterested tone. "If you're here to whine about your marital duties, Naoya, spare me the theatrics. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Naoya's fists tightened at his sides, his patience wearing thin at his father's dismissive tone. Swallowing his pride for once in his life, he forced himself to remain calm as he spoke. "No, Father, it's not about the damn honeymoon," he gritted out through clenched teeth. "It's about some...symptoms I've been experiencing. I need the clan physician to look into it."

Naobito finally lifted his gaze from the papers, his eyes narrowing as he studied his son's demeanor. "Symptoms?" he echoed, his voice laced with skepticism. "What kind of symptoms?"

Naoya hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his desperation for assistance. "It's nothing," he muttered dismissively, his gaze flickering away for a brief moment before locking back onto his father's. "Just some coughing and...other things. I need to make sure it's nothing serious."

Naobito regarded his son with a scrutinous gaze, sensing there was more to the story than Naoya was letting on. But he chose not to press further, instead nodding curtly. "Very well. I'll let Dr. Kikuchi know," he sighed, his tone giving no hint of warmth. "But remember, Naoya, this illness doesn't get you out of your duties. You're going to the Maldives to satisfy the generosity of that Kamo asshole whether you like it or not."

Naoya bit back a retort, his fists unclenching slightly as he suppressed his frustration. "Of course, Father," he replied with forced civility, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. "I'll see to it that my...duties...are fulfilled."

With a curt nod, Naobito returned his attention to the papers before him, effectively dismissing his son. Naoya turned on his heel and exited the room, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. As he made his way back toward your room, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that his carefully constructed facade was beginning to crumble, revealing the vulnerability he had worked so hard to conceal.

Naoya returned to the bedroom, his steps heavy with the weight of his frustrations. As he entered, he noticed you kneeling on the ground, diligently unpacking his suitcase. His irritation spiked when he saw you folding his button-up shirts instead of hanging them up as he preferred -- as if you would know.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He growled, striding over to you with purposeful steps. Without warning, he yanked you by the hair, causing you to gasp in pain as he forced your body slightly upward.

You gritted your teeth against the pain, refusing to show any sign of weakness. "I'm unpacking your damn bag like you asked," you hissed, your voice tinged with defiance.

Naoya's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. "Well, you're doing it all wrong, you incompetent little bitch!" He spat, his words dripping with venom. 

You couldn't help the surge of anger that coursed through you at his demeaning words. With a swift elbow to his stomach, you managed to break free from his grasp, causing him to double over in pain. "Fuck you, Naoya!" You snapped, your voice laced with contempt. "Be grateful I even bothered to unpack your sorry ass suitcase."

As Naoya staggered back, clutching his abdomen, a sudden fit of coughing overtook him. His coughs were rough and ragged, each one wracking his body with violence. He stumbled to the edge of the bed, his hand pressed against his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Jesus, Naoya, you have to get that looked at," you muttered, concern evident in your voice as you watched him with furrowed brows.

Naoya nodded weakly between coughs, his face contorted in pain. "I...I know," he managed to choke out, his voice hoarse and strained. "I'm going to see Dr. Kikuchi before we leave for our honeymoon." He did his best to add a sarcastic tone to the word 'honeymoon' but the coughing drowned out his tone. 

As he pulled his hand away, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of blood and petals in his palm. For a moment, you were taken aback, but as he glared up at you, you lifted an eyebrow and scoffed. "Maybe you just opened your arrogant-ass mouth too wide near a cherry tree," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Naoya's glare intensified, his frustration palpable even through his fading coughs. "Sakura season was over a few weeks ago, idiot," he muttered between ragged breaths.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see any sign of concern. "Well, it's got nothing to do with me," you declared with a defiant tone. "If I'd made my move, you'd be dead already."

Despite the pain etched across his features, he managed a smirk, his eyes flickering with a mixture of annoyance and something else -- something softer, hidden beneath layers of arrogance and pride. "Don't flatter yourself, princess," he retorted with a strained voice. "You're not that deadly."

You gave a soft smile and stepped closer to him, gently tilting his chin up so he looked up at you. "Come on, Naoya, let me take a look," you said softly, your voice devoid of the usual tension between them. "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

Naoya hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty, but ultimately he complied, albeit begrudgingly. As you inspected his throat, you noticed the irritation, furrowing your brow in concern. "Your throat looks pretty irritated," you remarked, your tone more serious now. "But cherry blossoms aren't poisonous unless eaten in large amounts, so it's not that. Unless you've developed a craving," you giggled.

Naoya, still looking up at you while you inspected him, felt a warmth spread across his cheeks, a blush coloring his usually stoic expression. You noticed the blush and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you feeling feverish at all?" You asked, your concern genuine despite your usual banter.

Suddenly, Naoya yanked away from your grip on his chin, his expression hardening as he stood up and stormed out of the room without a word. You watched him go, shaking your head in exasperation. "Typical," you muttered under your breath.

A few days later, as you finished zipping up your suitcase from re-packing, you glanced over to see Naoya sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression tense as he awaited the arrival of Dr. Kikuchi. You couldn't help but feel a pang of worry gnawing at your insides as you observed him. Had Daisuke done something to him without your knowledge? Despite his usually hard facade, there was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that tugged at your heartstrings despite your better judgement.

The sound of soft knocking at the shoji door broke the silence, signaling the doctor's arrival. Naoya's jaw clenched tightly as he stood up to open the door, his demeanor rigid and guarded. You watched him from a distance, your curiosity piqued as Dr. Kikuchi entered the room, his presence exuding an air of professionalism and authority.

"Zenin-sama, good afternoon," Dr. Kikuchi greeted with a polite bow, his expression neutral as he glanced around the room. "Shall we proceed with the examination?"

Naoya nodded curtly, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. The doctor placed his bag next to him and opened it, retrieving the necessary items for taking vitals. As Naoya was being examined, you couldn't help but eavesdrop, pretending to fidget with your suitcase and packed belongings. Dr. Kikuchi began the examination, his movements methodical and precise as he checked Naoya's vitals and listened to his breathing. You watched with bated breath as the doctor then proceeded to examine Naoya's throat, his brow furrowing in concern as he inspected the irritated tissue.

"I'd like to discuss the result of your x-ray that you'd gotten the other day," the doctor began, his tone grave as he pulled up the images on a tablet. "There appears to be an abnormal growth in your bronchi, but it doesn't resemble cancerous tissue. Instead, it appears to be...roots of some kind, the core of it spawning outward from your heart and into your lung tissue."

Naoya's eyes widened in surprise, his mask of coldness slipping slightly as he processed the information. "Roots?" He echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. "What the fuck do you mean roots?"

Dr. Kikuchi sighed, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair in frustration. "I wish I could offer a definitive answer, Zenin-sama," he admitted, his expression troubled. "But this is unlike anything I've seen before. It's as if...something is taking over your respiratory system, but I can't say for certain what it is without further testing."

You listened intently, your heart skipping a beat at the gravity of the situation. Despite his callous demeanor towards you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy towards him.

Dr. Kikuchi continued, his voice somber as he discussed the next steps. "I'll be running further tests on your blood work and the samples you provided," he explained, his gaze focused on Naoya. "But for now, I advise you to be careful and enjoy your honeymoon. We'll reconvene when I have more information."

Naoya nodded, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the doctor's words. You watched him closely now, noting the tension in his shoulders and the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Despite the usual facade of indifference, there was a hint of fear lurking beneath the surface.

As Dr. Kikuchi prepared to leave, you couldn't help but step forward, your concern bubbling over. "Dr. Kikuchi, is there anything we can do to help Naoya?" You asked, chewing on your bottom lip. "Is there any treatment or medication that might alleviate his symptoms until we know more?"

The doctor regarded you with a sympathetic smile, his gaze softening. "I'm afraid there's not much we can do until we have a better understanding of what we're dealing with," he admitted, his tone gentle. "His cough is moderate and he should be stable for the entirety of your trip. But for now, I suggest he take it easy and avoid any strenuous activities. And of course, if his condition worsens, don't hesitate to contact me immediately."

You nodded, your heart heavy with worry as you watched the doctor leave. Naoya remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as he processed the information. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him, a desire to reach out and offer comfort despite the animosity between you.

"Naoya..." you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you...alright?"

Naoya glanced up at you, his expression unreadable as he met your gaze. For a moment, there was a flicker of warmth in your direction. But before you could say anything else, he masked it with his usual facade of arrogance, his smirk back in place as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'll be fine, princess," he replied with forced bravado, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "Just another bump in the road, that's all."

Dates: June 24, 2018 - Naoya and Y/N depart from Kyoto to go back home to Tokyo. June 28, 2018 - Dr. Kikuchi examines Naoya but doesn't have any definitive answers.