#This blog will be kept for Memory Purposes.

[pearl-nouveau]

A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter one]

summary: Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, has always prepared you to marry and you have always resisted, terrified that you will only ever be seen as a wife. But your heart is torn when love catches you by surprise.

contains: mentions of self-harm, aged-up characters (Jace is ~19 idk)

a/n: wow i have not posted on this blog in YEARS but i lurk in tumblr reader insert oneshots like it's my part-time job, and i wrote this on AO3 so i decided to post here and hopefully get some love. i really love posting my writing even if it is not perfect, it's just a passion. let me know if i should post the second chapter and my asks are always open! xx - pearl🦪

Beauty is power, my mother used to tell me, stroking my silver hair as if it were made of golden thread. She loved my hair. Use your beauty to set yourself free. I had no idea if she meant for her words to bring some kind of comfort to me - they did not. 

Sometimes, I hated her for bringing me into the world altogether. While Jace and Luke envied my resemblance to our mother, I detested sharing her light hair and lilac eyes. It seemed to me a symbol of my imprisonment - it became clear to me, hearing all this talk of my beauty and nothing else, that I was never to be loved or seen for anything else.

In my youth, the abstract concept of my fertility and status made me a formidable form of currency within the royal family. Jacaerys, older by one year, made his way as heir by training in combat and dragonriding and studying the history of Westeros and Old Valeria - I, however, was confined to studying the family trees of the realm's powerful houses, to perform the perfect Velaryon princess and eventually be bred like a cow.

I hated my life. 

Many attempts were made to rebel against my predetermined future. At ten and two I sliced all the hair from my head, leaving a shaggy, uneven mess of shimmering half-bald patches that took years to grow back. I had never seen my mother so angry until at ten and four I began slicing patterns into my arms and legs to scar the perfect pale skin everyone complimented me on. Soon she required a chaperone with me at all times, which only made me more furious, and I began picking fights with my cuntish uncles and coming back from dragon rides inexplicably soaking or covered in soot. I waited for my mother to attempt to put together the puzzle I had laid out in front of her; to figure me out and decide that her daughter - the strong-willed, intelligent, adventurous one - matters more than the empty shell of a married woman that I will surely become. 

At the very least, my mother allowed me the power to turn away whomever I wished. It seemed she hoped I would find someone who struck my fancy. But as time passed and my antics worsened, her grip on me tightened, and I began to fear the wost: an impending betrothal. 

She frequently asked me to rack my brain and think of any previous men she had introduced me to who I may want to explore further. But I was stubborn. I maintained that no one had caught my eye, and I insisted that I would never marry. Whenever I said such things, my mother would frown at me in a way that hurt my heart. She was my greatest antagonist, but I loved her, and I knew that it saddened her to put me through such pain. 

Even if there was one man who never left an impression on me, whose memory kept me awake in the darkness of night, I would never tell my mother. It was too humiliating after so many years of fighting marriage to be seduced by love.

Every so often I allowed myself to think about him before I went to sleep, to be swept up in the beautiful dream of someone's arms around me. I could imagine him saying to me, I choose you. That was what I always dreamt of hearing. I choose you, as you are. Just you. 

Jacaerys tried to sympathize with me but he would never truly understand. He did allow me to partake in his own pastimes to grant me a change of scenery from the walls of King's Landing. 

"It infuriates me that she herself is allowed to break barriers as heir to the Iron Throne and I must remain shackled to tradition," I complained to Jace as we sparred in a remote corner of the keep. "She gets to be immortalized as the first of her name while subjecting me to a loveless marriage."

"She was in an arranged marriage with our father." Jace pointed out, sending a particularly hard offensive move my way. I easily thwarted it. 

"Well..." I trailed off. There was nothing to say, not in words, about our parents, or our parentage. It was an unspoken issue, even between Jacaerys and I who were nearly as close as twins. We supposed it would always be shrouded in mystery. We were prepared to always wonder. It seemed unthinkable to ask our mother any questions, nor our father, nor... 

Strong boys, they said. 

Perhaps Jace and I wouldn't speak of it because our difference in hair color had always been a sore subject. I was broken out of my thoughts by another offensive move, this one catching me by surprise. I stumbled back but recovered, moving around the side of my brother as he laughed at me in the way only an older brother would. 

"I'll get you back for that," I snapped at him, but grinned. He smiled back, shrugging cockily. Bring it on, his eyes told me. 

We sparred a bit more until our breaths were heavy in our throats and our swings became more jests than challenges. Eventually, he tossed his sword on the ground and fell upon a sack of grain. I sat next to him and for a moment we were not prince nor princess. We were just two siblings. I sighed, knowing it wouldn't last for long. 

Jace seemed to decide to bank on the moment as well because he looked to me and spoke. "Was there really never anyone who caught your eye? Not in all those years of meeting suitors?" He thought for a moment. "There were some good ones."

"Some good ones?" I scoffed. "Who, pray tell?" 

After a few moments of consideration, he began to chuckle and I rolled my eyes. The chuckle became a cackle and at this joke, I did not laugh along. We both knew that most of the options I had been presented with were vapid, shortsighted, insecure children, as were most men.

I was about to hit him to shut him up when he stopped suddenly and his face brightened with realization. 

"I know a good one," Jace said, "Cregan Stark."

A flush crossed my face at the name.

Usually, I only allowed that name to cross my mind in the darkness of night, but Jace had disrupted that routine. "What about him?" I tried to ask innocently. This time my brother was the one to roll his eyes at me. 

"Don't play the fool, sister," he teased, "when he came to visit those years ago everyone could see that you both took a liking to each other. Even you couldn't fight him." He nudged me playfully with his elbow. "He fights like a Northerner, and he wanted to fight for you."

"Oh, hush."

"Why did you ever turn him away anyways?"

His question silenced me. It was a painful memory. Cregan had come to treat with my grandsire and pledge his support as Warden of the North, and in those two moons he stayed at King's Landing we came to know each other well. Perhaps the reason why I had opened myself to getting to know him was because he had not come for the intention of courting me. In fact, I found him wonderfully ignorant about the social politics of the royal family, and he did not know of my existence upon his arrival. 

The day we met, I was in the Godswood with a book and a porcelain cup of candied almonds. A midnight blue veil covered my thigh-length silver hair. I hated my hair, and I hated that my mother would not let me cut it. I refused to have it braided and let it fall unbrushed and wild down my back.

He had come into the courtyard without noticing me tangled in the roots of the tree. He came closer to examine the trunk thoughtfully, allowing me a glimpse of his face through the branches. I had heard of his arrival and listened from behind closed doors at their meeting, intrigued by his deep voice and foreign accent. I listened intently as he spoke a prayer in a hushed tone. All of a sudden, his gaze shifted to meet mine between the leaves as if he had known I was there the whole time. 

"Apologies, my lady," he bowed his head slightly. "I did not know the Godswood was occupied."

"There is room enough for two," I said shyly. I was not accustomed to being pleasant towards men. I was known for being a beautiful devil, a menace with a sour tongue. It made me self-conscious to think that I was changing my behavior for a man. But I was merely matching his politeness; and he had no reason to falsify his kindness, since he had no idea who I was. 

Luckily for me, I had no reason to overthink my words because he went silent for a long while, lost in a wordless prayer. After a quarter of an hour had passed, he came closer to me, and gestured to the root beside me. 

"Do you mind if I sit?" He had asked.

I shook my head and he moved his thick cloak to drop down beside me. 

"Pardon my intrusion, my lady, I find myself feeling lonely when I come to the South. The Godswood calms me."

"I understand, Lord Stark."

His eyebrow quirked. "You know who I am?"

"I'm afraid I do." I smiled. I loved having the upper hand. I decided I wouldn't tell him who I was. 

"What is your role here in the castle, my lady?" 

"To please lords like you." I jested. Cregan leaned back slightly, taken aback. I quickly realized the suggestive wording of my joke. "Not like that," I quickly corrected, "I was just... I mean-"

"I know who you are, princess." He chuckled at me. I was glad to be rescued from the embarrassment of my failed joke. I gazed at him questioningly. He leaned forward and gently removed the veil from my head. "Unfortunately your appearance does not allow you anonymity." 

I blushed. "What have you heard about me?" 

"Nothing, I admit, until your grandsire told me about you today. He told me of your age, not many years my junior, and I supposed-"

"- That I might make a fine breeder for you?" I snapped. There went the illusion of politeness. This was where they usually ran, when I became a beast instead of a beauty. A piece of work not worth the effort. 

Instead, Cregan merely chuckled. "Actually, I sought a companion. A friend. Being here is lonely for me, and I thought you might show me what life in King's Landing is like. If I am to swear fealty to your family, I seek to know your customs. Your mother has told me that you are the most well-acquainted with the keep of her children." 

You smiled. Had your mother truly said that? It was true, since you spent so much time darting around the palace avoiding her orders. 

"Would you mind giving me a tour?" He asked. His tone was so gentle, so uncomplicated. It was like no man had ever spoken to me before. With respect, as if he were speaking to a friend. It was refreshing.

For the next few weeks, Cregan and I formed a friendship based on mutual respect. He informed me of Northern politics and asked for my opinions on complicated political matters through a Southern perspective. I introduced him to my dragon, Vermithor. Afternoons were spent in the Godswood picnicking for the purpose of introducing him to local cuisine, and evenings were spent in the library discussing literature. The relationship felt as easy as breathing to me, and I could tell he felt the same. After close to two moons, it had begun to frighten me how much I longed for his presence when we separated at the end of the day. 

There had always been a tangible tension between us that toed the line between friendship and romance. Lingering gazes, intentional touches, and meaningful words kept me up at night. He opened up to me about the unique grief of losing his wife in childbirth and having to leave his infant son at home so soon afterward. I showed him the scars littered across my body, and explained to him how I hated my beauty.

He had taken my head in his hands and looked through my soul with those gray eyes. 

"Your beauty... It is just a fraction of you. What is truly incredible is your kind heart, your wit, your intelligence, your soul..."

I had been unable in that moment to keep myself from kissing him, so I let my mind empty and I surged forward to connect our lips. He responded with fervor, bringing me close, the pads of his thumbs barely grazing the peach fuzz on my cheek. I could not even bring myself to feel ashamed about grabbing his tunic underneath his cloak, my fingers unknowing but desperate. He had taken my hands and pulled back, only to kiss my nose, then brow, then the corners of each eyes, and then my knuckles. 

Suddenly I came too. I saw in front of me the path that had been laid for me - a wife, be it to a good man or a bad one. I was still determined not to let that happen. 

As I often did, I had fled. I had avoided him until he went back to Winterfell. Two moons later, a raven came from him. I didn't dare open it, too afraid to face my actions. Even if I felt that I knew what the contents were, Cregan was not like other men I knew - thus I had always wondered what the letter said. I wondered if it was true that he truly cared for me and saw who I was inside. The thought made me realize that even I myself did not know what path may be laid in front of me. My feelings confused me, and I decided to shut the Lord of Winterfell out of my mind forever.

Except on some dark nights. 

And except for now, when Jacaerys prods my arm and awaits the answer to his question. I realized I must have been silent for a long time as his voice began to register in my head. 

"Lost in thought?" 

"Ha-ha," I shoved him back. "Sort of." 

Jace's face became serious. "I was only jesting, but perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up. I know you truly did care for him."

"How could you tell?" I asked, genuine curiosity lacing my tone. It was past the point where it was worth feeling awkward about the truth of my feelings. I was only human, after all. 

"He was kind to everybody, but especially to you." Jace pursed his lips in thought. "Although at the same time, he does not treat you like you're soft. It was like he loved hearing you speak. Like your word was God."

I smiled. 

Jace nudged me. "And... he looked at you like you hung the damn sun in the sky."

My heart skipped a beat hearing that. I knew it was true, but I was used to people looking at me in awe. As if I were a ball of light floating in front of them, ethereal, untouchable. Cregan was not afraid to see through me, to touch me. He made me feel held.

Emotion overcame me in that moment. I quickly scrambled up from the bag of grain Jace and I were lounging on, grasping my sword and tossing my hair over my shoulder. 

"Well, it's too late now," I quickly said, "He's in Winterfell and it does not matter if he cares for me or not, I do not want the life of a housewife."

Jace stood. "Who says that getting married means you'll become a housewife? You'll be a lady, you could do whatever you please." 

"It isn't just the marriage, it's the principle of it!" I cried, moving away from him towards the main training yard. "As soon as I take those vows, it means my purpose is only to bear children." As we entered the larger courtyard and grew closer to other people, he grasped my arm and spoke to me in a lowered voice. 

"I know you think I do not understand, but I am soon to be betrothed as well, likely to someone I will never love."

"Well, at the end of the line, you have a throne." I spit at him, spinning on my heel and leaving him staring helplessly after me. 

[nmn-yty]

— ๋࣭ ⭑࿐ first time ｡o♡⋆˚｡⋆.

read part 1: here!!!

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: caring for a bunny seemed harder than you thought

tags: 「SFW! fluff! (ik the title is misleading but i promise this is all fluff!) | hybrid!lee know | referring to lee know as minho | soft!lee know (he's even cuter in this one) | hyper lee know>< | bunny bath time! | the neediest bunny ever | another sweet little kiss! | reader has no gender」

word count: 1.7k

a/n: back at it again! ik ive said it so many times throughout my blog but im truly thankful for all the likes and reblogs(◞‸◟)♡ this will not be the last of my bunny lee know endeavor but stay tuned for more hybrid, skz, and kpop stories in the meantime! also keep in mind that ive never owned any pets so the animal behavior is based on memory of things ive seen online, dont come for me pls>< anyways, i hope this one lives up to the hype of the first part, enjoy!!! (also i apologize for not posting sooner><)

+ stylized lowercase, missing punctuation (not done on purpose), and minimal revisions

a few days in and the days seemed to get harder and harder for you. not because minho was causing you any trouble, but because the fluttery feeling in your stomach kept growing the more you spent time with him. it was scary how perfect he was in every way.

you were sitting on your couch enjoying a nice hot drink, when the familiar sound of thumping on the wood floor caught your attention. you looked down to find a playful bunny minho. he was scurrying around your feet, even moving his paws to your legs.

"what's wrong?" you set your drink down on the table in front of you.

minho kept on pawing at your legs. you reached down to pick him up, placing him in your lap.

"i can't understand you when you're in the form, you know?"

he looked up at you with a nonchalant expression, you expected nothing out of him. before you knew it, you had a hybrid minho sitting in your lap bridal style, hands wrapped around your neck. the weight and size change startled you, but he loved to tease you and transform whenever he pleased.

"can i please go outside for a bit?" he was really bouncy and sounded out of breath. you had to remind yourself that he was a wild animal. although you took him in to stay in your house, his animal instincts couldn't be suppressed.

"okay, but only for a little-" he cut your sentence off by changing back into a bunny, still knocking you off guard.

he scurried off your lap and towards the back hallway, scratching at the door for you to open it. he looked back at you with those big dark eyes. they always sparkled perfectly in the right lighting. seeing him being all hyper as an animal was truly so endearing. you've always wanted someone like him in your life. the universe definitely planned out your lives to be intertwined.

you rolled your eyes from his fast movements and got up. the second you opened the door wide enough for him to fit, he dashed out onto the grass. it has still been snowy for the past couple of days, but today the grass held a light layer of snow from earlier that day.

he was hopping around the entire yard, sniffing around bushes, chewing on some of the obtainable food he could get his mouth on. you could see the footprints and tracks beginning to circle around the snow. the whole surface of your yard was being fully inspected by him.

you couldn't help but sit down by the steps of your back porch. hugging your knees in admiration, you followed minho's path all throughout the whole time you were out there. you couldn't help but get flustered about the racing thoughts in your mind. something as simple as watching him be comfortable in his environment made you feel at ease.

what you didn't know was minho found himself wanting to be human more for the both of you. it was exhausting for him at times, but he couldn't help but laugh with you, smile with you, feel with you. he never got to experience these moments with anyone before. he wanted each adventure with you to last for hours.

he looked up to find you staring at him, which made his heart race faster than it normally should. draining energy fast, he flopped on his back, waving his paws and feet in the air. getting a chuckle out of you from the distance, he felt satisfied. the sudden urge to dig overwhelmed his thoughts, getting back to his feet and digging straight down from where he was standing.

luckily, you had your mind to distract you from his actions. he started to go feral, getting the dirt and snow all over his face.

drifting away from your daydream, you found your white fluffy bunny turning brown from the dirt and snow.

"minho, no!" you quickly ran over to him, making him realize he was likely in big trouble. thinking two steps ahead, he dove out of your attempt to grab him. shocked and stunned, you still chased after him. he was running steadily back towards the house. the universe was on your side though, as the back door was closed and all minho could do was try to reach up and grab the handle. however, being in his small form, he failed miserably.

"cmon silly," you bent down to grab the squirming animal in your arms, the warmth from your body making him docile and shut down.

once you got to the bathroom upstairs, you gently set minho on the floor. his eyes were slowly closing and he tried his best to keep them open again. before he could fall asleep, he jolted himself awake, which unfortunately turned him into his hybrid form.

"do you want me to take my clothes off so you can bathe me?"

his question made you whip your head around in shock, stuttering nonsense to try and distract yourself from the image of himself being naked in front of you.

"dont be difficult... turn into a bunny so i can wash you quickly."

he let out a small whine, almost like it was his plan all along to get dirty and have this scenario go his way.

you crossed your arms and gave him a dissatisfied look. you weren't really mad at him, you just wanted the day to end quicker so you two could snuggle in bed together.

one big movement turned him small again, he hopped onto your legs, as you had knelt down to get comfortable. you turned on the water in your bathtub and ran some warm water about two or three inches from the bottom. placing him inside the tub, you grabbed a cup to scoop up the water onto his body. the first rinse was quick, he even shook some water off himself like a dog which made you smile.

the scrubbing process also went by fast, working your fingers gently through his coat, the dirt coming off completely. you picked up the cup again, filling it with water. washing the soap away, he shook his body again, trying to dry up as fast as he could.

"calm down minho! ill dry you off in a second."

the water beginning to flow down the drain, you picked up a sopping wet minho from the tub and placed him on the rug next to you. the towel to dry him was hanging on the side of the tub. you laid it flat against your lap, picking him up again and placing him on top of the towel.

you wrapped him up in the towel, trying your best not to cover up his face. you patted and rubbed the cloth into his body, making sure to cover all the spots. his ears, his tail, and his paws all becoming dry and fluffy again.

he hopped off of your lap, turning to his hybrid form. this time you expected something from that big of a leap. you were starting to learn and master his behaviors. he was sat on the floor facing you. for some reason, his hair and ears were still wet in this form. he held one of his ears out, squeezing it to wring out the remaining water off himself. you got to your knees and threw the towel over his head. going a little harder this time, you scrubbed his hair dry to the best of your ability. you noticed him closing his eyes in comfort, especially when you got to his ears.

he looked up at you through his messy hair. he hummed softly, he was so happy you were taking such good care of him. not noticing at all, when you removed the towel his bunny ears went away. he was noticeably more dry and your job was done. you turned around slightly to drape the towel on the tub again.

he let out a cute yawn, so ready to flop into bed and get some sleep. when you turned back around you couldn't help but notice some brown specks on his face. did he have freckles this whole time and you were just too star struck to notice? you reached out to rub his face, making him freeze and have his full semi-conscious attention to your actions. the specks turned to brown streaks against his skin.

"youve been digging so much in the dirt, come here."

he scooted over to you, patiently waiting for anything to happen next. you realized now his nose and cheeks were lightly covered in dirt. you reached over for a new towel and quickly turned the faucet on to run some water on it. swiping the warm cloth on his cheeks, his face became very pink. you didn't know if it was because of the pressure you applied to his face, or if he was actually having some emotional reaction to this.

his gaze was so sensual, almost like his mind had gone to mush and he could only display emotions of pure submission. his thoughts became chaotic, trying to resist the urge to tackle you and have you all to himself.

after a while you could feel your face burning up, scared about any of his next moves or words.

"why are you looking at me like that?" the dirt was almost gone. you moved closer to his face, only inches away in order to get the last bits off.

minho didn't answer you, instead he stared more intensely at you, patiently waiting for you to finish. putting the towel down, you gently rubbed the wetness off his face. even more skin to skin contact was making him lose control. the hue of pink showing from his face becoming almost cartoon like.

"mm tired," his eyes began to droop again. he wanted his last conscious thought to be that he was secure next to you. as dramatic as ever, he laid out his body in your lap, slowly beginning to drift off and finally recharge.

this feeling was starting to become a natural occurrence in your daily lives. whether he was a small bunny, a cute hybrid, or a human who could actually sweep you off your feet, you had him. he felt safe around you and wanted to be near you. using one hand to meet his hand, rubbing it gently to soothe him, you used your other hand to play with his hair. even as a human, he was still soft and cuddly. you bent down to place a small kiss on his head, making him nuzzle himself deeper into you.

part 3 is up! click here!!!

♥︎taglist: @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lunathewonyoungstan @syedazarintasnim @yourlocalstayyxi @mmarusa @yukichan67 @qwonyoung23 @cupidcures @verynormalsstuff @leezanetheofficial

© nmn-yty ★ 6.07.2024

[novaursa]

Hello

I was thinking about something, what if rhaenyra didn’t take the moon tea after sleeping with Criston. She fell pregnant of a girl and since she also had brown curly hair the green think she was harwin’s.

Since she the heir of Rhaenyra, Viserys betrothed her to Aemond. And obviously they slept together.

And you know the scene between Aemond and Criston the night of blood and cheese? Like Aemond says something to see Criston about her, like she had a birthmark maybe and in fact it’s exactly the same as Criston (in an hidden place) and he finally understands that it’s his daughter

I have so much idea with this plot like the hidden daughter of Rheanyra and Criston, I can stop thinking about it..

Blood Unseen

- Summary: Your husband, Aemond, reveals to Cole something that shifts his entire world on its axis.

- Paring: assumed wife!reader/Aemond Targaryen, (daughter) reader/(father) Criston Cole (platonic)

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The dim light of the flickering candles cast long shadows across the chamber, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the cold night outside. Criston Cole stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest, listening intently as Aemond Targaryen spoke. The conversation had drifted from the matters of court, to tactics, to the war that loomed over them like a dark cloud. The flicker of unease was there in both men’s words, unspoken but shared. These were perilous times, and every move was a game of life and death. 

Criston, ever the dutiful knight, maintained his stoic expression, eyes trained on the prince. Aemond paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back, the familiar sway of his silver hair catching the dim light. There was something different about this evening though. Aemond's tone carried a weight that went beyond war. 

“It's curious,” Aemond said, his voice cool and calculated as he stopped mid-step. His single eye, sharp and piercing, regarded Criston with the kind of intensity that always set him on edge. “You have a birthmark, do you not?”

Criston’s brow furrowed slightly at the sudden turn of conversation. “I do,” he replied cautiously, unsure where this was leading. He had little care for such trivial matters, certainly not with the tension thickening the air. 

Aemond approached him slowly, the faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “A peculiar one, I’ve noticed. Right here,” he said, tapping a finger against the area just above his hip, through the fabric of his tunic. “Almost shaped like a dragon’s tail, or so it would seem.”

Criston nodded, still unsure of Aemond’s purpose in this revelation. “What of it, my prince?” 

Aemond’s smirk deepened, and he tilted his head, the eye patch he wore gleaming in the low light. “Y/N has one too, you know.”

The mention of your name sent a shiver through Criston, but he kept his composure. “My princess does?” His voice remained calm, though he could feel something stirring beneath the surface. He had served you for years now, ever watchful, ever loyal, but never had he paid heed to such intimate details.

Aemond’s eye gleamed as he continued. “Just below her breast. The same exact mark. The resemblance, Cole… it’s uncanny.” His words were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the weight of them.

Criston blinked, the revelation settling like a stone in his gut. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, quickly masked, but it wasn’t fast enough. Aemond saw it, and the corner of his mouth twitched knowingly.

The room fell into an oppressive silence. Criston’s mind raced, pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle snapping into place. The resemblance—the dark curls, the sharpness of your gaze. For years, he had believed, like so many others, that you were just another Strong bastard, the child of Harwin. It had made sense, your features mirroring the late knight’s in subtle ways. But now, Aemond’s words clung to him like a curse, dredging up memories of fleeting moments he had long buried.

He remembered your birth, Rhaenyra’s secretive smile when she introduced you to him as her firstborn. The way her eyes lingered on him, as if daring him to acknowledge something he couldn’t. But he hadn’t, not then. How could he?

The mark. It had been there all along, a sign that he had been blind to.

Aemond’s voice sliced through his thoughts, the faintest hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Do you understand now, Ser Criston?”

Criston’s heart pounded in his chest, a rising dread filling him as realization dawned. You were not Harwin Strong’s. No, you were his. His blood, his daughter. The child of his brief and forbidden encounter with Rhaenyra all those years ago. A moment of weakness, of passion, and now, the living proof stood before him every day, a reminder of a secret he never knew he had carried.

Criston’s body tensed, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Does… she know?”

Aemond’s smirk faded into something darker, more calculating. “If she does, she has kept it well hidden, as has Rhaenyra. But you, Cole… you’ve been oblivious all this time. How fitting that I should be the one to enlighten you.”

Criston felt the weight of those words. Aemond reveled in this, enjoyed watching him unravel. His fists clenched at his sides, the reality of it all crashing down around him. You were his daughter. And all this time, he had been nothing more than your sworn protector, ignorant of the blood that tied him to you.

But now, what did it mean? You were wed to Aemond years ago, promised by the late king Viserys to unite the two halves of the family. The Greens had accepted you because they believed you to be another Strong bastard, another means to a political end. But now… now Criston could see that Aemond knew the truth, and that truth gave him power.

“Why tell me this now?” Criston asked, his voice low, strained.

Aemond regarded him with a cold, measured look. “Because, Ser Criston, I thought you should know what’s at stake before everything… changes.”

Criston stared at him, the unspoken threat hanging between them. The game they played had shifted. Bloodlines, loyalties, the tangled web of duty and secrets—it was all spiraling into something far more dangerous. He had served the Greens faithfully, had believed in their cause, but now, with this knowledge… everything felt uncertain.

Aemond’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned, heading toward the door. “Do think on it, Ser Criston. After all, blood is thicker than water, as they say.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Criston alone in the darkened chamber, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of revelation, regret, and uncertainty.

[artificialfanfiction]

Shadows of the Night-One Shot

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Disclaimer: The content on this blog is entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes. None of the scenarios depicted here are based on real-life occurrences. Enjoy the stories and let your imagination run wild!

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pairing Noah Sebastian x reader

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warning slightly smut

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summary You and Noah Sebastian share a meaningful one-night stand, but his life as a musician makes anything more impossible and you're left with only the bittersweet memory of what could have been.

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The neon lights of the city bled into the night, casting vibrant hues onto the crowded streets below. It was one of those nights where the air was thick with energy, and everything seemed to pulse with life. The bar was packed, a sea of faces, all lost in their own stories. But your eyes, drawn by a magnetism you couldn’t explain, kept drifting to him.

Noah Sebastian.

He was unmistakable dark hair, brooding eyes, a presence that seemed to dominate the room even though he was sitting in a corner, nursing a drink. He looked as if he belonged to the shadows, an enigmatic figure in the dim light, but there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was the way he seemed so detached, yet fully aware of everything around him. Or maybe it was the subtle intensity in his gaze when your eyes met his across the room.

You didn’t know why you walked over to him, nor what you were expecting. But there was an invisible thread pulling you closer, your heart beating a little faster with every step. When you reached him, he looked up from his glass, his eyes locking onto yours with a smirk playing on his lips.

“Looking for something?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of amusement.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. “Maybe. What about you?”

His smirk widened slightly, and he motioned to the empty seat beside him. “Why don’t you find out?”

You sat down, and the night seemed to blur around you. Conversation flowed easily, a mix of sarcasm, humor, and flirtation. You could feel the tension simmering between you, a subtle current that neither of you acknowledged directly but both understood perfectly. Time seemed to stretch, the hours melting away as you shared stories, drinks, and glances that grew longer and more intense.

By the time the bar started to empty, the connection between you was undeniable. Noah leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “I have a place nearby.”

The suggestion hung in the air, and you could feel your pulse quicken. You nodded, barely trusting your voice, but it was enough. He stood, offering his hand to help you up, and you took it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, a spark that shot straight through you.

The walk to his place was a blur, the night air cool against your flushed skin. When you arrived, his apartment was exactly what you’d expected minimalistic, with dark tones and an almost eerie sense of calm. But you didn’t have much time to take it in before he was kissing you, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you close.

The kiss was everything intense, consuming, like he was pouring all the unspoken words of the night into it. You responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer. He tasted like the whiskey you’d shared, dark and intoxicating.

Clothes were shed quickly, almost desperately, until you were both bare under the dim light of the room. His hands explored your body with a confidence that made your head spin, every touch sending waves of heat through you. You could feel his breath against your neck, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he whispered your name like it was a secret.

He led you to the bed, and you followed, your body already aching for him. When he finally moved over you, it was like the culmination of everything the night had been building towards. He was slow at first, deliberate, watching your reactions as he moved inside you, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place.

The pace quickened, and soon you were both lost in the rhythm, the only sounds in the room the mingling of your breaths, the creaking of the bed, and the soft moans escaping your lips. It was overwhelming, the way he seemed to know exactly how to touch you, how to move, driving you to the edge again and again until you thought you might shatter from the intensity of it all.

When you finally climaxed, it was with a cry, your body arching against his as pleasure consumed you. He followed shortly after, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both catching your breath, the room filled with the afterglow of what you’d just shared. He rolled off you, pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that surprised you. 

You lay there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin against yours, and for a moment, everything was perfect. But as the adrenaline faded, so did the intensity of the connection. The reality of the situation began to sink in this was just a moment, a single night shared with a man you barely knew.

Eventually, you pulled away, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. Noah watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was no regret in his eyes. Just understanding.

“Leaving already?” he asked, his voice still soft from the exertion.

You smiled, though it felt bittersweet. “Yeah. It’s late.”

He nodded, sitting up as well, but he didn’t try to stop you. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that felt surprisingly intimate. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, standing and dressing quickly. He stayed in bed, watching you with that same intense gaze that had drawn you in from the beginning.

As you left his apartment, the cool night air hitting your skin, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. It was a night you’d never forget, a moment in time that was yours and his alone. But you knew that it was just that a moment. And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same.

The city was quiet now, the streets nearly empty as you made your way back home. The memory of Noah Sebastian lingered in your mind, a shadow that would follow you, at least for a little while. 

But as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, you let out a breath and smiled softly to yourself. Some nights were meant to be fleeting, leaving behind nothing but the echoes of what once was.

And that was enough.

The next few days passed in a haze of routine. You went through the motions, your mind drifting back to that night more often than you cared to admit. The memory of Noah lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind haunting, alluring, and impossible to forget.

You hadn’t expected to see him again. It was a one-night stand, after all something fleeting, a momentary escape from reality. But every time you thought you’d finally pushed him from your thoughts, something would remind you of him. A song on the radio, a glimpse of someone with dark hair, the scent of whiskey in the air. It was as if the universe wasn’t quite ready to let you forget.

It wasn’t until a week later that the universe decided to play its hand.

You were out with friends, celebrating the end of a long workweek at a different bar across town. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. But even as you smiled and joined in the revelry, there was a part of you that was elsewhere, still lost in the memory of Noah’s touch, the way his lips had felt against yours.

You didn’t notice him at first. It wasn’t until you were heading to the bar to grab another drink that you caught a glimpse of him tall, dark, and unmistakable, leaning casually against the bar as if he owned the place. Your heart skipped a beat, a rush of adrenaline flooding your system as you realized who it was.

Noah’s eyes met yours across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. His expression was unreadable, but there was a spark of recognition in his gaze, a flicker of something that made your stomach flip. He didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge you in any way other than that brief eye contact, but it was enough to send your pulse racing.

You hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should you go over and say something? Pretend you didn’t see him? Before you could make up your mind, he was already moving, pushing off the bar and making his way toward you with that same effortless confidence he’d had the first time you saw him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said when he reached you, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement.

“Yeah, small world,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light even as your heart pounded in your chest.

He looked at you for a long moment, his dark eyes studying your face as if trying to read your thoughts. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking his expression was as enigmatic as ever, giving nothing away. But there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel like he was waiting for you to make the first move.

“About the other night…” you began, unsure of how to finish that sentence. What could you even say? That it had been amazing? That you hadn’t stopped thinking about him? That you wanted to do it again?

But Noah cut you off with a shake of his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No need to overthink it. It was what it was.”

His words were casual, almost dismissive, but there was an underlying sincerity to them that made you relax slightly. Maybe he was right maybe it was better not to dwell on it. The night had been incredible, but it didn’t have to be more than that.

“Right,” you said, forcing a smile. “No big deal.”

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good time, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, some of the tension easing out of your shoulders. “It definitely was.”

There was a brief pause, the two of you standing there in the middle of the bustling bar, the noise and the people fading into the background. It was strange, the way the world seemed to fall away when he was near, as if he was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Noah tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked in surprise. “I, uh… I don’t have any plans.”

His smirk widened, and there was a glint of something in his eyes something that made your heart skip a beat. “Come to my show.”

It took you a moment to process what he’d said. You knew who he was, of course Noah Sebastian, the frontman of Bad Omens, one of the rising stars in the alternative scene. But you hadn’t really thought about it when you’d been with him; he was just Noah, a man who had somehow captivated you in ways you couldn’t fully understand.

“I’d love to,” you replied, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Good,” he said, pulling out his phone and typing something in before handing it to you. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the details.”

You took his phone, entering your number with slightly shaky hands. When you handed it back, he looked at the screen, his smirk turning into a genuine smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were going to see him again. “See you tomorrow.”

Noah gave you one last look, his eyes lingering on yours before he turned and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning with a mix of anticipation and disbelief.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. You were there with your friends, but your thoughts were elsewhere, already imagining what tomorrow would bring. You tried not to get your hopes up, tried to remind yourself that it was just a show, just a casual invitation. But there was a part of you that couldn’t help but wonder what if this was more than just a fleeting moment? What if there was something more between you and Noah?

The next day, you spent more time than you’d like to admit getting ready. You told yourself it was just another night out, just another concert, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was different. When you finally arrived at the venue, your heart was racing with nerves and excitement.

The place was packed, the energy electric as the crowd buzzed with anticipation. You found your spot, your eyes scanning the stage, waiting for that moment when Noah would appear. And when he did, it was like the world tilted on its axis.

There he was, in his element, commanding the stage with a presence that was both magnetic and overwhelming. The music pulsed through the air, a perfect mix of raw emotion and unbridled energy. But even as he performed, his eyes kept finding yours in the crowd, a silent connection that sent shivers down your spine.

It felt surreal, standing there among the sea of fans, knowing that last night, you had been the one in his bed, the one who had seen the side of him that wasn’t for public view. And now, here he was, sharing a piece of himself with the world, yet somehow making you feel like it was just for you.

The show ended all too soon, the crowd cheering and screaming for more as the band took their final bow. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a message from Noah: “Come backstage.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you made your way through the crowd, slipping past security with the ease of someone who was supposed to be there. When you finally reached the backstage area, Noah was waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, a stark contrast to the persona he’d just been on stage.

“Hey,” you replied, feeling that same pull toward him that you’d felt the first night.

He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in a few strides. “You made it.”

“Of course,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “You were incredible out there.”

He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “Glad you think so.”

There was a brief pause, the two of you standing there in the dim light of the backstage area, the sounds of the crowd still echoing faintly in the distance. It felt like you were on the edge of something something that could change everything.

“So,” Noah said, his voice low as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, just like he had that first night. “What now?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation making your skin tingle.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Noah’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night to do it.

You melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled you closer, his hands sliding down your back. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the moment, the connection between you growing stronger with every passing second.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you could see the question in his eyes the same question that was running through your mind.

Was this just another fleeting moment? Or was it the beginning of something more?

Neither of you said anything, the silence filled with the unspoken possibilities of what could be.

But as you stood there, wrapped in the warmth of Noah’s body beside you was a comforting presence as you drifted in and out of sleep. The night had been perfect, everything you had hoped for and more. You felt safe in his arms, his breath soft against the back of your neck as you lay entwined, a tangle of limbs and sheets.

But as the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, that comfort started to fray at the edges. The reality of the situation slowly crept back in, a cold reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon you’d built together. You could feel Noah’s even breathing behind you, the rhythm so steady and peaceful that it almost lulled you back to sleep. But the unease gnawing at your chest kept you awake, kept your thoughts spinning with doubts you’d tried so hard to ignore.

What was this, really? Was it just a momentary escape from reality? Could it be anything more? You wanted to believe it could be wanted so badly to hold onto the connection you’d felt with him, the way his touch had made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in a long time. But now, in the early morning light, everything felt more fragile, like a dream that was slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.

You rolled over slowly, trying not to wake him, needing to see his face. His features were soft in sleep, the usual intensity smoothed away, leaving him looking almost boyish. The sight of him made your heart ache, a sharp pang that you couldn’t quite name. You reached out, tracing a finger lightly along his jawline, memorizing the feel of him, the way his skin was warm and familiar beneath your touch.

Noah stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, disoriented, before his gaze focused on you. A slow smile spread across his lips, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could last.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep as he reached out to pull you closer.

“Morning,” you whispered back, nestling into his embrace.

For a while, you lay there in silence, simply holding each other, the world outside forgotten. But eventually, the quiet was broken by the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He sighed, reluctantly letting go of you to reach for it. As he glanced at the screen, the peaceful expression on his face began to fade, replaced by something more guarded, more distant.

He didn’t say anything as he read the message, but you could see the change in him, feel the shift in the air between you. When he finally set the phone back down, his eyes met yours, and you saw the conflict there, the struggle to find the right words.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice small, already dreading the answer.

Noah hesitated, his hand brushing over your hair in a gesture that felt almost like an apology. “I… I have to go soon,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “The band’s got some stuff to take care of, and I need to be there.”

You nodded, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on your face. You had known this was coming, known that eventually, the real world would intrude on this little bubble you’d created together. But it still hurt, more than you wanted to admit.

“When will I see you again?” you asked, hating how vulnerable the question made you feel.

Noah looked away, his expression tightening. “I’m not sure,” he said, and there was something in his voice something hesitant, almost evasive that made your chest tighten with dread.

“What do you mean?” you pressed, unable to keep the edge of desperation out of your voice. “I thought we were going to figure this out together.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the frustration clear in his eyes. “I know, but… things are complicated. The band’s schedule is insane right now, and I don’t know when I’ll be back in town. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stared at him, the reality of what he was saying sinking in, the realization that this might be the end before it had even really begun.

“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I get just…two nights with you?”

Noah’s eyes flicked to yours, a flash of pain there that mirrored your own. “I don’t want it to be just that,” he said quietly, “but I can’t ask you to wait around for me. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Fair. The word felt hollow, meaningless in the face of what you were feeling. But you understood what he meant, even if it tore you apart. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the regret, but also the resignation. He was already pulling away, retreating into the life that had always been his first love his music, his career, the band that had taken him all over the world and left little room for anything else.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, even as your heart shattered. “I get it,” you whispered, the words almost choking you. “I do.”

Noah’s hand tightened around yours, as if he could hold onto this moment, keep it from slipping away. But you both knew that wasn’t possible. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if trying to imprint the memory of you into his mind.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with a sadness that matched your own.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

When he finally pulled away, the loss was immediate and overwhelming. He stood up, getting dressed in silence, the distance between you growing with every movement. You watched him, memorizing every detail, knowing that this might be the last time you’d see him like this intimate, vulnerable, real.

Once he was dressed, Noah turned to you, his expression a mix of regret and determination. “I’ll never forget this,” he said softly, as if that could somehow make it better.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. He hesitated for a moment, as if he was going to say something else, but then he just shook his head and walked out the door, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment.

As the door closed behind him, the reality of what had just happened crashed over you. The room felt empty, hollow, the echoes of the night before a cruel reminder of what you’d lost. You pulled the blanket around you, curling up on the bed that still smelled like him, tears finally slipping down your cheeks.

You had known it was too good to be true, had known from the start that someone like Noah wasn’t the kind of person who could stay. But you had let yourself hope, let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But in the end, it had been nothing more than a beautiful, fleeting moment a brief connection that had burned bright and fierce before flickering out, leaving only ashes in its wake.

And as the first light of dawn began to fade into the full brightness of day, you knew that you would never forget him. But you also knew that you would have to learn how to let him go.

Because some things weren’t meant to last.

They were only meant to be remembered.

[chvoswxtch]

Girl I have been silently reading and praising your stuff from my sisters account. Like liking all you stuff for safekeeping. The whole thing crashed and now I am trying to do the whole interacting thing. I am so embarrassed and scared that my idea is shit so this I am anonymous. But listen - I check your blog every day for updates. I luv u.

Okay my request is a bit messy. But like an angsty/fluf fic with Frank and a woman who is like small but indestructible - you know like a super power or x-gene thing. You cant see any wounds on her body they´ll just heal or something. And all she wants to do is protect Frank and he is just not having it.

If this is shit and not duable I get it! And if I missed somebody writing something simular please share the link - I would love it! Rant over...sorry...and thank you <34567

hi nonnie!

firstly, welcome. there's no need to hide in the shadows, or to apologize or feel embarrassed or any of that. i'm happy you're here and felt comfortable sharing your idea with me! I actually got a somewhat similar request, so I ended up combining the two to get the best of both worlds :)

also if you're into frank x powered reader, I highly recommend @grippingbeskar! she has an entire completed series called salt, ice, and fire that is phenomenal that I can't gush about enough

I hope you enjoy!

warning: swearing, mentions of guns & blood word count: 1.4k

bulletproof.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

Frank’s thick brows were angrily bunched up in the middle of his forehead, a trail of crimson slowly leaking from the cut that covered the bridge of his freshly broken nose. His jaw was harshly set and he scowled deeply at you while switching out the cartridge on his rifle by muscle memory, not even having to look down.

“I told you-“

“No, I told you to take the goddamn stairs to the roof while I took out-

“I had it under control, Frank!”

Frank scoffed and let out an exasperated puff of air through his lips while shaking his head and gesturing towards you loosely with his free hand.

“Under control my ass, look at you. If you had fuckin’ listened to me, you wouldn’t be bleedin’ right now.”

Frank’s voice had risen in volume, and the timbre of it carried through the empty space between the two of you with a subtle growl. He might have been pissed at you, but you were fucking furious with him. You’d lost count of how many times the two of you fought about the exact same fucking thing over and over, and you weren’t arguing about it with him anymore. 

The heavy sound of approaching footsteps and yells caught Frank’s attention, but as he began to march towards the open loading dock of the abandoned warehouse with purpose and a raging vendetta burning in his eyes, the metal shutter door suddenly came barreling down with a wave of your hand. It collided with the concrete floor, a loud thud echoing around the space, not only preventing Frank from getting out, but anyone else from getting in.

Frank instantly paused, snapping his head to look over his shoulder at you with an expression of pure annoyance covering his sharp features. Your eye color had shifted to an incandescent shade, glimmering like two deep red rubies caught in the sunlight. There was still a flickering scarlet glow around your right hand as you kept the door shut, and Frank could tell by the look on your face that you were incensed by his behavior, but he refused to back down anymore than you did.

Grabbing the hem of your top with your left hand, you hastily lifted it upwards just as one of the bullet holes above your right hip began to close up and heal. Frank’s narrowed gaze dropped downwards to watch, and his features softened just a sliver, only to harden once again when he looked back into your illuminated eyes. 

“I can heal, Frank. You can’t. So when I tell you I have something under control, that doesn’t mean you fucking jump in front of me guns blazing. That bulletproof vest can’t protect you from everything, and I swear to whatever God you believe in, if you pull that shit again and get yourself killed, I will find a way to raise you from the dead just to kill you myself.”

Frank didn’t visibly react to your words, even as your voice rose in a hysterical volume and filled the empty space surrounding you both. Any other person might have been fucking terrified to be alone with a woman that had glowing red eyes and could trap them somewhere with her mind. Then again, anyone else probably also would’ve been scared shitless to be alone in a room with the Punisher himself. 

But Frank wasn’t afraid of you, just like you weren’t afraid of him. You both knew what the other was, and you loved each other anyway.

That was the root cause of your recurring argument. Frank wanted to protect you, and you wanted to protect him. Despite him knowing about your abilities, he still felt responsible for you. He didn’t like seeing you get hurt, even if it did heal. He didn’t want anything to happen to you if he could prevent it.

Letting his rifle drop by his side, Frank let out a deep exhale through his broken nose, his eyes wandering over your figure slowly before meeting your gaze.

“You know how much I hate seein’ you get hurt, baby. You know what it does to me.”

The sudden change in his voice to a softer and more sincere tone had your eyes shifting back to their natural color, and your previous anger began to instantly cool. You did know. If someone so much as bumped into you on accident, Frank was ready to tear them to shreds. He had always been extremely overprotective of you, and knowing his traumatic past, you couldn’t blame him, or stay upset with him for very long.

Letting out a soft sigh of your own, you ran one of your hands through your hair before taking a few steps towards him, your heeled boots echoing along the cement floors. Despite the three inches of height they gave you, Frank still towered over you completely. The size difference between the two of you was nearly comical, especially considering he was the “big and scary” one.

But you were the little witch that had a nasty temper.

“You think I enjoy seeing you get hurt? I’m the one who has to fix you up, remember?”

Neither one of you paid any mind to the incessant banging on the shutter door, or the sound of ricocheting bullets and yelling coming from the other side. When you brought your hands up to gently grab Frank’s face, he leaned down to nuzzle into your palms and instantly melted into your touch, his attention solely focused on you.

“I know.”

Brushing your thumb lightly along the violet bruise that began to bloom on his right cheekbone, you took in the cut along the bridge of his nose and frowned softly with a sigh.

“Your nose is broken again.”

“Ain’t the first, won’t be the last.”

“Can I try something?”

Frank arched one of his thick brows in question, glancing over his shoulder momentarily at the shutter door before looking at you again.

“Right now?”

“You have somewhere to be?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank let out a soft chuckle and gave a slight nod of his head.

“Alright. S’pose they ain’t gettin’ in no time soon.”

A proud smirk was all you offered in return to his comment. Taking a deep breath, you removed your right hand from his face and let your index finger hover over his wounded nose. Focusing intently, your hand was once again glowing, and you traced a crimson line in the air from the top to the bottom of his nose. All of a sudden, the cut on the bridge of his nose sealed up, and the indigo patches that had blossomed around it vanished.

Frank blinked a few times in dumbfoundment, wiggling his large nose and glancing down at it in a mixture of confusion and awe. Your own eyes widened in surprise, and your mouth hung open in shock before your lips parted into a wide grin. Frank looked at you, his features twisted up in wonder and puzzlement.

“Holy shit. How the hell did you do that?”

“I…I don’t know. I just…wanted to see if I could, and…focused really hard. I can’t believe it actually worked!”

Frank stared down at you incredulously when you said that.

“The hell you mean you can’t believe it actually worked? You didn’t know it would? What if you had given me a tail or somethin’? Or put my ass where my nose was?”

“Oh, well then I could never kiss you again.”

Frank actually looked offended by that, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression while you gently patted his shoulder and stepped around him to face the shutter door, brushing your hair off your shoulders.

“Alright big guy, let’s wrap this up. I’m starving, and there’s a Gilmore Girls marathon waiting with our name on it.”

Frank’s plush lips pursed in an adorable pout as he cocked his rifle and aimed towards the shutter door, keeping his narrowed gaze locked on you.

“You and I are gonna have a serious talk ‘bout this magic shit when we get home.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[raina-at]

Hero

When John was a child, he read voraciously. His home wasn’t very welcoming, and his life was unpleasant enough that escaping into the many worlds contained in the local library was more than tempting, it was life-saving.

He read fantasy novels about adventurers saving their world with courage and magic, he read spy novels where cunning people faced each other over a wall dividing the world into East and West, he read historical novels and myths about noble ladies and their knights, he read crime novels about brave detectives protecting the innocent and bringing the guilty to justice.

His fantasy worlds were full of heroes, even if his real life lacked them to a painful degree. Nobody came to save him and Harry when their father turned physically abusive as well as verbally. Nobody saved their mother from wasting away from an illness that took her joy, her hair, her body, and finally her mind. Nobody saved Harry from the bottle.

Nobody ever saved John from anything. So he joined the Army, where his job description was saving people. He felt at home there, among people who risked their lives daily to keep each other safe, where the first rule was to have each others’ back. Always.

The Army gave him stability, purpose, family, protection.

One bullet ended his life in the Army, and came very close to ending his life, period.

Afterwards, he wasn’t exactly grateful for his survival. For many months, he wishes he had died there, bled out on the sands of Afghanistan. What use was he now? To anyone?

He wanted to end it. He wanted it to end. 

Sherlock found him not quite at rock bottom, but very, very nearly there. Sherlock pulled him out of the fugue state of self pity he was trapped in, making him realise that he still had something to contribute. He couldn’t save brave soldiers anymore. But he could save Sherlock Holmes. 

That first night his hands were steady as he shot Jefferson Hope so Sherlock could live. And he discovered that he very much wanted to live, if life could be like this. Walking the battlefield with Sherlock Holmes.

So yes, he idealised Sherlock. He never said so, but Sherlock was his hero. Sherlock saved him, gave him purpose, gave him a home. He felt useful by Sherlock’s side. He felt needed. Wanted. 

It’s not that he didn’t see Sherlock’s flaws, his rudeness, his unwillingness to do the dishes, bill clients, pick up the milk, his abrasiveness, his entitlement. His disregard for the feelings of others. But he also saw Sherlock’s unexpected kindnesses, his generosity, his sense of humour, his charm, his fierce intelligence and voracious curiosity, his secret strength, his hidden heart.

The problem is that he put Sherlock on a pedestal. He took Sherlock’s moral failings and shortcomings personally, because he made Sherlock his mission. Saving Sherlock Holmes—from killers, from fans, from himself—had become John’s new identity. Sherlock’s work, Sherlock himself, had to be worth John’s devotion, had to be worth John’s service, because if he wasn’t, what did that mean for John? 

John believed in Sherlock when he jumped. He believed in Sherlock while he was dead. He kept believing in Sherlock, the genius, the story, the myth he created himself through his blog and inside his own heart, even when the grief nearly killed him. But Sherlock was worth it. He was worth the pain, he was worth the grief, he was worth John’s broken heart and his shattered life.

Then Sherlock came back. And John’s temple, where he kept his memories and his faith, his grief and his love, his pedestal of illusions shattered into a million pieces.  

His hero had betrayed him. His hero had lied to him. Had departed to parts unknown, on missions John wasn’t allowed to share, wasn’t even allowed to know about.

Sherlock didn’t need him. Sherlock didn’t want him. Sherlock had left him behind. Sherlock hadn’t saved him, he’d fished him out of the used bin and then tossed him right back in there.

It hurt in a way not even Sherlock dying had. Because when Sherlock died, John could still believe in him. But now…

Shattered illusions are hard to forgive. Sherlock’s return made John feel not only unwanted, unloved, and deeply betrayed. It made him feel stupid. 

It took him a while to admit that, even to himself. How disappointed he was in Sherlock, his saviour, his hero, the cause he had fought for. And how deeply unhealthy it was, to put all of that on Sherlock’s shoulders, to be his friend, his cause, his everything.

It took him an even longer time, and it took them both hitting a rock bottom so ugly John still shies back from thinking about it, to realise that Sherlock had made the same mistake. That he, too, saw John as his saviour and his cause. That Sherlock, too, had confused and conflated John Watson, the cause he fought for, and John the living, breathing person with autonomy and flaws. 

John isn’t anyone’s hero. And Sherlock isn’t, either. They’re flawed, human, flesh-and-blood people who happen to love each other deeply and devotedly. They can’t save each other. They can only save themselves.

So, one day, John gathers his courage and his wisdom and his love, and he says, taking both of Sherlock’s hands in his, “I don’t want to be your cause. I just want to be yours. Are these terms acceptable?”

Sherlock blinks, and smiles, and says, “On one condition. I get to be yours in return.”

John smiles and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

----

Tags under the cut as always. Please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

I'm sad it's almost over... Friday is the last day! I can't believe how quickly May has gone. What a ride...

Just a quick reminder that I'm collecting all my prompt ficlets here on AO3.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[aleksanderscult]

I love, love so much your blog! I recently finished Shadow and Bone trilogy and my head is like no thought, only Darklina xD So I'm really glad to have found this blog and read your thoughtfull meta!

I have so many thoughts about the trilogy (I've read SoC dualogy but I'm not that big of fan) so I will start with this question: What do you think was the purpose of the donkey dream sequency in S&S? I mean this:

Are they very poor? I ask Ana Kuya.

Not so poor as others.

Then why doesn't he buy a donkey?

He doesn't need a donkey, says Ana Kuya. He has a wife.

I'm going to marry Alina, Mal says.

Then Alina has another dream, where she's the girl but then floats to the sky, leaving the salt behind her.

While reading it, I thought it as a metaphor her being afraid of being with Mal, of becoming ordinary girl and being shackled to him. But with the ending of the trilogy, her losing powers and marrying Mal, didn't she just do that? What do you think LB intented to with this scene? I'm interested knowing your interpration.

Thank you so much, sweet anon! And welcome to this fandom!❤️❤️ You remind me of myself as I was almost a year ago. Be warned though: this suffering will never end. 🥲

Admittedly, I haven't analyzed this scene. Probably because it's too weird and painful.

This couple that they see on the road can really bring Malina flashbacks to the reader.

The man is joyful, carefree, whistling away without a care. He's every inch of Mal from the moment he's been introduced to us.

The woman is tired and struggling. She's Alina carrying this power inside of her without knowing it.

The man doesn't seem to care that his wife is exhausted. The same way Mal didn't seem to care when Alina was sick and dragging her feet. There is this obvious subordination that Mal wants to replicate. Unwillingly or not, Leigh Bardugo really kept Mal's character canon with this vision: he always wanted Alina to depend on him, not to have her own independence.

One could say that his statement "I'm going to marry Alina" is irrelevant with the previous conversation but it does look very suspicious, doesn't it? Mal, a mere child now, seeing this couple and finding it normal for the man to dominate his wife. Was he influenced by such scenes and therefore found them normal?

This scene could be interpreted as Baghra giving advice to Alina regarding her powers and what happens if you suppress them.

But still, why does it kinda look like the same "Have power but only so much as" shit again.

And to be grateful for what? For being a Grisha? Or maybe for having enough strength without needing to search for the remaining amplifiers.

Just like I said in the beginning, these scenes are really sad. For a woman to be compared to a donkey, for a young boy that wants to marry her and (very) possibly treat her that way makes you feel depressed inside. Especially if the reader is a woman too.

The first memory could be real. Or (and I lean on this interpretation) Alina unconsciously conjured a metaphor of how her relationship is with Mal. Deep down she knows how things really are (Mal is the master and Alina just a weak girl trying to catch up on this connection by suppressing the thing that keeps her healthy) but she pushes these things aside, deludes herself and clings on her love for him. The same way she did when she lost her powers. Just look what she said in "Rule of Wolves" to the Darkling. "I am happy. You never saw me this way". Meanwhile Alina's mental state: ☠️☠️

But how Bardugo thought about this scene? That Mal just made an innocent, romantic comment that didn't pass the vibe check. I'm very sure that she didn't want him to be sexist here (she cares about this character too much to spoil his reputation) but she bamboozled herself and made him look like a little prick. Ana Kuya's comment "He doesn't need a donkey. He has a wife" probably reflects the sexist world that Leigh created. Which, by the way, would be fine if she had only let her protagonist break away from these kind of "chains" and find her own power and purpose inside this story *gestures towards George R. R. Martin's female characters*.

[acquired-stardust]

Game Spotlight #16: Yu-Gi-Oh! Dark Duel Stories (2000)

Just in time to celebrate its upcoming release as part of Yu-Gi-Oh! The Early Years compilation, Ash takes a look at the very first title in the series released in the west with Dark Duel Stories, a quirky little game that remains surprisingly playable to this day. Come take a quick look at the game to know what you're in for when The Early Years releases later this year!

Yu-Gi-Oh! is a series that Larsa and I have a lot of affection and nostalgia for. Once upon a time we were even avid players of the physical card game (Larsa to much greater competitive success than I), and we've kept up with the series in all its various forms for most of our lives now. Binging the notoriously campy and hilarious English dub of the anime together was one of the first things we did as a couple, and when we started Acquired-Stardust it was a no-brainer to create some content in tribute to the series. That content even went on to become some of our most popular posts, so the series holds a special place in our hearts as well as in the history of the blog.

It's a fascinating series that has taken on a lot of different forms throughout the years and you might be surprised to learn that the iconic physical card game, now mostly known for its incredibly long first-turn combo plays that determine who wins and loses before you're even able to do much playing, wasn't even the original hook of the series. Yu-Gi-Oh! began life as a manga by the late Kazuki Takahashi, the story of a high school boy possessed by an ancient spirit that would punish Domino City's many bullies and thugs through the power of Shadow Games, dishing out Twilight Zone-esque ironic punishments to them, with the signature card game the series is so synonymous with only being played a total of twice in the first 60 chapters before becoming the main focus with the Duelest Kingdom arc which the anime most western fans are familiar is based on. It was a shockingly dark and violent manga especially compared to the camp that the series is more well known for.

Just as well, the physical real-world card game itself has undergone radical shifts in mechanics and formats over the years since its 1999 introduction, and the result is a series that means something different to everyone. If you poll a hundred people, odds are they'll all have a different bit of the franchise as their favorite and consider a different era to be its peak. Larsa and I are personally most fond of the early years of the series, and so playing some of the video games set in that awkward 'wild west, anything goes' time when they were learning and experimenting with exactly what they wanted the card game to be was a pretty intriguing prospect.

And make no mistake about it - Yu-Gi-Oh! Dark Duel Stories is very much in that early feeling-out period. So early in fact it released a mere two days before the Playstation classic Forbidden Memories and eleven days after the debut of the physical card game in America. Dark Duel Stories may have been the first Yu-Gi-Oh! game released in the west, but it's actually the third game in a Gameboy-specific series of Yu-Gi-Oh! titles (and has had its name swapped with its predecessor - whereas Dark Duel Stories is the name of the second title in Japan, this game was originally titled Tri-Holy God Advent in Japan). This series follows what I'll be calling the Gameboy Format for the game for the purpose of this piece, and for the most part it faithfully recreates the base mechanics of the physical card game (which we're assuming you have at least some level of familiarity with, but if not actually playing Dark Duel Stories yourself is a fine way to learn) with a number of key differences.

The first important difference in the Gameboy Format is its de-emphasis, but not total elimination, of Effect Monsters, Traps and Magic cards. Decks consist of a mandatory total of 40 cards, each with their own cost and level limit associated with them. Monster cards will make up the bulk of decks due to their low costs compared to the very costly Magic and Trap cards, necessitating clever usage of the game's largely weak lineup of Monster cards. Facilitating this is the biggest key difference between the traditional physical card game and the Gameboy Format in the much larger emphasis it places on the elemental typing of Monster cards, more inspired by the original manga's version of the card game. Each monster card in the game has an element associated with it (a total of eleven elements exist in the game), with the elements following a rock-paper-scissors sort of mechanic not unlike Pokemon that sees elements strong against one another (such as Water being strong against Fire) be able to inflict increased damage on their opposing element. Unlike Pokemon however, Yu-Gi-Oh's Gameboy Format sees Monster cards of an element weak to its diametrically opposed element outright destroyed before inflicting any potential lifepoint damage to players.

While this can (and will) lead to asinine scenarios in which the iconic Blue Eyes White Dragon card is destroyed by the meager Kuriboh, it adds an interesting layer of strategy to the game that goes beyond simply loading decks with the most powerful cards obtainable. It also stands in stark contrast to the physical card game in which setting up unbeatable scenarios with very little counterplay outside of hyper-specific scenarios on the first turn has become a hallmark.

Another aspect of the Gameboy Format that differs from the physical card game is the lack of Polymerization, a Magic card that enables the fusion of Monsters into a new and more powerful creature. While the Polymerization card is missing the fusion mechanic itself remains, relegated to an entirely unexplained process in which the player can attempt to combine any two monsters to potentially result in a successful fusion with getting the formula incorrect resulting in the first card being replaced by the second. It's small touches like this and the unique elemental system that promote a lot of experimentation and make sure that every Monster card has a potential use regardless of how weak they are statistically.

Players are given a deck of cards to start with and tasked with defeating three tiers of opponents, all of whom being an iconic characters from the manga and anime, five times each. Defeating opponents will earn the player more cards and card parts (more on this in a moment), as well as raising the deck level and cost limitations imposed on the player slowly but surely. There are a total of 800 obtainable cards in the game which can also be acquired through the usage of the Password system that allows players to add one of each card to their collection through entering the corresponding password associated with them. The Password system also allows players to unlock the game's hidden bosses as well as enabling additional post-duel drops indefinitely.

The game's main hook is its allowing of the player to create custom cards through combination of obtained card parts, with players able to combine top and bottom halves of original Monster cards in all sorts of ways that change their attack and defense values, elements, names and appearances. It's a small gimmick that the player is not necessarily required to interact with by any means but does help immerse you in the series by allowing you to create your own unique signature cards.

The end result of Dark Duel Stories' gameplay loop and format is a game that is perfectly suited for its handheld platform in all the best and worst ways. Its small, almost bite-sized duels go by rather quickly and painlessly but obtaining cards without the use of Passwords is a grind-heavy experience that leaves the player completely at the mercy of random chance. The costs associated with constructing decks can feel stifling at first but forces you to engage with the game and appreciate some of its eccentricities like the elemental system, and makes finally being able to include higher-value cards feel like the major upgrade in power that it really is.

It's a perfect fit with the Gameboy Color that allows you to sink however much time you want into it, grinding away to raise your level and cost limits or obtain cards on long road trips or just spending a few minutes beating Joey Wheeler or Seto Kaiba one more time.

Another strong aspect of the game is its art, faithfully adapting 800 cards from the game's early era to the Gameboy Color with a lot of success. Opposing duelists are also particularly strongly adapted, including a lot of (but unfortunately not all) the iconic characters one would expect to find in the game in impressive detail all without an over-reliance on digitizing existing artwork from the manga's original artist. The beautiful pixel art splash screens after selecting an opponent hold up extremely well and have my vote for some of the best visuals on the platform.

Not quite as strong is the sound, with songs being inoffensive and not super memorable but certainly serviceable - you won't be muting the game to protect your ears or anything, but turning on your own music instead might help with some of the grind if you're wanting to invest bigger chunks of time into obtaining Dark Duel Stories' large amount of cards or raising the limits imposed on your deck.

A small touch I greatly appreciated was the lack of manual saving, with Dark Duel Stories featuring a reliable autosave that happens after every duel, making rematching or putting the game down both a painless experience. One particular annoyance is the lack of a search function in the card library, so it's helpful to keep a guide on hand to reference individual card numbers you might be looking for rather than having to scroll through 800 cards manually.

While it's not a perfect game by any means, Dark Duel Stories remains a very fun and addictive time capsule of an era of the game now decades past and comes at an extremely early point in the existence of the physical card game and series at large. There's a lot of charm and a deceptive amount of depth to hook new and old players alike, and the gameplay remains smooth and fast all these years later despite obvious platform limitations.

It even allows players to link two Gameboy systems to duel or trade, though this will be less attractive a feature to people playing the game via emulation on PC which typically lacks the capabilities necessary for multiplayer functions. Original manga author Kazuki Takahashi constantly designed little games that appeared in the backs of compiled volumes of the manga, most often played with dice, and it's not surprising that he'd also come up with a very fun card game too even if this wasn't exactly the format we'd come to know in the years after the release of Dark Duel Stories.

A gem hidden among the stones, Yu-Gi-Oh! Dark Duel Stories is undoubtedly stardust.

-- Ash

[ultra-violet-heart]

The Story of Joel Who Fell In Love With His Junior Knight

This is a bonus short story written by Touko Amekawa with for 7th Time Loop Volume 6! It’s set on Rishe's 6th loop, when she was still a knight, and her senior, Joel, who fell in love with her during that life.

Disclaimer: This translation is made by me for fandom purposes only. This unofficial translation is not affiliated with the official 7th Time Loop franchise. All rights reserved for 7th Time Loop to its respective committees, committee members, staff, author and rights holders.

The bonus short story can be found in Touko Amekawa's 7th Time Loop Shousetsuka ni Narou blog!

I’m posting my Ko-Fi here as currently, I’ve been having financial troubles, so if anyone can donate, I would be much grateful for the help, thank you very much.

***

"Joel?"

That day, Joel, who went silent after realizing an outrageous truth, was called by Lucius, who was with him in the same room.

"......"

This was Joel's junior knight, who joined their order six months ago.

Joel, the youngest child of a family with an older brother and an older sister, had joined the knights' order earlier than was customary. For as long as he could remember, he was surrounded by people usually older than him, and this junior is the only 'junior who was close to him in age'.

"Lucius. You."

"?"

Sitting on the bed, Lucius' head tilted in confusion, that short coral hair swaying.

Lucius' round eyes were fringed by long eyelashes, those very eyes tinted emerald, akin to wet glass beads. Those were similar to the color of the eyes of the neighborhood cat Joel used to nap with.

"......"

Putting down everything he wanted to say at first, in the meantime, Joel continued to talk.

"It's fine if you're taking over cleaning the baths every day, but after this, you're not allowed to go there this late. Got it?"

"Huh?! Oh, I'm sorry! Since I was about to take a bath, too, and cleaning would take some time... am I too noisy every time I go back here?"

"Yeah. Right. That disturbs me while I'm sleeping, so go there when I'm awake."

"Yes! I'll pay attention from now on!"

Lucius nodded vigorously while Joel nodded back in assent.

"You can go there right now as all our seniors should have finished bathing already. Also, any individual sword practice shouldn't be done at night, but at mornings."

"Understood! Joel, let's do our best getting up early tomorrow, too!"

"Huh. Don't want that."

"Hehe."

As Joel clearly expressed his refusal, Lucius laughed amusedly for some reason. Just like that, while they were talking, Lucius briskly moved, getting a towel and a change of clothes.

"Well, then, I'll go take a bath and clean up!"

Leaving the room, Lucius' footsteps and presence slowly faded away.

Sitting on the chair next to their bunk beds with a thud, Joel pondered over understanding his current situation.

(―――That person is a girl, huh.)

He planned to erase from memory all the events leading to this conclusion.

Instead of sitting upright on the chair, Joel's body slid sideways, his head resting against the wall, his eyes now closed.

(Even though cleaning the baths was supposedly a rostered task. I now understand why Lucius kept saying incomprehensible things like, "It's part of my training!" and volunteering to do that alone every day...)

She would go to their training grounds and practice very early in the morning, and would prepare for missions faster than anyone else. However, that would be the best possible way to cover up her changing clothes in the dressing room.

"Ah―――..."

For the first time in his life, Joel let out what would call a "sigh". Up to that point in his life, such worries were previously irrelevant to him.

(...I don't really care whether she's a man or a woman...)

Even though he thought like that, the moment he realized Lucius was a girl, he broke into a cold sweat underneath his clothes.

His heart thundered greatly, beating louder than it usually did after battles.

(Damn you, Captain. You knew all along yet you placed her in the same room as me, you bastard.)

Before Lucius joined their knights' order, Joel stayed in that room alone.

Then enter the newcomer, the delicate-looking and small Lucius.

Six months have passed since then, and as his new junior never showed signs of building muscle nor growing taller, he felt he finally solved that mystery.

(Lucius said she was originally a noble, but she got exiled by her family due to various reasons. If that was the case, because she couldn't travel easily due to her being a young woman, she disguised herself as a young man? ...Even so, why become a knight? I don't get it.)

She's really a big enigma, he thought.

Joel's only junior is someone whose thoughts and behavior are completely unreadable.

("Lucius" is probably not her real name.)

He was sure she was known with a different name as a girl.

(It's odd things like this make my heart flutter. It doesn't matter whatever her name is.)

Unsure of what he was thinking, Joel continued sulking alone.

(She should call herself the name she wants to be called with. It's likely her alias is similar to her real name, too...)

While he was thinking of whimsical things like that, it seemed like some time has passed.

There was a knock on the door, and Joel's eyes widened.

"It's me, Lucius!"

"...What?"

He stood up to open the door and found Lucius standing there, out of breath, her hair so wet that it looked like water was still dripping from there.

"...Too fast. What's the matter? You usually take longer to...?"

"If I bath too late, you'll have less time to sleep, Joel..."

"......"

That "sleep disturbance" he told Lucius earlier wasn't actually a big deal at all.

The building where Joel and the other lower-ranked knights lived in was far from where the baths were located. Just when lights are put out, the area on the way gets pitch black with no people around.

(I know she is a girl, so I lied to her as I didn't want her walking in the dark after taking a bath. That's all.)

Lucius turned to Joel with a very serious look on her face, then said,

"I've finished cleaning the baths completely! From now on, I won't be too noisy, so please, sleep well, Joel!"

(She went in a rush for my sake...)

Joel thought for a moment, then prompted Lucius to enter the room.

"...I'll dry your hair occasionally, so come here, 'Lu'."

"Joel? 'Lu', you say... perhaps..."

The junior he had been calling "Lucius" up to now widened her eyes in shock.

"Your name. 'Lucius' is too long, and it's tricky to pronounce."

It was another lie.

However, Joel didn't let it show on on his face and continued.

"From now on, I'll call you Lu. That's your nickname."

"A nickname..."

"All right? I won't call you anything other than that."

As he can't call her by her real name, it's better to use the nickname Joel came up with.

(Because this girl is)

Joel then grabbed a towel and placed it on her wet, coral-haired head.

"...Because you're my one and only junior."

"...!"

At that moment, Lu's eyes sparkled with joy, just like the color of a treasure left under the sun.

"Yes! I'm very glad, Joel!"

"...Mm. Good kid."

In the days that followed, Joel's life got wrapped around Lou's finger.

After all, Lu was a person who would try anything. Not only did she put everything into her training, she also worked hard to help people in need even outside of her knight duties, and she even joined in drinking parties of the other units.

Every time she experienced something new, she smiled brightly and happily.

"Hey, Leo. Do you know where Lu is?"

"...If you're talking about Lucius, he's been summoned by some beautiful women earlier."

"Hmm."

It was probably because she was actually a girl, but she was more attentive and friendly to other women than anyone else, and her knightly conduct made her very popular. Nevertheless, this interaction with others never led to disputes, and their senior knights could only look at the situation with wonder.

"Joel, good morning, rise and shine!"

"...Today, I'll be training in my dreams. It's praiseworthy training, so it's all right..."

"I won't be able to participate if that's the case! As my senior, please guide me in training, and I'll dry your hair for you tonight!"

Joel was watching nearby this whole time.

"――The Crown Prince of Galkhein killed his father and usurped the throne."

"......"

When he told Lu about this fact, her face turned really sad.

Even though her hands clutched the hem of her clothes tightly, and those hands were covered with blisters from continuing to hold the sword, those hands still looked frail and dainty.

(...I hope this girl won't come to the battlefield.)

He thought to himself as he patted Lu's head, her eyes downcast.

(As I can't fully protect you...... No matter how everyone told me I'm worthless at everything except swordsmanship, I'm just a knight.)

Such selfish wishes kept appearing in his head.

Her short, coral hair was so silky smooth, it was hard to think of her using the same soap as Joel and the other knights.

(I need to protect this country, His Majesty, and the princes. A mere knight like me can't look back.)

Even though she knew of the future to come, she couldn't say anything.

As Joel was her fellow knight and her 'senior'.

(――Such is the life Lu and I chose.)

He had seen more than anyone else how much effort she put in to be a knight.

"...Become even stronger, Lu."

"Joel..."

"Hey."

Joel crouched down in front of Lu, rested his chin on his lap, and smiled.

"...I'll help you train every day, then. I'm your senior, after all."

"...!"

As he was her senior, he couldn't tell her he didn't want her to die.

But as he was precisely her senior, Joel could give Lu hope in the way he only could.

"...Thank you, Joel!"

(...Truly, I fell in love with such a troublesome girl...)

As Lu smiled, her eyes held the same sunny emerald color.

[gx-gameon]

Some reasons why the DM cast would not like the friends Jaden made during school:

Syrus: In the dub, it's clear that he doesn't have the best relationship with his brother Zane so he projects the perfect brother figure onto Jaden. The minute Jaden doesn't fit the ideal, he abandons Jaden at the toss of a hat. From trading his bed/eating his breakfast shrimp to the Dark World, Syrus was never as loyal as Joey. Only reason he got the Ra Yellow promotion duel was because of his brother and it's hinted that he was given his Obelisk Blue rank as a 'thank you' for helping against the Light of Ruin since he was at the final battle (even though all he did was hold Aster). Didn't truly improve until Season 4 and his deck upgrade came from his brother. Literally rode coattails to where he is at the end of the series.

Chazz: He was a jerk at the start, but mostly due to his brothers putting pressure on him. When Jaden tried to bond with him, he was mostly rebuffed and while he could see Duel Spirits, he never reciprocated Jaden's attempts to bond over it. Despite everything he went through with Jaden, he didn't hesitate to rejoin Obelisk Blue in a heartbeat come Season 4.

Bastion: Season 2 did this man no favors. He lost on purpose to join the Society of Light to get recognition and respect, which he never got anyway. He did give Jaden the wake up call he needed to get out of his Dark World funk to at least beat Yubel/get Jesse back.

Alexis: RIP her development in GX because her archetype didn't do well in the real life sales, because having a Ritual Expert would have been great. When Jaden returned, she tried to act like nothing happened and tried to force Jaden into activities, which only made him angry because he wanted to be left alone. She only moved into the Slifer Red Dorm because Crowler was trying to make her into a pop star with her brother in Season 2 so she can't be blamed too much for leaving.

Atticus: After getting his memories back, all Atticus did was become comic relief and tried to hook his sister up with guys. Never did he duel with his own original deck against the villains (Red Eyes deck is hinted to be the deck he was given as a Shadow Rider, not his original). He's one of the few that can beat Zane since he was part of the Obelisk Elite but never showed it. It's his fault that the Sacred Beasts woke up because he stole the keys for his plan to get Alexis to hook up with Chazz. Literally tried to force his sister into stardom against her will because he's an overly dramatic theater kid.

Zane: Zane is a one trick pony with a pretty powerful beat stick. His entire deck revolves around getting out Cyber End Dragon via Power Bond. Anyone in the pros can shut that down quick and instead of trying to improve he just kept with his old deck and fell into the underground, rejecting any help due to pride. Literally almost rage quit his final duel with Jaden because Jaden was trying to duel around a brick opening hand and had to think instead of having fun on the fly.

Aster: Multiple posts already on this for this blog, was manipulated because of tunnel vision concerning avenging his dad and didn't care who he hurt as long as he got his revenge.

Hassleberry: This boy literally has a dinosaur bone in his leg which gives him dino powers, got his spirit sent to space to save the world, and still will talk smack about Jaden behind his back and call his Duel Spirits 'imaginary friends' despite having met Neos.

Axel: He saw that Jaden's monsters were forced to attack Brron and how it wasn't truly Jaden's fault that his friends were sent to the stars, but still turned his back on the boy and told him that he was on his own. Despite his tough guy act, he ran when the Supreme King challenged him the first time. Redeemed himself by beating the Supreme King in Sesaon 3 and in Season 4 by helping Jaden though!

Jesse: Jesse is a all around sweet guy, he really is! The fact that he considered making himself a martyr to save the school was fulfilling his dream probably doesn't sit right with some of the DM crew because of how Jaden blamed himself for not being strong enough to save his friend.

Exception to this cause would be Jim. He saw that something was going down at the academy and investigated. the minute he saw Jaden as the Supreme King? In the original Japanese he outright asks if Jaden was tricked into being a ruthless warlord. Only reason this man did not return in season 4 was because his Japanese voice actor retired. Chumley is in this camp too because he stayed a solid friend with Jaden after Season 1.

Okay I thought I was the Gx friend groups number 1 hater but I take my cap off and pass it to you. Way to eviscerate all of them.

Here’s the thing. The DM cast are big friendship people. They forgive people for things they probably shouldn’t as long as the offended party says it’s okay. But they are also loyal.

In Duelist kingdom Téa holds a bit of a grudge against Mai until they get to know each other. Joey and Tristian are very protective of their friends. Yugi is warm and welcoming to all but he won’t stand for anyone messing with his friends and loved ones. Atem is protective. He loves his friends dearly and will do anything to keep them from harms way. And Seto is a dragon, he hoards that which is precious to him and protects it viciously.

I don’t think they would tell Jaden they didn’t like his friends. Nor do I think these adults would hold grudges against children (Seto might but he’s Seto Kaiba he held a grudge to the afterlife) but they aren’t fans of all of Jaden’s friends

Syrus

Syrus for all the reasons you stated, they just don’t like him. Syrus tries to force Jaden into a preferred older brother role instead of his best friend and equal. If Jaden fails that glorified image even a little bit Syrus loses all faith in him and interest in their friendship besides whining until Jaden full fills the role again. He’s a fair weather friend. I don’t think he’s a bad character or person but he needs to grow up. But because he is sheltered by both Zane and Jaden (from hiding behind him and Jaden’s hero complex) he doesn’t have to. Hopefully he matures after school.

But from a parents perspective this is not the person you want your kid relying on. He’s the friend who expects you to always be there for him but won’t be there for you in a hard time. Yugi’s good at reading people and from the stories Jaden tells them (which put all of his friends in a much better light) he and the Sam cast are not impressed. Téa and Joey especially don’t like the kid. Mai to. She felt with a lot of fake people in her life time. But how do you say that to a kid like Jaden who is so excited to have friends? Yugi is hopeful that Syrus will mature one day. After all his mom had similar worries when he became friends with Joey. But as time goes forward he’s proven wrong and Joey is a little offended by the comparison.

Chazz

I haven’t seen season 4 so I can’t comment on it. I’m almost done with my rewatch of season 1 and Chazz grows a lot in that season. I can see the DM cast being wary of him in the beginning because Chazz does start off as a bit of a bully. But after the school duel and Chazz starts truly hanging out with the cast I think most of those fears are put to rest. With finding out about his family and he is fairly loyal to Jaden. It’s not Joey levels but he’s not suppose to be (he’s not the designated best friend though he does a better job then Syrus)

I think by the end of season 1 they like him. (They haven’t met any of these kids and only have Jaden and school reports to go off of) the kid did stand up for the whole school against his brothers using a completely different and “weak” deck. He’s impressed them, and he at least tried to help. He took down one shadow rider.

In season 2 they are probably worried about him with the cult running around but I don’t know how much Jaden has told them about said cult. Chazz is also a real winner in that season of I remember. He goes out and beats all the members of the cult and wins the Gx tournament while Jaden deals with the leader. That should be the job of the “best friend” but Syrus and Hasselberry were mostly cheerleaders. It sticks that most of it is off screen but at least he’s helping. The cult can’t gang up on Jaden if Chazz is mowing them down.

Season 3 is a mess for Chazz. He’s sideline like most of the cast and it doesn’t help that he is one of the nay sayers. I know it’s a spell and Jaden is being selfish and rushing ahead. But this is a rescue mission that you chose to go on. I need to rewatch this season because how did Chazz and the others get captured? How did they not fight back? I don’t remember them taking part in one duel in the dark world. Like they were just following, complaining, and dying. It sucks how much the writers sidelined the cast like I love the exchange students, it think they are better characters over all, but the way the og cast is handled is t the best.

In conclusion, I don’t think the DM cast disapproves of him, it’s just a complex relationship between him and Jaden. I have them becoming Chazz’s pseudo family by the end of the au. Him and Jaden started on a ruff foot but they got there eventually.

Bastion

It’s almost funnier to say they forgot Bastion existed. He’s so fun in season 1 even though he’s a simp I love the energy he brings. But he’s the e first of the cast to get hard sidelined. I have to watch season 2 again. I always felt bad for the kid. Arthur and Solomon would have loved this kid. I’m going to play with his story a lot because he just wants to be acknowledged and seen as an equal to his friends and is constantly dismissed. Like he willingly joined the cult. He’s going to get a DM parental figure. One that probably doesn’t want the nerd following them but will grow to love their newly acquired duckling. I need to rewatch season 2 and think through the DM cast.

Alexis

Is that why her development gets thrown in the garbage?? Her archetype didn’t sell well? No she’s the ritual expert. And you’re right that would have been super cool. She’s still not a good friend. She’s alright in season 1 and at least takes down one of the Shadow riders. In season two she has a mini arc as the ice queen and they do a nice job of if I remember correctly. But she’s also sidelined in season 3 and I’ve heard season 4 is not great for her. To focused on her crush on Jaden and his past and her idolized version that she can’t see the Jaden in front of her is in need of help.

I don’t think the DM cast hate her but I think she rubs them the wrong way in season 3 and 4.

Maybe I’ll extend post cannon because I can see Alexis with a mentor and learning how to navigate her own feelings becoming a real power house. Ritual decks are rare and I wish we saw them more. Atem has two ritual monsters he uses in Black Magician of Chaos and Black luster solider. I’m not saying Atem’s her mentor but she just needs a chance to grow and stand on her own. Post cannon is going to be forcing these characters to stand on their own two feet, letting them fail, and watching them build themselves back up again.

The og friend group relies on Haden way too much to solve their problems.

Atticus

Atticus is a disappointment. He’s so fun and a goofball which is very different from his shadowrider persona. And I’m okay with that. It’s not his personality that upsets me. (Joey and Tristan have a can can dance when they beat an enemy and sing “can can we kicked it in the can can” like they would love Atticus and I love that goofball energy)

No where Atticus is a disappointment is that he never wins a duel on screen. He’s built up as this amazing duelist. He wins against the tomb keepers duel spirits to get his half of the shadow medallion. He’s part of the obelisk elite like Zane (I always wondered why their uniforms are different and now I know) yet he never wins an on screen duel.

I’m okay with him being a jokester and having fun with his kid sister and her friends, he’s behind his class by two years so he’s got to make new friends and Alexis and her crew welcome him. But I wish we say more of that.

Serenity join the DM cast in Battle City works this really well. She’s new to the group but already has connections because she’s Joey’s sister. She doesn’t know the rules and learns over time. Shes not the strongest but she’s helpful (saving Joey from the anchor) she doesn’t take center stage but we care about her.

But the difference between making her a side character/cheerleader and Atticus is Atticus is hyped up to be a good duelist. If they just showed him winning a duel or even talked about how he was win off screen I wouldn’t be as mad but the boys is a joke. He’s older than the rest of the cast and while he can be a goofy older brother he should also be a mentor or at least protective of the group. What was he even doing during the Gx tournament/Alexis’s cult time. I honestly forget. His kid sister spent a season looking for him and fighting to save him and the writers could let him return the favor. No Jaden has to save her.

(Like let him attempt. Maybe he can’t win in his own and Jaden has to take over or switch it and have Jaden start the duel but he’s not getting through and then Atticus steps in. It would be like Arem taking over for Kaiba bs Noah, where he takes Kaiba’s life points and deck and still pulls out a win. Do you know how good that would have made Atticus look if he took over Jaden’s duel using his deck and was able to beat Alexis. He’s a great duelist and to win using someone else deck is always seen as an impressive feat.)

I’m going to play with him to. I think most of the DM cast would love him. The Gx writers really just dropped the ball on their side characters.

Zane

Way to kick Zane when he’s down. Honestly sounds like something Kaiba would yell at him.

To be fair, if Zane is a one trick pony it’s also a fault with the school. They held him up as the best of the best and never forced him to change or adapt. The pro league is far more aggressive and he should have been prepared for that. If none of the students could beat him that’s one thing but a teacher should have pointed this flaw out. Maybe they did and he was to prideful or thought they were wrong because no one had ever stopped him before.

In know the Cyber end deck is a good deck. It still sees play today and has a lot of legacy support. So I don’t think it’s that his deck is bad. I think he just needs to change up his strategy.

But in topic. Ever already discussed the DM cast feelings towards him. He’s talented and good to Jaden in season 1 but they can’t help him in season 2. One they have their own things going on and two they can’t reveal their connection to Jaden. In all honesty they probably don’t know about Zane’s underground dueling until Jaden does. By then it’s too late to get the kid out.

Aster

I’ve already talked a lot about asteroids and his relationship with the DM cast and how they feel about his actions so we will move forward.

Hasselberry

I haven’t rewatched season 2 but I remember preferring Hasselberry to Syrus

They thing that drives me nuts though is that they both act like Jaden is crazy talking to spirits. Syrus has had multiple encounters with duel spirits since season 1 and Hasselberry has turned into a cartoon dinosaur and fought beside Neos. The man has no room to talk. We are all suppose to believe in your Dino DNA but you think Jaden talking to spirits is crazy.

Hasselberry is far more helpful than Syrus but it’s the Jaden is crazy talk that drives me nuts. Like he draws the same short straw as everyone else in season 3 and I want to do a deep dive on who got what negative emotion because some fit the character way more then others but we will talk about that later.

Over all I think the DM cast would like Hasselberry. If he’s away from Syrus. They get really toxic together trying to prove who is Jaden’s “true best friend” and he follows Syrus’s lead of putting Jaden on a pedestal and then getting upset with him when he falls off. (I wonder what their friendship could have been without Syrus?)

Axel

Okay I have to defend my boy here. Yes he sucks for abandoning Jaden. He’s also the “most experienced” when it comes to missions like this. I need to rewatch season three to figure out exactly where everything g went wrong. Yes Jaden is selfish and moving to fast but it’s also understandable where he is coming from. And everyone else invited themselves on the mission.

I saw someone say season three is meant to show Jaden what will happen if he keeps bringing his friends into dangerous situations and loses. Um I’m sorry. Jaden didn’t ask them to come. He does in season 1 ask for Syrus and others to come and support him but he doesn’t in season 3 he knows this is dangerous, stupid, and reckless, he knows he’s going to do whatever it takes and he tells them that up front. And then they get mad at him for doing exactly what he said he was going to do. And I can see the Duel Academy kids getting upset because they’ve spent 2 years with Jaden holding their hands but Jim and Axel? They did so well in the other dimension and Axel knows what this kind of mission intels, move fast. They have a short window of time to not only save Jesse but to move without Yubel knowing they are there. They have to keep moving.

Now in his defense. If my friend (and let’s be honest Jaden, Jim and Jesse are probably his first real friends) just accidentally murdered/was forced to murder our other friends I’d be upset to. And you have to blame someone even if that blame doesn’t go to the right person. Syrus was running (both his mouth and his legs) and he’s the weaker of the two. Jaden, in theory, can take care of himself. Should Axel and Jim slip the responsibility and in go after Syrus and one stay with Jaden yes. But they are teens and no one expected Jaden to spiral like that.

So here Axel is, his whole life has been a war zone. He finally has friends and they are dropping like flies but he’s still going strong. Until the supreme king is revealed to be Jaden. Jaden the silly sweet kid who welcomed him even after the way he acted. Who has always dueled with honor. Who he abandoned and lead to this monstrosity before him. And he just killed Jim. Him who only wanted to help him and is all around a great guy.

I don’t blame him for having a panic attack. He reached his limit and freaked out. He also over came that and still came back to help Jaden. Risking his life to do so.

After season 3 and 4 the DM cast love him. I don’t think he would ever run from a fight again. I think he’s started down the worst that could happened and over came it. He shows his loyalty (from what I understand) in season 4 and I believe is one of the few life long friends Jaden made at school.

Jesse

My boy. I think the DM cast is more worried about him than anything. He does have a self sacrificing tendency. But then so does Jaden. I think that’s the thing that worries them the most about the two of them traveling together post cannon. They know Jaden won’t let Jesse get hurt. But what will Jesse do if Jaden gets hurt protecting him? And the opposition is true to Jesse won’t let Jaden get hurt and we’ve already seen the lengths Jaden will go to if Jesse gets hurt protecting him.

Over all the DM cast likes him (with Seto Kaiba being huffy about it, only because he’s scared he’s losing Jaden to his future boyfriend/husband. He’s got big over protective dad fears going on)

Jim and Chumley

No notes. They are great friends and very helpful in their seasons.

I already decided Chumley finds out in between season 1 and 2. He’s just a good guy and I wish we say more of him.

I wouldn’t put it past him to figure out Jaden’s identity on his own. But still need to rewatch their season and see how things play out.

As of right now.

The DM cast likes

Chumley (finds out post season 1)

Chazz (the drama with his family solidifies his placement in season one but he doesn’t find out until post season 4)

Jesse (finds out during season 3)

Jim (finds out post season 4/ maybe mid way season 3)

Axel (same as Jim)

Aster (ruff starts but he and Jaden end up close and he finds out post season 2)

DM cast are on the fence about

Alexis

Atticus

Zane

Hasselberry

Bastion (I forgot him when I was first making this list and that is actually hilarious)

They got some ground to recover. The DM cast don’t openly dislike them. But they don’t know if they trust them with the Jaden.

This person is on thin ice with the DM cast

Syrus (is anyone suprised)

[lettersfromaphrodite]

| tornerai da me |

― pairing : Mikey x fem! reader ― content warnings : smut, fluff, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all) ― word count : 2.366 ― notes : different day, different blog, but this fic is still dedicated to my lovely muse @stressedfranya ― notes : the fic title means “you’ll come back to me”, it’s inspired by “la paura del buio” by  Måneskin 

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

Mikey fervently captured your lips with an open mouthed kiss, nothing but a desperate – yet very cute, attempt to hide his whimpers; his breath was ragged and uneven, his cheeks were flushed red, and his inexperienced fingers were almost hesitantly resting against your hips.

«You can touch me, pretty boy.» you confidently smiled at him, as you grinded your hips against his, creating enough friction to stimulate the both of you but not enough to get you off yet.

Nervously licking his lips, Mikey nodded at your words, and as you leaned back, balancing yourself on his firm thighs to move from a new angle, your boyfriend’s fingers started to explore your body, as he tried not to completely get lost in pleasure.

It was indeed a cute sight; you could feel Mikey’s thighs tense against yours anytime you purposely clenched against his length, and he would hide his face in the crook of your neck every now and then, hungrily nibbling at the skin of your neck between panted moans.

Shaky fingers wrapped themselves around your wrists, and you glanced at Mikey for any sign of discomfort; as if he was reading your mind, he quickly shook his head, mumbling a quiet «come here», his usual upbeat tone now huskier and filled with need. He placed your hands on his shoulders, and you scoffed, trying to hide a smile because, of course, you knew what he was trying to do and of course, you complied to his silent request.

Threading your fingers between Mikey’s golden hair you gave it a harsh tug, making your boyfriend moan almost sinfully in return, his hips stuttering against yours as he came with your name on his lips as if it was a prayer.

«Holy fucking hell,» you whined to yourself, vigorously shaking your head as if the gesture alone would have made those intruding thoughts slip away from your mind through your ears, as if you just took a dive in a pool and you were not still at work.

«Why am I even remembering that, now?» you mumbled to yourself, somehow exasperated with your own thoughts process, as you grabbed both your jacket and your bag, walking towards the front door of the shop you worked in just to check if the door was actually closed.

Quick flashbacks of a boy with golden hair kept alternating in your memory, and you sighed to yourself in deject.

“It’s almost Halloween,” you thought, distressed fingertips weakly fixing your glasses; on Halloween night, six years ago, you and Mikey ended once and for all your relationship.

Mikey had undoubtedly been the love of your life, that was the only thing you were certain about; moreover, sadly enough, even if you willingly had other relationships and met new people, you constantly faced the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else.

However, you had to face the fact that – despite the love they shared, not every couple was meant to be together and so, life made sure for you and Mikey to never see each other again for years.

Six years, three months and still counting, to be exact.

Of course, you couldn’t know that yet, but fate indeed had its own way to ask for forgiveness.

As you finished placing your groceries in the trunk of your car, a familiar voice calling your name made you almost slam your head against its roof due to sudden surprise; with an unceremonious movement, you immediately leaned back and, as cliché as it sounded, you could swear that time started to flow in slow motion.

As unexpected as finding your favourite ice-cream on sale, Mikey was standing few feet from you; the long golden hair you were so enamoured with were now slightly longer and as black as a starless night sky and still, he looked handsome.

«Hi?» you weakly offered with a smile, nervously playing with the keys in your hands; your heart – that traitor, immediately started hammering in your chest, as if to remind you that yes, after all this time, Mikey still had the power to give your butterflies with nothing but a gentle smile.

«Hi.» he echoed as he took few steps closer to you; however, the tender smile adorning his lips fell as soon as he saw you take an almost imperceptible step back. Mikey misinterpreted your action, and thinking something along the lines of “what was I even expecting?”, he stopped walking.

Mikey’s nervous stance mirrored yours, and he placed his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side; the fact that you kept avoiding his gaze deeply saddened him, especially because – judging by your behaviour, he felt like a fool for hanging onto his feelings for so many years.

Six years and five months, just to be clear.

«How…» you nervously cleared your throat, finally mustering enough courage to meet your ex lover’s gentle gaze, «how have you been?»

«Good,» he Mikey seemed to relax a little bit at your attempt to keep the conversation going, and he nodded at your question, «I’ve- I just got back in town, you know. How- How are you doing?»

“He just got back?” you thought, finally finding an answer to the fact that, despite occasionally and of course, by chance, walking through the places he used to go more frequently, you never saw him once.

«I’m okay!» you quickly nodded at his question. The conversation that the two of you were having was both incredibly awkward and painful to see, but still, no one knows how you managed to entertain a vain and small talk for few minutes. Most importantly, in your heart, it was as if neither you nor Mikey wanted for that unexpected meeting to end.

«We should see each other sometimes,» Mikey casually offered, and you did your best to hide your surprised expression, «you know, to catch up.»

«Of course.» you immediately answered, making the boy smile. That’s how you and Mikey exchanged your phone numbers with the promise to have dinner together.

“What am I doing?” you thought as soon as you got back in your car, “I’m pushing thirties and I’m still blushing like a high-schooler.”

“What am I doing?” Mikey thought as soon as he started the engine of his bike, “I’m a gang leader, and I acted as flustered as the first time I asked her out.”

In the end, you ended up at Mikey’s place to eat take out food. At some point of the night, you had to admit to yourself that you had no reason to feel nervous in the first place; of course, you tensed up as soon as Mikey admitted to be a gang leader but still, judging from the expensive apartment with an amazing view over the city, you didn’t expect any less.

Mikey and you spent your time together talking and joking around, and you felt like after all, no time had passed from those days – years ago, where Mikey used to crash at your apartment just to spend time with each other.

Of course, one thing led to another and, somewhere in between casual touches and lingering gazes, you found yourself admiring the view from Mikey’s apartment while your forehead was pressed against the glass window, your breath occasionally fogging a little part of its cold surface.

The fact that you were glancing outside was a blatant lie because, how could you focus on anything else when Mikey was moving his hips against yours creating an oh, so delicious friction?

Mikey mindlessly traced a path of open-mouthed kisses on your nape, as he was slowly moving his hips against yours; your left cheek and your chest were now pressed against the window’s cold glass, and your back was arched as much as you managed to in the desperate attempt to feel more. Although the position wasn’t entirely comfortable for you, Mikey made up for it with bold touches here and there; his fingertips would ghost under your blouse, tracing their way from your throat to your clit.

Mikey’s moves were passionate, bold and almost calculated, and much to your dismay, there was no trace of the extremely shy and clumsy Mikey that asked you to ruin him while being sprawled on your bed.

This Mikey was restlessly fucking you against a window while mumbling against your skin how much he missed you. Hiding a pleased smile in the crook of your neck after hearing your needy whimpers, Mikey’s right hand pressed against the hand you were pressing against the window, just to somehow intertwine your fingers together.

Honestly, you were certain that there was molten core pooling in your lower abdomen, however, before you could beam yourself in the sensation of your orgasm, Mikey gradually slowed the pace of his hips until he eventually stopped moving.

«So big, Mikey,» you breathed, moving your hips backward in order to look for more friction, as his left hand stopped stimulating your clit, «you’re so big.»

«Am I?» he questioned with a smug tone, as the fingertips of his left hand were mindlessly caressing your hipbone. It didn’t take long for you to realize what he was trying to do, since it was something you had loved to do with him many years ago; between touches and kisses, Mikey kept teasing you, his only goal for you to beg him to let you come. Of course, you would be lying if you were to say that back then, you didn’t beam yourself in the sight of Mikey’s watering eyes and blushy cheeks as he begged you to let him come after you’ve teased him for hours; however, you’d never expected for your actions to backfire like this.

Doing your best to ignore Mikey’s length occasionally twitching inside you anytime you clenched around him, you reached back with your left hand, but before you could intertwine your fingertips in his raven black hair, you found both your hands being pressed against the window.

«Here I thought I was being good enough for you.» he mumbled against your neck, as he left another trail of open mouthed kisses. The grip around your hands tightened, and you decided that for once, you didn’t have to be the one in control; after all, judging by how quickly you were about to reach your first orgasm, you had to admit to yourself that this new side of Mikey was definitely alluring.

«Let me cum, Mikey, please.» although your voice was barely a whisper, your ex lover decided that still, it was okay to him; during the years, he had desired to be with you for so many nights that now that he finally had the chance, he didn’t want to waste time with unnecessary role-play.

Mikey slid out of you, gently taking your hand to lead you towards the nearest couch in his expensive and wide living room; you both quickly finished undressing yourselves – you discarded your blouse and your bra while Mikey simply took off his shirt, before he let you climb on top of him and quickly slid back inside of you while trying to hide a needy hiss, his head leaning back against the couch.

Like good old times, you were now riding Mikey, alternating sensual moves of your hips to occasional grinding against each other; however, he quickly noticed the fact that you still seemed to be hesitant about something, since your hands were locked on his shoulders for the time being.

«You can touch me, pretty girl.» he offered with a smug smile, snaking his arms around your waist and pushing your chest closer to his; you scoffed a laugh, recognizing his words as the ones you used to pronounce.

Eventually, your lips met Mikey’s for the first time that night, and the familiar sensation of euphoria pooled in your lower abdomen. It was kind of paradoxical, your hips were moving against each other in an incredible slow pace, and still, you could feelMikey tremble below you.

«I missed you,» you heard him say anytime your lips parted for few seconds, just to angle your kiss a different way, «I missed you so much.» he confessed, as the atmosphere in the room gradually grew so intimate that it almost prevented you from breathing properly. Mikey kept you close to his body, sinking his short nails in your thighs, refusing to stop kissing you despite his ragged and uneven breath; you did just the same, threading your fingers in his hair and shyly confessing that you missed him too.

Mikey bit your lips as he came, riding his high as he hid his head in the crook of your neck, and you came right after him, loving the way he kept kissing your skin and brush his fingertips over your clit to help you ride your orgasm.

Mikey’s arms seemed to tighten around your waist, preventing your from standing up from the couch; he still had his forehead against your collarbones, and you knew that he could feel the wild rhythm of your heart, not anymore caused from your post orgasm state. Instinctively, you hugged his neck, the reality of the fact that you were probably still sharing the same feelings slowly crashing onto you.

«I really missed you.» you heard Mikey state, even though he wasn’t looking at you.

«I know. I missed you, too.» you offered back, slightly moving your head just to kiss his hair.

«Don’t leave,» Mikey timidly added after few never-ending seconds of silence, his arms seemed to tighten around your waist to empathize his words, «let’s make things right, this time.»

«Mikey, just to be clear, you’re asking me to be your girlfriend, again?» you swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart now threatening to jump off your chest due to its wild rhythm.

«I am,» Mikey’s head leaned back, his gentle gaze finally meeting yours as his fingertips gently cradled your face, «I want to be yours, as long as you want to be mine.» In a silent answer, you leaned in and captured your lover’s in another kiss filled with adoration.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello! Love your blog - please allow me to bring back a topic to the table:

How long did Daniel spend with Louis and Armand back in the 70s? I see a lot of speculation that some version of DM takes place back then. And, it would be very dramatically compelling to have Daniel realize that he’s not just lost a night of memories (which I think is what he believes presently?) but actually several months/a whole relationship/a side of himself. However, in every new clip from the 70s thus far the trio seems to be wearing the same clothes as from the flashback in episode six. Also, I think in some official interviews it sounds like they are referring to a single event when they are talking about the first interviews. Of course, this could be a deliberate obfuscation as to not spoil anything…

I read a theory speculating that Daniel will early on in the season remember a few flashes of Armand. Specifically that after having saved him from Louis, Armand basically considered killing him. That this is what the ”I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for…” scene is about, and that this is why Daniel at some point fears Armand (as heard in the trailer). He will probably believe that Armand must have erased his memories after Louis tried to kill him (which might also be just what happened if DM doesn’t take place) as he learns of the extent of Armand’s mind ability (which could be connected to learning about the Théâtre des Vampire as they are probably hypnotizing their victims?). Listening to Louis’ and hearing his inconsistencies he will probably put two and two together and realize and help Louis realize that Armand has interfered with his mind.

If DM happened in the past, this could result in a really explosive ending in which Daniel first believes that he has finally come to understand all there is to know of the story between Louis and Armand and also of his first encounter with the two, but then as more memories comes to the surface he is faced with the realization that there’s a lot more to it.

(1/2)

Hey!

Glad you like :))

Sooooo I think that the Devil's Minion of the past will likely unfold pretty much the same as in the books, namely the hunt across the globe, and then years of relationship.

However, I do not think that will be something we will see everything of already. AND I think that both Devil's Minion and Lesmand have been mostly kept out of the "general trailer" as not to confuse the more casual viewers. So that is nothing I would go by, actually.

Daniel remembering is - contrary to Louis! - a deliberate thing (at least from Armand's side - I do believe Louis also tries to remember deliberately, but Armand probably does not really want him to, which... I get. Ahem.). Others have posted about this too, but the medicine he gets should have other effects - and the sheer presence of Fareed means there's... something going on.

I think he will continue to remember, more and more, and there is a high chance that he will remember Louis, too. Personally I think that it was not Armand who erased Daniel's memories (contrary to Louis'). This could also be the reason why for Louis some bleed through... and for Daniel they didn't. (But we'll see about that^^).

I am very sure DM did indeed happen in the past - up and until Daniel not being too healthy and wanting to be turned. And then something happened differently than in the book.

Remembering will indeed be a shock to the system for him - as you said, he more or less settled. Though his subconscious remembers. The Bosch-puzzle, the "Savage Garden" book. Set design, yes, but done on purpose. He also knows there's something that doesn't match, because he probably cannot remember where he got the bite mark.

Considering these vampires can heal these wounds... that's a visible claim. By Armand.

And yes, this is a very... insidious kind of horror. And it is a theme in the chronicles. The road to accept themselves as the monsters they are is rocky indeed.

Daniel realizing he "loved this thing" is also part of it all. (That is a quote, too^^). Daniel does not see Armand in any kind of idealized light - he sees him in his entirety. And yes, of course Armand thinks what he does best... he's not doing it out of malice. He thinks he's helping... in his own, inimitable way.

"L'amour est un monstre".

They didn't choose this headline just for Loumand on the posters :) No, as with so many things... this goes for several relationships and situations.

Armand will indeed not be able to let Daniel die, imho - but that won't be this season... I think this season will need to deal with the fallout on Louis. For Daniel and Armand that will come up still, in some kind of way.

The upcoming season will be very interesting for DM, but I doubt it will be the last - I think it will open it up, so that the truly interesting, gritty conflict can come about in the upcoming seasons :))

I for one am looking very much forward to it.

[max1461]

I guess, ok... reason number #2 that tumblr is making me stressed out. This one is much more idiosyncratic: I have never had a "friend group" before, and I'm not really sure that I like it!

Throughout my life, all my close relationships have been totally individual. My three best friends, each of whom I love with the entirety of my heart, have never collectively been in a room together. They have each pairwise met I think, but my relationship with each of them is basically entirely separate. This is how I've always operated; most of the people I know don't know each and my relationship with them is wholly one-on-one.

But on tumblr... ok, there are a lot of people that I've talked to on here long enough to consider them, you know, friends. And they all know each other about as well as I know each of them! It's... terribly stressful and disconcerting. I can't exactly say why. It's not like I do this on purpose, it's not like in the past I've kept my friends separate consciously. It's just ended up that way.

But on here it has not ended up that way, and I think it makes me feel... claustrophobic. I can't exactly explain it. It's related to why I have this repeated desire to wipe my blog from everyone's memory. I don't want *myself* wiped from your memories! I would quite like it if each of the individual people I've gotten to know on here remembered me. But sometimes I want my... presence in the community to never have existed. If that makes sense.

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) — pt. v

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 5/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Genre: Angst + Smut + Eventual Fluff Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 7k Summary: Some conversations are long overdue. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; the return of jeon jungkook; the consequences of their own actions; angsty bits but ending on a good note! A/N: This takes place immediately after the events of pt. 3! FYI, I slightly lessened the age gap between Seokjin and Jimin for plot purposes. The smut will return in the final part, so don't fret ✨ ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

When he left your house earlier that day — left you, at your demand — Jimin went home. He shuffled off to his bedroom, dropped like a stone onto his own mattress, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

He was still stuck on the puzzle. Over and over, he replayed the moment he’d kissed you. It was a reflex, not a choice. The way you gazed up at him, starry eyed, from the cushions of your sofa didn’t leave him a choice. And even though he should have regretted it immediately, he didn’t — not until he watched your face warp, not until you pushed him away.

Staring mindlessly up at his ceiling, Jimin struggled to recall what the fuck this was all for — any of it. The distance, the hostility, the rules. The two of you had pushed forward so recklessly and for so long that the starting line was blurry. Everything was, and the harder he thought about it, the dizzier he got.

To ground himself, Jimin closed his eyes and pressed his palms flat against the bed. His fingers grabbed fistfuls of the duvet below, like he might go flying around the room otherwise. Pinched hard between his thumbs and index fingers, he ran the pads of them over the fabric. As he did, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately.

What’s the point?

It took a moment, but he felt it when he bent one knee, foot flat against the bed. The point was actually a rounded corner, and it was pressing into his thigh through the lining of his pocket. Despite knowing better, he fished his phone out. Muscle memory guided him through to his mailbox; consistently shitty judgment clicked on the sole message he found there. The rest of him tensed, awaiting impact.

As a general rule, Jimin didn’t hold on to voicemails — if he bothered to listen to them at all. He believed that anyone who truly needed to speak to him would text him if their first attempt went unanswered. Otherwise, they’d blow up his phone until he stopped screening their calls altogether. But he wasn’t great with rules, as he’d recently learned, so there was one exception:

Jimin had no idea why he kept yours after all this time, but he did. 

He played it every now and then; and every time he did, he asked himself why, never arriving at an answer. Self-flagellation was his best guess. After all, no good came from tear-soaked venom, especially not one year after the fact. Knowing better almost never meant doing better, however.

By now, he could likely recite it by memory.

You’re not going to listen to this, but I’ll say it anyway because I didn’t deserve what you did to me tonight, and you deserve to hear it. 

You then take a shallow, shaky breath. 

I’ve spent years — years — waiting for you to be brave. Followed you around like a fucking puppy, and for what? This? 

The crack in your voice is smoothed over by a humorless laugh.

I’ve wasted my own breath defending you to other people when you’re not even there — and I wish I could swallow it all back down.

Then, the coup de grâce:

You are every awful thing people say about you.

For weeks, Jimin beat himself over the head with that last line until he could barely get out of bed. You knew him, knew how much something like that would hurt him — especially when it came from you. Still, you said it anyway, convinced that he wasn’t still the person you thought he was. Back then, two questions spun relentlessly in the back of his mind:

If you wielded that particular knife intentionally, did he really know you? Why would he bother with an explanation or apology when you wrote him off so quickly, so completely?

Groaning loudly, Jimin locked his phone and tossed it onto the mattress next to him just to scrub his hands over his face. It bounced and landed with a smack against the hardwood beneath his bed, but he didn’t flinch. He’d just have to add that to the list of things he’d fucked up lately.

Highest up on that list was breaking the rules of his own mind games. He wasn’t supposed to deviate. All he wanted to do — at the very start — was to hurt you back by proving you right. To finally meet your expectations for him, be every awful thing you said about him in that voicemail. At least, that’s what he thought he wanted. Now, he was left to question his motives. 

Was he unwilling to let that anger go, or was he unwilling to let you go? If it was truly ever about revenge, when did it stop?

Jimin asked himself that question as if he didn’t already know the answer. It stopped as soon as it started: when twenty years’ worth of wondering were over, and he finally knew what it felt like to hold you, even if the circumstances looked nothing like they should’ve.

Fuck.

You should’ve punched him for what he did to you, but you didn’t. The realization hit him instead, so hard that his ears were ringing. It was never you that he hated and it should’ve dawned on him a long time ago that all he’d ever been doing was projecting. He should’ve known that no matter how much he hated himself, he loved you more than that. 

He always had, hadn't he?

“Fucking idiot,” he growled to himself, swinging his legs over the side of his bed to stand. 

Once he pushed himself to his feet, he grabbed his car keys and coat from the place he’d dropped them upon returning from your house. He snatched that fucking phone, too, before heading for the front door to make that same trip again. When he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.

Seokjin was frozen with his fist raised to knock. It dropped back down to his side as soon as his surprise wore off. 

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Got a minute?”

It was a mistake, agreeing to meet up with Jungkook for a boxing class. Following the morning’s events, you were still nursing a bruised elbow and, far worse than that, a slow-to-recover ego. Maybe the real problem was the bitterness that sat on the tip of your tongue and never left, no matter how hard you swallowed. Embarrassment, regret, some third emotion you had yet to categorize. One way or another, you were miserable.

You deserve it.

Exhausted and sweat-slicked, Jungkook sat down next to you on the bench you’d all but collapsed on to. To no one’s surprise, he was in significantly better shape than you; and unlike you, he still had the strength to move his arms. He pulled off his gloves, then he made short work of yours without you even needing to ask.

“I’m still not getting it,” he sighed. 

The two pairs of gloves dropped onto the floor in front of you with a muffled thump that was louder than his breath had been. 

“You’ve been fucking at an alarming frequency for a year, and you’re mad that he kissed you?”

You turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. Incredulous, you huffed, “First of all, what do you mean alarming?”

“I mean bi-weekly — at minimum,” he deadpanned.

This motherfucker.

The earnest, unimpressed look on his face prompted you to jab him in the ribs with your elbow long before you remembered your injury. When you hissed, he rolled his eyes. Then, nudging your shoulder with his, Jungkook’s tone softened. Gently, he asked, “What's actually bothering you?”

“He broke the rules.”

This caught his attention, and he paused. His hands fell motionless in his lap. “Oh,” was all he said. He now knew exactly why you’d been haunting the gym like some sick, sad, Victorian ghost for the past two hours; but judging by the way his brows knit together, he still didn’t have a clue what to do or say about it.

You scooted further back on your seat and pulled your knees to your chest, not unlike the way you’d sat on your living room floor a few hours earlier. Staring intently at the ground, you wondered if there was any way to disappear into the carpet — which someone absolutely should have vacuumed since your last appearance there, but clearly hadn’t. It was quiet for more than a few moments as you and your thoughts got lost in the crop circles of dirt amidst the fibers. 

Eventually, you mumbled, “This whole thing went haywire. It was working so well for so long, and now it’s fucked.”

Jungkook leaned against the wall, head tilted slightly to keep his eyes on you. With the corner of his mouth hitched up, he mused, “Was it really working, though?” 

You blinked dumbly back at him. 

“Is it possible that you weren’t doing this to hurt him? That — and I’m just spit-balling here — you just wanted to keep him around, one way or another?”

The brick in the pit of your stomach was sinking deeper, and its corners were starting to jab you in weak spots you weren’t previously aware of. 

Of course I wanted to hurt him. He hurt me first. 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, in part to keep from snapping at Jungkook but largely because you wouldn’t know what to say if you did. He had a point, after all, and that was difficult to reconcile. Why else would you have kept at this little game for as long as you had?

That’s the worst part about a long con, isn’t it? It never, ever ends up the way you’d planned. The more time you invest in something, the harder it is to remember why you bought in to begin with. 

At the outset, you’d absolutely wanted to bring that boy to his knees. You had every intention of letting him fall on his face from there. He was supposed to feel as invisible and unwanted as you did when you sat at that table for two, all alone. Like cellophane, transparent. You were supposed to stay detached; it’s why you had rules in the first place. 

So, why did you keep it going? Why was it eating you up inside when those rules were broken, and you couldn’t? Did you start something, knowing in some hidden corner of your brain that you’d never want to stop?

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dropped your face into your hands and muttered, “Fuck.”

Jungkook, in an attempt to be comforting, slung his arm around your shoulder. His skin was as clammy as yours, instantly causing you to squeal, but he didn’t let you squirm away. Instead, he encircled you, pinning your arms to your sides in the process. He grunted through his laughter, “Let me — comfort — you — you fucking cactus!”

“Hands to yourself, swamp ass!” You warned, still wriggling.

The dangerous look you tried to send him was lost; it crumpled with your face as you laughed hard enough to make your abdominal muscles even more sore. You flailed, but as you tried to get to your feet, his arms constricted. He smiled in that signature Jungkook way — all front teeth and pursed lips — as if caging you in was child’s play.

You whined, “I mean it. I can throw a punch now!”

It took him next to no effort to subdue you completely, leaving you to wonder what the fuck those boxing classes were truly worth. Dejected, you had no option but to slump against him like a rag doll, panting and considering requesting a refund.

“For the record,” Jungkook sighed, “You’re just as gross.”

You scowled even though you faced away from him. “Shut up.”

He glanced down at you. In a matter of seconds, his smirk reappeared on his face. Flexing an eyebrow, he teased, “So, what’s first on your agenda when you get home? Showering or telling Jimin you’re in love with him?”

You knew he said it primarily to fuck with you, that he didn’t mean for it to bruise, but it did. Because, while it was true, that realization didn’t clean up the mess you’d made. It didn’t erase what Jimin did, either, which made things all the more complicated. He knew how much it would hurt — there’s no way he didn’t — and he still didn’t show up for you. 

So, what? 

What difference did it make if you loved him? You always had, on some level; and he didn’t feel the same. He never had. The only difference time had made was that now, you couldn’t remember how to let people in. You locked that part of you in a vault to keep yourself safe, and then you swallowed the key. Even if his feelings had changed, he’d never be able to slip past defenses you yourself didn’t know how to lower. 

And if that was the case, why would he bother trying?

Jungkook suddenly released his hold around you. Startled, you glanced up over your shoulder at him just in time to watch his mouth curve upwards. Unintentionally, yours did too. 

“Seems like there’s an overdue conversation to have, yeah?” He hummed.

You nodded, looking back down at your hands in your lap.

“Just — please, shower first. You are ripe.”

When you were nine, your parents enrolled you in dance classes at a local studio. They said that you had more energy than they knew what to do with, that a physical outlet for it all would be good for you. And even though Seokjin was fourteen at the time, he knew better. He knew that decision had nothing whatsoever to do with you.

The truth — which he was sure you realized now — was that your parents needed somewhere to put you on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

That year was the first in which Seokjin’s soccer team was worth watching. So much so, in fact, that they’d made it to the quarterfinals of a local tournament. He knew it, even back then, that it was meaningless; just a group of shithead teens vying for a trophy they’d sell at a garage sale the following summer. More importantly, he knew that kind of thought isn’t one a ninth-grader should have to have. Your parents didn’t seem to get it, so, he figured, someone should.

They were present for every practice —  every Tuesday and Thursday — without fail. They cheered through all of them as if it was the final they were watching, not Seokjin running drills in a bright purple practice jersey. Then, when practice was over, they’d shower him with praise that a fourteen-year-old should’ve basked in. Every time, he’d have to cut them off and remind them of the empty seat next to his in the back of the minivan. Someone needed to notice when you weren’t around.

He was good at that, nudging them, even though he shouldn’t have had to be — and he only fucked up once.

On one drive home, he was too engrossed in his Nintendo DS to think twice when his parents asked him to choose between grabbing dinner with them and going home. Seokjin chose the latter; they dropped him off and headed out to whatever restaurant they’d chosen.

After an hour, he wandered to the kitchen to eat whatever the fuck he wanted to for dinner. His head was buried in the refrigerator when a loud knock at the front door scared him so badly that he smacked his head against a shelf, cursing loudly without any adults nearby to yell at him for it. Confused, he shuffled off towards the foyer, glanced through the peephole, and shoved the door open.

It didn’t make sense, Jimin appearing on his doorstep without calling first. That is, until Seokjin saw you clinging to Jimin’s hand with wet eyes and a trembling lip.

“Forgot my water bottle and went back for it, saw her sitting by herself on a bench outside the studio,” Jimin explained through gritted teeth.

He could’ve dropped your hand at any point after walking you from the studio to your house, but he held it still. “Hyung, she was out there for an hour.”

Seokjin was fourteen the first — and only — time he dropped you. Jimin, at just twelve, was there to pick you up. 

Now, well over a decade later, it was Seokjin standing on Jimin’s doorstep. Though the two of them had grown significantly since then, the reason for the sudden drop-in hadn’t changed. Everything else aside, they would always have that one thing in common: You.

“Hyung, do you —” Jimin had barely said a word, and yet he was already stammering. If his eyes bugged out any further, Seokjin worried he’d have to clean them up off the doormat. “D’you wanna come in?”

The youngest stepped to the side, opened the door wide enough for the eldest to slip into the entryway. All the while, it looked like he was actively working to not shit himself. Thankfully, Seokjin had been inside more times than he could count, and he knew his way by heart: straight to the refrigerator to grab two beers.

He tossed one to Jimin, whose nerves nearly made him fumble it. The can smacked into his chest when his hands lagged behind, coming to life just in time to prevent it from free-falling to the floor.

“So,” Seokjin started.

He cracked open his beer without taking his eyes off Jimin, or letting a single emotion register on his face. It might have been a shitty thing to do, but he’d always loved watching Jimin squirm; and this was the most uncomfortable he’d seen his friend in decades.

“Anything you want to tell me, or should I just go for it?”

Jimin’s jaw clenched tightly enough that Seokjin could practically see the blood flowing through the vein protruding from his neck below. Clearly, he was trying to find his words. Lucky for him, Seokjin wasn’t known for his patience. He took over without wasting another second.

He sighed, “I always suspected that you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you were this dumb.”

Dead silence, save for what might’ve been all of Jimin’s synapses sizzling at once.

“No, seriously,” Seokjin snorted. Eyebrow raised, he lifted his hand and gestured to Jimin with his beer. “I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so concerned.”

Jimin’s forehead crinkled as he attempted to catch up. “I — what?”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Seokjin dropped down into his usual stool at Jimin’s kitchen counter. Elbow to granite, he propped his cheek onto the heel of his hand. 

Really, he hoped that years’ worth of friendship meant that Jimin could buffer a little fucking faster. The open-mouthed gawking indicated otherwise, to Seokjin’s dismay. Annoyed that his beautiful mind wasn’t being telepathically read, Seokjin groaned. “You think I throw that fucking Valentine’s Day party every year for — what, my health? My girlfriend only likes me half the time, man. Come on.”

Jimin simply blinked in response, like it was all his brain could manage.

“I’ve been trying to push the two of you together for years,” Seokjin huffed. “I’ve expended so much effort that I should be financially compensated, frankly, but that’s beside the point."

At the rate Jimin’s mouth was opening and closing, Seokjin could’ve easily mistaken him for a caught fish, gasping for air. Nevertheless, he persisted. "I even conned you into playing chauffeur this last time, thinking that maybe that would do it — and you waited another half a year to make a move? Babo.”

The confusion eventually gave way to something unreadable, though, right before Jimin’s hand raised. He landed a swift smack on Seokjin’s bicep with a growl before Seokjin could even think to brace himself. 

“Are you kidding?” Jimin shouted.

Oh, you’re mad mad.

Jimin kept swatting, punctuating every word with a hit. “You’re — you — fuck!” 

He gave up with a yell and slammed his fists down on the countertop, making Seokjin jump. Just as quickly, Jimin crumpled at the center, doubled over so that his entire upper body rested on top of his folded arms. His forehead dug into the knuckles of his thumbs, which curled around tightly clenched fists. Though Jimin had squeezed his eyes shut, Seokjin could make the educated guess that he was seeing red.

“First of all, what the fuck was that?” Seokjin scoffed.

In a flash, Jimin’s eyes cracked open. Instead of anger, there was something else buried there. Something sobering that made Seokjin’s stomach turn. He felt even worse when Jimin spoke again, sounding outright defeated:

“That shit you said about Chan and his sister,” Jimin grumbled, mouth unable to move fully with the way he’d slumped. “What was I supposed to take from that?”

Seokjin was at a loss, so he took a swig of his beer and swallowed it with a sigh. “What shit? I haven’t talked to Chan in — fuck —  year or so now.”

Jimin stood up just enough to press his palms to the countertop, head still hanging while he leaned. “About me being lucky that he didn’t make me swallow my teeth?”

Oh.

Fuck.

Seokjin frowned. For as long as he could remember, his love language had been fucking with people. With you, with Jimin, and with Jungkook, once he popped into the picture. There was a silent understanding that his little pranks and digs were a sign of affection. If he didn’t mess with someone, it was safe to assume that he didn’t give a shit about them. 

Until now, he hadn’t thought twice about that conversation with Jimin because it wasn't any different than every other conversation they’d ever had. Clearly, he’d struck a nerve he never intended to aim at. Goddamnit.

He grimaced. “You held off because of me?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, then he sank down on to the stool on the opposite side of the counter. Incredulous, he scoffed, “Was I supposed to see that as a green light?”

Seokjin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He nursed his beer in silence, eyes downcast. Jimin, of course, had a point. Several, it seemed, because he continued, “You and your sister are adept at kneecapping people, whether or not it’s intentional.”

It was a direct hit, as far as Seokjin was concerned. He wasn’t the best at reading the room. On the other hand, you were always extremely sensitive to other people’s feelings. It was this consideration that prompted him to raise an eyebrow and ask, “What do you mean?”

Jimin swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted to say was visibly lodged in his throat, unwilling to budge. To help knock it loose, Seokjin — gently — smacked the center of Jimin’s back, right between the shoulder blades. His efforts earned him a scowl, but then an admission.

“Hyung, I fucked it up. Bad.” Jimin scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to hide.

Seokjin kept his expectant eyes fixed on him, silently pressuring him to keep talking.

“I blew her off a year ago because I’m chickenshit, and she still hates me for it. So, I’m sorry to say that the ship has fucking sailed — and then I capsized it — and now I’m drowning.”

Deep in thought, Seokjin turned his head away from Jimin to stare into the middle distance. He needed contemplative silence — or, if nothing else, to look pensive — but he found an out instead. Sitting on top of the counter on the far side of the kitchen was a toolbox. As he stared at it, the sound of Jimin’s ongoing melodrama gave way to gears turning.

“If I could talk to her, I think I could fix it, but that’s the problem —”

Blah, blah, blah.

Above all else, Seokjin was pragmatic. A schemer, always one step ahead. He raised his hand to cut Jimin off mid-monologue and asked, “You know anything about plumbing?”

Your drive home from the gym took twice as long as your drive there. Flying on autopilot, your eyes stuck to the road, and your hands went through the motions of turning the wheel, but your mind wasn’t in the car with you. If it was, you likely wouldn’t have driven past your freeway exit, not once but twice. 

Unfortunately for you, your inability to focus only got worse as heavy raindrops hit your windshield. Before you knew it, the smattering evolved into sheets so substantial that the drum of fallout against the metal roof left you somewhere close to hypnotized. Mind otherwise blank to your surroundings, all you could think about was Jimin and the steps you’d have to take next. 

Obviously, playing stupid games won you stupid prizes. If you kept it up, you’d shatter; and as far as you could tell, a clean break from him was the only thing that might keep you in one piece. You had to shut it all down, crawl back into your bunker, and wait it out. Resurface, maybe, when you stopped wanting him.

When it was safe. 

After nearly missing your street, you managed to wind up in your own driveway. Despite reaching your destination, you couldn’t peel yourself out of your seat. The umbrella tucked into the side compartment of your passenger door could’ve gotten you to your front door without too much trouble, but the threat of getting drenched wasn’t what pinned you down. It was the fact that, once again, you were the butt of some cosmic joke. A bookend.

Your first night with Jimin looked just like this one. How fitting that the ending would be waterlogged, too.

Before you could sink into that pit of nostalgia, you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached across the passenger seat for your umbrella. It fought you on the way out of its resting place, snagging against the lip of the molded plastic and threatening to rip. With one last, careful tug, you freed it. You opened your door with your left hand while unwrapping the velcro band with your right.

The effort was ultimately useless. The rain pelted the pavement with such force that it ricocheted, like it was raining from the ground up. Your socks and shoes were soaked within seconds, squelching with every step as you scurried up the path to your doorstep. For once, the universe sided with you and allowed you to unlock your door on the first attempt, rather than the third.

“Motherfucker,” you muttered to no one as you skidded, dripping, over the threshold.

Dumping your umbrella next to your hastily discarded shoes, you tossed your keys onto their designated hook and made a beeline for the shower, shivering as the rush of air cooled your wet skin. As you went, you fought for your life against your soaked sweatshirt, which had all but doubled its weight on your trek in from the car. The combination of its heavy fabric and your laughably sore muscles had you panting before your feet found the tile floor they sought.

Of course, that was cold, too. 

You hissed, “Motherfucker,” while slamming the door shut behind you. After chucking the remainder of your clothes in the general direction of your over-filled hamper, you bent down and turned the shower handle as far to the left as it could go. You might have ended up melting your skin off your body, but at least that chill in your bones would be gone.

You couldn’t put your finger on it right away, but something was different. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you glanced between the shower head and the drain, like staring intently enough would reveal some sort of secret. Eventually, it clicked. 

It alarmed you that nothing alarmed you. Aside from the stream hitting the floor, it was quiet. No groaning, no ominous clanking or sputtering — just water, unaccompanied, at the temperature you asked for.

“What —?” Your voice trailed off before you could finish talking to yourself.

For eighteen months, you sent consistent, increasingly angry, written notices to your landlord, begging him to fix whatever was wrong with your plumbing. At the very least, you wanted him to look into it and confirm you weren’t just hallucinating. He ignored you, time and again, until you’d given up entirely. Of course, he waited until then to do something, like it was out of the goodness of his own heart and not the result of your incessant nagging. 

And — exactly as you expected — it took him no time at all to fix it. Less than the duration of your occasional cameo at the gym.

Unable to stop yourself, you rolled your eyes and scoffed as you stepped into the shower, letting the frustration evaporate with the steam. It left you with a sigh that bordered a moan, so surprising and genuine that you embarrassed yourself. “Oh, fuck.”

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like, showering with adequate water pressure and without groaning pipes. It was perfect. If you could have, you would’ve stayed there for the rest of the night, ignoring the consequences waiting for you on the other side of the door.

Maybe, you thought, you could watch it all slip down the drain — the dread, all those feelings you never consented to having. You could hide there and scrub yourself clean of the mess you’d made while trying to fix yourself. The hot water supply didn’t support your plan, however, and your hour of boiling yourself like a dumpling came to a tragic, increasingly chilled end. 

Faster than you ever had before, you yanked a towel off the nearby rack, encircled yourself with it, and hopped out onto the bath mat. Unlike earlier that day, you intended to rip the metaphorical bandage off quickly. You wanted to thrust yourself out into the hallway before you could get too comfortable in the holdover warmth inside the bathroom. That intention didn’t get you far, though.

As soon as you turned for the door, you saw the note taped to the back of it. The moisture had made the ink bleed slightly, but the message was still legible. In handwriting you could easily pick out of a lineup, it read: 

Hope I didn’t make it worse. Should I send the bill to your landlord? Also, you really need to find a better spot for your spare. Not safe!  — J

Motherfucker.

Jimin was elbow-deep in dishes when he heard something resembling a thump.

At the rate the storm had kicked up outside, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the wind overturned his garbage can, or knocked a branch loose from the tree looming over his front porch. Whatever it was, it was muffled under the rush of water spilling out of the sky in waves. So, he shrugged and went back to scrubbing the pan he’d used to make dinner.

When the last remnants of his meal were washed away, he used the back of his wrist to push the faucet lever down. Without the additional flow of water, he heard that noise again — louder now, pace almost frantic. His brow furrowed as he pulled off his dish gloves. He hung them carefully over the faucet to dry, then he turned to investigate the source of the sound.

The closer he got to the front of his house, the clearer it became that the noise had nothing to do with the weather. In fact, if he had to bet, Jimin would’ve guessed it was Seokjin showing up unannounced for the second time that day.

“Hyung, I know you love me, but why are you —” Jimin started to whine as he flicked the porch light on and jerked the door open. “— So needy?”

He should’ve known better by now than to make guesses. It never, ever ended up being the Kim he expected.

Instead, it was you, dripping so thoroughly that you may as well have been melting. Your hair was windswept in every direction with wayward pieces of it sticking to your cheekbones. As much of a mess as you were, he couldn’t help but think that you looked beautiful this way, too. If it weren’t for that look on your face, he would’ve reached out to push some of those strands back, away from your eyes.

Oh. 

You were crying.

Suddenly panicked, he opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Why did you do it?” You demanded. The tremor in your voice didn’t match the scowl on your face. “I deserve to know why.”

His eyes widened, eyebrows rising steadily as he cobbled together a response. “Your plumbing is garbage and so is your landlord.” He held up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry for letting myself in, but I didn’t think you would —”

“No,” you interrupted, voice cracking. 

The fist you’d used to bang on his door unfurled slightly, leaving one finger to point accusingly at him. The gesture had him pinned in place, as if you were brandishing a gun instead.

“Why the fuck would you ask me out if you were just going to bail on me? Why — You didn’t even answer the phone.” You were one breath away from sobbing, but you pressed on. “You can’t do that and then do what you did today. You can’t. It’s not fucking fair.”

Before he could do anything — say a word, let you inside — you spun sharply on your heel to leave.

For once, he didn’t react too late. He grabbed your hand and kept you from slipping away. You paused, unsure of what to do with his touch, and refused to look back until his other hand landed gently on your shoulder. He couldn’t help the relieved sigh that slipped out of his mouth when you let him turn you back around.

You didn’t look up at him at first, which Jimin guessed was an attempt to hide away. Making yourself invisible wasn’t something you used to do on purpose, so watching you do it in real time made him ache. Try as you might, it wouldn’t work on him. He’d always known where to look to find you.

“Come inside?" He wasn’t above begging, so that’s precisely what he did. "Please.”

Your eyes lifted from your shoes to glance between Jimin and your car in his driveway. While he didn’t blame you, it stung like hell to know he’d turned you into someone inclined to run. He would’ve let it happen, if that’s what you wanted — dropped your hand and watched you go — no matter how much he wanted you to stay.

But you didn’t leave. 

There was a microscopic nod, then you followed him over the threshold. Once the door shut behind you, Jimin let go of your hand so you could take off your shoes and jacket. He took the latter and hung it from the nearby hook, then he asked, “Do you want something of mine to wear? I can throw yours in the dryer.”

You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be any more vulnerable than you had been already. You lied, “I’m fine.”

Jimin frowned, but he didn’t push you. Instead, he let you take the lead, falling in step behind you as you made your way to his kitchen. Unlike Seokjin, you didn’t take to rummaging through his refrigerator; you simply stood in the corner of the counter and held yourself with crossed arms.

Not knowing what else to do, Jimin took a seat on the opposite side and waited — for what, he wasn't sure. Some sort of sign, yelling, anything. All he got was quiet, save for the sniffling you couldn’t mask. You weren’t even looking at him.

Fuck it. Here we go.

“I can’t give you an excuse because there isn’t one,” he started. “All I have is an explanation, and even that’s shitty.”

This caught your attention. There was a small flicker of amusement in your eyes, though it was gone as soon as it appeared. It was encouraging, even if it was brief.

“You were right when you called me a coward. Fucking childish, too, but I’m not going to sit here and recite the laundry list of things I hate about myself because that doesn’t constitute an apology — that’s just bullshit, and I’ve put you through enough of that.”

Looking at the hurt broadcasted on your face made his throat tight, so he cleared it and prayed he could keep himself together long enough to spill everything he’d been holding back. To keep his focus, he fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. It wasn’t lost on him that the one he gravitated towards was the one you’d gifted him on his birthday several years prior.

There were pieces of you scattered over every surface of his life, his body included.

Fuck.

“Nobody that loves someone should treat them the way I treated you. I fucked it up — all of it — and I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, expression shifting slightly from hurt to something unreadable. With a shaky sigh, he added, “I should’ve said it a year ago, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

The silence that followed spread like smoke, clouding the space between you. Maybe that’s why he struggled to regulate his breathing. That, or the crushing weight of anticipation on his chest while he waited for you to react — to yell, to leave, to do anything.

To his surprise, what he got was a whisper.

“Why didn’t you?”

Jimin’s eyes switched focus from his hands to your face. He expected to find something accusatory there, but he didn’t. If anything, you looked almost expectant, like you knew the answer before you asked but needed to hear him say it. He didn’t want to — it seemed so trivial now — but he'd gotten sick of not giving you what you wanted, so he answered, “Your voicemail.”

You nodded slowly, thoughtfully, while you processed your response. A few more leaden seconds of silence passed before you finally spoke.

“I wanted to hurt you. I knew exactly what to say to do it, which is…” Your voice trailed off as you searched for your next words. “Unhinged." You shook your head quickly and amended, "No, it’s worse than that. It’s — it’s fucking abhorrent, that's what it is.”

Despite himself, Jimin couldn’t bite back his smile. He whistled. “That’s a big word.”

“You are being so unserious right now,” you scolded him. You scowled and put your hands on your hips like some disciplinarian parent — it was futile. Jimin could see you pressing your lips together to keep your laughter inside, clear as day. “Can you let me finish atoning, please?”

“Can I grab a dictionary first?” He countered with a smirk. 

Instantly, your incredulousness washed from your widened eyes to your mouth, which fell open. “I swear to God —”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine, fine. I’m listening, okay? I swear.” You just glared at him, so he said it again. “I promise. Please keep going.”

You took a deep breath and spit the rest of it out quickly, likely expecting him to interrupt you again. “I wanted to hurt you, and there is clearly a part of me that is fundamentally unwell because I didn’t just leave it at that.”

This was a twist he hadn’t seen coming, and it left Jimin thoroughly confused. Head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “You didn’t?”

“No,” you sighed. Sheepishly, you scrubbed your hands over your face. They lingered, intentionally or not, as if you were building another wall between the two of you. “I wanted to string you along, make you want me, and then cut you loose.”

Your head drooped, defeated. “I told you. Deeply unwell.”

Jimin was stunned, but not for the reason you seemed to think. His brain buffered, slowing his speech while he tried to process the situation. “You were toying with me?”

In a flash, your gaze snapped up to meet his. Bewildered was the only word he could think of to describe the look on your face. He couldn’t help it; he laughed, “That’s what I thought I was doing.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you wailed, throwing your head back.

Without watching where you were going, you still managed to successfully crumple onto a stool. From there, you deflated fully onto the countertop, limbs spread out and cheek flush against the granite. You muttered, “I hate us. I really do.”

Jimin mumbled in agreement, too stupefied to comment further. Several minutes passed that way, silently, as you each attempted to piece together the thing you’d — unknowingly, jointly — blown straight to hell. 

“Jimin?”

You startled him for two reasons, the least of which being the suddenness of your voice in all that quiet. More than anything, it was your unexpected use of his name. His given name.

After a year of you calling him exclusively by his family name, Jimin was ready to assume that you’d forgotten what followed it. It sounded like a foreign language to him now, so much so that he had to pause to make sure he heard you correctly.

Barely audible, you admitted, “I don’t know why I am the way I am. And I don’t know how to do this — to want this. Not properly, anyway. Not yet.”

So, you did hear him earlier. 

He didn’t necessarily mean to confess that fact with the rest of his sins. In fact, he was content to let it dissipate when you didn’t acknowledge it floating out there. He didn’t need you to say it back, or even feel it; he just needed to let it out of the cage he’d kept it locked in. And once he did, he pushed past it so quickly that he genuinely believed you might’ve missed it, but you didn’t.

You heard him, and you didn’t leave.

“Can we go back to the beginning?” You asked, sitting upright and turning your head to look at him fully. “We both have so much shit to work through, but I —”

“Hi,” he interrupted. 

You blinked, caught off guard. Arm extended, he reached over the counter and held his hand out to you. Cautiously, you accepted it, smile spreading slowly when he shook it, and you finally caught on. 

“I’m Jimin.”

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With the new chapter of American Beasts posted this week I haven't got anything worthwhile there to share, so have some more from Kit's Herald/Role Swap AU Kakia (warnings: for guns, violence, and straight up patricide):

There were countless times she’d pictured doing this, hurting her parents the way they’d hurt her, vengeance for how she was raised. A father’s brutal lack of love. Overbearing and cold. He treated her as no more than an offshoot of himself, just an added limb to his legacy, his memory. Nothing was ever for her, it was all for him. Selfish, conceited and controlling. Her mother’s feigned sympathy, coddling a scared and angry dog, only to try and dress it up for her own amusement. The party trick kept around to amuse the guests, no better than a piece of art on the wall, something her mother could briefly point at to draw attention to it before turning away from her as she always did. 

Boots thundered on shining wood floors, polished to the point you could see your own reflection, clean enough to eat off of and God only knew with the money they were flashing it certainly wasn’t her mother on her hands and knees doing it anymore. Kit’s hand tensed around the grip of her gun, as she passed by the farmhouse style Live, Laugh, Love sign complete with scuffed chalk paint and tarnished metal corners. It was revolting. A mask slapped on top of the horrors that hid underneath, no better than sticking duct tape over a hole punched in a wall. 

“Yes, do it. They deserve it.” The whisper in her head was the only accomplice she needed. “Quiet, quiet. No one will hear you. You’re almost free.”

She turned the corner down the hall and made her way to her father first. The root of all her evils. He broke her, ruined every chance she had at a life of her own. But with his death she’d find her release. No longer bound to him, cutting the cord that had held her to him since birth. 

The door to his office had been shut tight – just as it always was while she was growing up – not to be disturbed. But his law of the land no longer stood with her. The door swung open, the lock clicking open of its own will, and with her gun at the ready, Kit stood in the doorway.

He barely had the time to look up from his monitor to see her. His eyes (ones that had filled her with so much guilt and shame) were spared only a moment to grow wide before a hole was made between them. The blast caused his head to snap back against the headrest, his mouth gaping open in stunned surprise as deep purple blood oozed down from the wound. With no life left in James, he slumped over, his head hitting the keyboard below, the weight of his cheek and forehead causing the keys to clack loudly in response. It was a quicker death than he deserved, but at least he left the world knowing just how excellent a weapon he had made. Quick, clean, efficient.

Unstoppable. 

“Excellent. We’re almost there.” The Voice slithered in her ear, a forked tongue lapping at her lobe. 

Storming the kitchen, her mother had already raced to the security unit by the back door with the sound of the gunshot, but she’d soon find she was as alone as Kit had felt for all those years with no one to turn to, no compassionate ear to listen to her problems, to take her away from the hell of another’s making. Elaine could press the alarm call button over and over and it would serve as much purpose as the cooing she would do over her daughter when she was worn down and told she was some monstrous thing, when she was told God was watching her and that He knew what she was thinking at all times, and that she needed to shape up. 

Seeing the red specter of death that was her daughter enter the room caused Elaine’s heart to race, stumbling backwards into the kitchen island. “Kitty, what’re - what’re you doing here?” Her mother’s eyes glanced around the kitchen, looking for something, anything, to defend herself with, but to no avail. 

Pale eyes tracked her every movement, the same way she’d been trained to. Keeping herself three steps ahead of her mother at all times. Kit lifted her gun, aiming it at her mother’s chest. 

Elaine’s attention turned to the hall her daughter had come from. “You - your father - why? Why are you doing this?”

Kit’s cold, emotionless face slipped into a deep scowl. Teeth bared, she became more animal than human. Her lungs forcing out each anguished breath she’d kept locked up in the cage of her chest for so long. “You’re fucking kidding me, aren’t you?” she rasped. 

“Is this because of the explosion? Some sort of PTSD? We can get you help, Kitty. I can help you.” Elaine opened her arms wide as if to accept her daughter, to embrace the burden of her own bosom.

The anger cracked, a smile pulled at her lips and a laugh trembled out of her. “You, help me? When have you ever done that?”

Watery eyes looking back at her would do nothing to dissuade Kit from her mission, and it was clear that her mother knew it all the same as she crumpled down to the floor, resting up against the kitchen cabinets in fetal position waiting out her inevitable demise, shaking like a lost lamb. 

Every thought she’d ever had about her mother came true in that moment, proof positive she’d been right all along. She was weak. Pathetic. A burden beset upon the world, and Kit was doing her and the rest of mankind a favor, ridding them all of Elaine Cross. 

Sobbing as the cold metal bite of the muzzle of her daughter’s gun was pressed to the top of her head, eyes the color of forget-me-nots stared up at Kit, pleading desperately with her through streams of tears and snot. “Please…what did I ever do to deserve this?”

The empty stare Elaine was met with befit the shell it belonged to. Icy eyes with a darkness to them so deep it was practically bottomless. A machine of her husband’s making, a monster made flesh from within her own rancid womb. A daughter of Cain completing her reflexive duty, something born and bred with a killer instinct. 

“Ask God.”

[mappinglasirena]

La Sirena's Registry

Before season 3 aired, I promised I would make a post about La Sirena's registry if and when it was canonized during the final season of Star Trek: Picard. Now that the finale has aired and we are unlikely to ever see this little speed freighter on our tv screens again, I think it's high time I elaborate on this issue.

Mild spoilers for early season 3 of Star Trek: Picard below!

What are we talking about here?

Back in May 2022, after season 2 wrapped up, the official Star Trek twitter account made a post about some of the ships shown in the season finale.

As you can see, they added additional information about the ships, including names, classes, and registry numbers. For La Sirena, they listed her as "S.S. La Sirena NAR-93131".

The "S.S."-prefix and registry number were repeated by, among others, production designer Dave Blass, who said he was asked to come up with a registry number for season 3 and/or promo purposes, and they have since been listed on Sirena's Memory Alpha page and also showed up in the season 3 Instagram promos run by Paramount+ (which I briefly talked about here).

However, I have been holding off on changing any of my posts on this blog or the way I talk about La Sirena to reflect this new information, because I was waiting to see if it would actually get confirmed in canon. (In Star Trek, generally only things shown on screen during the aired shows and movies are considered canon. The many books and technical manuals, any deleted scenes, official promo-materials, tweets, Q&As, interviews, or other messages from the showrunners, writers, or production staff are usually relegated to beta canon).

Now that the show has officially ended, I can say with some confidence: we never got confirmation that La Sirena has a registry number, let alone what that number might be.

(Follow me below the cut for a (very long) exploration of registry numbers in Star Trek and why I think La Sirena remains without one.)

What is a registry number?

Most Trekkies are probably very familiar with the typical starship registry numbers we find throughought the shows and movies. They're blazoned across the hull and are often seen in official information or even used as identification in dialogue.

Here the classic example: the U.S.S. Enterprise which has the registry "NCC-1701", with various letters added for all later reincarnations of the famous flagship.

While it is never discussed in detail anywhere in canon (unless I have missed something crucial), these registries are unique identifiers given to the ships. They are created and kept on file by the organization that has registered the ship in question (e.g. Starfleet for the Enterprises, the Klingon Empire for Imperial ships, the UFP for civilian vessels, etc.).

The prefixes before the ship name are an indication of this affiliation. Where in the real world, a ship operated by the UK's royal navy might be called "HMS Shipname" for "His/Her Majesty's Ship", in Trek world, we have Starfleet using "USS" for "United [Federation] Star Ship"/"United Space Ship", or the Klingon "IKS" prefix for "Imperial Klingon Ship."

(Like this beauty. Though I don't think we ever see official registry markings on the hulls of Klingon ships.)

Similarly, the registry number has a specific format depending on the institution issuing it. For Starfleet, the most common in the 24th century was "NCC" followed by a number, though others were possible (e.g. "NA" for the fully-automated Starships like the U.S.S. Aledo from Lower Decks.

With the few civilian ships we have seen over the course of the 24th-century Trek series, the most common prefix/registry combination has been "S.S. Shipname" (presumably for "Star Ship"), and a registry number beginning with "NAR".

(See for example the "S.S. Mariposa, NAR-7678" from TNG's "Up the Long Ladder".)

At first glance, it would make sense for La Sirena to follow this pattern. However there is a snag.

To Register or not To Register?

We learn in season 1 that La Sirena is an unregistered vessel. Rios is an "off the books" pilot and the fact that his ship is not registered is mentioned more than once.

However, at no point in any of the series (as far as I'm aware, and please, correct me if I'm wrong) do we get a clear explanation of what this entails in the Star Trek universe.

On its face, I would think "unregistered" means that La Sirena is not listed in any of the official registries that exist throughout the spaces where Rios operates his vessel. She's not registered with the UFP, the Romulan Free State, any merchant association, or any other organziation that might keep such a database. In order to be truly independent (and capable of doing a lot of shady dealings), Rios has kept Sirena out of any and all official records.

But if that is the case, that would mean there is no institution who could have conferred an official registry onto the ship. If "NAR-93131" were the ships registry, by definition, that would have to be listed in some kind of official register. Which would defeat the purpose of being off-the-books in the first place.

"But wouldn't the ship need a registry any time it docked at a port or came into contact with other ships?"

Presumably, yes. The point of registries is to make ships trackable and accountable. So, if you rocked up to a Starfleet-run spacestation and didn't have an official-sounding registry to broadcast, you would probably be in a lot of trouble. But there are many ways around this.

A determined off-the-books pilot (especially one with an extremely capable hacker-friend like Raffi Musiker) could have any number of fake registries (think: fake licence plates), official papers that are just out of date (e.g. stolen from a recently decommissioned ship) and a good story about currently being in the process of renewing them, funds set aside to bribe port officials in places farther from the centre of the Federation, where money still runs the economy... There are many ways around the obstacles presented by not having an official registry, and it seems very likely Rios would have chosen one of those.

Now, as I see it, there are three in-universe ways to bring in the "NAR-93131" registry.

The first possibility is that it's the designation the ship used to have, before Rios (or a previous owner) took her over and let the registration lapse. We don't know anything about the age of the ship in canon (in beta canon, she is fairly old), so it's possible she was fully integrated into a registered organization before she went rogue. In that case, Rios might even keep the registry around to have handy in case of interstellar bureaucracy mishaps.

Alternatively, this might be one of the fake registries Rios uses commonly when he encounters any kind of authority who will be likely to ask for his ship's identification.

In both of those cases, however, it likely wouldn't be a permanent feature of La Sirena. If you consistently use a fake registry, even if there is no record of it in any official database, it will eventually become associated with your ship and trackable across jurisdictions and time, which is the opposite of what you want to achieve by remaining unregistered.

The third possibility is that some time after Season 1, someone registered La Sirena with the UFP and "NAR-93131" is the number that was assigned to her then. I can't speculate about whether that was the production team's intended explanation (not least because from some of the comments I've read from them, it seemed to me like the connection between "this ship is unregistered" and "this ship does not have a fixed registry" might have gotten a bit muddled on their end), but it's definitely a possibility.

However, I am also not convinced by this explanation. While Sirena does rise to more prominence in the immediate aftermath of the Coppelius incident (she is ferrying around the Newly Great Jean-Luc Picard, after all), I'm not sure Rios would have agreed to register her before he joined Starfleet. Then Seven of Nine takes over the ship for work with the Fenris Rangers, and while I disagree with season 3's characterization of the Rangers as "pirates" ("vigilantes" or "non-state actors" seems more apt imo), I still think they would either not bother too much with having their ships properly registered or might even prefer the more stealthy approach of unregistered ships.

Finally, Sirena ends up with Raffi Musiker, who is using her for undercover work in Starfleet Intelligence. Once again, it could go either way. Raffi's cover story is that she's out of Starfleet, and while it would probably not raise any eyebrows for her to have a properly registered ship, I also think leaving the ship unregistered might have been useful to add to her outlaw persona.

As it stands, I think you can make good arguments for both, La Sirena being registered at some point during the run of Star Trek: Picard and her being kept unregistered and off the books for use in various semi-legal and/or covert activities.

One thing is clear, however: We never got any on-screen confirmation of her being registered, let alone the "official" name "S.S. La Sirena NAR-93131".

(NB: There is a minute chance a reference to the registry number might be somewhere in all of this information:

but since effectively none of it is legible and the two or three docs talking about Raffi's assignment (Operation Daybreak) seem to be highly redacted, I will go with: It's never actually confirmed.)

Why does any of this matter?

Honestly? It doesn't. If it brings you joy to have a registry number to associate with this ship, I'd say go ahead and live your bliss.

This is really just a petty and very personal gripe of mine. I liked that La Sirena wasn't a Starfleet ship with the usual bells and whistles (registry number, dedication plaque, etc.). She was an oddball, run by a captain who, while emotionally still deeply connected to Starfleet, was also on the outside and preferred it that way. Season 1 offered a look at parts of the Star Trek universe we never really got to see before, and that felt fresh and exciting.

To me, personally, giving Sirena a registry number (without any character-driven explanation for how she got it or who decided to register her and why) felt like it erased a part of her identity. It changed her from a scrappy underdog operating in the grey areas and along the edges of the Federation to just another quasi-Starfleet ship of the line.

Is that a highly personal pet peeve and completely blowing things out of proportion? Yes. Yes, it very much is. Which is why I won't ever fault anyone for choosing to adopt the headcanon/fanon/beta canon of this registry and running with it.

But if anyone ever wonders why I continue to call her simply "La Sirena" and talk about her as an unregistered vessel, now you know ;)