#a bit behind folks— sorry ‘bout it!

[lupine-trees]

humility

[ for @microficmay day 14. drarry | rating: t | word count: 254 | part 12 | part 1 here | read the full story here ♡⋆˙ ]

— — —

After a morning of broom maintenance and more testing on his (as-yet-in-progress) training wheels charm, Harry finds Draco in the tertiary lab. It’s small and unadorned and the one McGonagall set aside for Draco to complete his Owl-post potions mastery program.

Draco sits at his scattered desk, flipping through envelopes and scribbling into his notebook. The work table is a stark contrast, organized carefully, neat as a pin. A small pewter cauldron bubbles over the low simmer of a charmed hearth stone.

���Wolfsbane?” Harry murmurs, finally catching Draco’s attention.

His gaze snaps up, a smile flicking over his face before falling away.

“The mod I’ve been working on. I’m trying to imbue some of the elements of a Pepper-Up, so the characteristic crash isn’t quite so abrupt, but the bicorn horn and the occamy egg powder are counteractive— I mean, obviously. I thought I could use dried occamy as a substitute, but it doesn’t perform as efficiently alongside the necessary dosage of Sopophorous beans.”

He taps his fingers across the desktop, thoughtful.

“I’m wondering if I could supplement the dried occamy with porcupine quills, but there have been limited studies on their interactions, and nothing that’s gone to the clinical stages, and I don’t really have time to start from scratch, at least not right now, but I thought— what?” Draco falters.

“Nothing,” Harry says, lopsided grin unchecked.

Draco frowns.

“You’re remarkable,” Harry huffs, approaching his desk.

The tips of Draco’s ears go pink.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says.

“Don’t be modest,” Harry answers.

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + pt. 3

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: Johnny shows up out of the blue and gets to meet Aunt Rue. Cue the impromptu come-to-Jesus meeting.

Warnings/Tags: Angst - obviously, Profanity, Sex is mentioned but nothing explicit, Soap's POV, Rue's POV, Reader is taking a moment, Aunt Rue's a good mum, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Again, no smut. We're not there yet, folks. Wanted to get Johnny's side of the story out there, along with Aunt Rue's thoughts on the matter. Just a warning. Edited this to Kickstart My Heart on loop, so if there's a shit-ton of mistakes... my bad. 🤷‍♀️)

Word Count: 2K

-

Johnny felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when he heard your voice behind the counter, but when you suddenly popped into view, it almost brought him to his knees. The only thing that kept him from reaching for you was that horrible, devastated expression on your face. Tucking his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, he took a hesitant step towards the counter, as if approaching a cornered, wild animal.

"I'm no' here t'cause ye grief, hen," he murmured, trying to make eye contact. "I jus' wanted t'see ya."

You blinked up at him, huffing a breath out of your open mouth. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," you confessed, sounding dazed. "How did you…?"

Johnny scratched the back of his neck, feeling like a bit of a creeper. "I, uh… I saw ye on the news. Some sort o' festival 'r somethin'."

"The May Day celebration," you mumbled, remembering the news cameraman panning his camera along the row of booths on the boardwalk. "Bloody hell. So… you saw me and just decided to stop by for a visit? After six months?"

Johnny's look turned sour. "It was no' like I knew where the hell ye'd gone off to, now was it? Ye jus' took off without sayin' a bloody word," he replied, his tone low and accusing.

You scoffed, your own expression growing dark. "And how could I have told you, Johnny? It's not like you ever bothered to give me your number, remember?" you fired back.

The bitterness in your tone cooled his anger instantly. "I…" He huffed out a breath, shoulders slumping. "Yer right. Tha's on me." His contrite expression returned. "It was jus' a shock, comin' back an' findin' ya gone, yer flat empty. I was no' expectin' it. Not after…" He blew out a breath, running his hand over his mohawk. "I dinnae ken wha' t'think."

You crossed your arms over your chest, lips trembling. "I'm surprised you thought of me at all. Why did you even go back to my flat? Things not work out with your other bird?"

"Other bird?" he repeated, scowling, looking utterly confused.

Before you could clarify, your aunt pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips as her eyes darted between you and Johnny. "Everything alright, love?" she asked you.

"Everything's fine." You dragged your eyes away from him to address your aunt, your tone softening. "I'm sorry 'bout your tea. The box was empty, and then he showed up, and…" You sighed, closing your eyes, shoulders dropping in defeat. "I— I need to go back to the stockroom. Maybe there's another box of oolong back there."

Picking up on the obvious tension and your need to escape the young man, Aunt Rue patted your arm affectionately. "'Course, love. Go ahead. I'll see t'him."

You gave a slight nod, eyes slanting towards Johnny for only a second, but then your chin gave a wobble, and you rushed through the swinging door. He called after you, taking an unconscious step forward, hand reaching out, but you didn't stop. A pained expression crossed his face before he turned and paced a few steps away, raising both hands to rub over his head, holding them there as he blew out a frustrated breath.

Rue pursed her lips, studying him before her eyes cut back to the kitchen door. "So, I take it ya know one another," she drawled.

Johnny turned back around, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked like a whipped pup. "Yes, ma'am. We were… She was my…" A myriad of emotions played over his face before he sighed, remorse evident in his eyes. "Aye. We know each other."

Rue smirked, brows lifting. "I see." She turned to the hot water urns and grabbed a couple of to-go cups. "Tea or coffee, lad?"

Johnny blew out a frustrated sigh. "Dinnae bother, ma'am. I should prob'ly jus' go. Sorry t'have bothered—"

Rue snorted, amused. "Ya ain't gettin' off that easy, lad. Been dealin' with that heartbroken lass for six months. I've got questions, an' you're just the one to answer 'em. So. Tea or coffee?"

Johnny opened his mouth to refuse but didn't have it in him to argue. "Coffee, please. Black with sugar," he mumbled.

Rue hummed in acknowledgment, making them both a strong cup, forgetting about the oolong. She needed all cylinders firing for this one. As she worked, Red finally showed, cheerful as always. He gave Johnny a friendly nod, opening his mouth to greet Rue, but she cut him off.

"No time for chit-chat this mornin', Red," she told him, throwing a couple of rolls into a bag and handing them over. She reached beneath the counter and grabbed his favorite jam packets, then rounded the counter to hand them to him. "On the house, yeah?" she said, ignoring his shocked expression. "Off ya go, then. See ya tomorrow."

Red could do little more than nod as Rue herded him out the door, casting a flummoxed look back as she shut the door and locked it behind him. Reaching for the cups she left sitting on the counter, she handed one to Johnny.

"C'mon, lad. Let's go out back an' have ourselves a wee chinwag."

She led the way to the back exit, checking to be sure you were still inside before motioning him out the door. Walking over to a pair of metal folding chairs leaned against the wall, she grabbed one, nodding for Johnny to take the other, then sat down with a tired sigh. Once, they were both seated, she crossed her legs and looked him over with a critical eye.

"Alright, then. First things first, lad. I'm Rue, her aunt, and you are…"

"John, ma'am. John MacTavish, but ye can call me Johnny."

She nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, it's nice t'meet ya, Johnny." She took a quick sip of coffee and smacked her lips. "Now, let's get down t'brass tacks, shall we?" She sat back and crossed her arms over her lap. "I'm goin' to take a wild guess an' say you're the reason why my girl came runnin' home with her tail between her legs. Not seen her in that bad a shape since her da dumped her on my doorstep, so it must have been serious. How long were ya together?"

Taken aback, it took a moment for Johnny to answer. "I been seein' her fer almost two years, but we were no'… I mean, it wasnae…" He huffed a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hand over his 'hawk. "It's— It's complicated."

Rue rolled her eyes, making a scoffing noise. "Bloody hell, this generation, I swear…" She shook her head. "Just say ya were fuckin', lad. Jesus." She scoffed again. "Complicated, he says…" she muttered.

Johnny gaped at her, surprised by her blunt words. His brows furrowed, an embarrassed look on his reddening face. "It was no' jus' fuckin'," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I cared 'bout her— do care 'bout her."

"Uh-huh. So, what happened, then? What would send my girl runnin' back to the one place she worked so hard to escape, hm?"

His lips parted, but he didn't have an answer. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched for an explanation, a reason why you would just up and leave him without saying anything. He thought it might have been another bloke, but after that last night together, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. So, why? Why did you leave? He had been searching for that answer for the last six months. Finally, he settled for repeating your confusing words from earlier. "She said somethin' 'bout another bird," he said glumly. "Dunno wha' the hell she's talkin' 'bout."

Rue's brows ticked up. "Sure about that? You're a handsome lad. Doubt ya have trouble pullin' the birds."

"No!" he snapped. "I'd never che—." He cut himself off, gritting his teeth in frustration. "There was no other bird," he grumbled out.

His hand clenched into a fist, the other warping the to-go cup, some of the hot brew spilling over his knuckles. Cursing under his breath, he set it on the ground, slinging the hot liquid off his hand. He glared at the back of his hand, then huffed a tired breath, his expression softening. "I dinnae want anyone else. Jus' her." He shook his head, looking lost.

Rue studied him, her head tilting to the side. "She never mentioned you, ya know? Never once spoke your name. I knew she was hurtin'— obviously, but there was somethin' about the way she looked when I'd try to bring it up, like she was... ashamed. 'Course, we've all been fools for love, so I figured some bloke had filled her head with a bunch of pretty words, promisin' her the moon an' stars, then broke her heart, but…" Her eyes narrowed. "Explain to me what 'complicated' means."

A look akin to the shamed face you would always give her now came over his. He started picking at one of his cuticles, studying it with keen interest, his bottom lip jutting out a little.

"When we first started hookin' up, it wasnae a big deal. We'd run into each other at the pub an' end up back at her place." He shrugged but then paused, his eyes growing solemn. "But then, somethin' changed. I'd catch m'self thinkin' 'bout her, like all the bloody time, while I was deployed. Then I'd come home an' find m'self goin' back t'tha' same damn pub, hopin' t'see her, gettin' pissed when she was no' there." He sighed, shook his head. "I finally gave up pretendin' it was jus' a hook up, an' started goin' over t'her place when I was on leave."

"So, you're a soldier, then," Rue said softly.

A grim look pulled the corners of his mouth down. "Aye. A sergeant in the Army. Special forces." He frowned, an inner struggle going on inside his head. "I ken 's no' the best job t'have, no' when ya got a lass waitin' fer ya at home. 'S hard t'make it work, bein' gone so much. Most birds canna hack it, end up callin' it quits. Figured I'd come home one day an' she'd be shacked up wi' some other bloke. Thought that might'a been wha' happened, but... I had t'see fer m'self." A sad expression made his eyes look luminous in the morning sun. "Tol' m'self I should leave her be, let 'er go, but I canna do it."

He sighed, leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at the scruff on his cheek. "I never tol' her how I felt, dinnae think it was fair puttin' tha' on her. Tried no' t'crowd her, dinnae hang about her place, makin' a nuisance o' m'self. Thought I was protectin' her, but it was jus' as much fer me, I guess. Dinnae help."

Rue's heart went out to the poor lad, despite how bloody stupid he was. "Could ya not tell that she loved ya, lad?"

Johnny's brows shot up, his mouth falling open. "She… She loves me?"

Rue sniffed a laugh. "Bloody hell, you really are an eejit, aren't ya?" She shook her head, amazed at how clueless he was. "'Course she loves ya, ya daft numpty." Her eyes grew shrewd as she watched him process the revelation, saw the hope bloom in his eyes.

"So, tell me, Johnny boy. What are ya willin' to do to get her back?"

-

part 2 part 4

[thelastspeecher]

Ehhhhh fuck it, here's some self-indulgent angst in my Olympian Falls AU.

——————————————————————————————

              Mearl parked the truck in the driveway and looked at his youngest son in the passenger seat.

              “Don’t forget, we’ll tell folks ya fell from the loft in the barn again,” he said.  Lute scowled.

              “I know.  That’s what we told the hospital,” he spat.

              “Look, tellin’ the truth is important, but in this case-” Mearl started.  Lute threw the passenger door open.

              “I know,” he ground out.  “We can’t tell the truth ‘bout how my arm got broke.  Folks can’t know it happened ‘cause a monster attacked the farm.  Again.  No, we have to tell ‘em I got hurt doin’ somethin’ stupid.”  Lute stormed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.  Mearl sighed.  He knew that it would be an adjustment to have Angie living at home again, after years of her staying in New York.  But he didn’t expect Lute, whom had been raised as Angie’s twin, to be struggling the most.

              Tensions had been high when Mearl returned from New York with Angie.  Specifically, tensions between Angie and Lute.  Angie’s other siblings had been happy to see her, but her twin dodged her constantly, refusing to be alone with her as much as possible, leaving the room whenever she talked about camp, and even avoiding talking to her altogether.

              It came to a head that morning, when a monster attacked the orchard where Angie and Lute were harvesting apples.  Lute was slammed into one of the apple trees, breaking his arm, before Angie was able to kill the monster.  Angie brought Lute to the house, near hysterical.  Sally stayed home to calm her down while Mearl drove Lute to the hospital.  The entire drive there and back, Lute had sulked, staring at the floor like it personally offended him.

              Mearl suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.

              Lute was awful upset at Angie.  It might not go well when he sees her.  Mearl grabbed the keys from the ignition and sprinted after his son.  He could hear Angie frantically apologizing the moment he stepped inside.

              “I’m sorry, Lute, I- I can’t heal like some of my siblin’s at camp,” Angie’s voice sobbed.  Mearl made a beeline for the living room.  Lute stood in front of the couch his mother and sister were sitting on, visibly seething.  Tear tracks shone on Angie’s cheeks.  Sally gently rubbed circles on Angie’s back, trying to soothe her.

              “Then why’d ya waste time tryin’?” Lute snapped.  Angie bit her lip.

              “I thought- I thought if it’d work fer anyone, it’d work fer my twin.  I mean, Dad is a twin, so-”

              “Yer not my twin.”  Lute’s voice was full of cold anger.  Angie let out another sob.  “Yer not even my full sister!”

              “Lute,” Sally scolded.

              “How can you defend her?  She ain’t yer daughter, Ma!”

              “She is.”

              “No, she ain’t!  She’s some- some Greek myth what came to life!” Lute said furiously.  “And she can’t even protect us from the monsters what come here.  The monsters what come here ‘cause of her!”

              “I- I killed the one today,” Angie said weakly.  Lute’s eyes blazed with fury.  He leaned in.

              “You ran away from it!”

              “I had to get- get some distance so’s I could fire an arrow.  I ain’t good at melee fightin’.”

              “Then why’d you run without me?”  Lute’s voice broke.  Angie’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “You left me!”

              “I didn’t-”

              “No, you did!  You left, just like ya did years ago to go to that- that camp!”

              “I-”

              “You should’ve stayed there,” Lute spat.  Angie’s head drooped.  “Better yet, when ya showed up on our doorstep, Ma should’ve divorced Pa ‘n sent the both of ya far away!”  Mearl’s heart plummeted.  Sally gasped.  She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Angie jumped to her feet.

              “I didn’t ask fer this!” Angie screamed.  She ran out of the living room, nearly colliding with Mearl on her way.  The front door slammed.  Angie’s sobs gradually grew fainter until he couldn’t hear her anymore.

              “Lute Everrett McGucket, that was completely unacceptable,” Sally snapped.  Lute glared at her.

              “I’m only tellin’ the truth.  And Angie knows it.  I’ve read those books ya got on Greek mythology.  Her- her father-”  Lute’s face contorted, as though he had tasted something sour.  “-is the god of truth.  I bet she knows a lie when she hears one.”

              “Ya might feel like that’s the truth, but it don’t make it,” Mearl rumbled.  Lute looked over.  His eyes widened in panic.

              “I- I didn’t know you were there, Pa.  I didn’t mean-”  He let out a large sneeze.  “I didn’t mean-”  He sneezed again.  “What in the-”  Lute sneezed three times in a row.  “What’s-”

              “That sounds like when Harper gets hay fever,” Sally said.  Lute sneezed.  “But ya ain’t never had it ‘fore, and the pollen count ain’t high right now.”  Mearl stifled a groan.

              “It was Angie.”

              “What?!” Lute squeaked.  He rubbed his suddenly red and watering eyes.  “But- but-”

              “When I visited her fer Thanksgiving last year, one of her camp friends told me she accidentally gave hay fever to someone she was upset with.  Feller was sneezin’ fer over a week ‘fore Angie realized she was the one what done it.”

              “Of course she did it,” Lute muttered.  He sneezed.  “It- it weren’t enough that I broke my arm, were it?”

              “She didn’t mean to make ya sneezy,” Sally said.  “And she certainly didn’t intend fer ya to break yer arm.”  Mearl looked over his shoulder.  The front door had some damage to its hinges; Mearl had noticed Angie breaking things more frequently than she used to, particularly when she was upset.

              If she messed up the door and got Lute sneezin’ already, there ain’t no tellin’ what else she might do in her state.  A surge of fear pulsed through his chest.  And there ain’t no tellin’ what attention she might attract.

              “We need to go after her,” Mearl said.

              “Sure, go after the one what keeps causin’ me grief,” Lute said.  Mearl frowned at him.  Lute backpedaled.  “I mean- I-”  He sneezed.  “She just needs to cool down.  She’ll come back.”  Sally looked at Mearl.

              “Lute’s got a point, darlin’.  Angie might just need some time to herself.”

              “But-” Mearl started.

              “She can take care of herself,” Sally said gently.  Mearl hesitated.  “She’s been on quests, ‘member?  She’ll be fine.”

              “I don’t know…”

              “If she ain’t back in an hour, we’ll go lookin’,” Sally said.  Mearl sighed.

              “Fine.” He gave Lute his most disapproving look.  “In the meantime, yer goin’ to yer room,” he said firmly.  Lute stomped off, sneezing intermittently the entire way.  Mearl walked over to the couch and slowly sunk down on it.  Sally rubbed his back.  “When did things get so complicated?” he moaned.

              “The moment ya found our daughter in a golden cradle on the doorstep,” Sally replied.  Mearl looked away.  “Mearl?”

              “Sometimes I think the same thing as Lute,” he said quietly.  “That I should’ve taken Angie and left y’all.  Then- then none of this would’ve happened.”

              “True.  But what would’ve happened would be worse,” Sally said.  Mearl looked at her.  Compassion shone in her eyes, a far gentler blue than Angie’s.  “Our children would’ve grown up without a father.  You ‘n Angie would’ve struggled to get by.  No matter what those negative thoughts might say, it’s fer the best we didn’t tear the fam’ly apart.”

              “Yer right,” Mearl said.  He gripped his knees.  “I just- I hate seein’ the twins like this.”

              “Lute never really addressed his complicated feelin’s after we told him ‘bout Angie.  He tried to hide ‘em away.  But he can’t hide ‘em anymore, and they’ve twisted and turned after years of bein’ shoved down.”  Sally sighed.  “It don’t help they’re both teenagers.  Their age is dif’cult without dealin’ with Greek mythology monsters ‘n whatnot.”

              “True,” Mearl conceded.  Sally leaned against his shoulder.  He looked at the clock above the television.  “One hour.  Then we go lookin’ fer her.”

-----

              Max was idly playing with a dagger when the butler knocked on his bedroom door.  He quickly shoved the weapon in a desk drawer.

              “Yes?” he said.  The butler opened the door.

              “Young Master Hillcrest, you have a visitor,” the butler said primly.  Max stood up.

              “A visitor?”

              “Miss Angie McGucket.”  Before Max could get too excited, the butler cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable.  “She seems to be in some distress.  Your grandfather is with her.”

              Grandpa Stanley?  Max’s blood ran cold.  Oh, shoot.  It must be a Greek thing.

              “Thanks fer tellin’ me.  I’ll go down to see ‘em right now,” Max said.  The butler nodded.  He stood to the side so that Max could rush past him.  Max sprinted down the hall and large staircase to the first floor.  He paused in the foyer, which was empty of demigods.  He looked up at the butler, watching from the second floor.

              “They’re in the sunroom,” the butler called.  Max nodded.

              Should’ve figured as such, with her father.  Max headed for the sunroom.  When he arrived at Camp Half-Blood last summer, the last person he’d expected to see there was his best friend’s twin sister.  He’d been told Angie McGucket was staying at a fancy boarding school in New York City.  But the lie fell apart the moment he saw Angie sitting at a picnic table with a group of other mostly blond kids.

              Angie was a demigod, like him.  And like him, her parentage was a closely guarded secret.  If the truth ever came out for either of them, it would have dire consequences for their families.

              “He wasn’t thinkin’, sweetheart,” Grandpa Stanley’s voice said as Max approached the sunroom.  He was like Max, a demigod, though while Max had yet to find out his mother’s identity, Grandpa Stanley had known for decades his father was Hephaestus.  When Max questioned why there were multiple demigods in their family, Grandpa Stanley merely shrugged.

              “Some fam’lies ‘re favored by the gods,” he’d said.

              “That’s a good thing, right?” Max had asked.  Grandpa Stanley’s face had darkened.

              “It very rarely is.”

              Max cast aside the memory when he reached the sunroom.  He stood in the doorway, watching Grandpa Stanley comfort Angie.  The sunlight that filled the room seemed drawn to her, shining like a spotlight.

              “Angie?” Max asked.  Angie looked up.  Max felt his heart do a backflip.  When Angie first went away to camp, they’d been children.  Too young for Max’s fondness for her to be much of anything.  But now, his affection had surged into infatuation.  Angie was the perfect girl: smart, powerful, beautiful, and kind.  Any room she walked into grew brighter.  Any song played by her was more lovely.  Any person she spoke to was the better for having met her, no matter how brief.

              It was no wonder she was one of her godly father’s favorite children.

              “I’m- I’m sorry,” Angie whispered.  She rubbed her eyes.  Max walked over to the couch the two were sitting on.  He grabbed a nearby wooden chair and sat down.  “I- I didn’t know where else to go.”  She took a shuddering breath.  “I need to call camp, but I can’t- I can’t risk drawin’ more monsters.  I know- I know Grandpa Stanley made a- a monster security system, so’s I figured I could use yer phone…”

              “Why do ya want to call camp?” Max asked.  He had a feeling.  It had taken some convincing before Angie agreed to try spending a school year at home, instead of at camp.

              “I need- I need to ask Mr. Chiron to send someone to bring me back,” Angie mumbled.  Max’s heart sank at the confirmation of his fear.  “It was foolish fer me to think I could stay here.”

              “What makes ya say that?” Max asked.  Angie looked down at the floor.

              “I- a monster attacked the orchard this mornin’, while Lute ‘n I were harvestin’ apples.”

              “But you got the monster, right?” Max asked.  Angie nodded.  “So, it’s fine!”  Angie burst into tears.

              “No, it ain’t!” she wailed.  “Lute got hurt!  And- and he was so upset, he- he said he weren’t my twin and- and he didn’t want me here!”  Max scowled.  Lute was his lifelong best friend, but that didn’t mean he could look past something like this.  “It’d be safer ‘n- ‘n better fer everyone if I weren’t here.”

              “Don’t let this single instance sway ya,” Grandpa Stanley said gently.  Angie sobbed.  “It’s growin’ pains, that’s all.”

              “I don’t want anyone to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

              “And they won’t,” Max said.  Angie shook her head.

              “Lute already did.”

              “That’s ‘cause he don’t know how to protect himself,” Max said.  “If we teach ‘im and the rest of yer fam’ly some fightin’, that’ll be enough fer ‘em to avoid gettin’ hurt.”  He looked at Grandpa Stanley.  “Right?”

              “It would definitely help,” Grandpa Stanley said.  Angie sniffed loudly.  “I’m sure Lute didn’t mean what he said.  He’s just adjustin’.  All y’all are.”

              Don’t give him the right to make Angie cry.

              “Think about it, Angie,” Max said.  “Do ya really want to go back to camp?  Spend the rest of the year in a mostly empty cabin?”  Not many half-bloods were too powerful to prevent them from staying with their mortal families.  There would only be a handful of people still at camp right now.  Including the person Max wanted Angie to bond with the least: one of the co-head counselors of the Hermes Cabin, Stan Pines.  Angie’s knee bounced anxiously.  “Or do ya want to stay here in Gumption, with me ‘n yer fam’ly?”

              “I want to stay,” Angie whispered.  Max beamed.  “But- but I ain’t ready to go home just yet.”

              “Take all the time ya need,” Grandpa Stanley said.  He got up.  “I’ll call yer folks to let ‘em know where ya are.”  Angie nodded mutely.  Max waited until Grandpa Stanley was gone.

              “If ya want me to beat up Lute, let me know,” he said.  Angie chuckled weakly.

              “He’s yer best friend!”

              “Yeah.”  Max reached out and rested his hand on Angie’s bouncing knee.  It gradually slowed down.  Angie met his eyes.  Max smiled at her.  “But us demigods have to stick together.”

[prismaticpichu]

Hi! How are you? Also, umm, can you make Zack Seph, like Zack does vlogging with his friend Seph, like add Funny, angst, happy ending, Protective Zack, please? I'm sorry if I bothered you. 🥺❤️♥️✨

Heya!!! I’m doing great, my friendo!! Hope all is well with you!! 💕

Ooooh vlogging???? Absolutely!!!

(BIG jumbo shoutout to @rottenpumpkin13’s series of SOLDIER vlogging shenanigans for inspiration!!!! Those things are frigging hilarious <333)

~

Nibelheim Fix-It: Vlogging Edition!

[the camera flashes on to reveal two Mako-blue eyes gazing steadily into the lenses, their electric glow all the more accentuated by the dismal blackness of his backdrop, his footage jostling up and down slightly as the spiky teen makes his way through the corridor in which he is recording.]

“Heyyyyyy, world and all who inhabit it! Zack Fair here, and I’m coming to you RIGHT from the basement of some screwed up manor in Nibelheim!”

[the young First glances around a bit, ensuring that he’s still going the right way.]

“It’s very very very VERY, dark, as you can see… Just trying to make sure I don’t bump into anything here. Already bumped into three rats, eight cobwebs, a whole buncha coffins. Spooky stuff. But don’t worry!! This isn’t your boy’s first trip down here…”

[there’s another quick turn over his shoulder, this time spotting a very vague rod of light floating in the distance, some nebulously victorious sound escaping his lips as he eagerly starts toward it.]

“This is actually my second time down here. First time I was kinda totally kicked out. Not at all rudely though! Guy just needed some space… I think. He’s been getting that for like four days now, anyhow. ‘Bout time he took a break.”

[as the glowing belt approaches, Zack mindlessly pads around for a bit, pawing and groping through the thick basement gloom.]

“C’mon, where’s the knob….”

[the faint sound of palm meeting metal is heard echoing through the dark.]

“Ah, sweet. Okay okay okay… So you folks are probably wondering right now who I’m even talking about. Well, lemme tell ya. Ever hear the name ‘Sephiroth’ before? You know, quicksilver hair and bare chest and pupils that go all upppppp like that? Yeah, well! He’s in there. In a library right here, devouring books like free samples at a superstore. And he’s been there for days. Been in there ever since—“

[he pauses for a beat, cutting himself off, a look of confliction cracking the teen’s cheerful masquerade]

“Well, uh… for Purposes, I don’t think I’m going to say what happened when we went to investigate the reactor. Doesn’t really matter, anyways. It’s more about how it affected my poor bud—uh, Sephiroth! Shoot he’s gonna kill me for using that silly nickname on this. Anyyyywaayy! I’m here to get him some fresh air, tell him what he needs to know and, most importantly, get it all recorded so he’ll never forget it again.”

[the camera hobbles as Zack presses his ear to the door, listening intently.]

“Alright… he’s definitely in there. Can hear his boots walkin’ around. Okay. Okay, you got this, Zack… Alright! I’m going in. On three, two, one…”

[and the door to the library is pushed open, his camera’s eye capturing the shift in backdrop as Zack makes his way across the threshold, the young SOLDIER traveling down what looks to be some narrow corridor that abruptly pools into an eerie candlelit opening.]

“Ooh. There he is.”

[the camera blearily pans around to capture a slender silver shape with a book in his hands, leather coat dancing with faint orange hues from the casting candlelight, silver hair appearing almost copper under the ghostly illumination as he paces back and forth across the floor without so much as a flinch.]

“Gaia… does he not even know I’m here? Okay, okay! Let’s do this, guys. Let’s get this man outta here.”

[there’s a deep, centering inhale from behind the camera.]

“Hey! Sephiroth! Seppphiroth! Sepppphiiroth! Put down the book.”

[a heavy silence dogs as Sephiroth continues to pace the floor in silence.]

“Shit…”

[the camera pans back to Zack.]

“Okay, so… He seems really out of it. Really engrossed in that book there. We gotta get through that noggin of his.”

[the camera pans back to the catatonic SOLDIER.]

"Sephiroth! Hey! Sephiroth! Sepppppphiroth!! I'm talking to you, man. HelloooooOOO?? Holy Ifrit... HEY! SEÑOR SEPHIROTH! STOP READING FOR A SEC, would'ja???"

[there's another bout of silence.]

"Dear Gaia... What’s going on with you?? Why aren't you responding? Sephiroth! Sepppphirottth.”

[following yet another wordless stretch, Zack swings the camera back around, rubbing his neck with an expression of both frustration and hurt.]

“Alright… guess he left me with no choice. Time for extreme measures.”

[the camera hobbles a little as Zack approaches the soulless SOLDIER.]

“Ah, screw it. Who cares if I don’t stick to the formalities…”

[an inky splotch of black momentarily covers the lenses, not wanting to capture the horrid images and texts that had seemingly possessed his friend, leaving only the teen’s gentle voice to provide any content.]

“…Hey. Bud. It’s me. Hey—yeah, I’m gonna put my arm here if you don’t put that thing down. I miss you… alright? You have any idea how long you’ve been down here? Gaia, pal… those bags… Look… you need some rest. Okay? We can talk alllllll this out in the morning. Let’s just go, okay? You’ll feel better after a good snooze…—“

“—I… c-ant…”

“You can, pal. These books aren’t going nowhere. I’m not going nowhere. Not without you.”

[another swath of silence stretches over the two SOLDIERs, the blackened smudge shifting slightly against the lenses.]

“Look, bud. Look. I know what he said is screwed up. I know what you saw is screwed up. But it doesn’t change anything… okay? You’re still my friend… you’re still Sephiroth. You’re still my old pal. You’re still…”

[even through the inky smudge, shards of blue are seen dancing across the camera, a cursory glance being cast toward the lenses in consideration.]

“…Y’know what. Fuck whatever they hear. You’re human, Seph… Not some alien. Not a monster. Not anything but the kind and lovable person that you are. And… and I’ma jerk for not telling you that sooner. I shoulda told you that the moment Genesis said those horrible things in the reactor. I shoulda told you that day of being here… okay? And I never ever ever ever want you to forg…—“

[suddenly, smears of black and silver flash across the camera as it plummets to the ground, cutting out instantly upon impact.]

.

.

.

.

[and it cuts back in a nebulous amount of time later, titled sideways, unknowingly capturing the sight of General Sephiroth slumped in the sheltering arms of his best friend.]

“Shh… it’s okay, pal. It’s okay… let it out. Let it out. I’m not going anywhere…”

—————————————

[the camera flashes on to reveal a smiling Zack leaning against his headboard at the Nibelheim Inn, happily accompanied by a freshly-showered Sephiroth, tresses of golden sunlight streaking in through the open window beside them.]

“Heyyyyyy, world and all who inhabit it! Zack Fair here, and I’m coming to you RIGHT from the Nibelheim Inn! Today I got my best friend and ex-commander here, Mr Señor Sephiroth!”

[Zack slings an arm around his buddy’s shoulders, earning himself an amused grunt from the mercury-haired man.]

“Yes. Hello, inhabitants of the world.”

“You wanna add a littttleeee bit more cheer—?”

“No.”

“Okie doke. You wanna at least tell ‘em the news?”

[the camera pans so that it is completely facing Sephiroth, green eyes well-rested and gleaming under morning’s warm embrace.]

“Hnph. Fine. As of this moment—“

“Say ‘breaking news!’”

“I will eat you whole.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just say it!”

[silver bangs sway against the lenses as Sephiroth shakes his head.]

“…Fine. Breaking new: as of this moment forward, both I General Sephiroth and First Class Zack Fair officially resign from SOLDIER. Cadet Cloud Strife will also be discontinuing his duties and is currently staying with a beloved family member.”

[Zack’s euphoric cheer is heard behind the camera.]

“Heck yeah!! Oh, and! For the record: all future episodes of ‘Zack Tracks’ will be recorded with my new partner here! Woooo!”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“Bummer, ‘cause you’re doing it.”

[before an utterance of protest can be made, Zack takes the camera back from his pal.]

“Anywhoooo! Anything you wanna say to the people before we sign off, pal?”

[the camera lingers on Sephiroth’s face for several beats following the question, capturing the traces of wistfulness that flicker through his emerald eyes, the almost pensive pulse that ripples through those celestially human pupils as he contemplates an appropriate closure for Everything.]

“…Yes. I do.”

[and the camera zooms in, focusing on his sincere expression, aged and weathered from all the ravaging storms that have opened up to what he calls his life.]

“Hojo, you can disrespectfully burn in the deepest and most incandescent stoves in Hell.”

[a simple click, and the footage goes black.]

[scribblertown]

Fates of the Fateless Ch.9: Outlaw's Staple

ao3

wattpad

Arthur startles awake, the culprit being his own snoring pulling him out of a hazy dream and into the consequences of drinking a bit too much in one night. 

“Ouugh…” His hands cradle his swollen and sweaty face, a throbbing headache just behind his eyes that peaks each time his heart beats. At least he was sober enough to find his cot last night. “Goddamn…” He forces himself up albeit a bit too fast, vision blinded with white and his head swimming. Stumbling until his hands find the familiar lip of the water barrel’s open top, heaving a great handful of icy water into his face, banishing the remnants of his hangover at least for a time. He takes a moment to just rest over the water's surface, staring at his reflection on its rippling surface. 

Good Lord, you're an eyesore… 

Bags under his eyes, red splotches on his face, and his hair cowlicked to high hell. His eyes then draw to the sight of his right hand resting partially submerged in the water. His knuckles were split, red and bruised. A slight dull pain, yet he had no memory of how or what caused the injury. He was so curiously absorbed in the mystery he nearly missed the call of his name. 

“Huh?” He hums, eyes wandering aimlessly until he spotted Grimshaw.

Her face twists with amusement, “I take it you had fun last night Mr. Morgan?”  

“Uh-hehheh-course.” He dives back into the barrel, rubbing another handful of water to the back of his neck, the cool droplets trailing down his back. “I always go a little overboard.”

“You put on quite the show, best entertainment we’ve had in a while!” She chuckles.

“Uuhh… yeah?” Arthur mumbles out a confused reply. 

“Anyhow, I was goin’ to ask if you’ve seen our little stowaway?” 

“Uh…” His mind reels back to the night before, playing poker with her at the table, maybe a brief memory of her at the fire pit but other than that… “No, sorry I haven’t been awake very long.”

“Hmph. Alright then, but if you do send her my way.”

“Will do.” Grimshaw skirts away leaving Arthur to stumble back to his tent, leaning over his little mirror. “Might be time for a shave.” He ponders, rubbing the course hairs that have grown especially long. He takes to trimming the length of hair with a pair of shears before slathering his face in shaving foam. Carefully dragging the sharp blade of his steel straight razor across his skin. There stood before him the bare face of Arthur Morgan. Somehow even sadder looking than usual.

Maybe shoulda kept the beard, cover up this ugly mug.

“Looking very sharp Mr. Morgan!” A bright faced Jie approaches. “You’re much younger under all that hair than I thought you’d be.”

“Hehheh, suppose my permanent scowl doesn’t help much.” Arthur pats his face down with a damp towel. “Whatchu’ need?”

“That obvious?” the young man tilts his head with a smile, “I was wondering if you’d take me and some of the others out on a job.”

“Got one in mind?” Arthur adjusts the leather tie on his hat, ensuring its security before depositing it upon his head, shrouding his face from the harsh sun.

“Well, uh not-not really.” Jie fumbles.

“Alright, follow me.” Without missing a beat Arthur leads the way, an idea already in mind. “Hey! Joseph!” He whistles, pulling the red head out of a book he’d been digging his nose into. “Come on kid!”

As the boys saddle up Arthur can’t help but notice one horse was missing, the big and burly bastard the stowaway had taken to.

“Where we goin’ Mr. Morgan?” Joseph asks excitedly. “We robbin’ some folk!?”

“Course,” Arthur leads the way out of camp giving Boadicea a reassuring pat. “Bout time you boys start learning the ins and outs of the outlaw life.”

“Boy howdy! Who we robbin? A train maybe?” The boy was eager. Very eager.

Arthur chuckles to himself, “A train ain’t a job you want to take on without plannin’, no we’re going for the outlaw’s tried-and-true stage coach.”

“You get much cash from those?” Jie inquires, a little doubt in his voice.

“You’d be surprised what you stumble upon. What you don’t find in metals or cash can easily be made up at a fence.”

“How long you been doing this sort of thing?” Joseph asks.

“Long.” Arthur quips quickly. Maybe a little harshly. “Now I doubt we’ll be seein’ a bank coach out this way. Maybe if you’re real lucky, next best thing is the real flashy kind. Fools dumb enough to advertise how much cash they got with a fancy coach driver dressed up in suit. Maybe some velvet trimming along the carriage. Passengers preened and plump with more than what they need.” Arthur chuckles, they settle on a ridge overlooking an obvious road paved down by years of use. It doesn’t take long before they spot someone using it. Arthur whips out his binoculars.

“What about that one?” Joseph asks.

The coach itself was small, dingy looking with one of the wheels a color off from the rest. Pulled along by a single horse and a hunched skinny man wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Arthur can’t help the puff of a scoff come out his mouth, “That your idea of fancy?”

“Well I-I don’t know! I ain’t done anything like this before.” Joseph rubs his neck bashfully. “ ‘sides, couldn’t see ‘em very well from up here…” he mumbles.

The two young men wait anxiously as Arthur scans the road slowly.

“Hold on now…” Arthur mutters, a trail of dust coming down the way revealing a much larger carriage pulled forward by two healthy and bulky shires. “This might be somethin’…”

A moment passes in silence as Arthur watches transfixed on the target. Slowly revealing itself with a heavy load of luggage strapped down tightly to the body. The bright paint while faded still vibrant in the sun.  Maroon curtains drawn to hide the passengers within.

“Yeah? We got somethin’?” Joseph pipes up again.

“I think so.” Arthur smirks. Pocketing his binoculars. “Get yer faces covered, now follow my lead and let me do all the talkin’ understand?” Arthur leads Boadicea down the slope, trailing the road towards the approaching carriage. Joseph and Jie on either side of him.

“When we’re close, each of you pick a side.”

“Yes sir.”

“Got it.”

The driver clearly spots them, his posture straightening up in alarm as he slows the horses.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Yes, we was wonderin’ if you could point us in the direction-“ Arthur quickly unholsters his gun and whips it trigger ready at the drivers face. “-of any and all the money you’ve got.” The sound of surprise that escapes the driver is comical, his hands shooting straight up eyes wide switching back from the gun to Arthur’s piercing gaze. Jie and Joseph are quick to draw their weapons as well, aiming their sights on the driver.

“D-don’t shoot!” The driver shudders.

“Now we don’t want trouble. So ‘slong as you and your passengers behave, my bullets will stay where they are.” Arthur makes eye contact with Jie and nods his head towards the coach. Jie in turn quickly hops off his horse, approaching the door cautiously before whipping it open. A bout of screams follows.

“Money!” he shouts, “Everything you’ve got!”

“Watch the driver.” Arthur speaks to Joseph as he dismounts and circles to the other carriage door. Inside are 4 people. A woman and 3 men. All agitated and desperately throwing out all their valuables onto the dirt ground in haste. The woman struggling to pull her earrings off with shaky hands. The men emptying out their pockets of bills and coins. A pocket watch flying ungracefully out of one’s hand and bouncing off the carriage step into the dirt with a thud. Jie crouches down to gather the goods as Arthur stands guard.

“Keep them hands up!” Arthur commands. Observing each member carefully before his eyes drift toward to a carpet bag nestled between one of the men’s legs. “What’s in the bag?” The man whom cradles the case visibly pales at the question.

“N-nothing!” The man speaks with a strong accent.

Arthur whistles to catch Jie’s attention, he’s quick to lean in and grab the handle and pull. But stalled by the stranger’s desperate attempt to keep his cargo from being taken.

“Nē, nē, nē, nē! Lūdzu!” he cries in a foreign language. Pulling vigorously, “Please, you take enough!”

Arthur steps in quickly, taking the butt of his pistol and ramming it into the man’s nose. “Well now I’m real curious.” The others cry out in alarm as their friend whiplashes back into his seat.

“Henriks, Dieva dēļ, vienkārši ļaujiet viņiem to paņemt!”

“Vai jūs labprātāk zaudētu savu dzīvību?”

Whatever they say seems to keep his protests at bay allowing Jie to snatch the bag out and nestles it onto the ground, rustling about its contents. Some papers, a horse bristle brush, smelling salts. He stalls at a tied balled up handkerchief.

“Dzīve ir izšķērdēta jums, zagļu zvēriem!” The man grovels past his fingers that cradle his nose, blood pooling out past the digits and dribbling crimson onto his white collar. Jie looks to Arthur with a face of confusion.

“What is it?” Arthur inquires.

“An egg?” Jie shrugs in confusion, holding up the prize of a pure white chicken’s egg.

“This man was so up in arms over his lunch?” Joseph utters in disbelief.

“Just a moment…” Jie inspects the egg further, giving the surface a few good taps. “I think it might be porcelain.”

“Looks like your tea set will be a piece short. Now put your head down and count to 100.” Arthur urges with a thrust of his gun, causing the inhabitants to flinch. But they do as they’re told quickly. “Same goes for you.” Arthur threatens the coach driver.

“1.2.3..” He begins shakily.

“I can’t hear you!” Arthur yells as he and the other two men saddle up quickly.

“4!5!6!” The driver shrieks. The echoing of “10,11,12” could be heard on the wind well after they’d left them in the dust.

“Jie how much we get?”

“Close to a hundred at least. And that’s only the paper money!”

“That more than 2 months pay!” Joseph excitedly exclaimed. “I could buy Agatha a new dress and shoes and and-“

“Don’t go counting yer chickens yet kid, the camp gets its share remember?” Arthur jumps in before Joseph can continue on his shopping list.

“Oh-uh- right right. But it’s still beats the mines I’ll tell you what!”

“Not coming home with a bad cough and an aching back.” Jie says, “And money in our pockets in the matter of minutes!”

“To think no one else thought to join up, even after all that money Mr. Van der linde distributed from the treasury.” Joseph recalls with a shake of his head, “Hell! To think I almost didn’t!”

“Still plenty of time to regret that choice.” Arthur teases. Soon enough the camp site fell into view, the men making one last look around before descending home. Upon arrival Agatha cheerfully approached welcoming Joseph with a smile and a tight hug.

“Where’d you go you silly man!” She playfully scolds, “I was gettin’ worried!”

“Oh, Agatha you won’t believe how much money we made!” Joseph pulls down his stained bandanna. Face sweaty and red from being in the sun, a toothy smile as he beamed with excitement. “And from just one job!”

“Hey, Jay let me see that egg.” Arthur motions his hand in a “gimme” motion. Jie complies opening the kerchief and depositing in his hand. The thing fills out the majority of his palm, significantly bigger than any chicken’s egg. The surface is shiny, and smooth to the touch. The pearlescent surface appeared almost pure white, but upon closer inspection the barest etching could be felt and seen in a certain light. Depicting a country side, a homestead, and various livestock. All framed by Victorian escue floral patterns.  “You said this was porcelain?” Arthur asks Jie as he turns the odd treasure in his hand, inspecting the many intricate details along it’s surface.

“By the feel and look of it, I’d wager its enamel. Especially the way it reflects the light.” Jie points out. Confident in his assessment.

“You know a lot about this kinda thing?” Arthur asks curiously.

“I had family in Jingdezhen.” Jie answers, only to receive a confused look. He rolls his eyes slightly, “I’m from China. I know about china.”

“Aw of course!” Arthur nods, his attention turning back to the egg. His brows furrow. “How’re your repair skills? Looks like there’s a crack in the-“ before he can finish his thought, the egg splits down the middle in a perfect line.

“Shit! You broke it!” Joseph cries out in disappointment.

“No! I didn’t do nothin’!” Arthur denies defensively.

“There’s something inside!” Jie excitedly points out. Along the perfectly split seam something larger gleamed out at them. Arthur delicately pries one side away to reveal the prize inside. A gleaming solid gold chicken nestled inside a crimson velvet nest.

“I guess we know which came first then.” Agatha commented, bewildered by their discovery.

“My God.” Arthur delicately plucked the bird from its luxurious resting place and held it up in all its glory. The eyes sparkling gems, the feathers varying shades of precious metals.

“Ain’t that somethin’?” Hosea had sauntered over, arms behind his back as he also admires the small trinket. “You go robbin’ some giant at the top of a bean stalk?”

“Stage coach.” Arthur replies, carefully depositing the golden chicken back in its container. Handing it off to the old man. “These boys did good; job went without a hitch.”

Hosea delicately twists and turns the egg in his fingers. “Curious treasures people carry these days.” He turns to the younger men, “And worth a pretty penny no doubt.” He shakes the egg at them, they smile excitedly. “Oh, and did you boys happen to see our little stowaway while out on your little egg hunt?”

“Stowaway? Who’s the stowaway?” Agatha asks confused.

Hosea speaks her true name, “It’s quite a story-“ He stops himself, “Not important, but have you seen her?”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her all morning…” Agatha replies.

“No, m’fraid not.” Arthur shrugs his shoulders. “Grimshaw was asking earlier today. She still missin’?”

“Hm.” Hosea hums, “Thank you boys, you’ll be sure to get your fair share.” He dismisses the others.  

“Everything ok?” Arthur ponders.

“Probably.” Hosea replies, his attention drawn by the sight of Tilly approaching hurriedly.

“Arthur!” Tilly calls out, her voice cracks slightly. “Arthur, have you seen (y/n)?”

“No, no I’m sorry but I haven’t.” Arthur peers out over the camp, no sign of said woman. “She been gone long?”

“No one’s seen her since the party. I’ve searched high and low. John went out to search up by the water but he hasn’t come back yet.” She squirms in place a moment. Fidgeting with her skirt nervously. “I’m real worried.”

“I noticed that horse she’s been usin’ was missin’ too…” Arthur mutters. Tilly perks up, her gaze looking past him to John freshly dismounted from the saddle, alone.

“Did you find her?” She urgently asks.

“Nothin’.” John shrugs. Tilly’s fidgeting worsens.

“Now let’s not panic,” Hosea says, a hand on Tilly’s shoulder. “She’s a grown woman, I’m sure she’s fine.” He smiles.

“But-“

“I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Hosea interrupts, patting her back as he saunters off.

“Would you boys mind-“ Tilly starts.

“We’ll keep an eye out.” Arthur assures. John nods in agreement.

“Thank you.”

Hosea’s no doubt right, he’s almost always right. But Arthur can’t help the sense of suspicion he has at the timing and strangeness of the stowaway’s disappearance. Hosea’s probably right. His feet carry him to the resting place of Samson. One of his shoes are missing, bottles that once held booze lay empty around his unconscious body. The only tell that he was still (unfortunately) breathing was the slow up and down motion of his pot belly stomach.  

Arthur’s eyes draw to the bloody, swollen split in Samson’s lip. The lower half of his face puffy and red. Arthur unconsciously rubs his thumb over one of his bruised knuckles. “He been up at all?” Arthur interrogates Abadiano, whom sits nearby rolling a cigarette. The old man chuckles as he deposits the cig between his lips. He digs around in his jacket before pulling out a match.

“Been out since you put him down.” He puffs, “Maybe he rolled over in his sleep and crushed that girl you’re looking for.” He grins, kicking his boot into Samson’s shoulder roughly, whom twitches but remains unconscious.  

Arthur huffs. A shake of his head, turning to leave. Hosea’s probably right.

[extsev]

Yandere Dancing Banana [Romantic]

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

warnings..

manipulation, deception, in gen yandere acts

obsession

kidnapping

You just came for a silly trivia show, answering questions and getting everything right.

He noticed that.

He noticed every little detail of you. Your hair, your eye color, the way your personality popped.

Suddenly, the studio security interrupted the show.

“Heya, folks! I know you’ve got a thing going on here, but if I could just make an announcement real quick that’d be just swell!”

It all went silent as the security unraveled a photo of.. Dancing Banana? With a wanted sign above? That can’t be right..

“We’ve got a dangerous wanted criminal on the loose. Have any of you seen this man?”

A bead of sweat rolled down the bananas yellow skin.

“Wow, that’s crazy! No, I think I’d remember seeing someone that handsome!” He said, posing exactly like the picture. He even took off his bow-tie to match.

The security guard looked at the picture, and back at the banana. But eventually gave up.

“Alrighty then! Sorry to take up your time. Please resume.”

Everything was odd from there on out.

Whenever Banana got the chance, he’d stare at you. Sometimes it went on for ages.

Eventually the round was over, and you could finally leave.

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Banana shouted, trying to get your attention.

You looked over. What would he want? Did you do a horrible job? You won though.. so that can’t be it.

“I don’t think I formally introduced myself to you, so how ‘bout I make up for it with a small tour of my dressing room? On the house!”

What. A tour? That honestly sounded perfect, at least in your eyes.

“Oh, that’d be sweet! You really don’t have to y’know—“ You stated, feeling bad that he wanted to give you a tour just because he didn’t introduce himself. Everyone knows him though, so why was he apologizing?

He cut you off, “I insist! Please! Just you and I!” He needed you to say yes.

“I mean, if it’s alright with you then.” You scratched the back of your neck.

Suddenly he took your hand, and dragged you into the dressing room.

He started to show it off. All the fancy bow-ties and mirrors, the props in a little box under the desk.

After a bit you spoke up, “This has been fun and all, but I really gotta go..”

“Why so soon? Ya’ got plans?” He questioned, seeming upset.

“Oh, nononono. I’m just pretty tired is all, I wanna crash in my bed and sleep..” You stated.

He muttered something you couldn’t understand, “What’s that? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

All of a sudden he locked the door. “I said, you’re not leaving.”

“Uh..” You backed away from him slowly. Was he just high? Yeah, maybe it’s that. A lot of performers do weed to calm themselves before a show! It’s probably just that.

“What’s the matter, sweetie? Cat got ya’ tongue?” He followed you, and swiftly put his microphone behind your neck, and the other hand onto your waist.

“You’re mine now.. Got that?”

This was going to be a long night..

[the-faramir]

"Greetin' to ye Midori. Name's Doofox and am a kitsune from a *very* far away village called Inazuma. Am writing ye because the bards around here keep singing 'bout yer tale and it's pissin' me off to hear other kitsunes have troubles! Anyhow, I'll be travelin' again soon. Think I can stop by to yer circus and check it out? See if it's worth all the singin' and all-at... See ye soon!"

Midori sat in her trailer at the Circus of Wayward Wonders, going over some paperwork for the week. Without warning, a sprite appeared, wearing a brown shirt and shorts with a brown cap bearing the letters "FWPS" in gold letters. She hovered over Midori's desk, inches from her face, holding out a letter. "Delivery for Ringmaster Midori."

"AAAAAAAAH! WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS?!?" Midori leaped to her feet, papers flying off of her desk and scattering across the trailer. A second later, she caught up with the situation, wide-eyed, breathing heavily and clutching her chest. "Ha ha! Sorry 'bout that. I've been a li'l high-strung lately. A letter for me? Why, thank you!"

Midori took the letter from the sprite's hand. Right away, she noticed that it smelled...familiar: almost like family, but not quite. And, as she sniffed it again, a bit like burnt fur for some reason. She opened the envelope and read the letter.

"Oh," Midori commented to herself, "fan mail! And from a kitsune!" She grinned, then looked up from the letter. The delivery sprite had not left. She continued to hover over Midori's desk with her hand outstretched expectantly.

Midori's grin dropped. "Oh, sorry. You want...a tip." She rummaged around in a pouch and pulled out a copper piece for the gratuity. The sprite shook her head curtly and gestured with her fingers for more. Midori pulled out a second copper, but the sprite just glared back at her. Midori sighed and handed over a silver piece.

The sprite smiled widely and accepted the silver. "Oh! Thank you very much for your generosity!" She disappeared into thin air.

Midori shook her head and composed a reply to the letter:

"Greetings and Salutations, Doofox!

"I am delighted beyond belief that news of the Circus of Wayward Wonders has reached your far-away land!

"Yes, please feel free to come see our circus. We are currently in Willowside, on the north side of the Isle of Erran. We have a performance scheduled for tonight, [current date], if you're in the area. I will gladly give you a private, behind-the-scenes tour if you're interested, as well.

"What tales have the bards been singing about me? Have you heard about the ongoing battle against the demons and xulgaths as they are trying to put an end to life on the Starstone Isles? I believe that we are getting close to defeating them and their dastardly plans!

"Anyhow, thank you very much for reaching out to me. I hope to meet you soon!

"Sincerely,

"Niji-iro Midori

"[虹色緑]"

Once she had sealed the letter and written the return address on the envelope, a different sprite in a FWPS uniform appeared over Midori's desk in a puff of smoke with a loud "bamf" sound. "First World Parcel Service," he announced. "May I deliver that for you?"

Midori exclaimed, "Cayden H. Cailean on a pogo stick! Don't you folk ever knock?" She took a breath. "Uh, yes. Please deliver this. How much do I owe ya?" She handed the letter over to the delivery sprite.

"One gold piece, please," the sprite replied.

Midori muttered under her breath, "Ooh, ya get us comin' an' goin', doncha?" She cleared her throat and continued, "Well, sure, here ya go." She handed a gold piece along with the letter to the sprite, who promptly disappeared with both items.

Midori mused to herself, "Huh. A kitsune. Don't see many o' us around these parts. It'll be nice to meet them. Wonder where Inazuma is? I don't remember hearin' about that place name in Minkai...."

@doofox1

[whatanightmaregrinch]

John Hancock x Fem!Sole Survivor- bad weather

[[ This takes place after the events of the main story. Sole follows the minutemen route!]]

They laid together in the still and quiet of the dark apartment building they had sheltered in. The sun had set long before, the heavier hours of the night settling down in the sky above. The moon was brightly shining from behind small, but dense clouds that threatened to smother it. It threw swathes of moonlight on the land below, giving a degree of visibility to the shambling buildings in the distance. The light creeped into the room, unawares of the silence the two companions found themselves in, illuminating a choice spot on the floor by the window, becoming a silent observer in their actions.  Side by side, their shoulders touched, but the ghoul in the red military coat had his forearms crossed on his stomach, relaxed. His breathing was slow, even; eyes half shut, on the edge of consciousness and his dreams. His companion less so. She bit into her nails absentmindedly, turning something heavy over in her mind, fixing the ceiling with a glare it did not deserve. The mattress beneath them creaked as he readjusted, the hat atop his head slouching further forward, slowly creeping down his forehead. “Can’t sleep with all that thinking you’re doin’, I can almost hear you.” He said sleepily, breaking the comfortable quiet that had descended on them hours ago. She didn’t respond at first, giving a final chew on her thumb. “Sorry Hancock, I’ll keep it down.” She humoured him, but her attention was split between him and something else; like usual. He glanced at her face. He couldn’t see crystal clear, but her worry lines were deep. The wasteland had not been kind to her, and he wasn’t surprised she’d gained a few new wrinkles from it. “Usually, when someone says somethin’ like that, they mean for ya to talk about it.”  He tried, and she rewarded him with a quiet noise of contempt. He wasn’t sure if it was aimed at him, but she turned on her side to face him properly regardless. “I’m just... just thinking. About things.” She explained poorly, and a teasing smile played on his ruined lips. “Ah yeah, I’m quite proficient at thinkin’ bout things.” He replied half seriously, and he could see her eyes roll in the dark. “You know what I meant. Things are just... hard. I’m starting to wonder if I did something to deserve it.” She responded vaguely, but in a smaller voice than before. He couldn’t help but tilt his head, animated in his confusion. “Deserve what, Sunshine?” He asked, and there was a pause- a brief flash of pain in her expression. She looked down to the mattress between them, unable to meet his gaze.  “Everything, John. Shaun, Nate- I can’t stop thinking about them. The settlers I couldn’t get too in time, people that depended on me, and I-” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to swallow back the emotion that was flooding her. His heart felt like it was breaking in his chest, and his hand found hers, hesitantly. His mottled fingers slipped into her softer ones, the pad of his thumb rubbing the top of her hand. His touch coaxed her to continue, to steady herself just enough to mumble her way through the rest of her sentence. “I failed them. Now they’re not here, and it’s my fault. I didn’t get Shaun back, I didn’t get to hold my baby again. I actually pushed the button that killed him, John. What a mom, I should win “Mother of the ye-” His grip tightening on her halted her self-deprecating comment, eyes looking up from the mattress to his face, questioningly.  “You aint deserve shit.” He stated, relaxing his grip to run his fingers over the tops of her knuckles, mapping out the way she felt in his head. “Listen to me, there is not a goddamn thing ya did to ever deserve this. All you ever did was try to help people, not many good folks willing to get their hands dirty, or see it through. You do both, sometimes for some ungrateful shits that don’t even deserve to be anywhere near you. There ain’t one damn thing I’d say you deserved, except love and happiness. The world is shitty, and the weather gets bad. Maybe it ain’t so bright now, and you got shit in your eyes, but-...I dont know. Things don’ stay still forever. Even the wind gotta stop howlin’ sometime, you know?” He comforted, his right hand joining his left in cradling her hand, trying his best to say the right words, try to mend her bleeding heart. She huffed quietly, looking away from him. She quietly reflected on it, tears bubbling up in the corner of her eyes and she tried to blink them away. He was afraid of how intense the conversation had suddenly become, how much meaning his words suddenly had. It forced him to make light of the situation, tell a joke. Anything to stop the heaviness that had settled into their bed. “Like me, what are you doin’ hangin’ round me? I stabbed a guy in front of ya first time we met, you’re not very good at telling folks to fuck off.” He grinned. She wouldn’t admit to it, but the ghost of a smile was touching her lips, even if her lashes were wet. “I have a problem with collecting strays.” She joked weakly, but her smile just disappeared, a choked sob slipping out. “Aw hey, no- come here, you’re gonna be fine.” He panicked, tugging her closer to wrap his arms around her, Sole dissolving into tears. She fisted some of his shirt as she cried into his chest, not that he minded, and his chin settled into the top of her hair, eyes pleading with the wall he could see that she’d stop crying soon. He wasn’t ever the type of guy to shy away from talking about heavy shit, it was his bread and butter. It was just here, with this specific woman invading his space; it was too much. Too much to see her weep about things beyond her control, break down about things she couldn’t have ever helped. He couldn’t fix any of her problems, and he felt horrible knowing he’d become one the throngs of people crying for her help just to come travel with her. He framed it as getting back to his roots, so he didn’t turn into a tyrant, like Vic or his brother- but deep in his chest, he just wanted out. Out of the loop, out of feeling nothing. He’d never expected to develop anything close to a bond beyond watching her back, but he almost craved her attention now, purposely trying to catch her eye when he could, gifting her with chems and small items just as easily as breathing. He could even say he might love her under different circumstances, if he’d been brave enough. He’d been nearly consumed with the guilt of knowing these feelings he was harbouring; she was his friend, someone who’d plucked him out of his future of sailing at the helm of the ship of self-destruction. She wasn’t a stranger he could fantasize about from across the bar, safe in the knowledge that they’d never find out. She was real, she was here. Privately disgusted with the way he enjoyed holding her in his arms, he rubbed her back as she cried. He let her soak into his shirt, material uncomfortable in places on his chest. He didn’t say anything, there was nothing more he could say that wasn’t repeating himself. He would hold her for as long as she needed. Too long had she gone without shouldering the weight with anyone else, trying and failing to hold the world on her shoulders. If he could lessen the weight for her, make it more bearable, then he would. Maybe he couldn’t bring her baby back, or give her the life back she had stolen from her- but this? Holding her, giving her some sort of relief from whatever battles she was fighting? This, he would do without question. 

[sliptohk]

Prompt #21: Grave

At first glance the young man was certainly an appealing enough fellow, well-suited to the acrobat's mood of the day. Nicely muscled and tanned from work beneath the burning star. They even lacked that sense of superiority, or at least hid it well, that many others seemed to display when dealing with the traveling performers whenever they set up outside a village for an evening or two.

"Caught your performance, miss Revel."

She did not hold the painfully obvious comment against them. Not all people could be effortlessly personable without a bit of practice with strangers. Hells, her uncle was proof enough that even those with it may not have truly learned the lessons. It may have been unkind, but she offered little more than a nod of understanding in return. Leaving the burden of conversation on them as the woman peeled back their skull-hugging mask and began to roughly dry damp hair with a threadbare towel.

"And, well, were just wondering if… you see." He was fidgeting. Some might find that charming. Someone else. "Were just thinking if you were of a mind and I were of a mind. Well…"

Interest was already beginning to dwindle, so she pushed things along the way, "Ask like I were."

It helped, slightly, even as the fellow rubbed their forearm with the opposite hand, "Then I would ask if you were of a mind for a bit of fun?"

She wished the mask were still firmly in place. It would have done a better job hiding the unimpressed expression crossing her face. Bad enough that she would need the man to clear off before slipping out of the sweaty costume she had just finished performing in, but now there was a need to send the lad scampering off. Though when the fool opened his mouth next it took all the difficulty out of that particular task.

"Figure you would enjoy it, Lindi. Maybe even convince your sister to come by as well? Heard you were more the… fun type."

Being mistaken for one another was common enough. No shame in that. But having the audacity to insult her sister directly to her face? Snatching for the collar of his shirt, Katja yanked him down to her eye-level, a furious scowl on display as she hissed into his face.

"Get gone before I break your jaw! No bloke says shite 'bout my sister!"

It would have been too much to ask for the matter to have happened with any degree of privacy. Already her father was descending upon the pair, neatly unfolding her fingers with a little twist of the wrist before things could escalate further. Not that it seemed likely when the red-faced boy was stammering out some combination of excuse and apology.

"Sorry, friend, girl gets a bit protective! Heard an insult where I'm sure it weren't intended!" An easy smile crossed Wazo's face as he worked swiftly to smooth things over.

Simple enough rule at the Grand Revel, never start trouble with the locals. At least not unless it were the last day and you were awfully confident the trail would lead you away long enough for hot blood to settle. It was a happy coincidence that the family had plenty of gregarious sorts that were capable enough at smoothing things over.

"Of course not, mister Revel! I would never!"

Shooting the man a final glare, Katja turned away. An indignant tug of her hand proved unnecessary when there was no effort to hold it in place. Muttering something under her breath about needing a wash, she left the two behind to fall into whatever little banter her Da was likely to subject the other man to. More pressing matters were at the front of her mind.

Things were getting worse, seemed more folk were approaching with more lust than perception, no doubt the twins' age driving that behavior. Which, truth told, would hardly have been of concern to the performer so long as things were to her taste. She found being mistaken for Lindi was not. And having them disrespect her with such slanderous lies turned everything sour. Not that much could be done about that matter, given they were a mirror image of each other.

That absent thought gave Katja pause. Mind drifting to the cracked old glass her gram used to tote about in their wagon. Spidery lines scattered across its face gave the aged thing character, might be something to take a lesson from. Plenty of means of adding a charming little mark about the wagons.

It was a bell or two later when the acrobat found herself a blade, and the courage, to drag the tip of it down from the forehead across one eye. Unpleasant, between the searing pain of cutting flesh, and the unmistakable scrape of its razor sharp tip carving its way down the bone. It was too deep, that much was certain. A shallower slice would have done the job all the same, but just because other Highlanders may well practice ritual scarring it did not mean she had any familiarity. Only once the deed was done, blood running down one side of her face, did the full realization of that impulsive act dawn.

The cut burned. It stung. It ached. It… was oddly numb. Strangely, the last sensation was the least pleasant as Katja stumbled off in search of someone to help. Seemed the decision was unpopular with those kin she came across, not least of all Lindi. She already felt bad enough from the injury, having her weeping sister shake her so roughly while screaming in her face only worsened the experience.

But what brought tears to Katja's own eyes, was the heart-broken whisper at the end of Lindi's deserved tirade, "How could you let them pull us apart?"

Doing something stupid was a part of life. Who had not made their fair share of mistakes? But hurting those she loved most in the process cut deeper than any wound. It would have been easy to try and push it off to others, those customers that confused the two so often leapt to mind first. Yet nobody else held that knife so unsteadily to the skin.

Being sown up was near as bad as the gouging, Uncle Gerlach taking the time to make the ragged edges close up as neatly as he could manage. A silent swoop of that hooked iron needle, pinching through skin and only on occasion tapping its own little mark against her skull. After one was used for a few passes, he unknotted the thread and drew a fresh needle from the boiling pot beside him. Letting it cool before tying it to the line and continuing the process. It was difficult to speak when he worked, struggling to keep still and not move the skin and muscle with careless motions. But upon a pause to attach a fresh hook, Katja managed to squeeze out a mumbled question.

"Ain't gonna tear into me, unc?"

Gerlach said nothing for a moment, just continuing his work. Face giving nothing away, as the motion of his fingers were all that separated him from the stone statues in the old temples. Finishing the pieces beneath her eye, he scooped a thick aloe paste with his thumb to gently coat the stitches. An almost immediate relief, though shortlived as he began to thread a new hook for the remaining injury splitting up through one of her eyebrows.

At last he spoke a simple, "No."

Not like anyone could expect more from the man. Words were like actions, only done with purpose. So it was with some surprise that he actually continued after a stretched silence between one thought and the next. Practically a speech pouring from his lips.

"Your vessel. Will disinfect the knife if another mark pleases. Long as its your choice."

How had that managed to make her feel worse?

[furys-mercy]

What are the most notable ways in which each of your OC’s relationships is different?

"I could prolly go on 'bout this all damned day, but I'll try ta keep it short an' sweet." He kicks his feet up on the desk and tucks his hands behind his head.

"Khala'n me've been together wha' feels like forever. He's m'longest relationship. An' I don't just mean of m'current ones. I mean ever. Folks thought we were an odd pairin' an' they still do, but I don't give a shite. He's bright an' shinin' an' full'a life. I don't rightly know how, given how his childhood an' mine're... more similar than ya'd think. But, I ain't here ta talk 'bout tha'. We work cause we challenge each other. He prods me inta talkin' an' I do m'best ta check 'im on thin's like wantin' a pet goobbue." His lips tug up into that goofy grin he reserves for his partners. "I think we work cause we ain't afraid. Not tha' I'm afraid with m'other partners, but... he was tha first person that was safe. He was home. An' he's stayed tha' way." A soft chuckle escapes his lips. "Sorry jus' talkin' 'bout feelin' safe reminds me'a how Tai an' I met. Can't says I felt particularly safe in tha' moment, but... he decided he wasn't gonna kill me, so tha' worked out jus' fine, really. Better'n fine. He's m'partner in more'n jus' tha romantic sense. We work together. We adventure together. We get inta trouble. There's somethin' in 'im tha' calls ta me. Like calls ta like, I think. Folks say tha' right? Well, even if they don't, tha' don't make it any less true. I see m'self reflected in 'im an' I'd wager it's tha same on his end, too. An let me tell ya, we make a mighty fine pair on tha battle field. Ain't never really found someone tha' I jus' fit with tha' easily."

"As fer Stari, well tha's... it's complicated. We're still figurin' thin's out. An' I think we prolly will be fer a good bit. An' while I'm pretty damned sure wha' m'feelin's are fer 'im, I also know tha' he prolly ain't ready ta hear 'em. An' I ain't gonna go pushin'. So, I'm jus' enjoying our time together. Gettin' ta know 'im. Showin' 'im tha' it's safe an' tha' I ain't leavin'. Tha' I've got 'im. Ain't sure he really knows it, but he's got me, too. Whether it's books full'a complex math puzzles or a tin'a salves fer m'achin' hips. He notices shite most wouldn't. An' it's... real fuckin' sweet."

((Thanks for the ask, @thefreelanceangel!!))

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Hey, Hi, Hello. It's been a hot minute since the last chapter, because my summer got completely lost to illness and recovery, and now it's mid-October and we're literally just now getting back to this reread. I've literally read this chapter like six times trying to get back in the headspace for rereading Tolkien, and uh...yeah. We're here? Mostly? So if the tone or vibe of these last few chapters are a little different, that's because it's been like three months and a bout of shingles later. So here's the original intro, and uh...we'll go from there.

Ok, this chapter went down MUCH easier than the last one, and we got some A+ vibes, some Sam stuff to talk about, and just generally a chapter I enjoyed. So without beating too much about the bush, let's talk "The Mirror of Galadriel."

We are finally in the city of the Galadhrim! And I have got to say, the city comes off WEIRD. Like, really, really weird. Like almost horror movie levels of weird. I'm just going to let the book tell you this bit:

Haldir knocked and spoke, and the gates opened soundlessly; but of guards Frodo could see no sign. The travellers passed within, and the gates shut behind them. They were in a deep lane between the ends of the wall, and passing quickly through it they entered the City of the Trees. No folk could they see, nor hear any feet upon the paths; but there were many voices, about them and in the air above. Far away up on the hill they could hear the sound of singing falling from on high like soft rain upon leaves.

Like...I'm sorry, but a giant, empty city with no sounds BUT voices? Even if this is perfectly normal for elves or if they're just...IDK, hanging out in the unseen world? I'm speaking for the hobbits and Boromir (and probably Gimli?) when I say that this gives CREEPY. It's an empty elven city filled with disembodied voices. I'd lose my damn mind pretty fast.

It gets less creepy when we get to the big ladder and the guards, and climbing the ladder while seeing the talan really does a lot to dispel the creep factor. I appreciate the worldbuilding here, and the diversity of what Galadriel and her people have built. It speaks to every "tree house but make it bougie" instinct that five-year-old me ever had. I suspect this is also how I as a reader am supposed to feel about the weirdly empty city, but...well, as a writer, you win some, you lose some, and I got creep from the city and delight from the bougie tree house. It happens.

Ok, so this is where I come clean and admit that I've been watching season 2 of The Rings of Power, and some reviews--which include some lore stuff. So you'll forgive me if I spend a few minutes here comparing and contrasting Lothlorien-era Galadriel with Amazon's Tolkien fanfic. Tolkien gives us this introduction to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien:

On two chairs beneath the bole of the tree and canopied by a living bough there sat, side by side, Celeborn and Galadriel. They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of the Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful. They were clad wholly in white; and the hair of the Lady was of deep gold, and the hair of the Lord Celeborn was of silver long and bright; but no sign of age was upon them, unless it were in the depth of their eyes; for they were as keen as lances in the starlight and yet profound, the wells of deep memory.

This is...a far cry from the gung-ho battle Barbie that Amazon's fanfic gives us, but at the same time...I can kinda see it? You don't get those wells of deep memory and keen lances without having lived life and seen much of it--good and bad and everything in between. So even without the battle Barbie, Galadriel gives the sense that she's seen some shit and can roll with pretty much anything because she's seen it all before. And once we get to the mirror, that just gets even more cemented, because she's not seeing time necessarily linearly. But the sheer impressiveness of the first impression hits on the page, and I really like that.

I don't have anything for Celeborn, I'm afraid. He has the same description, but I have zero background on him, so other than "He's probably also seen some shit" and "He's married to Galadriel, so he's probably HEARD some shit from that mirror" he's just...kinda there? Basically generic Elf King. Which I'm sure if I had more awareness of the lore would horrify me to say, but we work with the information we have when we have it.

Oh I guess we do get Celeborn's welcome to Gimli:

Welcome Gimli son of Gloin. It is long indeed since we saw one of Durin's folk in Caras Galahon. But today we have broken our long law. May it be a sign that though the world is now dark better days are at hand, and that friendship shall be renewed between our peoples.

I appreciate the attempt, but seriously, renewed friendship doesn't fix the racism and "renewed friendship" is doing a lot of heavy lifting there. Pretty sure we are gonna need to address the process a little, Celeborn. I know we're about to be at war with Sauron, but like...allyship and friendship are two different things and we might start with allyship here.

And so the fellowship meets the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien and we have to catch everyone up on the deets of the trip so far because mail service in Middle Earth is rather famously sketchy. *Stares in Bree Innkeepers*

Gandalf being missing is a bit of a sticking point, with Celeborn being a bit of a dick to Gimli about waking up a Balrog and to Gandalf for going into Moria at all, but Galadriel cuts that shit off at the pass (Thank you Galadriel for having some goddamn perspective).

I also appreciate that Galadriel is over here going, "I'm not going to stand here and give you unsolicited advice and I'm not going to explain at you. Have some context and hope and go get some rest, kids." Because the Fellowship really needs rest, and they need time to process and grieve. Hauling ass to a safe space is all well and good--as is surviving Moria--but then you need a little time and kindness in that space to process. I also appreciate that Tolkien takes the temperature of the group at this point, with Galadriel giving each member of the fellowship the choice to continue or to turn away. Sam once again gives us the most, along with Gimli, since Frodo and Merry keep their experiences with Galadriel behind their teeth.

Then we spend a little hand-waved time mourning Gandalf and even Frodo and Sam get in on the "write your own lament" action. It's actually really sweet, and I love the contrast between Frodo's perspective and scope and Sam's choice to highlight the happiness of the small things. I mean. If you call a giant firework that becomes a dragon small. Point is, Sam is highlighting happiness and I love that Tolkien gives us this little almost meta-commentary of the difference between memory and memorializing.

Then we finally have Galadriel taking Frodo and--very intentionally--Sam to her mirror, and I just want to take a second to admire the lawyer-level preface she gives and the importance of consent in this scene:

"Many things I can command the Mirror to reveal," she answered, "and to some I can show what they desire to see. But the Mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stranger and more profitable than things we wish to behold. What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which is it that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?"

Girl has pretty fully laid out the terms and conditions here, and I appreciate her candor about the "Controlled" or "Uncontrolled" options. Like, given that choice, I'm thinking REALLY hard about whether I want to look at all, and whether I'm up for letting the mirror show me what it will. The other key thing is that she STILL ASKS. This is not a thing Sam and Frodo have to do, there is a consent option. Which would also give me pause in this world, because if the Lady of Lorien looks and me and goes, "This could be epic, but you absolutely have to agree to this," I'd be over here like...There is a dark side here, isn't there?

I appreciate that Sam is over here like, "Well, I asked for magic and here is magic, so I guess I'm in." I appreciate the recognition that magic is awesome in the classical sense; it inspires awe and awe can be a whole-ass spectrum of emotions, not all of them uncomplicated or inherently positive.

And then Sam gets his test, which is REALLY telling. His priorities are simple: Frodo and the Shire. And while Frodo was IN the Shire, that worked beautifully well. But when Frodo has to bail and Sam's old Gaffer is in trouble...well then it gets complicated, and Sam's choice to prioritize Frodo I think absolutely had to be harder than it looks. Because what we get from Sam is...quite brief:

Sam sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. "I wish I had never come here, and I don't want to see no more magic," he said, and fell silent. After a moment, he spoke again thickly, as if struggling with tears. "No, I'll go home by the long road with Mr. Frodo, or not at all," he said. "But I hope I do get back some day. If what I've seen turns out true, somebody's going to catch it hot!"

I adore that we get a little bit of a sense that life won't be ok when they do finally get back to the Shire, but despite the tears and the...well, magic...going out of magic for Sam, this choice is relatively quick and decisive. Frodo will always be Sam's priority, but the sense that he cannot be everywhere and protect everything he loves is a really hard realization, and...I kind of wanted more. I wanted this moment to feel weightier. And I know it's not Tolkien's style, and I know that ultimately the choice is simple and not simple, but...I want to linger here for a moment. I want to take the time to really play with the idea of conflicting priorities and HAVING to make a choice and knowing that such a choice involves sacrifice and knowing that you're choosing to help one thing by abandoning another. I know, I KNOW this isn't Tolkien's style. But we can do literal PAGES on trees, so I feel like more than generously two paragraphs on Sam's choice would be appropriate.

This is just one of those places where I personally as a reader sometimes have trouble meshing with Tolkien's style. I'd like to be in characters' heads a little more than we get to be, and I'd like a little more weight on some of these moments. This is a me thing though, and I know this resonates for lots of readers. Your girl is a Shakespeare scholar for a reason. I want To Be or Not To Be, so "I'll go home by the long road with Mr. Frodo, or not at all" kind of...doesn't do it for me in what is such a key moment.

Frodo's experience with the mirror is a combination of foreseeing Gandalf the White, getting a crash course on the Middle Earth History Relevant to Him Specifically, and finally getting a glimpse of Sauron's eye hunting for him. That's definitely a lot to take in, and we get a really interesting connection between Galadriel and Sauron. They have a one-sided brain connection that is DEEPLY interesting and so of course is not followed up on in this book. We also get Frodo's realization that Galadriel is a ring bearer herself: He can finally see Nenya. (Sam can't, it just looks like a star on on her hand. Which honestly is a really lovely image and I love how it enhances the inherent magic of the elves.)

And Galadriel is over here low-key oversharing about the philosophy of elves and the fact that they're in a no-win scenario: Whether Frodo succeeds or fails, Lothlorien will fade away and the elves will either die in Middle Earth or leave it. Which...is a bit grim, not gonna lie, and were I Frodo, hearing all that and then "For the fate of Lothlorien you are not answerable, but only for the doing of your own task" would not make me feel any less culpable. I, like Frodo, couldn't DO anything but my own task, but again, I differ from this Tolkien-esque philosophy wherein if I hyperfocus on my own task, everything else will take care of itself because I'm a little type A and I need more control than that because SYSTEMS, PEOPLE. Everything is connected. (Again, this is JUST ME. I know this resonates for lots of people, it just doesn't work for me.)

Frodo gets a little of his own back in a case of what even Galadriel acknowledges is "turnabout is fair play." Frodo just straight up offers her the One Ring, and we get Galadriel's test of the heart. She knows that she would start using the Ring for good and ultimately slide harder into Dutch Angles than her scenes with Adar in Rings of Power did.

We're going to leave it there, because frankly I'm tired and this is already late. But what I will say is that this is one of the chapters that STUCK from my first read. I remembered the Mirror of Galadriel, and overall this scene still hits hard. It encapsulates the idea that duty and right in the long-term ultimately matter more than our personal desires, and it really highlights some interesting sneaking in of Fae rules with the elves and Frodo: Mind your manners because everything is a test, and don't touch the water.

Catch you next time for the next chapter!

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

On the house? Well.., he couldn’t complain about that, but he does plan on tipping the kind fella, if not for his bartending skills then for his pretty face.

Following his suggestion to treat Blondie to a drink later on, he watches as he fumbles that rag he holds and then drops behind the counter out of view to pick it up, oblivious to his moment of overflowing excitement. The most he does is chuff in amusement as it’s flung from his hands, finding the nervous blunder a little endearing. He pops back up only moments later with an expression that’s just as hard to read as the one before but his answer earns him a delighted smile.

“Shit, I’ll hop b’hind th’ counter an’ help ya out f’ya want.” It’s a playful offer but an honest one. He didn’t view himself as above anyone else really, as cocky as he could be, and a little hard work never hurt nobody! Especially if it made the night fly by faster.

—-

A snicker escapes Butch as his new acquaintance gives his manager the cold shoulder right off the bat; if it wasn’t clear before that he shared the same sentiment as him, it was crystal now. And boy does it feel like triumph not having a stranger view him as some kind of deviant for being so subtly thrown under bus. In fact, he feels a bit special when he chooses to make him another drink over dignifying Darlene’s cheap attempts with a response.

Despite the blonde man’s obvious reservations, Darlene’s expression remains unmoved and she maintains that smile even as he brushes her off and ignores her question. “Well,” she starts, fingernails drumming against the counter top as she ponders a different angle. “I understand if that sort of lifestyle sounds… stressful to some.” She chooses her words carefully, not wanting to sound too pushy (though she really wants to). “But if you’re ever interested in having someone who’s experienced in the industry make your life a little more interesting, well, you know how to reach me.” She emphasizes this by moving a hand to tap a nail against her card. Then she turns to Butch with the same calm smile before her fingers nails dig into the cloth covering his shoulder and she forcibly guides him a little ways a way.

The cowboy stumbles in his boots a little at first before shooting her an irritated stare. From afar, their voices can’t be heard over the chatter coming from the large room of attendees, but Darlene looks awfully excited about something. She pulls away to clap both hands upon his shoulders with an even wider smile than before, her mouth moving a mile a minute as she rambles on about something. Butch’s brows raise some and he shakes his head. Darlene nods in response and he shakes his head again, a little more adamant this time with furrowed brows. Her pleasant demeanor shifts rather quickly and her eyes dart around the room before she appears to take on a more demanding expression. The sandy blonde stands there for a moment after she seems to tear into him, his lips not moving and just as long, neither do Darlene’s. They curl into a smile again as he rolls his eyes, peering past her and over at the fella he had just met. His eyes linger for a moment before, with an obvious sigh, his shoulders slump and he seems to concede into something. A hand moves to rest at his hip and she gives him a condescending cheek pat which is met with him jerking his head away. She moves past him with her finger tips grazing against his shoulder as she does so, leaving him to his devices and then she disappears into the crowd from whence she came.

Butch makes his way back over to the bar counter, taking to leaning both arms against it now. He tries to manage a smile but it’s more apologetic than anything. “…Sorry ‘bout her, she’s, uh… somethin’ else.” He shakes his head. Another eye roll.

“Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah! What’s yer favorite drink, anyhow? Or d’ya only drink ‘round other folks?” His elbows prop against the counter now and he rests his cheeks in his palms. Atleast he had a momentary distraction.

He notes the twitch of a smile on Butch's pretty face even from his peripheries, but he doesn't comment. Somehow, addressing it made it feel like it'd become worse. It does still of course, skipping a beat at how focused he is after so long without talking to... .anyone really. And that lingering touch over his knuckles and digits are sparks he can feel like static in his fingertips. "T--- t'best part'f servin' t'drinks is gettin' paid fer it." He quips, but a little more wobbly than before. He wishes he was wearing tinted lenses so he was less obvious in every way. But this is Outlaw, who sings his music that reaches him and made him like music again and-- and he's just very handsome. he's sure there's many a heart he's broken with a smile like that.

It makes his own stretch just a little further at the compliment. "Mm, exactly right.... 's on t' house, too. First one, at least. Consider it a gift aft'r a long day." And if one thing came out of this, he wanted to at least walk away knowing he'd said thanks in his own, subtle way. It didn't have to matter to anyone else but him.

After the question, his fingers bare down on the rag just a little harder, and his eyes flick to Butch, hand slowed to a stop. Had he just....?

"A-ah...." It's hard to hold back now, and his hand fumbles, dropping the rag to the floor. He quickly stoops behind the counter to pick it up, eyes going wide and cheeks puffing with air when he's out of view. He pats his face a few times, sucking on his lips until they pull into his mouth. Then he snags the rag, fixes his features, and stands up just as quick. "I suppose if yer keen t'stick around 'till I'm off t'clock, I wouldn't complain 'bout takin' a drink wit' ya."

He chuckles at the complaint, one with a sentiment he shared. But before he had anything of his own to add, a woman he--- didn't know, but recognized made her debut. They were all recognizable. The bad vibes, the greed on their face. He knew some sleazy agent by the way they smiled. His entirely disappears. A frown deepens instead, when she pulls the rug out beneath Butch, and then-- approaches him.

His face is expressionless as he looks at her. "Charmed, I'm sure." His voice drips with just how untrue that is. He does not take her card, nor her hand. The card on the counter is given the briefest flick of a glance. He takes Butch's glass instead, and turns around. "Comin' right up, love." He does not address Darlene, instead dumping the old ice and staring to whip up a second Old Fashioned.

[shedontlovehuhself]

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Young and Beautiful

Photographer!Damiano David × GN!Reader

Genre: Equal parts Angst & Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of body dysphoria, brief depiction of a panic attack, no smut but some suggestive parts

Words: 4k (oof it's a long one, folks)

Summary: Reader has slight body image issues, and Dami suggests doing a nude photoshoot to help Reader see how beautiful they are

=======================================

==================================

As the evening sun flowed through the open doors of the balcony, you sat on the bed, fidgeting with the silk tie of your floor-length robe. Your current state of being was, somehow, a combination of apprehension and anticipation.

You had never been professionally photographed before. Sure, you would partake in the occasional selfie, but rarely included any part of your body from the neck down.

The relationship you had with your body was one that brought you much confusion. Deep down, you felt like a decently confident individual, having occasional bouts of triumph, where you felt like you could wear anything, go anywhere, and accomplish everything. But of course, the highest of highs come with the lowest of lows. You'd wake up the next morning and stare at yourself in the mirror until what you saw back didn't even feel like you, but a distorted version of just that. You knew it was unhealthy, but sometimes it felt impossible not to compare yourself to others.

Earlier that day, Damiano had asked if he could take some photos of you. When he first proposed the question, you were quite pleased, having just gotten a new haircut that you didn't mind flaunting. Besides, you had allowed Dami to take a few photos of you before, and overall, you were delighted he had chosen you as his muse when he decided to take up photography. However, when he informed you that his desired concept was a nude photoshoot, you were a bit taken aback.

“A nude photoshoot?” You inquired, making sure you heard him correctly. “Like, nude nude? As in fully naked?”

“I’m not sure what else it could mean, amore.” Dami smiled, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you’re not comfortable with it, I completely understand.”

You sighed uneasily. A nude photoshoot was undoubtedly outside of your comfort zone, your anxiety quickly shutting down the idea of it. 

“Don’t you think you would rather have a professional model for something like that?” You mumbled, staring at the floor. Damiano noticed your hesitation, reaching for your hand and holding it in his own, his thumb running over the back of your palm.

“I know what you’re thinking, baby,” Dami whispered, tilting your chin upwards to make eye contact with him. “But honestly, I’m not doing this for practice the way painters and sketch artists do. I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

You knew he was coming from a place of good intentions, but the hurtful part of your brain still wasn’t convinced. You sank further into the couch, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the way your clothing felt against your body.

“I’m sorry, Dami, I just don’t think I’m sexy enough for something like that.” You said, your voice breaking. Damiano’s expression fell as tears gathered in your eyes. “They’d probably turn out horrible, and I can’t even imagine you adding something like that to your portfolio. Plus I-” Dami quickly stopped your rambling by wrapping his arms around you, your head neatly tucked against his neck as he shushed you gently.

“I’m sorry, Dami…” You repeated through short sobs, feeling your tears soak the collar of his shirt. He hugged you tighter each time you said it.

“Oh sweetheart…” He cooed, moving one of his hands to the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair. “There’s no need to be sorry. Please look at me, love,” He begged, trying to hide the sound of his voice breaking as well. You craned your neck to peek at him, your eyelids puffy with a hint of redness. “First of all,” he began, “if we do this, those photos are going nowhere near my portfolio. They’re just for me. For us. They’re far too valuable to be placed with all my other photos.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose, and finally one to your lips. Dami breathed a small sigh of relief when a smile appeared on your face at his affection. “And secondly,” he continued, “this has nothing to do with being sexy. Photographing people, especially when they are nude, is about a beautiful exhibition of the human body. And what better person to start with than the one with the most beautiful body in the whole world?”

Beautiful? Beautiful. You stared blankly for a few moments, processing what Dami had just said. He was the only person who ever called you that. A majority of the reason why your self-consciousness would make an appearance so often was because your features were never praised as such. The problem wasn’t that you wanted to look like everyone else. You just wished your features were commended like all the others were.

But that was the difference. Damiano appreciated your beauty. He loved every single thing about you.

“How many photos did you plan on taking?” You asked, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Did you intend on making a whole event out of it?”

“I’ll take as many or as little as you want me to.” Dami stated. “I’ll take enough to make you a book of them, or I can take just one and frame it for you.” He giggled. “All that matters is that you’re happy and comfortable.”

You felt like crying again, but not for the same reason as before. You took Damiano’s face in your hands, cupping his cheeks as he smiled warmly. You caressed the stubble on his chin, silently berating yourself for caring what the world thought of you. Dami thought of you as the most amazing creature on this planet, and you found it so hard to believe him. You knew he loved you very much, and his only hope was that you will one day see yourself the way he saw you ever since the day he met you.

“Okay.” You exhaled sharply. “I’ll do it. But can we do it as soon as possible so my stupid brain doesn’t have time to change its mind?”

Dami’s eyes lit up, ecstatic that you had agreed. He grinned from ear to ear, chuckling at your statement. “Your brain isn’t stupid. And you can tell it to wait for me in the bedroom while I go get my camera.”

So now here you were, in your blackberry colored silk robe, anxiously tapping your foot against the floor, the sound of your skin against the freshly polished wood echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Damiano’s only instructions were to undress. No fixing of the hair, no makeup, no nothing. He wanted you completely nude, which included how you chose to decorate your face. You peered around the room, your gaze scanning the cool-toned lavender walls, wondering what Dami was actually going to do with the photos he took of you, if anything. He already said they weren’t going into his portfolio, so then what was he going to do with them? Were they just going to stay in his camera or in a file on his computer forever? Was he really going to make them into a photobook, or frame them individually? You imagined the vast walls around you adorned with enlarged photos of yourself trapped in ornate gilded frames. You weren’t sure if you loved that idea or hated it.

You were snapped out of your reverie by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Now that Dami had finally returned with his camera, you realized this was actually going to happen. You felt bad about backing out now, after you had just agreed to it mere minutes prior. All you hoped was that your confidence lasted long enough for Dami to get a few good shots. He positioned his tripod by the balcony, taking advantage of the lovely golden sunlight.

“I would love to start out with you against this wall.” He announced, pointing to the side of the room that shared its space with the approaching sunset. Dami briefly lowered his gaze, adjusting the angle of the tripod plate to take portrait photos. You admired his face of concentration, the way his gorgeous silhouette looked against the scenery just outside the glass doors. You thought of him the same way he always said he thought of you. Absolutely beautiful.

He turned back to you, who was still awkwardly sitting on the bed. “You look tense.” He declared. “You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

You pursed your lips, pulling up the collar of the robe to prevent it from slipping off your shoulder. “I feel like I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try.” 

Damiano nodded, approaching the bed and offering you his hand. You extended your own to softly grasp his fingertips when he pulled you up off the bed and into a warm hug. You sighed, though it sounded more like a laugh. That laugh soon turned to a squeal of surprise when Dami lifted you off your feet and spun you around, hearing his cheerful laughter ring throughout the room as he did so. It was clear that photographing you this way was something he'd been wanting to do for a while, but wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. You were secretly glad he finally did. 

“I love you so much.” He mumbled into your chest, placing a kiss against your sternum.

“I love you too.” You beamed, always feeling your best when you were with him. Once he set you down, you scampered over to the wall on the other side of the room, pausing to glance outside and over the balcony, admiring the way the evening clouds blanketed the mountains towering behind the city. It looked even more beautiful at sunset, the sharp angles of the buildings contrasting the soft orange light the sky had cast upon them. You found it so easy to see the beauty of nature, no matter how it presented itself to the world. You almost envied the feeling, but didn’t know how to express that you coveted what the world so naturally produced. It didn’t seem logical.

As you settled into position, Dami stared at you through the tiny screen of the camera. He used few color alterations when shooting, trying to keep the photos as raw as possible, especially in a situation like this. He looked back up at you, clasping his hands together with excitement.

“Okay, baby, whenever you’re ready.” He breathed, waiting for you to make a move. Taking a steadying breath, you slowly undid the tie of your robe, feeling as it fell to the floor, the cool fabric pooling around your ankles. You kept your eyes closed, hoping that would make a difference. The room was so quiet that you heard Dami’s barely audible sigh of contentment. He took you in ever so slowly, softly biting his lower lip as his eyes scanned over your entire form. You tried your best to relax against the wall, attempting to acquire a pose that looked the least bit confident and not like you were frozen solid. 

Finally opening your eyes, you stared at Dami, whose consistent pleasant smile made you feel a bit more at ease. The only pose idea you had was to lay your hands flat against the wall behind you, pushing your shoulders out while the rest of your torso caved more inward. It was a fair compromise to your body desperately trying to hide itself while still trying to maintain a professional exterior. You knew it wasn’t technically a professional shoot, but you were still trying to give Dami the best you could manage at the moment.

You nodded to him that you found your comfortable position, to which he happily bent down to look at the screen again. Your hypervigilance seemed to be the one thing that wouldn’t back down, though. You heard every click of the capture button, every whir of the lens expanding and contracting when Dami zoomed in or out, and every shuffle of his feet when he would look at you from a different angle. You weren’t sure if you should keep your eyes closed the whole time or not, but alternated from doing so and looking at the floor, keeping your eyelashes on full display.

After what seemed like five photos that Dami had taken, you felt your heart begin to race. You did your best to ignore it, knowing it was just your anxiety. You tried to change your position, thinking that would help you stay calm, but once you stopped using the wall for support, you felt incredibly dizzy. Tears pricked at your eyes as you leaned against the wall again. Damiano looked up at you, immediately running to your side to see what was wrong.

“What happened, baby? Are you okay?” He asked frantically. You tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked sob. Snatching your robe off the floor, you hurriedly returned to the bed and curled up on it, placing the robe over your whole body including your head. Dami knew that whenever you went full turtle mode, you were having a panic attack.

Though he did nothing wrong, he felt awful. You noticed the bed shift as he sat down next to you, placing a hand on your back through your protective robe shield.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, "The last thing I wanted was to upset you like this. I never should have pushed you to do it."

"It's not your fault, Dami." You croaked from underneath the robe. "I wanted to try. I just thought I'd be able to get through at least a few minutes before I broke." Damiano peeked under the corner of the robe to see your face, brushing away the hair that covered your eyes.

"Can you at least come out here so I can hug you?" He pleaded, offering you his hand again. You huffed as you pushed yourself up, readjusting the robe to wear it properly before cuddling up next to Dami. Your body had calmed down by now, but overall, you were still filled with sorrow about the outcome of it all.

"What were you thinking about that made you feel this way?" Dami began, trying to help you talk through your feelings to the best of his ability.

"People who are photographed all the time don't look like I do." You whimpered, trying not to start crying again. "They have different features than me. Ones that probably show up better on camera. I doubt I'm photogenic to the point where you could get a whole shoot out of me." Dami rubbed your back soothingly, feeling every time your breath hitched as you tried to compose yourself.

"If everyone looked the same all the time, do you know how boring that would be?" He asked, though it was more rhetorical. You looked up at him, resting your head on his shoulder as he spoke. "Amore, you do not need to look like everyone else to be beautiful. You're beautiful right now." He rested his hand against your cheek, making sure you were looking at him as he spoke. "You're beautiful when you first wake up. You're beautiful when you're working, and you make that cute concentrated face where you stick your tongue out. You're beautiful when we go shopping for clothes together, and I see you sifting through the racks to find the colors and patterns you like most. You're beautiful when we watch TV together, and I glance over to see how cute you look wearing your comfiest pajamas, while you eat your favorite snacks without a care in the world." Your smile grew wider with each sentence he added. You never knew Dami noticed those things about you. You never realized what his definition of beauty was. It wasn't just about your body. It was about all the little things that made you who you are.

"I love you." You sighed, reaching up to swipe away a single tear that was making its way down Dami's cheek.

"I love you too." He replied, placing another kiss on your forehead. "And I love everything that you don't get to see when you're fully dressed." He gently tugged on the loose knot you made to keep your robe closed, pushing it open but not completely off your shoulders. You looked down, feeling a breeze from the lack of fabric, considering you were completely bare. Dami made his way downward, placing kisses across your skin.

He started at your jawline, brushing his lips from below your ear towards your chin. He continued further, stopping at the base of your neck. He contemplated leaving a hickey, but decided that now was not the time, instead opting to place a kiss directly between your collarbones. It was the very spot that the pendant of your necklace chose for its daily rest upon your torso, though now bare since you removed all your jewelry before the shoot.

Dami moved at a slow and sensual pace, leaving more invisible love marks that followed the whimsical flowing curves of your waistline. You released a deep sigh of pleasure, tilting your head back and steadying yourself by placing your hands on Damiano's shoulders. He did the same by wrapping his hands around your lower back.

He kept traveling south until he left his place beside you on the bed and knelt before you, being the perfect height to place one final kiss below your belly button, in the small patch of thin hair just above your navel. He leaned back on his haunches, his hands rubbing your thighs before lightly pushing them open, just enough for him to sit comfortably between them, resting his head against the side of your knee.

"I will worship your body exactly like this every single day until you acknowledge the fullest extent of your beauty. Your charisma is that of regal proportions, and you deserve to be treated as such, my royal companion." He recited like a Shakespearean love interest, punctuating his monologue with a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You gazed down at him, eyes droopy with tranquility, your lips parted and smiling faintly.

"You look so beautiful right now, you know that?" You purred, causing Dami to emit a lazy chuckle.

"I say the same thing every time I look at you." He returned before rising to his feet to lock his lips with yours, easing you back onto the bed. You tangled your hands in his hair, moaning softly when his fingers skimmed over the small dips in your skin just below your hip bones. You broke the kiss to stare at him, observing the wonderment in his sparkly brown eyes.

"You're amazing for saying and doing all that." You said breathlessly, dragging your finger down the bridge of his nose. Your stare hardened briefly before continuing. "But is it okay if we don't take any more photos?"

"Of course, my love." Dami responded, peppering your cheeks with fleeting kisses. "Would you like to see the ones I did take?"

You nodded sheepishly as Dami stood up to fetch his camera from the tripod, bringing it over to the bed. You sat up, resting on your elbows as he reclaimed his place beside you.

You were correct that Damiano had only managed to capture five portraits before your anxiety got the better of you, but the ones he took were a lot nicer than you thought they'd be.

They all depicted your nude form in various aspect ratios, the rich tones of your outstanding complexion blended with the hazy orange hues of the sunset, which by now had diminished into a flurry of deep blues and purples. You marveled at it, as if it were a picture of someone else. But it was definitely you. Four of the photos were from wider angles, but the other one caught your eye immediately.

It was the only photo Dami had taken of your chest up, the edge of the photo stopping just above your nipples. The resolution had captured every single detail of your face. You could see every pore dotted across your nose. Every trace of hair that swept its way across your jaw and just under your chin, though you thought you had removed all of it only days earlier. You even noticed every barely visible acne scar along your forehead and the apples of your cheeks, from all the times you picked and plucked at them wishing you had clearer skin.

Scanning the photo further, you took in the sight of your bare shoulders, broader than average for someone of your stature. It was the only feature you could say you genuinely liked, no matter what other people thought of it. 

"You like this one the best?" Dami blurted out, noticing you lingering on it longer than the others.

"It's…" You tried, not sure how to preface your thoughts on it.

"Beautiful?" Dami interjected, hoping it's what you were going to say.

"It's...me." You finished. "It's the first time I've ever seen myself where what I'm looking at actually feels like me." Your gaze softened, continuing to admire the photo. "It's weird, but like a good kind of weird. I don't know how to describe it."

"I'm so happy to hear that you like it, amore." Dami said proudly, kissing your temple. "I think they all turned out wonderful."

You didn't comment, not wanting him to know that you didn't fully agree. At least, you didn't agree just yet. You thought his photography skills were excellent, but it was going to take you longer to see the beauty that he viewed them as. You may have only liked one of them, but it was a start.

"Can you frame this one?" You said so low you were even sure if you said it aloud, and if Dami heard you or not. His eyes widened, a surge of pride glistening behind them. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction, sighing in relief when he leaned in for a kiss.

"Where do you want me to hang it?" He mumbled against your lips. Twisting around, you pointed to the wall where you had stood to take the photo, a small stretch of space between the balcony doors and the edge of your bed.

"And it doesn't have to be crazy big in one of those huge swirly frames." You added with an awkward laugh. "Just a decent sized photo will do."

Dami joined your laughter with a lighthearted chuckle and a nod of acknowledgment. 

"You have my word, baby." He replied softly before kissing you again, pulling you back against the bed into a warm cuddle.

And a couple days later when you entered the bedroom, there it was. A larger version of the photo you observed yesterday, donning a reserved Arch B ratio nestled beneath a clear glass pane, sealed with a mahogany wood gallery frame to match the floor. You laughed, knowing that Dami tried so hard to make it look sophisticated without breaching the confines of your request to keep things minimal. You stared at the piece as if you were visiting a museum, wrecking your brain with who the artist was and how they were able to create such a masterpiece. But the truth is, Damiano may have taken the photo, but the real artist was you. And you were quite the talent.

You wanted the portrait there to serve as a reminder. You were beautiful, you just needed time to see that in all its glory. The road to self love was not an easy one, but having Dami by your side made every cross-country road trip feel like a skip across the street. Achieving security within yourself, although an arduous task at times, is doable. When you have the right people around you to hype you up and ensure you know your worth, what you see in the mirror can feel just as magical as all the portraits in a museum.

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Here it is, y'all! My first fic! ☺ Feedback is appreciated but pls be nice 😅 And also let this fic serve as a reminder that you are beautiful just the way you are 🥰

Also, let me know if I should start a taglist so that you guys can be notified when I upload more fics! I've never shared any of my work before so it makes me so happy to know you guys are interested in my stuff 🥰

[bajibitch]

Dial the coroner. Manjiro|Shinichiro

Summary: You go into town to help find the origin of the fatal plague.

“I knew we shouldn't have come this way!” Danya stomped ahead of you with the map in her hand. She was crumbling the sides with her tight grip. “At this rate, we won't make it. We’ll be dead once the wolves find us out here.”

“Don't be dramatic.” You followed behind her with your hands on the straps of your backpack.

“Shut up! You should be the one trying to get us out of this mess; you're the reason we're out in this cold.” She curled into herself with the map pressed against her chest, you could only laugh at her theatrics. As she went into panic you noticed someone hanging in the background. He was dressed for the chilly season, wearing a deep blue trench coat with a pair of black gloves. His eyes were an onyx but seemed inviting nonetheless when he flashed a toothy grin.

“How bout we ask him for directions?”

“Are you crazy?” She failed to whisper as she stood behind you as if you were a shield. “We can't trust him. It looks like he's by himself on purpose to lure stupid people into some trap.” A loud squeal left her throat when you shook her off to walk towards him. “Please no. Get back here!”

“Hey there!” You greeted the man and he jumped to fix his posture, leaning against a tree with fake confidence pouring out of him.

“Didn't see you there, gorgeous.”

“Is that your real voice?”

“Yes, why would you ask such a thing?” There was a waver when he spoke and you couldn't help snickering. This was dorky but in a charming way.

“Don't do that, just act normal. You don't even know me sir.” His shoulders dropped and he smacked himself on the forehead.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I… Shinichiro, my name.”

“What’s taking so long?” Danya interrupted before you could introduce yourself. “Are you helping us or not, creep!” He was appalled hearing the accusation, taking a step back while he waved his hand.

“I admit that was weird of me but I didn’t have any ulterior motives. They didn’t say anything about needing help.”

“Maybe you’d know that if you weren’t hitting on them! We aren’t interested by the way!”

“I didn’t even ask you!”

“Enough!” You pulled Danya beside you, your grip wasn’t harsh; you just wanted to be cautious since you didn’t know how he’d get. “We’re trying to get to Limpid Hollow. Can you point us in the right direction?”

“It’s not too far, just walk straight ahead and go over the stone bridge on the left, you can’t miss it. There’s a sign and everything.”

“Thanks, Shinichiro.” You took your sister by the hand and continued your journey.

“Geez.” He sighed, sinking against the tree behind him.

~

Shinichiro’s directions lead you to the bustling town with buildings in a colonial style. The pathways were decorated with luminous plants that emitted blues; it helped since the path seemed to have a permanent mist that stuck to the dirt. Even though the population was smaller compared to others, you couldn't tell with the way the people flooded the streets. Some were urging the passing folks to buy their goods, others were walking hand in hand talking about the gossip they heard at lunch. It was a bit crowded but it felt nice.

“I'm going to the inn to get us a room.” Danya dropped your hand and set off but you caught her by the wrist.

“I thought you were scared to wander off by yourself.”

“My confidence is back, so you can work with ease while I enjoy the amenities.”

“I’ll follow you there so I know which one you're booking.”

“There's only one.”

“Oh, well if you need anything I’ll be at the morgue.”

“Yeah yeah.”

You make your way to the building with gray bricks and black spires. When you went inside, a woman dressed in a yellow long-sleeved shirt with dark green pants called out to you.

“Hi, thanks for coming all this way to meet me. I'm the mortician, Ishani.” Her voice was sweet in your ears, with the profession you expected her to sound exhausted. “I called you because I'm concerned about the safety of the town and I heard that you dealt with odd cases.”

“What's the problem?”

“People are starting to die at an alarming rate, soon we're going to run out of room for the bodies; if this keeps going.”

“Is it a new airborne illness?”

“I thought so too at first, but when I spoke with the doctors they confirmed that there wasn't an increase in patients. People are being sent straight to the morgue when their families find them dead.”

“Can I see some of the bodies?”

“Right this way.” Ishani led you to the room where they kept them cool and as she said, it was packed. She pulled one of them from the rack and unwrapped them. There wasn't any strange marking on the first body, so you looked over several more, still finding nothing.

“Have you noticed anything different about them when they brought them in?”

“No, but when I’m embalming them it doesn't take as long to flush out the body. Most of them had a low amount of blood, not much came out when I was draining them; even though there’s no wound.”

“Hmm, is that so?” It clicked instantly, of course, it was them. You expected the vampires to know better than to feed on one town so often. “I've seen enough.” She walked you back to the entrance and thanked you again for your time.

You decided to go through the town and ask about strange occurrences, but you only ended up hearing people's complaints about their neighbors, so you asked if anyone new came into town. Some people described your sister, but one person mentioned that someone has been paying a pretty penny at the inn. The mysterious traveler was there for a while but they didn't come out much.

When you go to the inn you're greeted by the owner, with a smile. “You must be the younger child, your sister spoke highly of you, but in a mocking tone like siblings tend to do.”

“That’s me, but can you tell me about the other traveler that has a room here? I need to ask them questions.”

“Sorry, but I don't give out guest information.”

“You gave up the fact that my sister was waiting for someone. I could've been an assassin.”

“Right you could be, so I can't give up the room of my highest-paying guest. I don't want you scaring them off with your accusations.”

“Fine, just give me my sister's room. I have to shower anyway. Jerk.” As you said, you cleaned yourself off and jumped straight into bed. You were gonna need all your energy to confront the person responsible for this.

~

On instinct, you woke up from your sleep when you felt someone approaching your bedside. When they reached out, you grabbed their arm and shoved it back, breaking the bone. It didn't faze the intruder, their arm regenerated by the time you took a breath. They groaned, taking a step toward the lamp and flipping on the switch.

“Manjiro?” You never met him before, but Mansaku mentioned him when he was telling you about the ranking of the vampires. Even with all your training and strength, you knew he’d be the one walking away intact if you challenged him, but as a self-proclaimed hero, you’d take that chance. “You’re the one who's been binge eating? Isn't that against your rules? You know it’ll throw off the balance if you eat so many people at a time.”

“No shit, that’s why I'm here. I've been trying to catch the person responsible before the humans got suspicious, but then you showed up. I heard you talking to the owner while I was in my room, you must’ve found something out if you were asking about me.” He sat on the bed, but you got up to put on clothes suited for the situation. You brought out your bo staff and sack of marble-sized pellets that could ignite with enough force.

“I looked over the bodies and the person isn’t making a mess, they don’t want to cause a scene either. Ishani said the victims were found in their homes so we could walk through the streets. They’ve been finding bodies for the past two days, so the vampire might be lurking still.”

“I’ll come with you and search on the opposite side, but don't deliver any critical hits until I get there.” You scoffed at his request. “I need to be there before you make that decision.” You ignored him and set off to find them. Normally you wouldn't execute one of them, but when it came to binge eaters you treated them the same as you would any threat. He knew this though, so why was he acting different?

Since the roads were now desolate, there was a dreadful sense that rode on the fog. The soft glow from the luminous plants was your only guide since the lamps were shut off. If you hadn’t seen the people out earlier, you'd think this place was abandoned. You ran through the town for a while searching for a sign. When you're dashing seamlessly past the houses, you feel someone moving in your direction. You don't stop, instead, you charge ahead pulling out your staff just in time to swipe through their knees. They fell face-first but it didn't stop them from throwing themselves at you, so you took their arms and stepped on their torso to get a good look at them.

“Shinichiro?” It was the guy from earlier but his eyes were much brighter than before. He didn't utter a word but he stared at you snarling, swiping his tongue over his pointed teeth. His limbs weren’t regenerating as fast as Manjiro’s but it was still fast, nonetheless. You took out the pellets to set him ablaze but just as you were sending one to Shinichiro, Manjiro moved him out of the way.

“What was that?” Both of you were glaring at one another.

“You're not killing him.”

“He's a binge eater. Just like the others, he has to die. Nothing changed.” Shinichiro’s limbs were restored and he wasted no time going for you. You set off a few pellets and the explosion sent him into a home. Manjiro rushed forward, tackling you to the ground and Shinichiro went to take a bite but you flipped Manjiro and took off his head with your staff in the nick of time. “Why are you protecting him?” You turned to Manjiro, but he ignored you. He stood up and went towards Shinichiro.

“He’s my brother.”

“So.”

“He’s not like the others, he can’t control himself.”

“And that makes him more dangerous.”

“If he was anyone else then I’d kill him, but I refuse to let him die. I didn’t know he was struggling to restrain himself but now that I do, I can help him get better.”

“But at this rate people will suspect the truth about your existence and will start a mass panic. Then there’s gonna be a lot of bloodshed on our end. Besides he’s killing too many people at a time, this is the fifth town that encountered this problem. When he gets hungry he’s just going to repeat himself.”

“I’ll take him back to my place and he’ll be under my watch. With Nahoya’s help, he’ll learn to limit himself without hurting anyone.” He put his brother on his back and walked past you. “Please, don't get in the way of me helping Shinichiro, my grandfather loves your company.”

“You're just gonna do what you want, but if you aren't around when this shit happens again, I will kill him.”

“I'm sure someone will write your heroic attempt on your gravestone; if they believe in fairytales.”

“Go to hell.”

[myristicisms]

His expression softens, apologetic and guilty at noting the brief discomfort his gesture had caused; Zack gets it though, fully understands because the man was as jumpy as the average veteran would be if not a bit more skittish behind his childish façade. It's a thought he puts on the back burner though and instead focuses on the woman's voice, listens to her questions. “ Ehh maybe, I mean technically there's money involved but I'm not really searching for the pay, just... Trying to right a past wrong. ” Even if that wrong wasn't made by the raven haired man. He should have done more to stop Sephiroth, should have noticed the man changing sooner.

“ Me? Gongaga. ” He pauses, thoughts flooding into his mind, “ I used to be part of the royal guard here in Midgar, had to lay low back home with my folks for a few years thanks to some uh... Injuries but now that I'm back up to par I figured what the hell, may as well see if I can solve the mystery of Midgar's lost princess right? ” Sometimes on colder nights or when it rains he can still feel the familiar ache within his ribs, the feeling of shattered bone digging deep into his muscles and blood pooling from the wounds, his eyes were like a mark for execution and Zack had long since learned a means of sneaking around with his past connections.

A gentle sigh rumbles his body, torso turning slightly to bring a leg up on the pew and relax a bit while she speaks. ( Memory issue... Ruby eyes... Aerith you're gonna have to meet me halfway with this if I'm right. ) “ Really? Hm... I couldn't imagine being in your shoes, that must be... Really frustrating, I'm sorry. ” And he is, memories were what kept Zack going since Sephiroth's betrayal, kept him from falling into the depths of a darkness he likely wouldn't be able to crawl his way out of and without those, he's not sure he'd have even thought to leave Gongaga.

“ Which I'm sure she is, Aeri- Her highness has a good hunch she's still alive and kicking, and she's never been wrong 'bout stuff like that. ” Then he shrugs, offers up a curious little hum. “ Long raven hair, ruby red eyes, that's all she said. Personally I dropped by Midgar to visit the church and see what's going on with the folks, then I'm off to Cosmo Canyon to see if I can talk to the princess and get a more thorough description of her, I can make the journey alone but if you don't wanna be stuck here getting that job, you're welcome to come along. ”

His question pulled her from exasperating though, a long, audible groan being given. With a deep breath, she gathered herself, brushing herself of dirt and dust. His explanation of reliving memories - she only wished she could recall anything past the last couple years at the orphanage. For a moment, she flinches at the hand he offered, but adjusts herself quickly. "Lost princess, huh?" she placed her thumb to her chin in thought. "Sounds more interesting than a job."

"It sounds like one of those books I've read when I was young," she allowed a soft chuckle. "Where did you come from that you ended up back in Midgar? I'm sure there are nicer places you'd rather be."

Now that her breath was caught, lips curled, clapping her hands together. "I feel like I've missed a lot," she admitted to his question. "Hit my head pretty hard from what I'm told. Memory... Isn't the best."

"If this princess is still alive," she pondered for a moment. "Do you even know where to start looking? What does she look like?"