#and the show itself went well I think !! lights went better than the day before at least :)

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

last night was <3333

[targaryenimagines]

My Khaleesi

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,586

Summary: Daenerys claims more than the Iron Throne on the day she takes King’s Landing.

Warning(s): Smut and G!P Daenerys.

Notes: Wasn’t sure if you wanted Dark!Dany (in a sense) or not, but decided to just do it that way for this one shot! If you’d like another one with a non dark Dany, I’ll be more than happy to do that. Also, this is definitely the most graphic smut I’ve written… I apologize if it’s bad.

Series Masterlist

Ash still falls from the sky like distorted flecks of snow— rubble shifts under foot as you make your way through the courtyard of the Red Keep. You didn’t have to turn your head far to see the destruction that had been wrought across King’s Landing, a destruction that had come at the hands of the woman you love the most in this world.

Fire and blood had come to Westeros, you think, side-stepping a charred corpse. And penance seemed to have been paid in full.

The sights, along with the smells, that assault you the farther you trek into the once great city aren’t something that sits well with you, nor does the knowledge that Westeros had pushed Daenerys, your Dany, to this point. That all of her grief: Viserion, Jorah, Rhaegal, and Missandei, along with all of her men that she lost in the North, had forced her spirit into shattering so completely.

I don’t want to be Queen of the Ashes…

A saying that had constantly been thrown towards Daenerys, that had been used as a means to control her, keep her in line, and what better way to do that then remind her of her father’s legacy, a tale that’s haunted her ever since she discovered it, and had been continually repeated until Daenerys spouted it out as if she was simply talking about the weather. Her drive, the passion that had carried her through Essos, slowly being driven out of her the longer she spent in the toxic landscape that is Westeros; forever surrounded by the tales of her ancestors, by the fear and hatred that the people she saved showed her, at the clear refusal to ever accept her as anything more than a Targaryen Whore.

Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, you pause just outside of the throne room, or what you believe to be anyway, and think over everything that had transpired. Think of the darkness that had seemed to have only grown in intensity since the Night King had been dealt with. Would Daenerys, after all of this, still wish to see you? Would you still have a place by her side?

Only one way to find out…

With a deep intake of breath, you step fully into the debilitated area that had once been a source of great pride— at the head of it all being the almost legendary throne itself, a mass of melted together swords, and standing before it?

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

At the sound of your approaching footsteps, Daenerys turns from her perusal of the throne, and a warm smile quirks her lips at your nearing form.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” she murmurs, adoration clear within violet eyes. Slim arms wrapping around your middle the moment your close enough for her to grab. A single gloved finger gently tracing down the expanse of your cheek, rubbing away the hints of ash that still remained. “I’m glad to see you unharmed. I don’t know what I would have done if that hadn’t been the case.”

You lean into the hand still resting on your cheek, a happy smile of your own making an appearance. “Burn down the rest of Westeros?” A dark look flashes through violet eyes, your joke suddenly taking on an all too serious light that you desperately wanted to veer away from. Bumping into her slightly, you disentangle from slim arms, warmed by the smallest bit of hesitance she had at letting you go, you step closer to the throne. “This is it? The Iron Throne?”

Daenerys settles next to you. “It is.” She touches the arm of it with an almost reverent air. “After all these years, all the trials and tribulations that I went through, I’m finally here. A Targaryen is finally the holder of the Iron Throne once more. I’ve brought honor back to my family.”

“You’ve honored them for years already, Dany. You simply being alive is honor by itself.” You angle your head, not surprised at all to see that she had already been looking at you. “This just exemplifies you into the ranks of Aegon.”

Violet eyes gleam with an almost childlike wonder, the hand closest to you touching your cheek with the same reverence she had shown the throne. “Aegon had his wives, he had his queens.” She steps away from you, taking her rightful seat on the throne. “Something that I’ll be in need of moving forward.”

Your head dips. “Anything I can help you with?”

Daenerys chuckles lightly, the sound rumbling from deep within her chest like one of Drogon’s roars. “There is, Y/N.” Gesturing for you to come closer, a command that you listen to without question, she gently maneuvers you into a kneeling position before her, slender fingers tangling themselves within the strands of your hair. “Say yes.”

“Your Grace?”

“Say yes to marrying me, to becoming my wife and queen.” Her holds tightens, forcing your head to tilt back. “Say yes to becoming mine and I’ll make sure everything you could ever want becomes yours.”

A small smile twists your lips upward. “Everything that I could ever want already is.”

At the words a small growl escapes Daenerys, her head dipping downward to press a heated kiss to your lips, maintaining that you’re kept in place by the iron-clad hold she still has on your hair. And, like with everything else, Daenerys didn’t hesitate in conquering what is hers, tongue barely brushing over your bottom lip before she plunders into your mouth, taking you for everything you have. The taste of you, the submission in which you’re showing her, along with the location no doubt, makes Daenerys almost frantic in her need for you.

Barely pulling away, giving you both a moment to breathe, before she’s claiming your lips once more— it’s wet, filthy in a way that makes your mind fog over in lust, and you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs through your nose, something that constantly ensures her scent is all that you’re surrounded by, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to be in any other position than where you are now; kneeling in front of your Khaleesi, her pleasure becoming yours.

Finally, with a ragged breath, Daenerys fully pulls away from you, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you both, before she shifts too far back and it snaps in half. Violet eyes, blown nearly black in lust, pin you in place as Daenerys slowly undoes the buckle of her pants, and jerks it down, the actions clear on what she expected from you. And, without preamble, or any sort of prompting, you help Daenerys with removing them, gently taking off her boots, before pulling her tight-fitting pants off her slim legs. The sight that greets you once you look up almost causing your mouth to dry up completely.

Daenerys Targaryen sat in all of her glory, bare from the waist down, her thick member jutting out from the apex of her thighs. The look in her eyes, in the darkness that lurks just out of reach, tells you all that you need to know, how your Khaleesi wished for you to service her next. Something you didn’t have a problem with doing, damn the consequences of potentially being caught in the wide open throne room.

Taking her into your hands, feeling her warmth, and the way that she twitches ever-so-slightly at your touch, is a heady sort of power that you’re never going to get used to.

Taking her into your mouth, jaw stretched wide to accommodate her girth, feeling the way she arches into the wetness it provides, hands tightening even further into your hair, the wonderful concoction of pain and pleasure, fuels you more than anything ever could.

Bobbing up and down, taking her deeper and deeper into your throat, listening to the breathy sighs she lets loose whenever she completely bottoms out, is a drug you never want to get off of. Her flavor— musky with just the barest hint of sweetness and something spicy— spreads across your tastebuds, your tongue lovingly swirling around the tip of her cock, taking in as much of her as you possibly could.

“Iksā doing sīr sȳz syt nyke.” The Valyrian praise escapes her in a low snarl, hands now guiding you in the exact way she wanted, your own simply being braced on her thighs as you let her use you. “Issare iā sȳz riña syt nyke. Ñuha sȳz riña.”

All you can do is moan in response, mouth completely stuffed full of her, but the vibrations makes her tense even further, another snarl rumbling from deep within her. You know that she’s close, can tell by the way her thighs were beginning to tremble underneath your touch, and the quickening of her thrusts, and your head moves even faster because of it— wanting nothing more than to feel her release down your throat, for your tongue to be coated by her cum.

“Issi ao jāre naejot gūrogon ziry mirre? Gūrogon everything bona nyke tepagon ao?” Daenerys groans out the question, clearly fighting with herself to not succumb just yet to the pleasure of her release. Peering up, you’re instantly met with darkened violet eyes, a rosy hue predominant across fair cheeks. Clearly waiting for a response, all you can do is gurgle around the cock currently in your throat, hoping that your eyes gave her all the answers she needed, which, by the tightening of her hands, absolutely did. “Sȳz riña.”

Within the next moment, jets of Daenerys cum shoots out, going straight into your stomach as you desperately swallow to make sure you don’t lose any of it. The feeling of warmth as her seed settles deep within you is one you’ve long since grown familiar with, but the possessive heat in her eyes as she watches you swallow it all down is definitely new. A reaction that causes your own arousal to come to the forefront of your mind finally, wetness clearly coating your thighs, waiting for your Khaleesi’s touch.

Daenerys pulls her cock from your mouth a moment later— the still hard length shimmering with the combination of leftover cum and saliva— allowing for you to take a deep lungful of air at last. Remnants of her still on your tongue.

Her thumb brushes across your bottom lip, briefly pushing into your mouth for you to suck on, before she retracts her hand and tugs you up onto her lap. Slim arms bracing your lower half perfectly against herself, settling her own body more fully on the Iron Throne.

“You did so good for me,” she murmurs, trailing slender fingers down your thighs. Nowhere near where you needed her the most though. “Do you want to continue?”

You nod. “More than anything, Khaleesi.“

Daenerys hums at the old title, hands gripping your hips in a hold that you know would leave bruises, lips ghosting across your jawline and down your neck.

“You’re mine, right?” Teeth nips into the sensitive flesh beneath your pulse point. “No one else can have you this way, fuck you the way that I can, or hear the beautiful noises you make when you fall apart.”

“Only you, Dany,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against hers. “It’ll only ever be you. I’m yours completely.”

There isn’t need for more words after that, Daenerys simply hikes your dress higher up your waist, tearing your small-clothes away completely, before rubbing her hardened member against the wetness that has collected between your legs, a deep groan escaping her at the feeling of your clear want for her.

Within the next heartbeat, she’s buried to the hilt within you, a sharp keen being ripped from your chest at the feeling of complete fullness, the delicious stretch as your body tries to acclimate to the feeling of her, and begins to rut roughly into you. Hands slide from their place on your waist to settle on your hips, guiding you up and down as you begin to bounce in response to her thrusts.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, arms wrapped tightly around Daenerys neck, tugging her closer to you, continuing to ride her in complete abandon, wet slapping noise, intercepted by occasional grunts and moans, filled the air, echoing out across the empty throne room. A part of you thinks that you might even be able to be heard down below, the ripped open wall next to the throne offering an excellent siphon to the noises, but then Daenerys twists her hips in just the right way and everything, that doesn’t have to do with the mind numbing pleasure she gives you, vanishes from you mind in an instant.

Nails make crescent moons in the soft flesh of your hips, bruises no doubt already forming on your lower abdomen from how hard Daenerys was thrusting up into you, but the knowledge that your Khaleesi is marking you in such a way, that she’s lost parts of her control because of you, makes you not care in the slightest— you were hers, completely and irreversibly. Her pleasure was your own.

With another strangled gasp, your head falls to her chest, still clad in her formal garb, the metal cool against the heated expanse of your forehead, no longer being able to keep yourself upright. You could feel your climax approaching— coming faster and faster as Daenerys brushed against the spot within you every time she pulled out. Your core clenching around her desperately, trying to keep her within you, milk her for all that she’s worth, and the tight constriction causes a strangled sound of her own to resonate from your Khaleesi.

Feet planted firmly into the floor, she begins to piston fully into you, your body arching into her, allowing her to move you as she saw fit, clearly chasing her second release and your own.

“I’m going to mark you in a way that no one ever has.” Feverish violet eyes meet your own, strands of silvery-gold hair sticking to her heated cheeks, torn from their intricate braids, as her grip on you tightens more. “You’re going to bear my children, you’re going to continue on the Targaryen name. Would you like that?”

You moan. “Yes.”

The thought of carrying her children, of continuing on the Targaryen Legacy, filled you with a sense of purpose, a sense of warmth.

Pushing your head further into her chest, you plead. “Do it, Khaleesi. Claim me.”

With a ragged snarl, Daenerys’s hips stutter and before you know it jets of warmth fill you up, going straight to your womb. The feeling triggers your own release, a broken moan leaving you as you milk Daenerys for everything she has, everything that she’d be willing to offer. Harshly panting, Daenerys settles back onto the throne, hands gently running down your spine, holding you as closely as she possibly still could, still buried inside of you.

“Thank you,” she whispers, nuzzling you before she presses a kiss to your damp temple.

You sigh, content in her arms. “Always.”

Pressing another kiss to your head, Daenerys angles your face in order for you to look at her, the open look of adoration on her face one that’d only ever be reserved for you and her son.

“My beautiful love, my lovely wife.” She drops a chaste kiss to your lips, her hips beginning to move once more. “My eternal queen.”

“My Khaleesi.”

[hihomeghere]

megan, darling sunshine, i have the softest of soft requests for you with our favorite cowboy. 🥺

can i request #6, #34, #36, #41, #83 with arthur? i desperately need protective, soon-to-be dad!arthur in my life. it's what we all deserve, honestly. 🤍

thank you so much! i can't wait to see what absolute magic you make with these prompts.

Deserving | Arthur Morgan / Reader

First off let me give you the fattest smooch <3

Word Count : 1.9k Prompts : 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? Warnings/tags : Cursing, talk of abandonment, Reader is 5 months pregnant, Arthur deserves a second chance at being a father, Self degrading talk on Arthur's part, Switch POV.

Arthur was aware it was a tad foolish the way he was feeling. Although seeing you growing his child has awakened something that had been lying dormant in him. Something that he hardly understood himself. A primal feeling, knowing that he was the one who made you like this. That it was his seed that had made you grow swollen and round and so damn gorgeous. 

He was also painfully aware of the gold ring in his pocket, his nerves eating him from the inside out. He had never been so nervous in his entire life, more nervous than when he went on his first job. Unlike a job he had never felt more unprepared. He had always wanted children, and he had dreamed of having children with you. But Jesus, he was terrified he would turn out like his old man. He didn’t- no - he couldn’t mess up this time. Not with you. Yes, he loved you. God he loved you more than anything. Arthur did not necessarily believe in soulmates. Perhaps when he was younger he could have believed that his soul could be tied to another person, but he wasn’t that foolish anymore. Love was something you worked for, it wasn't predestined by whatever god was above. He knew you could easily find another man to love you, even with the babe. He also knew you deserved someone better than him. You deserved the world, deserved someone who would build you a home, someone who hadn’t been too damn chicken to ask you to marry him before knocking you up. But he also knew that no man could love you like he loved you.

“You’re staring Arthur.” You chuckled, raising a brow as you turned to face him. Your hand resting on your hip as you leaned on the boar skinned table.

“You’re glowing.” He said softly, not denying the fact that he had indeed been staring at you. How could he not? You were really glowing, he hadn’t known that that silly saying about pregnant women was the truth. You were like some angel, the glow coming from within, lighting up the small tent. If he squinted he swore he could see a halo around your head. Especially when your bump had finally shown itself. 

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you went back to whatever task you were working on. He walked up behind you, his deft fingers working on removing his gun belt. Laying belt down on the table before pulling you against his chest.

His hands lovingly squeezed your hips, before moving to your stomach. He sighed contently, laying his head in the crook of your neck. Breathing in your sweet smell, his calloused hands running over the soft fabric of your skirt. His heart nearly stopped as he felt the swell of your abdomen. Nearly brought to his knees by such a small thing. Well it wasn’t exactly small anymore, you had finally ‘popped’. 

“‘Think you’re showing, sunshine.” He whispered, his breath tickling your ear as he swayed with you in his arms. You giggled, shying away from his lips as they brushed against your neck.

“I would say so, can’t fit in my damn pants anymore.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you continued to patch a hole in one of his shirts. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t been able to fit in your pants for a long time. It had been almost four months since the fateful day you told Arthur you were pregnant.

-

You had all the telltale signs, breast tenderness, food aversions, etc. Along with Abigail’s damn knowing glances, and then your monthly cycle had been absent, confirming your suspicions. You had nearly gone mad, a million thoughts running through your head. How were you supposed to care for a child with the lifestyle you had? You had briefly discussed children with Arthur, but it was always in the future. When you weren’t being chased by the law or Pinkertons or whoever. You didn’t want your child to be raised how either of you were raised. Always on the run, never having a true safe place to call home. Speaking of the future, marriage had always been a talk for the future as well. Now you were here, an unwed mother. 

And then there was Isaac and Eliza. That was a whole new can of worms to throw into the mix. Would he even want to have a child right now? Would he still want you after he found out? If he left you what would you do?

You would manage, that’s what you always did. But you didn’t want to go through this without him. 

He had found you pacing near camp, nearly chewing your lip off. His heart constricted in his chest as he watched you.

“Everything alright darlin’?” He asked, pulling you out of your downward spiral. A similar concerned expression on his face as he took you in. You met his bright blue eyes and instantly you fell apart. Tears welled up in your eyes as he rushed over to you. Taking long strides across the grass before pulling you into his broad chest. His calloused hands warm and loving as they rubbed up and down your back, your body shaking with sobs you couldn’t control. “Darlin’ you’re scaring me.” He said softly, laying his chin on the top of your head. “Talk to me sunshine.”

“Arthur I think-“ You let out a shaky breath, “I think I’m pregnant.” You cried, tears clouding your vision as you looked up at him. 

He was frozen, his brain short circuiting as he tried to process the words you had just said. He must have heard you wrong. 

“What… what did ya say darlin’?” He asked, his hands on your biceps as he held you in front of him. His brows furrowed and his lips drawn into a thin line. 

“I’m pregnant Arthur.” You said, your lip trembling as you waited for his response. You were trembling in his grasp, your heart pounding against your rib cage. 

“Okay.” He nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it all. Goddamn it Morgan, you’ve gone done it again. Are you seriously the most foolish man alive? His thoughts spiraled into their usual degrading speech. Here you were shaking in his arms like a damn leaf and he was too damn stupid to say anything. Say something, anything, to stop her from crying. Your tears tugging on his heart strings. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He cooed, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry, please.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“M’sorry-” You sobbed, looking down.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize for this.” He said holding your face, “If anyone ought to apologize, it should be me.” He said, shaking his head. You bit your lip, looking up at him.

“Arthur, what are we gonna do?” You asked, finally calmed down enough to speak a coherent sentence. He clenched his jaw, looking off to the side.

“Do you want this?” He asked softly, running his hand down your arm. Taking your significantly smaller hands in his, squeezing them gently.

“I-“ You sighed, letting out a long breath. “I think I do.” You nodded, hesitantly raising your head to look at him. He exhaled a breath of relief. 

“Okay.” He nodded, “I want this too.” He said, giving you a reassuring smile. You couldn’t help but let out an equally relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?” You asked, chuckling breathlessly. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, chuckling along with you. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you, you or the baby, I swear.” He said gently pulling you closer, his hand moving down to caress your stomach. 

-

You smiled at the memory as Arthur rubbed his hand over your bump.

“They movin’ any?” He asked, kissing your cheek.

“They have been most of the day.” You chuckled, following his lips with your cheek as he pulled away. You turned around in his grasp, laying your hands on his chest. “They’d probably move if you talked to them. You know how the baby loves hearing you talk.” You said, smiling up at him. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with pride.

 He knelt down, feeling his mothers ring slide lower into his pocket. As he knelt face to face with your round belly, he couldn’t have been more thankful that Mary had returned his ring. That things hadn’t worked out between them, because if they did, he would have missed this. 

He pressed his lips against your belly in a chaste kiss, before chuckling softly to himself. “Hey there kid.” He said, his grin growing if that was even possible. “Ya bein’ good for ya mama?” He asked, running his hand over the tight skin. He felt a small kick under his palm, looking up at you for confirmation that it wasn’t a part of his imagination. “Was that a kick?”

“Sure was.” You chuckled, laying your hand over his. He chuckled, shaking his head as he stared at your belly. There had been too many nights lying next to you on his small cot, twirling the ring in his fingers. Just trying to work up the courage to ask you. Even before your belly started to swell he had dreamed of asking you. He just wanted everything to be perfect, although in hindsight it was a foolish thought. Things would never be perfect, that was the thing wasn’t it?

Now was the time. He knew it, kneeling here in front of you, but how was he gonna ask? How was he gonna get past the lump in his throat?

“Hey kiddo, ya think I could have a moment with your mama here?” He asked, a nervous smile on his lips as he looked up at you. “I got a question for her.” It was now or never. He reached into his pocket, his sweaty fingers grasping the small gold ring. He took in a deep breath before finding your gaze, holding out the ring to you. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hand, tears pricking your eyes.

“This… well this ain’t how I imagined this. I wanted to do something special for ya and I should’ve done this a long time ago. I promised ya when we found out about the kid I wouldn’t let anything happen to ya. I mean to keep that promise. There are men more deserving of you, hell I’m probably the least deserving-“ You scoffed shaking your head, “But none of those men could ever love you the way I do. So, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He asked, gingerly holding your left hand. 

“Yes, yes!” You cried, grinning as he slipped the ring onto your finger. He let out a breath of relief, getting to his feet. You threw yourself into his arms, laughing as tears slipped down your cheeks. 

“It’s uh- I know it’s nothing fancy but-“ He said softly, “It was my mothers and I know she’d want ya to have it.”

“It’s perfect.” You said, pulling away to admire the ruby ring. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You chuckled, wiping away your tears as you admired the ring. Arthur’s heart warmed at your words. He would never know what he had done to deserve someone like you, you and the baby. Although he may not have said his vows at that moment, he made a silent one in his heart. As long as his heart was beating, and there was still breath in his lungs, nothing would ever happen to either of you.

[thebluester2020]

[GI] Kinktober Day 19: "Stalking"

Summary: After traveling to Natlan to inspect the situation for himself, Pierro finds himself sidetracked and watching a cute local farmer.

Warning(s): Light stalking, Masturbation, Pierro being a shy old man (until he's not), Wholesome smut ngl, Dry-humping,

Side Note(s): I wanted to avoid this accidentally being a yandere-esque fic and more of a "too shy to talk to crush" type of fic.

Also with how much I write Genshin atp, I might as well get back to drawing my favs ngl.

Pierro's visit to Natlan was simple.

He wished to assess the situation himself after hearing the news of what happened, especially seeing as Capitano wasn't back yet nor had he reported anything regarding the Pyro Gnosis and whether it was taken or not!

However...he accidentally got sidetracked.

By you of all people, a simple farmer a part of a village that lived next to a lake teeming with Koholasauri. Beauty aside, the way you smiled so brightly as you did your work was...mesmerizing to him, a light that appeared way brighter than the very sun itself. And he wanted more of it, but, as a harbinger. The last thing he'd wish to present is the fact that he may have had a weakness.

So, he decided that he was better off watching from afar.

And you noticed almost immediately. After all, how frequently did Fatui soldiers have to patrol the area? There was nothing interesting about your village!

And every single time, there was a tall and imposing figure leading the charge. Most of the time, the patrol would simply pass by and other times? They'd go into the village, here and there, soldiers would look around and other times? They'd request to buy certain things that people were selling but...always, their leader stuck to the back as he watched his soldiers mingle with the small population. And each time you turned your head away, you'd immediately feel eyes on you.

It was driving you crazy, there was no good about being in the line of sight of a harbinger! And what's worse? You didn't have a vision to at least comfort you in the idea that you could simply waltz up to him and demand why he was constantly patrolling the village, why it seemed like his eyes were on you at every turn!

But one day, you finally worked up the nerve.

. . .

"Why are you watching me?" It sounded ridiculous when it came out of your mouth, despite the many days prior you prepped yourself for asking the question.

The harbinger's head tilted at the question. "Watching you?" His gruff voice made you cower a little, the mere act of him crossing his arms over his chest making you step back a little as you were quickly regretting your decision to confront him. "Yes," You finally answered. "You and your soldiers...if you're looking for someone, for something. We don't have it, we're a fishing village. There's nothing special about us!"

"I disagree." He said before he slowly looked off to the side.

Were his- were his ears beginning to turn pink?

"You're interesting, I...was trying to get to know you better." He said.

Your jaw dropped a little at the light confession. Out of all the people in the village, a...harbinger was interested in you? Although you weren't ugly in the slightest, you didn't think that you were capable of attracting the eyes of a harbinger, especially one that looked as important as the older man who stood before you. "If I have disgusted or offended you, please tell me—"

"N-No!" You stuttered. "It's not that, it's unexpected. But...not unwelcomed." As Pierro's head swiftly turned back to you, both of your faces grew redder and redder in unison as the tension in the air steadily grew. After weeks of pining for you, afraid that he'd never work up enough courage to actually talk to you. You talked to him, and it went so much better than he expected.

He felt like celebrating.

"Will you...show me around your village?" Pierro then asked after a few minutes of silence.

You shyly nodded your head before smiling up at the older man. "There's a beautiful cave nearby, I think...I think you'll like it."

. . .

"So pretty..." Pierro seemed to whisper almost as if he were in reverence of you as you were currently pressed up against a wall within the cave you both had decided to travel into. In truth though, you simply wanted a more private place to...play with the harbinger after his recent confession, you didn't even want to think about the rumors that would spread around the village if you were to invite him into your home!

"I—I didn't know that a harbinger could be so nice." You giggled as you rubbed your ass against the prominent bulge within Pierro's pants. His hands tightened around your waist at the feeling of your soft ass teasingly moving up and down, and side to side. The harbinger's mouth watered at the delectable display you were giving him, the combined addition of you looking over your shoulder as soft moans left your lips making his already obvious blush deepen even more.

"Such a little minx..." He hissed, a shaky moan of his own slipping from his lips as he relished in the feeling you provided him, beginning to grind and rub his hard-on against your ass. But, it was seldom enough, the friction of his cock moving against the front of his pants in a desperate attempt to reach you was maddening. So much so that he just had to pull down your skirt while his other hand began to fumble with his pants, tugging them down almost too eagerly before his cock slapped against his stomach.

You would've gulped nervously at the sight if you were so eager to him inside you weeping cunt. "W-Well?" You stuttered. You wiggled your hips, hoping to entice the older man to plunge himself in you finally rather than stare at you as if you were a goddess. "Do something—"

He ignored you as he slipped his throbbing cock between your thighs, the slick that ran between your thighs making it easier for him. "When we're on a bed." Pierro groaned as he leaned some of his weight onto your back, slithering a hand down to your neglected clit to gently begin circles into it as his hips began to move. Pierro could feel your cunt dripping more of your slick onto his cock as he rocked into your thighs, the plush doughy feeling of your skin making sinful noises leave his lips as he praised your softness. "S-So cute," He whispered. "Had I known that you were this soft..." His words got choked up in his throat when you suddenly squeezed your thighs a little tighter, teasing giggles escaping alongside your quieted whines and moans. "...I-I would've talked to you sooner." He finally managed to continue.

Your stomach clenched at the way his cock slid against your pussy, the stimulation plus the quick movements of his finger against your clit making you ball your hands into fists, your moans turning into needy pants where every breath felt like pleasurable electricity was being shocked into your system.

Pierro made sure to keep an eye on you, although the location was less than ideal of where he wanted to have you for the first time. He'd make do, besides, it was more than enjoyable for him with the way your eyes were beginning to glaze over. Your jaw slacked and forming into a gorgeous 'o' shape as you quietly whispered his name like a prayer. "P-Pierro..." You moaned.

"You're drenching me, pretty." The older man chuckled against your ear. "It's adorable." He said.

You swallowed hard, your face getting hotter at his lewd words. Your mouth opened to retort before your mouth formed into a straight line at how his cock began to tease your entrance, prodding at your sex as if he were playfully pressing a button before going back to his task of fucking your thighs. Each prod left your knees buckling, your mind getting foggier and foggier as you wanted to beg him to fuck you properly rather than tease you!

"Please..." You begged.

Pierro smirked at your desperate pleas. "Please?" He said as if he hadn't a single clue of what you were talking about. "Please what?"

"Please—" Your words were stolen from you when he prodded at your sex once again, this time, it seemed like he was almost going to slip into you before he chuckled sadistically as he resumed fucking your thighs. "Y-You sadist!"

"Don't complain, let me enjoy your body a little. I'm making up for loss time." He said before his thrusts steadily began to speed up along with his ministrations on your clit. Your nails threatened to cut into your palms as you squeezed your fists even tighter, the ever-tightening knot in your stomach making your knees buckle and your vision spin as you braced yourself for your orgasm. "Fuck...!" You whined. "C-Close..."

"Me too..." The harbinger groaned as his pace began to stutter, his fingers leaving your clit to begin fucking into your needy pussy, curling his knuckles in order to hit your g-spot and effortlessly push you over the edge. Your eyes screwed shut before your mouth fell open into a silent scream, your legs shaking from the force of your climax before you heard Pierro hiss out a curse from behind you before you felt a warmth trickle down your thigh and to your leg.

Pierro took your chin into his hand before he gently turned your face so that he could kiss you deeply on the lips, the softness of your lips enhancing that feeling of bliss that he was already on. He found you absolutely adorable in this moment, and when he slowly parted his lips from your own, that feeling only increased.

"Oh yes," He murmured. "We'll have to continue this in your home." He said with a firm certainty.

After all, a mere romp against the wall of a cave wasn't even close to being enough when it came to him wanting to express how he felt about you.

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Stepcest, Stepson!Coryo x Stepmother!Reader, Sub!Coriolanus, Soft!Dom!Reader, Crassus Snow x Younger!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Crassus Snow is a cold hearted asshole, but he's a hot asshole... Stepcest, Cuckold, older man/younger woman, arranged marriage, cheating, affairs, secrets, cussing, secret love child

Part 3:

Your first night home’s an experience, to say the least. The baby cries a lot and you're the only one tending to him. Crassus has no intentions of helping you. In fact, he already made it clear on the ride home that as his wife; as the mother of his son it's your job to take care of the newborn. That his job's to be the provider; not the nurturer.

Grandma'am gave you some advice on how often to feed baby Cassian and even showed you how to swaddle him, but other than that she wasn't going to be changing his diapers or soothing him in the middle of the night. Between her being a bit hard of hearing in one ear and old, well, she'd be out like a light once she went to bed.

And Coryo…

Ha, any help you thought you'd get from him on your first night home with the baby never happened.

In fact, Coryo wanted his ‘mommy’ to help him out with a very hard problem.

You had just managed to calm Cassian down after feeding and changing him whenever Coryo entered the nursery, which was actually Tigris' old room. You hear his footsteps and turn around, only to smile when you see him. You think he's here to help you.

But how could you know that's not the case?

“Coryo, I just put him down. But we can sit down in the rocker and watch him for a bit.” You tell Coriolanus as he shuts the door and locks it before making his way over to you.

But you don't see the slight flick of his wrist when he locks the door tho. No, you think he's in the nursery to genuinely see your son; not to get handsy with you.

Coryo comes up behind you, only to wrap his arms around you and press his bulge against your ass. “I'd like you to sit on my lap, mommy. But while you're riding my cock.” He tells you while pressing open mouth kisses up and down your neck.

What? It's your first night home with a newborn and he wants to fuck! Seriously?...

Breaking his hold around you and turning to face him, you sigh, “I'm not fucking you tonight, Coryo.”

“Why not? It's been a few days since we've been able to.” Your platinum blonde boy asks, a slight pout to his lush lips.

“I just had a baby, that's why not.” You replied with exhaustion in your voice.

“But, mommy, I’m so hard and need you.” Coriolanus says in his subby tone, batting his lashes at you in an attempt to manipulate you into riding him on the chair nestled in the corner.

“I'm sorry, but we can't do anything.” You apologize, although you truly have nothing to apologize for. “Plus, the doctor says I have to wait 6 weeks, til I'm healed, to have sex again.” You add in for good measure once you see Coryo furrowed brow.

“It's going to take you that long to heal?” Coriolanus asked in disbelief. Two months, he has to go two months without fucking you. Oh, that was quite a long time. An impossible task given that he's used to fucking you a lot.

Not even waiting for you to give him an answer, he pulls you to him and starts lightly humping against your leg. Pawing at your boobs, that are swollen and full with milk, he suggests, “Then I suppose you'll just have to help me out by giving me a hand, or better yet using your mouth on me.”

“I'm not jerking you off or blowing you tonight, Coriolanus.” You tell him while pushing him off of you.

“But mommy, I need you. Don't you want to make your baby boy feel good?” Coriolanus pressed, sounding like a needy brat, as he grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on the hardness straining his pants.

“Coryo, I'm tired and I've been taking care of the baby all day. I'm honestly not in the mood to make you cum.” You tell your lover while pulling your hand away from his crotch.

“I'm tired too, but I can't sleep until I cum. I need to cum and I need you so bad.” Coriolanus needily told you, his icy eyes flashing with desperation and lust.

“You have a hand, Coriolanus, so use it.” You tell him, feeling your patience start to wane. Shaking your head, you sigh, “I'm going back to bed, you should too.”

“Oh, so you'd rather go to bed with my hateful father, who doesn't give a damn about you, then spend time with me- touch me and make me cum?” Coriolanus asked, a sting to his voice, as you pushed past him and went over to the door.

You just shook your head, unlocked the door, and exited the nursery. You're too tired to argue with Coryo right now.

As you walk down the hall towards the master bedroom that you share with Crassus, you hear the sound of the nursery door open and shut paired with Coriolanus' footsteps heading into the direction of his room. A room that was on the opposite end of the hall then yours.

And when you reach the master bedroom, you walk inside only to see your husband sound asleep. You notice how the sliver of moonlight streaming in thru a crack in the window curtains illuminates your husband's features; cast a glow on him that makes his face seem at ease- at peace.

When you join him in bed, he stirs and groggily asks, “‘S the baby settled?”

“Yes.” You nod against your pillow.

While pulling the blankets up around your shoulder, you heard your husband’s sleep laden voice order, “Go back to sleep, Y/N. And don't wake me next time.”

Of course, Crassus doesn't want you waking him up next time you have to tend to the baby in the middle of the night. Well, isn't he such a great husband? But you don't expect anything else from him since your husband's a cold, unfeeling, stern man.

Why should he care about you being exhausted from taking care of a newborn for the very first time? You're nothing to Crassus, but a young pretty thing that warms his bed; gave him another son. A son he'll probably ignore and ridicule like he does to Coriolanus.

There's nothing you can do about Crassus’ cold attitude, so you just close your eyes and tell him okay before letting sleep take hold of you.

It's been a few days since you brought Cassian home and you're starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by being a new mom. Especially since you had no help from either your husband or your baby daddy.

Crassus is a workaholic so he’s walking out of the door before breakfast gets served and coming home just in time for dinner to be served. Coriolanus, well…he wasn't as helpful as you thought he'd be. In fact, Coryo's cut from the same cloth as his father.

Coriolanus is very ambitious and that trait has him rushing off to the University; essentially ignoring your pathetic sniffles and cries as you begin to feel overwhelmed with everything. And if he’s not at the University then he’s at Dr. Gaul's lab, doing his apprenticeship.

Coryo loves being the intern of the mad scientist because he’s able to thrive; able to showcase his talents and wits for riddles and creating mechanisms of psychological control. Working and learning underneath Dr. Gaul honed Coriolanus’ natural born abilities of manipulation and cunning. It also helps him learn how to control things around him, how to view living things, including the human citizens of Panem, as animals ranked on the food chain.

Yea…

Coriolanus Snow quite enjoys both his time at the University and his time studying under the mad scientist.

But you didn't enjoy it since it meant you didn't see him. It also meant that he’s too busy with his studies and securing a permanent job in Dr. Gaul's lab to do anything to help you with the baby.

Well, at least Grandma'am’s helping you and giving you advice about motherhood when she’s able to. But she's elderly and takes naps. Plus, she does like to visit the neighbor, Pluribus, to talk about the good old days before the war and you can't find it in your heart to ask her to stay home instead of taking her neighborly visits next door.

So, essentially it's just you and the baby.

And you're fine with that. Really, you are. So, then why are you so weepy and melancholy?

It seems that you have the baby blues.

One day,after feeding and changing Cassian, you're in the sitting room having mid-morning tea with Grandma'am. You zone out as she's talking to you, staring into your tea cup while feeling the sudden urge to cry. And suddenly, the urge becomes a reality and you're a sniffling mess.

Wiping your tears, you apologize to her. “I'm sorry, Grandma'am. I don't know what's come over me all of a sudden.”

“Have you been feeling this way for a while, dear?” Your mother-in-law asks instead of accepting your apology.

“Yes,” You nod, starting to weep again. “And I don't know why.”

“Oh, my sweet dear, you have yourself a case of the baby blues.” Grandma'am tells you matter-of-factly. Patting your hand, she reveals, “I had them when I had your husband.” She gives you a sympathetic smile. “Don't you worry, it'll pass in time.”

You nod, sniffling and wiping your tears away with your free hand. At least now you know what's wrong with you.

“Thank you for telling me about why I'm feeling this way.” You gratefully smile, eyes sore and puffy from crying.

“Oh, Y/N, with your mother not being involved much it's my duty to tell you about the baby blues and other matters that relate to motherhood.”

As long as it wasn't spoken into existence, you could ignore your mother's lack of interaction when it came to you and your newborn son: Cassian. But now that your mother-in-law brought it up, well, you're feeling depressed and hollow at the reality that your mother doesn't care about you and your son enough to visit.

It's late in the afternoon whenever Crassus walks thru the front door. He's not home early, but rather to grab an important document from his study that he needs for a meeting. A meeting that’s scheduled to start within a half hour. And he only realized that he forgot the document at home when he was going over his documents for the meeting; doing last minute preparations for speeches and presentations.

The house is quiet, given that his mother's asleep along with you and the baby; proving that all is well. Or at least he thinks all his well until he walks down the hall, towards his study, only to hear faint crying. Crassus can't help, but think that maybe the baby’s just woken up. So, he makes a mental note to check on the baby after retrieving his documents.

Crassus ignores the cries and enters his study. He shakes his head and chuckles to himself upon seeing the forgotten document on his desk. Oh, how foolish of him to have forgotten to place it in his briefcase the night before. He wasn't a forgetful or foolish person, so he figures his mind must've been too focused on making sure he had everything for today's meeting that he overlooked a single paper.

Once he places what he needs for his upcoming meeting in his leather briefcase, Crassus exits his office and goes to check on Cassian in the nursery. What he finds in his son's nursery is the baby sleeping in his crib, wrapped up like a little burrito in a swaddling blanket. Concluding that the crying’s not his son, he leaves the nursery.

Still hearing the faint cries in the air, he realizes that it's coming from the master bedroom he shares with you. Before he can even think, his feet are leading him to his bedroom. The door's cracked open, so you can hear the baby when he wakes up and cries, so Crassus peeks inside the room.

The cold, stern man sees you curled up in the corner of the room, head buried in your hands while leaning against your knees, crying. Your body's slightly shaking from your sobs.

Your husband backs away from the door, wondering why you're crying instead of taking a nap. Isn't it a known rule amongst mothers that they sleep when their baby sleeps? But you're not sleeping, you're in the corner crying.

What could have you so upset that you're a sobbing mess, curled up in the corner of the bedroom?

Crassus looks between the bedroom door and the hallway leading out into the main room of the penthouse. He debates on whether or not he should go into the bedroom and comfort you. But then he reminds himself that you're his wife, albeit sad and sobbing, because of an arranged marriage. That there's no love between the two of you, that you're marriage is one of convenience; that he doesn't owe you anything in the spectrum of emotions.

Crassus turns his back on his bedroom door, on you in your weepy, overwhelmed state, and walks down the hall and out of the penthouse. He picks work and his upcoming meeting over you.

But that's not a surprise, work means more to Crassus than you do.

Crassus is sitting in the meeting room, a folder of documents open in front of him. His secretary, Leo Davis, is sitting right next to him- taking notes and such for the imposing, cold man. The men seated at the large table in the conference room are the heads of various departments of the Ministry of War. The meeting’s being held to discuss the the fiscal Q2 that's nearing its end and what must be done to meet KPI’s before the fiscal Q3 begins.

Crassus has already said a few things about the matter, so now he's listening to the other men talk. But, he's actually spacing out instead of listening to the department heads give their speeches and suggestions.

In fact, his mind keeps wandering to the image of you curled up in the corner of the bedroom, shaking and sobbing. He just can't get that image out of his head. It's as if it's seared in his brain.

Your cold and unfeeling husband can't help, but wonder what's why with you. Why you're breaking down in the late afternoon? Did he do something to upset you, and if so then what was it? Crassus doesn't spend much time with you, so he couldn't have done anything to make you sad- could he?

“Crassus, do you have anything to add to the matter?” The head of the Ministry of War’s Commissariat Department asked the head of the ministry's National Security Department.

Crassus didn't even hear what the matter was, he was too lost in his own thoughts, but he couldn't let the men at the meeting know that. So, he just shakes his head and says no.

The meeting goes on much like this until it's over. Everyone piles out of the meeting and goes to the elevator banks or the stairs to get back to the floors their offices are in.

After a quick elevator ride, Crassus and his secretary arrive back on their floor. Leo gives him the notes he took before going to his desk, which is located a few yards away from Crassus' office.

It was nearing 5 o’clock, the normal time for people with office jobs to clock out and leave. But, your husband was far from normal. He didn't work 9 to 5, instead he arrived early and left late. Crassus sure did rack up a lot of overtime hours; he was also viewed as a highly devoted and dedicated employee.

But in reality he's just a work-a-holic, no dedication involved.

Crassus, like every day at 5 o’clock, emerged from his office only to go to his secretary’s desk to announce that they're working late. “Leo, I need you to work late tonight.”

Leo, who was greatly intimidated by his boss, is going to stand up to him for the very first time since becoming his secretary a few months back. The man looks at his boss and tells him, in a voice that's nearly shaking, “No, General Snow, I can't work tonight.”

A stony look crossed over Crassus' face as he barked out, “Why not?”

Crassus and Leo never talked about their personal lives at work, because the general always shut down any attempts. But both men knew that the other was married by the gold rings on their ring fingers. Leo, knowing that there's a Mrs. Snow in General Crassus Snow's life, hopes that his boss understands why he can't stay late.

Speaking as not just an employee, but as a husband, Leo answers your husband with, “It's my anniversary today and I promised to take my wife out for dinner to celebrate. Made reservations and everything; I don't want to disappoint her since she's been looking forward to it for weeks now.”

Crassus knows that most married couples in the Capitol, whether their unions be love matches or arranged marriages, celebrates wedding anniversaries. But, Crassus has never celebrated your anniversary.

He honestly saw no need to. It wasn't like you're close. Hell, you're more or less roommates that have vanilla sex and have a legal piece of paper stating that you're legally bound together as man and wife til death do you part.

But now, after hearing his secretary tell him he's got anniversary plans and can't stay late, well… Now he's wondering if you're upset and crying because he never took you out to celebrate your anniversary. Because he’s a bit indifferent towards you despite knowing you biblically.

Crassus doesn't even know what comes over him when he nods and tells his secretary, “Go enjoy your anniversary with your wife, Leo.”

Leo thanks his boss and leaves, excited to take his wife out for a nice dinner. But his boss doesn't realize that maybe he should leave and go home to his wife too.

No…

Crassus goes back into his office to get a head start on some of tomorrow's work instead of going home to you, his wife that's suffering from the baby blues.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @lady-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress @nayveetbhh

[revasserium]

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

[alessiathepirate]

Fast X

LAVENDER NAIL POLISH: Dante Reyes x fem!reader

Summary: Sitting at the table with Dante as he paints her nails, makes her wonder why he's doing that in the first place.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

For my friend who watched these movies with me during a movie night - I love you girl <3

Warnings: none

•••

She knew for a fact that there were many things in this world she should've considered as unnerving - like racing itself with all the possible consequences. Yet the scariest thing on Earth for her in that very moment was one of the most common things possible: nail polish.

She pulled off many dangerous stunts, she almost got caught by the police more times than she could count; yet that little tube full of colorful liquid was far more frightening than that.

She didn't choose the color, he did. He was the one holding her hand in place as he painted her nails to a light shade of purple too. Perhaps in another situation she would've found it a nice color and a nice gesture - but she found it scary instead.

He never touched her or made her do stuff before. She was never even tied up or anything. It was new - completely new and that's why it scared her so much.

"Am I going somewhere?" she asked as she watched him work on her nails - she was quite jealous when she noticed that he did a better job than she usually did.

The question was meant as 'Am I going somewhere with you?'. She never saw where he went, she only stayed at the hotel rooms he rented for the occasion. But he talked about it - he liked to talk a lot. It was more like ranting - Dom Toretto this, Dom Toretto that, he did this so I did that. That's why she ended up with him in the first place, because Dom Toretto did that.

The first day she had to spend with Dante Reyes was the first day she realized that being a part of Dom's family isn't that much fun all the time.

"We are going to a race, darling." he let go of her hand with a girly movement after he blew on her freshly painted fingernails, and for a second she thought that he's mocking her. "Now give me your other hand."

She did as her eyes lit up at the word - race. She hadn't had the change to take part in one since forever - or watch one at the very least. A race, she'll finally go to a race.

"Where?" Dante actually chuckled at the excitement in her voice - and she never thought he could chuckle without being psychotic or sarcastic.

"We're going straight to Rio de Janeiro." he took a hold of her other hand as he answered and soon her nail on her pinky finger was purple as well. "After your nails are done."

Her excitement stopped for a moment - Rio de Janeiro. Her, Dante and Rio de Janeiro. That sounded like a not so good idea, especially because she had a feeling that Dom will be there too. That's why she'll be there. So Dante can show her off - so he can show that he has her, a part of Dom's family.

She tried to ignore that thought, she should talk about something else.

"Why purple?"

"Lavender." he corrected her with an 'are you this dumb' look on his face.

"So why lavender?" she asked as she purposefully changed her tone on the word lavender.

"Because I have to match my car..." he explained. "And you have to match me."

She tilted her head a bit - trying to hide the sudden pain in her heart at what she just heard. Only then did she notice that his nails were the same color as hers.

"Must be a nice car." she said instead of questioning it any further. "And a nice choice in color. It's pretty."

"Yes, that's what I'm talking about!" Dante spoke up with a shout as if she'd be the first one to think so. "You see, sometimes we have to let go of all that masculinity. And on the other hand, it'll look good on you too."

She didn't know if she should be flattered or not.

"You know." she began saying as Dante finished with the nail polish and let go of her hand completely. "In a different world we'd actually be pretty good friends."

"We'll be in this one too. Eventually." he put the nail polish aside and crossed his legs as they sat at the table together, looking at the other without saying a word.

Is he mocking her, she had to ask herself again.

If she didn't know about his vendetta against Dom, she'd maybe consider him less psychotic, but still kind of crazy. Maybe then he'd be more funny too. Dante sitting there with a bathrobe on, with his hair up in two small buns was actually funny and oddly enough, friendly. He still seemed strange, but he seemed less like a guy who murders people for fun.

"Continue on with the princess treatment and we might be." she joked. "Will we wear matching clothes too?"

"Of course we will!"

"Of course we will." she repeated. "Because you're a show off."

"I never said I wasn't."

"Dom will be there, won't he?" she asked with a slight head tilt. "That's why I'm going with you. So you can show me off."

"Clever girl..." Dante praised as he patted the top of her hand with his. "But you should go get ready, because this will be a race you won't want to miss." he then stood up and left her alone in the kitchen - but later on he shouted: "I'll go wash my hair until you get ready!"

And she laughed. Not chuckled quietly like she used to - but laughed.

Perhaps if Dante would be a bit less psychotic, she could let herself like him a lot more. Perheps she'd actually like him.

Then, perhaps, she'd actually have the bravery to admit to herself that she already does.

[thelovelylolly]

Moments On Pabu

Summary: You watch the sunset with Tech Warnings: reader is described as short and smaller than Tech Word Count: 780 Notes: season 3 has broken me and we're only 3 episodes in IM SCARED i have theories and im convincing myself tech is alive (because he is wdym hes dead?) i have so many thoughts its insane (also this may become a lil series idk)

Sunset was the best time on Pabu. Ever since you befriended Phee and she showed you Pabu, you made sure to watch the sunset every night. You made routines and plans around it. With the galaxy at war with itself almost constantly and your life being turbulent before coming to Pabu, the sunset gave you peace and a sense of stability. Things may change around you, but you will always have the sunset.

Phee introduced you to the Bad Batch when they first arrived on the island, and you instantly clicked with Tech. It was a silent connection, but when he smiled back at you, you knew you were going to like him.

He was more reserved compared to his brothers and sister, but he quickly opened up as time went on. You loved listening to him ramble about anything that piqued his interest. You two tended to gravitate to each other, naturally sitting next to each other at gatherings or finding each other around the island and walking together.

That led to you asking Tech if he'd like to join you to watch the sunset.

"Where would we watch it?" He asked in reply to your question. "The beaches and docks tend to be a bit crowded during that time, and I don't particularly enjoy those kinds of situations."

"Don't worry about it, I know a spot where it'll be just us," you quickly replied. "I don't mind if you don't want to go, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

He thought for a moment, then gave you a small smile. "I suggest we leave now so we don't miss it."

You smiled and took his hand in yours, leading him down the winding paths of the island. You had found the alcove one day when wondering the island, and no one else knew of it. Or at least, they didn't go there.

Tech's eyes widened a bit when you two arrived at the empty beach. The blue waves gently lapped at the shore, filling the alcove with the soft sound of waves crashing. The setting sun made the horizon a beautiful, bright orange while the rest of the sky was still a light blue. You led him closer to the water, showing the setting sun to your left.

"This is a beautiful beach," Tech commented before looking at you, "no one else has found it yet?"

You shook your head with a smile. "Not yet. I usually come here by myself when things get too much or to just watch the sunset. I don't bring anyone here. Well, except for you now."

You noticed how his cheeks turned pink before he looked away.

"I feel honored that I am the first person you brought down here," eh said softly.

Now you felt your cheeks heat up, a contrast to the cool sea breeze. You ignored it, instead taking your shoes off and placing them in the sand. You walked closer to the water, stopping when it just covered your feet. You turned and looked back at Tech, who was watching you.

"C'mon, it's just a little bit cold," you called with a smile.

He returned it and quickly followed your lead. He took his shoes off and joined you in the shallow water. The sun dipped lower and lower as the minutes ticked past. You two watched it from your spots in the water, letting the waves splash against your feet and onto your lower legs.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. The peace of sunset by the ocean always made you happy, and Tech made it so much better.

When you opened your eyes and looked back down, you caught Tech looking at you. You smiled, squinting a bit when the sun got in your eye.

"What is it?" You asked.

"I-it's nothing," he answered, "you just look very...peaceful. And happy."

"I am, but I think I'm really happy because you're here with me," you replied. You reached for his hand and gently took it in yours. "You wanna take a walk down the shore?"

He smiled, ignoring the way his cheeks continued to heat up. He intertwined his fingers with yours. "I would like that very much."

You led him down the shoreline, keeping your feet in the water. You two walked hand-in-hand as the sun continued to set. You glanced over at him and saw him bathed in the golden light from the setting sun. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you looked away, continuing down the shore.

You liked the quiet moments on Pabu, but you liked them more with Tech by your side.

[greetingfromthedead]

Little Feet (Dad!Vash x F!Reader)

Plot: After you save humanity, you start living your happily ever after and a year after your wedding, a whole new chapter begins in your life as you and Vash navigate through the trials and tribulations of having children of your own.

Series: [prequel - Wedding Bells], [Part 1 - Little Feet], [Part 2 - Pitter-Patter]

Pairing: Vash x F!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: post-Trimax (no major spoiler), domestic fluff, happy ending, pregnancy, birth, children, play pretend, family fluff

Word count: 2.1k

Author's Note: I've seen so much wonderful Dad!Vash fanart lately, I fell in love so hard and Dad!Vash just lived in my head rent free for like 4 days.

Not even a year after your beautiful wedding, you pulled aside your handsome husband and told him the news—he would become a father. It struck him like lightning from the clear blue sky. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes wide open, and it made you feel nervous, but soon the surprise got replaced with a wide smile and tears welling up in his eyes. He felt a rush of overwhelming joy and excitement.

"Are you sure?" he asked nearly breathlessly, and you nodded with a smile.

You guided the hand you held in yours to your belly, not yet showing any obvious signs of a baby bump. His fingers sprawled ever so gently over your skin, giving it a gentle stroke.

"Oh, honey," he said quietly, not even able to hold back the tears anymore as his other hand cupped your cheek and he leaned in closer. His lips tenderly brushed yours, and you felt the wetness of his cheeks. The man, usually so well versed in words and comebacks, was suddenly all out. Like the language itself failed to provide him with the correct words that would come even close to expressing the enormous feelings swelling in his chest. He knelt before you, looking up into your smiling face before directing his attention to near your belly button.

"Hello, little one!" He said softly, and the tone of his voice brought prickling tears to your eyes too. "I hope you can hear me. I'm your dad!"

The next few days, he was almost like in a trance; often, you found him looking at your belly, either sneaking little glances or staring from across the room. Every chance he got, either when cuddling you or holding you near, his long fingers would reach for your stomach, even just a little bit, creeping over from your waist, unlike they did before. You started to think he might be under the impression that he had dreamed it all up.

"I think they liked it when you spoke to them," you said casually, not really basing your words off of anything other than you definitely enjoying his voice. It's like a light bulb went off in his head, the wondrous glimmer appearing in his eyes when he looked up into yours. After this, he started spending a lot of time blabbering all sorts of nonsense to your unborn child, talking about the day and the world outside, some of the adventures you went on together, and even fairy tales Rem had told him. He often pressed his ear to your belly and kept talking. You loved listening to him, even when you pretended to read a book. You would gladly let him curl up next to you and rest his head against your skin. His soothing voice spun stories as you ran your fingers through his black hair.

As time kept going and your belly grew, you couldn't help but notice a new kind of fear appearing in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but you have been his unwavering partner for years. You were by his side when he had to face down his own brother and all his goons. Yet you had never seen this kind of terrified expression on his face before. After some gentle prying, he opened up about all his fears and worries. You talked for a long time that night.

"I know you, I dare say, better than anyone else. I know you have nothing to worry about; you will do your best like you always do. You will try, and even when you fail, you will try again. You don't ever give up, and you have so much love for everything and everyone in your heart. Any child would be happy to have you as their dad! I don't know what I'm doing either; there's a first time for everything, but what is one more adventure for the two of us?"

"You have always had so much faith in me. I don't know how I have ever earned it, my sweet blossom," he sighed deeply as his fingers gently squeezed yours.

"I'm not the only one." You pulled his hand closer and placed it over a spot on your lower belly, and Vash's eyes widened as the worry in them melted away. The baby, apparently just as leggy as their daddy, decided it was the perfect time to start dancing the jig. They kicked out hard enough that it would be the first time your beloved husband got to feel them too.

"Hey, darling!" Vash called out to the child with glee, and his other arm wrapped around you to pull you into a hug, the human hand still resting on your bump. In just a moment, the child filled him with unimaginable joy again, and the world fell away. It was just him and his little family.

As your due date approached, Vash started to dote even more. He did all the chores and fluffed your pillows; he became your butler and your nurse. Whatever you needed, he did it and more. All his fussing started to get on your nerves when he nearly always hovered somewhere nearby. It felt like a bruise on your ego, like he didn't believe you could manage on your own. You chased around bandits for years before even meeting him, not to mention the journey you embarked on together, and you took on the greatest threat humanity has ever faced with him. You handled yourself then, and suddenly he makes you feel like a bedridden weakling. But every time you voiced your displeasure, he looked like a wet puppy, and you realized he does it just as much for himself as for you. He has more confidence in you than himself and feels like making your life as easy as possible is the least he can do for the mother of his child.

The birth of his first child meant everything to Vash. For his whole life, blood and pain have chased him like a shadow. For so long, it meant little more than death and suffering, but then his daughter was born. After seeing you go through long hours of painful contractions where he could do little more than rub your back and let you squeeze his hands so hard, he couldn't feel either of them in the end, it changed. Accompanied by your pain and blood, she arrived, and as her cry filled the room, the whole world shifted for him. With a sigh of relief, you fell backwards against him. Moments later, the tiny, naked bundle was laid against your bare chest. You felt tears falling onto your shoulder as Vash looked to see the little baby in your embrace. His long arms wrapped around you more tightly, and he rested his head against yours, his eyes so filled with love for his two favorite girls.

He turned out to be exactly the kind of loving dad you knew he would be. He didn't shy away from any cry or need. Dirty diapers didn't scare him, and sleepless nights were also no obstacle. He did as much as he could to give you time to recover. You felt constantly exhausted and took the opportunity to nap a lot. The little fussing sounds stirred you from your slumber, but as you cracked open your eyes, waiting for a louder cry to echo through the whole house, you saw Vash getting up from the armchair by the window and going over to the crib. You hadn't even realized he was in the room with the two of you, so you quietly watched him as he reached down to pick up the infant. The baby scrunched up in her little onesie as she was lifted to be against your husband's chest. One arm cradling the baby, he gently strokes over her belly with the fingers of the other hand. He gently bounced the child and hushed her, soothing the fussiness. His eyes were so tender as he watched her closely, the tip of his nose nearly touching the child's. You tried to be as still as you could, quietly watching the two of them. The baby's eyes are bright blue, but they could still change. You are sure she inherited his sharp nose, but the lips look more like yours. You compared the dark tones of their hair as Vash noticed your gaze and gave you a blinding smile before coming closer. He sat next to you on the bed and leaned closer as you reached out your hand to gently stroke the baby's cheek.

"No! That's not how you have a tea party! Princesses sit at the table! They don't run around!" You hear the complaints of your eldest daughter coming from the next room over. They are quickly followed by tiny running footsteps and giggling.

"Oh! Thank you! I had just run out of tea!" Vash speaks gently before making slurping sounds. "It is very tasty! Is it jasmine? More tea? You have my thanks!"

"Dad! You're encouraging it." the older daughter sighs, accompanied by the giggling of her younger sister.

You zip up the onesie of your youngest sprout before picking him up and heading out of the bedroom. You see Vash and your older daughter sitting at a kid sized table on little chairs, meaning your husband has pulled up his legs tight against his chest in a manner that does not look comfortable, but he doesn't let it show in the least. They sit next to each other with their toy cups in hand, pretty pink tiaras on their heads, and pearls around their necks. The two dark haired beauties look prim and proper while your toddler runs around the table with the teapot, filling the cups of each and every stuffed animal with pretend tea.

"Might there be room for another princess and a well-behaved prince?" You ask gently and draw the attention of the rest of your family.

"Mommy!" the toddler drops the teapot and runs over to hug your leg tightly. You gently pat her head, and she looks up again before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the table.

"Sir Whiskers, may I sit here?" You ask the large stuffy before settling next to it beside Vash, who leans closer to sneak a glance at your tiny son. You're sure the baby will drift off soon; he has inherited his ability to snooze in any position and environment from his dad.

"May I offer you some tea, my lady? Perhaps some pastries too?" Vash asks with a flourish as he presents the teapot he picked up from the ground.

"If you would be so kind!" you say seriously as you pick up a little teacup from the table.

"Finally! A proper lady!" Your oldest seems to be cheering up.

"My honored princess, you look as radiant as ever! You must introduce me to your seamstress!" You bow your head to the kid. "And the rambunctious madame seems to be in a hurry to try all the different teas and cakes presented by our kind hostess!"

The toddler has resumed running around the table, this time with a pink plate in her hand. The seemingly endless energy and happiness also remind you of someone very dear to you.

"What an honor it is to be among such prominent and beautiful guests!" Vash says while holding the teacup, the pinky finger straight in the air as he bows his head to everyone around the table, including your middle child.

"Yes, princess dad, it is a beautiful day to spend with other princesses drinking tea!" Your eldest announces, seemingly in her groove again, "I am glad princess mom could make it too!"

You played for a while, the tea party became a doctor's office, there were bandits at some point, and aliens weren't left out either. Vash picked up the slack where you weren't able to keep up because of your son still snoozing in your arms. He played the roles of patient, goon, and sheriff and improvised some spoons as antennae when he embodied an alien. He put his whole heart and soul into playing with his daughters, making sure they both got to shine and be happy. The play was only interrupted by the little prince waking up and demanding something more nutritious than pretend pastries. Vash helped you on your feet again and gave you a kiss before ushering the girls into the kitchen to get started on dinner while you headed back to nurse your son.

Author's Note: I didn't even really get to write all the ideas I had so part 2?

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

And if you feel like reading more of my dad!Vash, but want to get your heart steamrolled at the same time then I have the perfect thing for you: Stormy Night and Ghost of You.

[srovtl]

(Warmth that Flows Through His Hands) Figaro SSR Card Story Translation

The feelings we put into the weave - Episode 1

That day, we were all investigating a mansion where something strange might have happened due to the calamity.

Akira: It's really impressive... There are all kinds of stuff on the shelves and walls. Are all of these good luck charms?

Figaro: It seems like the owner of this place was a person who really believed in good luck. Well, leaving aside their effectiveness, I think most of the things here are good luck charms.

Figaro: Now then, looks like there's nothing suspicious in this room, so let's go to the next room.

Akira: Yes.

Figaro and I moved to the next room, where we found Bradley inspecting the items on the shelves.

Akira: Bradley. Did you find anything suspicious?

Bradley: Don't know if it's suspicious or not, but this room has some pretty expensive stuff in it.

Bradley: Look, this thing is made from pretty high quality thread.

Figaro: Huh? That's…

With a grin on his face, Bradley showed me what appeared to be a hand-knitted coaster.

It was a beautiful item, carefully woven with complex patterns and made with a variety of expensive-looking threads, like silk.

Akira: ...Um, Bradley. Just to confirm, what are you planning to do with it?

Bradley: Come on, Sage. That's a rude question.

Bradley: You do know what a thief's job is, right?

Akira: (W-Well yeah I do but...!)

Figaro: You know, That might be my good luck charm.

Bradley: What?

Akira: Figaro's… Does that mean it's something Figaro had before?

Figaro: No, I granted it to a human.

Akira: That's amazing…!

Bradley: eww

Figaro: To be precise, it's something that I taught to people who came to seek wisdom to pray for the safety of their families who went to work away from home. I told them that it would be good to make a good luck charm like this.

Figaro: It seems to be made in a very similar way, so I think that's probably it.

Bradley: This is the worst… It's not a good luck charm, it's a cursed item.

With a dejected look on his face, Bradley threw the good luck charm at Figaro.

Figaro: Oh, you don't want it?

Figaro: It's made from such fine thread though.

Bradley: Do you think I want it after hearing what you just said?

Figaro coolly brushes off the words and gently picks up the amulet. Now that it's in his hands, the pattern looks clearer than before.

Akira: (Amazing... Looking closer, it's more intricately woven than I thought it would be.)

Figaro: Well, I'll admit, this one suits you better than this one.

As he says this, Figaro points to a hanging ornament with a light blue base and white marbled stones set into it.

The feelings we put into the weave - Episode 2

Bradley: The stone this one has... is a weather vane stone.

Bradley: Then, it's a charm for luck in games. It certainly suits me.

Figaro: Right?

Akira: You knew what kind of charm it was just by looking at the stone?

Bradley: Well, the stone itself has a meaning.

Figaro: It's said that if you wear a weather vane stone, you'll be stronger in crucial games.

Akira: (I wonder if it's something like power stones in my world? Different stones have different meanings...)

Akira: I see... I learned something. You two are very knowledgeable.

Bradley: Well, I didn't see so many treasures just to have nothing to show for it.

Bradley: If you're interested, I'll explain it to you in a way that's easier to understand than asking this guy.

Bradley seemed a little pleased, so I decided to be honest and ask him.

Akira: So, I was wondering, what kind of charm is this wooden ornament?

Bradley: I've never seen this before.

Bradley: The carving and painting are sloppy, and it looks like it's going to be expensive...

The moment Bradley picked up the wooden ornament, dust flew around him.

Everyone: Oh.

Bradley: …………A, ah, achooo!

Akira: Bradley!

Akira: W-What should we do? It's the injury from the calamity. What If he got sent to some weird place….

Arthur: Whoa, Bradley!? I was surprised when you suddenly appeared!

Figaro, Akira: .........

Figaro: Haha. It looks like he was just sent to another room in this mansion.

Akira: It seems so.... Ah, thank goodness.

Akira: But what was that wooden ornament supposed to be for? Bradley took it away...

Figaro: Oh, that? It's a lucky charm for household safety, you often see it in southern countries.

Figaro: It's for the health of the family, of course, but also to keep thieves from breaking into the house.

Akira: ...Oh, boss…

Figaro laughed and put the knitted charm back on the shelf. Then he muttered with deep emotion.

Figaro: But that woodcarving was surprisingly effective. It was trying to drive the leader of the Death Thieves out of here.

Figaro: I thought it was just some sort of placebo like this one.

Akira: What? Placebo...?

Figaro: See, that hanging charm from earlier had a "weather vane stone" that was supposed to increase luck in games, right?

Figaro: But there's no evidence that this charm contains any luck effect nor does it have any ancient legend behind it.

The feelings we put into the weave - Episode 3

Figaro's long fingers gently stroke the intricately woven pattern of the amulet as he puts it back on the shelf.

Figaro: What I taught them was that it doesn't matter what kind of thread you use, but make it with your own hands, carefully, over time, and with love.

Figaro: That way, the person setting off on a journey will feel the hearts of their family waiting for them at home, and will unconsciously be careful to ensure their safe return for their sake...

Figaro: And for those who are leaving, the act of making a hand-made amulet itself will be more comforting than just praying without doing anything. That's what I thought.

I think I understand the meaning behind the complex, not so easy to weave pattern.

The person who knits it can see the feelings they put into the finished product...

The person who receives it will remember every time they see it that someone knitted something just for them.

Akira: (Although Figaro said it was just a placebo...)

Akira: I think it's a charm that really resonates with you. I always thought of charms as things that change your environment, relationships, or the things around you...

Akira: But maybe they can also give you peace of mind, hope, or have a wonderful effect on people's hearts in that way.

Figaro: That's a nice thing to say. If that's how Master Sage thinks, then my charm had a purpose other than just a placebo effect.

Figaro: Anyway, originally, it was meant to be something that anyone who wanted it could make...

Figaro: As it was passed down, I guess people started to pay more attention to the ingredients.

Seeing the expensive-looking finished product, Figaro gave a bitter smile.

Akira: Maybe someone thought that using better ingredients would definitely make it more effective.

Figaro: Well, that's true. it's not like I can't understand that feeling.

Figaro: I mean, if I was going to give it to Master Sage, I'd be excited and gather the best materials too.

Figaro said with a joking tone and a wink. It was the look he often made when he praised me and teased me.

But when I imagined that "what if" scenario, my heart warmed.

Akira: ...No matter what materials Figaro used, if he took the time and effort to make a lucky charm like that, I'd be happy about that.

Figaro: Hahaha... I can't compete with Master Sage's straightforwardness. I wanted to make you feel excited, but I ended up being the one who got excited.

Figaro: I'm not joking, if the time comes I'll put my heart into each and every strand.

Figaro's eyes closed softly. He had that gentle gaze as if he was holding the memory of that someday in his heart.

Figaro: No matter where you go, I hope you can return to the magic house...

Figaro: And when you've completed your role, I hope you can return safely to your world.

Card Episode - What can stained glass ward off?

Akira: The mansion I visited the other day had a lot of lucky charms, but is there any charm that you've come across that has left a particular impression on you?

Figaro: Hmm... I guess the charm that wards off the northern wizards is one that left an impression on me.

Akira: Oh, so there's something like that!

Figaro: Do you know that Lord Snow and Lord White give stained glass that they make to the people they protect?

Akira: Yes. I've seen it stuck in a window in the ice town.

Akira: If I remember right,  in the north, if there's a work by the two of them in a window, other wizards don't do anything bad to it because they assume it's Snow and White's territory.

Figaro: That's right. But someone saw it and misunderstood, and made a stained glass charm for themselves.

Akira: So... he assumed stained glass itself is something that northern wizards don't like? So the charm doesn't have any particular effect...

Figaro: It doesn't have much, does it? Because it's just stained glass made by humans, and not even based on the two's work.

Figaro: There's no magic in it, and if you know the characteristics of their works, you definitely won't be fooled.

Akira: I see... Then Figaro can see through it right away.

Figaro: Haha, that's right. Well, I don't need to be able to tell if the charm that wards off the northern wizards is real or not.

Figaro: Because I'm a good and kind southern wizard.

homescreen voice line

Even if you want to help someone, not many people are able to take action. I mean, basically, everyone values and cherishes themselves more than others. That's a natural way of thinking for those who don't have much power to survive. So I think Master Sage is a bit strange. Of course, I mean that in a good way.

[centrally-unplanned]

As I normally do, I very much enjoyed Folding Idea's latest video, an interpretative discussion/cinematography flex about James Rolfe aka Angry Video Game Nerd. Anyone treating the history of the internet with the depth it contains, as a culture & medium unto itself, is gonna get a win in my book.

It also hit on a point I find myself always coming back to in cultural history; how often people confuse chronology & causation. The Angry Video Game nerd is, of course, one of the most influential "Youtubers" to ever exist, by virtue of being one of the first ever do, in video format, media reviews via a comedic lens. There are years where you can say he was the center of the whole genre. He inspired legions of imitators, some incredibly directly referencing him in their identity, and when you talk to a ~30 year old online creator today who does things adjacent to that space, you can bet good money they watched AVGN when they were a teen.

(I didn't - my stereotypical influence is the Red Letter Media Prequel Reviews)

But is he that influential? Depends on your meaning, of course. Because when you ask people what that influence is, they say something like "pioneering comedic, caustic, hyperbolic review video essays". Which, he did, but he invented none of those parts. As the above video outlines, caustic, exaggerated reviews of media have been around for about as long as reviews have existed as a consumer product; making them entertaining for their own sake is an incredibly logical leap to take. AVGN was coming around in a time where slapstick violence and faux-rage was entirely the vibe of the internet; Penny Arcade had been doing its thing for over half a decade before AVGN's first video was published.

And more importantly, video content in those days was obviously going to lean towards things like comedy and "skit" styles compared to say text reviews, because it complemented the medium better. It takes a lot of niche craft to make a rage speech pop on text; it's much more accessible to just be a good actor and be visibly raging. Going even more downstream, the "media mix" of people consuming content about the art they like or engage with was so old hat by the 2000's that consumer brands were using it as fucking jargon in marketing meetings. There isn't a world where this kind of content would not have appeared. It had to, the culture demanded it.

This is no grand dig at AVGN of course - this is to some extent true of all artists. As Olsen's video notes, what set AVGN apart was that James Rolfe was not a game reviewer; he was a filmographer, he had gone to film school, he was trying to make movies. Which in 2004 meant that he had a ton of cameras and lighting and equipment to make viable content in a way others did not. He had a technological advantage in exploring a new medium, one that would fade as webcams and lighting rings became as cheap as dirt, or shift as markets for crazy stuff like vtuber rigs would evolve. And of course the specific way he went about his content did imprint itself on the medium.

But not thaaat much; I think time has not been kind to AVGN. The humor is of course dated to its time, the MTV's Jackass of video game reviews. And as the medium of self-published video essays has evolved, the medium discovered approaches far better than comedic skit shows. Much longer content is possible, you can ride on parasociality and authenticity instead of endless "joke moments" (Or go the reverse - every comedy video from the old days is too long, a tiktok-level joke stretched over 5 minutes). Some of this was tech dependent as well, of course - youtube had duration limits on uploads in 2005! Making 4 hour Star Wars Hotel videos was not possible outside of stringing "Part 1 of 37" video playlists together. But time and culture marches on as well, and I don't think the average creator today is pulling from 2005 Youtube much at all, really. They are different eras.

As mentioned, if you ever deal with doing causation in cultural history, you run into this all the time - people essentially going "work X was first, and therefore invented the genre and influenced all after". And I don't think it really works that way - establishing causation just takes far more detail than that.

[thanquan]

Just the evelator (Aizen x Male!OC)

College au, the original version was written by Hạ Chi Lăng (FB) in Vietnamese, This is merely the translated version of the piece.

(Please insert elevator music while reading this because idk it’s funny)

Today was just an ordinary day.

Or at least, that’s what Quan thought. He woke up like a normal person, went to school without a fuss, and walked into his class calmly just before the bell rang. He responded composedly when the lecturer called his name, slipped out of the lecture hall through the back door without a care, and then peacefully stepped into the elevator, ignoring the strange looks from those around him as he pressed the “close door” button. He thought everything would go according to his usual routine—that he’d spend no more than a few minutes showing his face in class for attendance before disappearing to who-knows-where. Well, except for the billiard players at the local pool hall, who always knew his whereabouts better than anyone else. After all, not a single one of them had dared to challenge him without tasting defeat at his hands, leaving them both bitter and wary. Although, there were always a few thick-skinned souls who kept trying their luck.

But it seemed today wasn’t destined to be a lucky day for him. Somehow—perhaps as a cruel joke from life itself—he found himself under the harsh white fluorescent lights of an office instead of the warm, familiar glow of the pool hall, face-to-face with a refined and charming lecturer.

Quan quietly fidgeted with the smooth ceramic surface of a teacup, feeling the warmth slowly seep into his large hands. His eyes, however, never left the man sitting across from him. His gaze drifted over to the neatly placed nameplate on the desk, occasionally studying the focused expression of the man, as if trying to decipher some kind of answer from his calm demeanor. But all he received was a faint smile and an unreadable look, one that didn’t seem easy to provoke. So, being a perceptive and understanding individual, Quan accepted the reality of the situation and continued sipping his tea, allowing himself to sink into the truth of the matter: P.T.Q, valedictorian of the Computer Science department, a model student with five-star ratings but whose fourth and fifth stars were purely hypothetical, had been caught skipping class by a lecturer of a course he had registered for on a whim. Said lecturer had nabbed him in the elevator while attempting his escape and dragged him straight to the office, where he now sat like a statue. This left Quan thoroughly puzzled, though his hand naturally poured himself a second cup of tea.

“…Am I bothering you by sitting here, prof?”

“You’re free to return to your class if you’d like. I assume you have some lesson to attend today,” Aizen, or rather, Aizen Sousuke—the lecturer of the philosophy course Quan had impulsively signed up for—replied gently, though his eyes never left the stack of papers on his desk.

Hearing this, Quan merely raised an eyebrow. He gave a faint smile.

“You must be joking. I’ve already left class; how could I dare go back now?”

Sometimes, being upfront is the best choice.

“Then does that mean you’d leave my class and not come back as well?”

Or maybe… it isn’t.

“But this isn’t your lecture, is it?”

Aizen suddenly put his pen down, the faint smile on his handsome face growing more pronounced, which gave the student in front of him a foreboding sense of unease. But before Quan could think too deeply about it, the man’s response left him speechless and returned the room to its academic silence.

“Well, who’s to say you wouldn’t do the same in my class?”

And with that, the conversation ended. Aizen returned to his work, while Qun sat quietly, holding onto the tea kettle. He silently drank cup after cup, his golden eyes carefully watching groups of female students giggling as they entered the office after class, one nudging the other forward awkwardly, only for all their laughter to vanish the moment their eyes met his. They froze, staring at the tall man sitting in the corner of the room, drinking tea like it was water. Hesitant, they shuffled over to Aizen’s desk, only to quickly turn and leave once again, leaving a strangely awkward and silent atmosphere in their wake.

They came and went with a mix of excitement and embarrassment, and by the time Quan had counted five groups of female students, the tea kettle was empty. The distant sound of the bell signaling the end of class rang in his ears, prompting him to habitually bow his head to the lecturer and gather his things to leave. Aizen gave an unspoken nod of approval, allowing him to go. Quân walked out, enduring the discomfort of an over-caffeinated stomach and the stiffness in his lower back from sitting in one position for so long.

That was enough for today.

[leonawriter]

Actually no I'm STILL not done with Detective Koshien because there was something I touched on briefly but I want to point out better.

In the previous case, it went like this-

A woman had left her son with a monk eighteen years ago. In the present day, she came back three days prior to the group arriving, and claimed that she'd been silently been watching over her son as he'd grown up. The monk gave her a secret test, in that he showed her pictures, and had her son show her the album, only for her to not be able to recognise him.

The monk scolded her harshly, saying "Cool your head off in a separate building tonight and experience the eighteen years of sorrow your son felt, down to your bones." And she did. Because when he went back to the annex, she'd committed suicide - out of regret, remorse, and grief, most likely.

At the end of the case, when it turns out that the monk had been trying to keep the truth from the woman's son for his sake, he says this:

"Words are like knives... if you use them the wrong way, they'll transform into a bad weapon. You have to understand that person's heart and use it carefully... no matter who that person may be."

Now, Hattori and Shinichi seem to be listening intently, here. And yet...

When the girls are pestering the boys to tell them what had actually happened, he snaps at them, angrily, to the point that Shinichi thinks to himself, "In [Hattori's] case, I'd say he's using them completely wrong..."

Now, what does this have to do with the Detective Koshien chapters?

Well, this case happened canonically the day before they leave for the Detective Koshien.

And what happens pretty much the moment they get there?

Hattori shows that he's not taken this lesson to heart by using words in a very cutting and cruel manner, to someone who hadn't, at that point, been purposefully trying to set him off.

Gosho may be infamous for writing the arcs incredibly slowly, but each case does tend to be relevant in some way, shape, or form - and I could list off several that are relevant to this one. The previous case is just one, but it does highlight Hattori's immaturity, and the fact that I'm sure that Gosho intended it to be read as his bad in the first place.

The previous case shows what happens when you don't watch what you say and you let your anger out at someone, even if they do deserve that anger.

Other cases, whether it's the focus or not, bring up how those with non-Japanese ancestry are often treated differently and discriminated in Japan, and that's implied with more than just what Hattori says here (note, in the case itself, how Hakuba bonds with Netsuki over natural brown hair, after she brings up having been told off for it).

This was, in short, definitely done on purpose.

I won't say that it's trying to paint Hattori in a bad light, though. Just that he's human, and a teenager, and... very hot-headed and brash. He tends to act and speak before he thinks. That's... very much the main running theme of the case.

To be honest, I think that him growing out of that is going to take time, effort, and experience, but it'd be a disservice to portray a complex character with those traits as never hurting anyone with them, when they're clearly capable of causing hurt to other people.

Minor edit: just to say that no matter how that last panel is translated, it still remains that Hattori snapped at someone when he didn't need to. Point still stands.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Always With You Pairing : Lee Minho x GN!Reader TW : none really ; comfort fic ; Word Count : 0.8k Request : @mooncallerautumn Am I able to request some comfort with Minho and a fem reader? A/N : I didn't want to make it too long, I didn't want you to have to wait too long either. If you want a longer fic, just let me know, you can DM me or send in an ask. I hope you feel better, and I'm just a message away if you need anything or if you just need to talk. <3

Times were hard, and Minho was no stranger to that feeling, and although it wasn’t always that way, some days were harder than others. Emotions weren’t something that should be bottled up, and while Minho wasn’t always the best at showing his own emotions well, he wanted to always make sure that you knew you could tell him what you were feeling, how your day went, everything. 

“Hey, I’m on my way over! Do you…” He had called you, and you had answered immediately, which wasn’t anything new, but the fact that you didn’t say your usual greeting felt strange, but he didn’t think much of it, jumping to give you his own greeting. There wasn’t much that was off, but when he heard your quiet sniffles through the receiver, it had cut him off, and his heart quickened as a million scenarios went through his mind. “What’s wrong, love? What happened?” He asked quickly, his foot pressing further down on the gas pedal as he tried to get through the rush hour traffic to get to you faster. 

“It’s… I just…” You took a deep breath, letting it out in a choked off sounding sob before telling him what was going on. You didn’t need to go into detail, Minho didn’t exactly want you to, at least not until he was there to hold you and comfort you in person. You didn’t even have to if you didn’t want to or if you felt that you couldn’t. He’d never push you, all he wanted was to be there for you, and that’s why he started turning down side streets, taking shortcuts until he pulled up outside of your home. 

He stayed on the phone with you until he walked through the front door, ending the call once he saw you on the sofa. You were wrapped up in a throw blanket, your eyes puffy and red, you had been crying, and it seems like you’ve been crying for a while. “It’s gonna be okay…” He murmured, slipping his shoes off and setting his phone down away from himself before walking over to where you sat and dropping down beside you, his arm draping over your shoulder to pull you against his side. “If you want to talk, you can… If you just want to cry, I’ll be here no matter what.” 

You nodded weakly, resting your head against his shoulder as your body shook with the remnants of your last episode of crying. Surely it wouldn’t be your last, but now he was beside you, he’d be there to wipe the tears away and do his best to bring you as much comfort as he could. 

“Have you eaten yet, love? I can make you something…” He whispered, his hand stroking soothingly up and down your arm as he leaned his cheek against the top of your head. You made a soft sound, much like a whimper, of disagreement in response to his question and he hummed quietly, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before carefully getting up, making sure you were still comfortable before moving at all. 

Sadness manifested itself in different ways, and with how much you had been crying, he knew that it would be difficult to eat, but he could only hope that his presence would make it even slightly easier for you. “I’m sorry…” You choked out the apology as he went to look through your fridge for anything to fill your stomach, and he almost didn’t catch the words when you said them, but the fact that you felt like you had to apologize had his heart tightening. 

“For what, love?” He posed the question as he shifted through your fridge, giving up after a moment to grab his phone and heading back to the couch, dropping back down next to you as he opened the take out app. He wasn’t a master at voicing his own emotions, and it was something that made him shy, even a little nervous, but you were there for him always, and he wanted you to know that he would always be there for you too, no matter what the circumstances were. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want to know that you’re okay, and even if you’re not… I want to know that too. There’s nothing wrong with coming to me when you feel like this… I want you to.” He had been staring down at his lap as he said it, the words coming out softly, sheepishly, his cheeks growing a light shade of pink from the genuine emotions felt in the moment. “I might not be able to… get rid of the sadness… And that’s okay too… But I can be here to help you get through it, no matter how long that might take, I’m always with you, and I always will be.” 

[lunexrin]

Strings and Soccer.

Michael Kaiser (Thread of Fate AU.)

| I just wanted to quickly throw this in here that I have absolutely no idea what I am doing and this is just a piece of my mind as the clock almost strikes 1 in the morning. This has little to no proof-read at all, and this is my first time writing on here so I do apologize for the mistakes I made below. Thank you and enjoy. |

It's a terrifying sight to say the least; the look of determination this man has in his eyes. You knew he was always serious in what he does, and his obsession with soccer was something that you always admired. That crazed look in his eyes whenever he kicks the ball ever so freely to reach the opponent's goal, the determined look in his eyes-- that is how he looked before you now, but it seems even stronger.

He wasn't about to take no for an answer, and you knew that more than anyone. Michael Kaiser simply does not beg, it doesn't exist in his 101 egoistical guide that he lives his life according to-- but for you? He will. He will 'beg' for you to stay, in his own way of course.

The deadly grip that he has around your wrist, his touch almost burns, and it pains you, but it was undeniably soft for the Michael Kaiser. That's how he always was to you; soft. Well the more accurate way to say it is; merciful. He pulled you closer by your wrist, making you stumble forward, your chests almost making contact before you stumbled back.

"Stay."

The audacity. Wasn't he the one who had cut you off like you meant nothing to him? Wasn't he the one who rejected your calls, blocked you everywhere, because you were a 'distraction' ? Not to mention the nerve that he had to say such a thing in the most pitiful voice he would ever use while he lived on this earth, but it was only for you, that is.

And how dare the string show itself again-- you thought he had already cut it, but the string is so darn stubborn.

.

.

.

[12 years ago.]

You and Michael were considered lucky to be tied by the sacred string, on one lonely day at the children's playground, many, many years ago. You had always struggled to make friends, while he-- well, he didn't need any. He thinks these other gremlins were just too much of a hassle and a waste of space.

You watched the other kids play, some sort of longing bloomed in your pure soul as you watched the other kids your age play tags with their other friends. It has always been this way. You were just too shy, and no one really wanted to approach you. But it doesn't necessarily upset you; you don't mind being the only company for yourself. After all, you'll end up alone after your lifespan ends, won't you? You had quite an interesting mind, for a child.

The rain suddenly fell, and you looked up to the grey skies and watched as the faint light of the rumbling thunder peeked through the ethereal clouds. You let the rain fall onto you for a little, before making your way under the metal fort of the playground, almost as if you didn't want to. You wanted to play under the rain, but you knew better than to get yourself soaked while waiting for your parents to pick you up just to get scolded afterwards.

You brought your knees to your chest and started drawing patterns on the wet sand of the ground. You could hear the annoying sneezes of the other kids already, but you paid no mind. Loud splashes coming from the footsteps of a boy with a ball in front of his moving legs in the distance went unnoticed by you at first, before at the corner of your eye, you saw a ball stopping right beside your feet, dirty and stained with mud. But that wasn't the only thing that caught your eye.

You saw the sacred crimson string glowing before your own eyes. Who does it belong to? You were so oblivious to it, and it took you a solid 10 seconds to figure out that your small pinky was tied to it. You couldn't believe it. The other end of that thin string was your.. soulmate?

You saw a pair of dirty sneakers stop right beside the ball, and you could see the figure just enough-- the fair soft skin that was soaked by the rain water, and the small fingers that somehow looked so delicate to you, and a pinky tied to the same, glowing thread of fate that lies on the ground.

The figure slowly bent down, revealing a boy maybe about your age, witnessing the most infuriatingly captivating blue eyes that have ever bore into your own gaze. His head ever so slightly tilted to the side, his gorgeous blonde hair with blue streaks were drenched by the rain, looking so majestic even under the pouring rain.

"Found you."

© 2023 lunexrin, do not copy, translate or repost on any other websites without proper credits.

[r-rook-studio]

Writing and Rewriting Bracknell Horror

So here's a terrible secret: in 2019, hot on the heels of the original Moonlight on Roseville Beach zine, I put some notes for a little adventure called "The Bracknell Horror." I had no illusions that it was a great investigation scenario. Still, it showed off a few things about Roseville Beach, including places and people in the town as well as the queer people who lived/visited there. It went to a location inside the setting without requiring deep lore, added some jokey Easter Egg references to Lovecraft's The Whisperer in Darkness, and included some comically easy to use alien tech.

The problem was, I didn't really like it.

People at con sessions had fun, but there was nothing particularly special or interesting about the scenario itself, and any scenario would have been great in its place. Also, while I like to say Roseville Beach is a game of "horror comedy," there wasn't much actual horror here other than some Lovecraft references. That's also true of my other Roseville Beach scenario "The Haunting of Flora Bly," though the book has four more scenarios that are richer in horror potential.

But this summer, just before running it at A Weekend with Good Friends, I rewrote it. I talked about some of those rewrites on my blog just after the first run-through, but more have come up as I've continued to playtest this.

First, while the initial scenario centered around a wealthy occultist-adventurer named Simon Mathers, the revision has greatly warped him from that initial vision. In the early drafts, he was an occultist willing to give Dreamlands entities the bodies of Roseville Beach residents in return for access to the Dreamlands. In the new one, he's returning to our reality after 20+ years in the Dreamlands, hoping to find a body for himself (the temporary one he constructed is collapsing) and his two Dreamlands familiars.

In the original, the cult-like group of followers worked for Mathers and planned to keep doing so. In the new, none of them like each other, and each of them have their own reasons for working with him (and one might even try to kill him).

Third, I let some of my OSR influences show. Beyond making each of the named NPCs a faction of one, I've also added some NPC rivals (all of whom might end up becoming collaborators) who also all have their own motivations and agendas for finding out what Mathers' cult is up to.

Finally, while the original notes told GMs to pull from the PCs troubles and connections to determine who Mathers' cultists have captured, the new one includes a chance to target the PCs themselves, giving at least some of them a chance to sneak in and explore the Bracknell while the cult is setting up the ritual, adds some specific NPCs the cult targets, asking instead how the PCs and their contacts/troubles connect them with those people, giving their troubles and connections a motivation to insist on coming along whether they'll be helpful or not.

Dai Shugars, Roseville Beach's art director and visual designer, has put together some incredible maps that allowed me to spend less wordcount describing the space and more giving info on NPCs, creating news stories and book snippets that can serve as physical clues, and creating a better sense of how the Doom Clock progresses.

The text will come to Itch for slowfunding next Tuesday, and the final zine will include the adventure, pregens, new strange events that tie to this mystery, and the basic rules of play, so you can try it out even if you don't already own Moonlight on Roseville Beach. Think of it like a horror-comedy investigation version of a Fighting Fantasy Game Book, but maybe gayer.

This is my chance to draft and preview some of what's coming. You can pick up Moonlight on Roseville Beach (Itch | DriveThru | Spear Witch | IPR) and the current two-issue zine bundle (Itch | DriveThru), or just follow-along with the zine project that will get bundled up in Dim All the Lights. Or you can back our upcoming reprint and hardbacks Kickstarter!